Shooting, tweeds and traditions

Matt Limb OBE reflects on the great British tradition of the driven shoot and the simple pleasure of a memorable day in the field.

Few country pursuits capture the spirit of the British countryside quite like driven shooting. It is a tradition born in the Victorian era, shaped by innovation but above all by etiquette and a deep respect for the countryside.

As shotguns and their cartridges became more reliable and the countryside more organised, the Victorians refined the sport into something distinctly their own, a display of teamwork that became one of the hallmarks of rural life.

By the late 19th century, driven shooting had become a fixture of the sporting calendar. Across the estates of Britain, lines of beaters would move through the coverts, flushing birds over waiting guns in a display that was part-sport and part-theatre.

It was, and remains, as much a social occasion as a test of skill. Tweeds, lunch and elevenses are all part of a great British tradition that endures.

Today, that tradition continues much as it always has. Though times have changed and the countryside has modernised, a driven shoot remains one of the finest celebrations of the English countryside. It is as much about friendship and fresh air as it is about sport. A day when keepers, beaters, pickers-up and guns all come together with a shared respect for the land.

A shoot day begins with everyone gathering, the air filled with excitement and the sound of dogs and conversation. There are warm welcomes all round, old friends shaking hands, new faces quickly introduced.

Soon guns and beaters alike prepare for the day, pulling on boots and waterproofs. There’s a quiet sense of anticipation in the calm before the shoot day begins.

At the heart of any driven shoot are the guns, whether invited or paying. Tradition still plays a strong part here and that sense of heritage is seen not only in the etiquette.

Tweed remains the fabric of choice; it’s practical, warm and timelessly smart. It blends with the landscape and nods to the generations who have been here before. While every gun hopes for a good bag, there’s one achievement that’s always spoken of with pride: the perfect ‘left and right’, as two birds are taken quickly one after the other – a feat that combines skill, instinct and a touch of luck.

Roles and responsibilities
Behind every well-run day are two people who ensure everything goes smoothly: the shoot captain and the gamekeeper. The shoot captain, often the farmer or landowner, holds overall responsibility for the day. They usually greet the guns in the morning, set out the plan for the day and place each gun. Working closely alongside is the gamekeeper, the true custodian of the ground. It’s the keeper who has spent the year preparing for this moment; rearing the birds, managing the coverts and keeping a watchful eye on the wildlife.

On the shoot day itself, he often leads the beating line, guiding the team that drives the birds over the guns. Between them, the shoot captain and the gamekeeper are the conductors of the day’s symphony, ensuring the shoot runs safely, smoothly and in keeping with generations of tradition.

If the guns are the public face of the shoot, the beaters are the heartbeat. They are the workforce who make the day happen, walking through woods, brambles and standing crops to flush the birds towards the waiting guns. It can be hard, often muddy work, but always done with good humour and a shared sense of purpose.

The beaters are a mix of people. From elderly, tweed-clad gents who may have been on the shoot for half a century walking, to a wide-eyed youngster from the village, out for their very first day.

No shoot day would be complete without its small rituals and none more so than elevenses. It is that welcome pause when everyone gathers to share a drink, or a bite to eat, along with words of good-natured banter.

A hip flask of sloe gin – often home-made – or a pork pie on a crisp frosty morning, it’s these simple, enduring moments that capture the heart of driven shooting. They remind us that it is not a sport but a way of life, a living tradition deeply rooted in the British countryside.

Behind the lines
For many, beating is where it all begins. I still remember my own first day out beating, I was eight or nine years old and soon taken under the wing of a gentleman who looked after me, told me where to stand and kept a watchful eye as we pushed through the woods and covers.

It was a long day, but a memorable one. It was clearly an enjoyable one too, as I was back again the following week. The beating line is often a family affair; you’ll see the wife and children of the guns walking alongside fathers and sons, out for a day in the countryside, enjoying the company, the fresh air and the shared tradition.

Behind the line of guns, often out of sight, stand another vital team: the pickers-up. They are usually a more experienced gathering, many of whom have spent decades on various shoots.

