A bird collector’s gun

ust beside my village is a large area of natural wetland, a boggy ground with shallow water, rushes and willow. It is teaming with bird life and I well remember as a boy, full of trepidation, trying to wade into it to collect birds’ eggs. As was the prevailing agricultural thought at the time, during the 1970s, the local farmer received a huge grant and drained all the land, and barley flourished where once it