The healing power of sport

It was a still, soft October morning. I was feeding my pheasants and enjoying every minute of it, because there were lots of birds on show and already they looked more or less ready for sport. There was still over a fortnight to go before the first shoot.

Slowly I walked from ride to ride. There were pheasants on all of them, the trees were glowing yellow and gold, robins were singing their sad autumn song and, whenever the gentle breeze roused itself for a minute or two, it brought the soft thud of crab apples and acorns on to the fallen leaves.

It was lovely and peaceful and, in my contentment, my thoughts turned by