A poignant end to the season

The second of February was a soft, still day under cloud and, while wandering round High Park — without a gun, of course — dunnocks and robins were telling me that things were moving on, that winter was slackening its grip. Chiming tits and drumming woodpeckers were giving me the same message and, from the top of a tall tree, a mistle thrush was shouting out his agreement for all to hear. But while the birds were looking forward to the spring of the year, I was looking back to the month just past and telling myself how much I had enjoyed my January sport.

There had been some fine Saturdays on my syndicate