IN this case ignorance is almost criminal, rather than bliss, as England has magnificent rural areas, although much of it tends to be over-manicured by the number of people living here. Indeed, what we call a village would be a significant town in South Africa.
And as for the infamous weather – the sole positive spin-off of incessant rain is that everything is exuberantly lush in the fields.
Winston Churchill once described England as a ‘green and pleasant land’ and it’s true; there is barely a day when it is either too hot or too cold to go outdoors.
However, few people seem to go outdoors these days. In fact, most city Brits think the Green Party is the outdoors lobby group, and nothing could be further from the truth.
The UK Green Party is not a political party – it’s the moonbat religion of the metro elite who have zero understanding of the ethos of the countryside. They worship the mythical goddess Gaia and believe humans are a blight on the landscape.
In fact, the Greens have done more damage to conservation than almost anything else. I mean, when you get people who would rather have a field of wind turbines that generates enough electricity to kickstart a candle than woodland, the discussion is over.
Renewed hope
But once every year I get renewed hope for this green and pleasant land and that is when the Country Fairs do the rounds during summer.
These shows basically celebrate outdoor pursuits and crafts and remind us that life doesn’t have to be bricks and mortar. Management and I have just been to one such fair at Highclere Castle, which is close by, and it really brings the countryside to life.
Highclere is a famous landmark; it’s where the hit series Downton Abbey was filmed and is home to the Carnarvon blueboods who have owned the castle since 1679. I reckon at least 50 000 people attended the show the day we were there. That’s rock festival status, which as I say, gives me hope for the countryside.
A true Brit country fair is basically a splendid stepback in time. If you have a shotgun you are encouraged to bring it along and pot a few clays, unlike anywhere else in England where people take smelling salts if they see a weapon.
If you have a game dog, they want you to bring it too – as long as you clean up the pooh. And if you like a dram or two of Highland best … well, bring management along to drive you home.
The key thing about these shows are that they are family-orientated and kids watch fascinated as trained falcons drop out the sky like bullets to nail a pigeon.
Enthralled
They gaze enthralled as endangered owls stand on their perches while their owners say unless we protect the countryside, these sleepy-eyed beauties are doomed.
They listen engrossed as countrymen describe in rich Yorkshire brogue how to hunt rabbits with ferrets. Or catch and release sea trout on Welsh rivers in the pitch darkness of midnight.
My favourite is a weather beaten old Cornishman call Chris ‘The Countryman’ Green, an expert hunter-gatherer who tells of stalking wildfowl on the salt marshes as a streaky-pink Atlantic morning breaks.
I will probably never hunt on salt marshes, but as Chris talks, you are vividly transported to an eelgrass estuary on a misty fast running tide. With him is his dog Jake, a tail-thumping golden Labrador who doesn’t budge until Chris gives a whistle, and then quick as the wind dodges the decoys to pick up a rubber goose that Chris has ‘shot’.
It’s so realistic that for a fleeting moment I thought Chris had actually bagged a bird.
Chris ends his superb demonstration by saying, ‘I know most of you are tucked in your warm beds while I’m out on the marshes… but statistics show that more people die in their beds than anywhere else. So get out there!’
Indeed.
