Reflections of a Country Boy: My Adventures and Misadventures – How Lucky I Was

By Bill Pennington

A book for everyone brought up in the 1950/60s and one which every modern-day parent should read and then pass it on, or read, to their children. It is a light-hearted book, but with serious implications at times, of the upbringing of a young boy, the author, on a North Lancashire farm, and of his life experiences gained. It portrays traditional farming as a way of life of the time, in which every family member was expected to contribute in some way, shape or form, for the smooth running of operations. It also covers the author’s introduction to the many and varied country pursuits and pastimes which he enjoys to this day.

Sometimes hilarious, sometimes sombre, but never boring, the author transports us through the many and varied situations he encountered in his formative years. By today’s standards, the freedom he was given by his parents, to roam and explore the area surrounding his home, would not be countenanced. More’s the pity, for a better upbringing and stress-free way of living for a youngster would be hard to envisage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398415300

Bill Pennington

Bill Pennington spent all of his formative years on a North Lancashire Farm and was well versed in all matters farming, country pursuits and pastimes, by the time he left home at the age of sixteen to pursue a career in engineering, which he did successfully, spending virtually all of his working life in the power generation industry. However, his heart has always remained in the countryside and the pursuits carried out therein. He has been a regular contributor to many of the major game fishing and shooting magazines over many years and although he wouldn’t accept it, he is recognised as an expert in many aspects associated with these pursuits. He is also a qualified game fishing and shooting instructor and has represented England in clay pigeon shooting.

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About the Author

Bill Pennington spent all of his formative years on a North Lancashire Farm and was well versed in all matters farming, country pursuits and pastimes, by the time he left home at the age of sixteen to pursue a career in engineering, which he did successfully, spending virtually all of his working life in the power generation industry. However, his heart has always remained in the countryside and the pursuits carried out therein. He has been a regular contributor to many of the major game fishing and shooting magazines over many years and although he wouldn’t accept it, he is recognised as an expert in many aspects associated with these pursuits. He is also a qualified game fishing and shooting instructor and has represented England in clay pigeon shooting.

Dedication

In memory of my parents who gave me the opportunity to do what every country boy should be able to do. For my sons who have given me so much pleasure and have been a constant joy to have for company and to see them achieve a lot of the firsts that I achieved and describe herein. But most of all to my wife for persuading me to put these words down on paper and for putting up with three totally obsessed fishing and shooting junkies.

Copyright Information ©

Bill Pennington 2022

The right of Bill Pennington to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398415294 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398415300 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Canary Wharf

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E14 5AA

Introduction

Home for me, rather appropriately, was ‘home farm’, one of five farms that made up the Leighton Hall estate, ours just happened to be the one adjacent to and directly behind the Hall itself.

The centrepiece of the farm was the park, which extended to about 90 acres and created a natural amphitheatre that fronted the Hall itself. The park had a splendid array of grand sartorially elegant trees and dotted copses, in fact, a more appropriate and grander setting for the country gentleman’s retreat would be hard to find. The other land that made up the farm consisted of fields dotted about all over the estate, these being reached by a network of rutted farm tracks. My father had over the years claimed many of these fields from the marginal land that bordered Warton Crag. In general, either large blocks of deciduous woodland, scrub or large expanses of bracken bounded them. The farm extended to some 230 acres in total, the whole area being an absolute haven for wildlife and birds.

The family consisted of Mother, Father, Joan, my eldest sister, Barbara, myself, Christine, and Anthony, the youngest. Joan was the only child that held a genuine interest in farming in general and even from my earliest recollections, she was out with Father at milking time and from her early teens was quite capable of doing all the many and varied farmyard chores unsupervised, not that this happened very often. She just seemed to enjoy all that was farming, whereas most of it seemed just like hard work to me. That was not to say that the remainder of us got away scot-free, not for a minute. For my part, I had no interest with the cattle, whereas Joan knew them all by name, but I was quite happy when it came to the pigs and poultry, my main interest, however, was anything to do with tractors and farm machinery, a trait I was to carry through into later years as I became a mechanical engineer for my sins.

Even from an early age and certainly by the age of 11, it was up at six o’clock, a dish of cereal or porridge then out into the yard to muck out the milking cows, Dad and Joan doing the milking. Then feed the pigs followed by collecting the eggs and feeding the hens. Then the highlight of the day, back for one of Mum’s breakfasts, almost forgot to feed the ferrets and then breakfast. Breakfast consisted of bacon, egg, fried tomatoes, mushrooms etc., which was always followed by copious amounts of tea and toast. One thing is for sure; at our house, you didn’t go hungry. You might have had to work for it, but we were certainly well fed. A quick wash and change and I was off to school. We will draw a veil over the schooling bit, but it was back home for four o’clock, change back into the work clothes for a repeat of the morning session and then tea. Generally speaking, this meant that the remainder of the day was free to do as I pleased. This meant either exploring the surrounding woodland, fishing or shooting, dependant on the season or my inclination.

