15th January - Ferreting with the Boys

I can recall few things more irritating from childhood than an adult who promised to do or give something and then never followed through but recently I have been in danger of becoming that very adult! Back in the early summer I gave S and S’s oldest boy two jill ferret kits and twenty purse nets with the assurance that come winter I would show him about using them. I see him every fortnight when he comes beating and since November I have been telling him, ‘I’ll sort something out soon’.  Well last time I really did and this morning Em dropped me at his parents' farm near Marden. I mention Em dropping me off because she was on her way to Tonbridge with Treacle and a fat cheque, to visit Drake. The dirty date went well, though Drake, being a little shorter than Treacle needed a bit of a leg up by all accounts.

Like most field sports ferreting is 99% work and waiting, 1% action and excitement and having had some experience of working with youngsters at school, I wasn't sure how well the 12-year-old O and nine-year-old younger brother M would take to the experience. With age comes the appreciation of your surrounding - the sun on your back, frosty grass underfoot, the wood pigeons rose pink in the bright winter light - but to kids it's action which counts. As it turns out I underestimated the lads and though of course they couldn't care a dam about the splendid morning, save for it being cold, set the nets diligently just as I had shown them. There was some excitement, as one apiece they entered the jills, then in accordance with my instructions both retired to their waiting places and stood quietly. Presiding over the netted bury, watched so intently by the two young boys I experienced something between premonition and recollection. Logically I suppose that would be called the present, but what I’m getting at is the combination of strong resonances from my own childhood and the knowledge that in years to come I will likely be doing the same thing with my own children.

Usually a new jill takes some time warming to the task of pursuing rabbits, but not O’s ferret Razzle (or Dazzle, I can't remember, one had previously deceased).  She's a super little thing and pushed out the first rabbit which balled up perfectly in the net. I could have jumped on it myself, but why deprive the boys of the 1% action and instead shouted at O to grab it. His excitement about the whole thing was palpable and a demonstration of how to kill the creature with a strike to its head from his new priest (given to him for Christmas) was studied with fascination. I knew then he would carry on for the rest of the day and likely the rest of his life, for I recognised well the unbridled thrill of chase and kill, which lies at the heart of any sportsman.

The day was a great success. No ferrets lost, no digging and four rabbits from three buries, with three others bolted but not caught. Back at the farm a skinning tutorial went down well but not so well as my party piece, the juggling of three severed rabbit heads.