Their role is a quiet but essential one: to mark each bird that falls and once the drive is over, send their gundogs to retrieve them swiftly and respectfully. You’ll find them standing well back, watching the sky with practised eyes, noting every shot and every bird’s fall.

Their dogs sit patiently at heel, alert and steady, until the whistle or horn is blown to signal the end of the drive.

Then, with calm precision, the dogs are sent out to retrieve. It’s work that calls for discipline, observation and a deep understanding of both dog and countryside.

No shoot day would be complete without lunch. On some shoots, the guns gather for a cooked meal, while on others, everyone shares in the same fare. But whatever the arrangement, it’s a moment to pause, reflect and enjoy the company of those who’ve made the morning possible.

I have fond memories of sitting on straw bales on a damp day in a barn, shoulder to shoulder with guns, beaters and keepers alike. The talk turns to the morning’s drives and the good shots, the near misses, the birds that seemed to appear from nowhere.

The dogs sit quietly nearby, waiting for the crust from a sandwich. There’s a simple pleasure in that shared break. A hip flask passed around, laughter carried on the cold air and the feeling that everyone, whatever their role, is part of the same great tradition.

After lunch, there are usually one or two more drives to round off the day. For anyone new to shooting, a drive is one of several organised during the day, each carefully arranged to present the birds to the guns, as the beaters, working under the keeper’s direction, move steadily through a chosen wood, field or cover crop to flush them forward.

Ahead of them, the guns stand on set positions, known as pegs, ready for the birds as they fly overhead.

Making memories
Each drive has its own character and its own name. Some are named after the land they straddle, others from a person or a story. One I remember in my very early days was Charlie’s Belt, a broad line of fir trees with brambles at their base offering good cover; planted, so I was told, by the gamekeeper who had just returned home from the World War II, after being detained as a prisoner of war.

Like so much in the countryside, these names carry their own quiet history, connecting each shoot to the people and stories that shaped the local countryside.

As the last drive draws to a close and the final whistle sounds, there’s a gentle shift in mood. The excitement settles into contentment, a shared understanding that the day has gone well. The beaters, tired but happy, take quiet pride in how the birds flew – strong, testing, giving the guns a worthy sporting challenge.

The dogs, muddy and weary, work on, finding and retrieving every last bird, ready to be taken to the game larder. Then comes the final count; a moment everyone waits for. The birds are neatly lined up as the total is worked out.

Soon there’s a quiet nod of respect from all involved. It’s not just about numbers; it’s about the effort and the teamwork that made it possible. As the light slowly fades and people begin to drift away, some to the local pub, others home to the fire, there’s that unmistakable feeling that another great day in the countryside has been shared and will be remembered.

When I look back over more than half a century since that first day as a young beater, a lad with little idea of what was happening but eager to be part of it, I realise how much a shoot day has shaped my life in the countryside.

What began as a cold, muddy adventure has become a lifelong passion. I’ve gone from tapping a stick in the beating line to standing quietly with my own dogs as a picker-up.

Then, for a few days each season I stand on a peg with a gun and a dog. Yet the feeling is much the same, a sense of belonging, the warmth of friendship and a shared love of the countryside.

The faces may have changed but the spirit of a shoot day remains untouched, a living link between generations and one I’m proud to still be part of.

Looking forward, for anyone thinking of getting involved, the best way to start is by joining the beating line. Most shoots, large or small, are always glad to welcome new faces. The experience soon follows.

All you really need is a love of the countryside and a willingness to be outdoors in all weathers.

Expect to walk a fair distance over rough ground, through woods and crops and finish the day pleasantly tired and muddy. But in return, you’ll be well looked after and become part of something truly special, a tradition that has shaped our rural life for generations.

You’ll find friendship, laughter and a deep satisfaction in knowing that you’ve played your part in one of the great experiences the British countryside has to offer.

But perhaps the greatest moment of all is walking away at the end of the shoot with a smile on your face and a brace of pheasants in your hand to take home for the pot.

A lasting reminder of a day well spent. Yet somehow, the meal always tastes better when you know exactly where it came from and you were part of the countryside that made it possible.

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