Chapter 1 – Early Memories

Part 1 – Christmas

My mind is such a jumble of happy memories from my early years that it is difficult to know where to start. But being as the whole theme of this book is to be based on country matters and an introduction to country pursuits were better to start than with my first gun. Being as this momentous event was to have such a profound effect on my life thereafter, it will undoubtedly come as a great surprise to most of you reading this that it occurred whilst I was at the tender age of five. It was without doubt to be one of the major milestones in my life and one for which I am eternally grateful.

I know that most of you will be thinking to yourselves, what sort of parent would be so irresponsible that they would give a gun to a five-year-old, well fear not for that little gun, shot nothing more sinister than corks and came as a Christmas present. That said, Dad insisted that this gun should be treated no differently than any other and I had it instilled in me from this point onwards that it should never ever be pointed at anyone.

Christmas was a great event in our household and many major milestones in my sporting development occurred at this time of year. Funny thing is that Christmas for me is intrinsically linked to smells rather than sporting pastimes and the presents that were received, guns aside that is. Christmas dinner was a convivial affair, Mother was an exceptional cook and Christmas fare was only surpassed when it came to family weddings. I can still almost taste those dinners, the preparation of which had gone on for days beforehand. Another intriguing smell was that of perfume, yes perfume, strange you make think. It was customary at Christmas for the landlord’s wife to bear Christmas presents to all the family members and being as Mum and three sisters invariably got expensive perfume, the likes of which didn’t appear on the shelves at ‘Boots the Chemists’, those strong and seasonal fragrances linger on to this day. In fact, my first bottle of aftershave came via this route, a strange present for a 13-yearold, I thought, as shaving was far from my mind at the time. The thought did, however, cross my mind that I could probably have bought a box of fourten cartridges for the cost of the bottle. Little did I know but I could probably have got two, that is as it, maybe, but I can still remember the name of that aftershave some 60 years later, ‘Tang’.

By now you are probably saying what has all this to do with that first gun? Well, those Christmas presents didn’t arrive from the big house until mid-afternoon. By then I had been practising with that popgun since six o’clock in the morning. We couldn’t resist getting up at ungodly hours on Christmas mornings to open our presents, following the emptying of a stocking full of goodies that were always lying at the end of the bed. The little gun had come as part of an arcade type game that consisted of a number of coloured crows sat on a steel rod, which rotated when hit by the little corks. Six crows all sat in a row, each being adorned with a point total 20 for yellow (two off) 30 for green (two off), 50 for red (one off) and finally, one black crow valued at 100 points.

When the party from the big house arrived, Richard, the oldest son formed part of the entourage. Richard was already keen on shooting and it wasn’t long before we had a little competition going, Dad, Richard and me. Five shots each with Mum keeping scores. I don’t know to this day if they let me win or not, but win I did and being as I only missed that old black crow once, I doubt if they could have beaten me anyway. When Mum finally announced the scores, Richard announced, Chip off the old block, Bill, it won’t be long before he’s the scourge of the local rabbit population. How true those words proved to be.

Part 2 – Guns and Things

That little popgun started a love affair with guns that has never left me to this day. I didn’t receive a real one, however, until the tender age of eight, when yet another Christmas came around. There was no escaping however well camouflaged and wrapped that present was, exactly what it contained. I couldn’t contain my excitement but wait a minute, should I at least open the other presents first and get that task out of the way so that I could give my full and undivided attention to what really mattered. No, let’s get it opened and at least see what it looks like.

As it turned out, it was a basic break barrel Diana 177 calibre, I can’t remember the model number now, but that didn’t matter to me at the time, this was all I had wanted since I had received that popgun years earlier, a real gun. Hang on a minute though, no pellets must be in with the other presents. I had virtually finished opening all of the other presents but still no pellets. I had, though, found some targets and a holder, they would at least be helpful if I just had some ammunition. It was about this time that Mum took sympathy on me and said, Dad has what you’re looking for; you’ll get them when he has had a word with you after he gets in from the yard. By the time Dad came in from his morning chores, I had become very familiar with the little gun for quite some time had passed. Christmas or not the cows had to be milked, the pigs fed etc. As soon as I heard him enter the kitchen, I was there like a flash. I hadn’t even opened my mouth when Mum butted in, Your Dad’s having his breakfast and then opening his presents before he sees to you. But Mum— I proclaimed.

No buts, came the stern reply, end of the conversation, Mum’s word was law in our house. It seemed like an eternity before Dad finally took me aside and gave me a pep talk on safety and then said, Go and get your gun and let’s have a go then.

We found a quiet corner out in the yard, set up the target and moved back about ten yards. Dad gave some instruction on the sights, pulled out a tin of 500 pellets from his pocket, loaded the gun and I got to fire the first shot. I’d like to say it was smack in the centre of the bull’s eye, but let’s go in for a little honesty here, I had missed the target completely.

What you doing – Dad chortled – give me a go. Dad’s attempt wasn’t much better, but at least it just crept onto the target. Sights need adjusting a little, Son, do you see these knobs, this one makes it shoot higher, this one alters it left or right.

Ten shots later, we had the pellets on or around the bull. I’ll have to leave you now, Son, Mum will wonder where I am, don’t be out here too long there are other people to consider today and remember if I catch you pointing that gun at anyone or being dangerous with it, it will be taken off you and you won’t get it back for a very long time.

Okay, Dad, I’ll not be long.

I stayed out far too long because my sister was sent to bring me in for dinner, but by then, I had a target with ten pellet holes, all within an inch of the bull to show to Dad. All my free time from then on saw me with that little gun to hand and I was the scourge of the local sparrow and starling population, which became the ferret’s staple diet from then on. Each subsequent Christmas or at the latest every two years would see me with a new and more powerful Diana until at the age of 13, I had moved up to the dizzy heights of a model 25, which came complete with telescopic sights.

One very important lesson had been learnt on route however, one that saw me without a gun for over a month. On Boxing Day following the Christmas when I received the Diana model 23, my Uncle Tom and Aunty Bobby came for dinner. As was the norm I had been out with the new gun most of the morning sighting it in and doing a little plinking. I couldn’t wait to show it to Uncle Tom after dinner. All were assembled in the front room and sat down with a cup of tea when I went to collect the gun from its home under the stairs. I walked into the front room lifted the gun which inadvertently passed in front of Aunty Bobby, she grabbed the barrel, thrust it towards the ceiling saying, Never point a gun at anyone.

Sorry, Aunty, it was an accident – which it was – it isn’t loaded anyway, came my reply.

Doesn’t matter, retorted Aunty, you don’t point that thing at anyone.

Look, I said as I broke and cocked the gun to show to all present that it hadn’t even been cocked let alone loaded, pointing it to the ceiling and pulling the trigger, expecting just a blast of air. Imagine my horror when three pellets entered the ceiling; they had obviously got stuck during the morning session and decided to vacate the barrel now. Absolute silence, not a word was said, Dad took the gun off me, locked it away and I was sent to my bedroom to contemplate the event. I didn’t know what to think nor do, the thought kept coming into my mind that I could so easily have shot my aunty.

As was usual it was Mum who came to the rescue sometime later. With a hand ruffling my hair she said, I know you didn’t mean it, Son, but remember guns are dangerous if handled incorrectly and don’t ever let one be pointed at anyone again, now go and say you’re sorry. I can remember going and saying sorry to Aunty Bobby, a most humbling experience, which saw me breaking down in tears, but never was a more valuable lesson learned. I can with hand on heart say that never since that day have I ever let even an empty gun be pointed at anyone. I did further compound the error by making the mistake of asking Mum if she thought I could have my gun back after about a week.

No, and you have extended the period before you get it back by asking, you will get it back when your dad and I think you’ve earned it. It was a month later before Dad finally let me have my gun back.

I hope you have learned your lesson. Yes, Dad, and I had.

Even if I do say so myself, I became very proficient with those air rifles and there weren’t many vermin species that I hadn’t accounted for with them, especially the latest model that had sufficient power to account for both rabbits and crows. The secret was to get close enough to ensure a clean kill. This in itself made me very good at woodcraft and interpreting the ways of creatures both large and small.

Although I had never religiously studied the creatures that abounded in the area surrounding the farm, I don’t think there was a single bird, insect, tree or indeed plant that was commonly encountered that I couldn’t recognise. Mother often commented that if I put half as much effort into my schoolwork, I would go a long way, unfortunately, I never did.

As to how I acquired this knowledge I am not quite sure, I did have access to a good set of encyclopaedias (which I still possess) and I was constantly delving into the natural history sections. Most, however, must have come from Dad for there appeared nothing that he didn’t know about the countryside in general, but I can’t remember asking him that many questions, strange.

Part 3 – Exploration

All my early years were spent ever-expanding my selfimposed boundaries. The whole estate was an Aladdin’s cave to me and every area had to be visited with all its treasures stored to memory for future use. Until I was seven or eight, I was very reluctant to lose sight of the farm or the Hall itself, the only exception to this being the shrubbery, which was attached to the Hall’s gardens. This area, in turn, led to Grisedale, one of the larger blocks of deciduous forestry on the estate. For some reason, I felt quite safe here and I spent hours and hours explored here. By the time I was ten or 11, there