Rabbiting On

An enthusiastic and loyal reader - Stuffer, you guessed - with whom I was sharing a modest glass in The King's Wotsit off the Kings Road, has suggested that this column is a little too devoted to the pleasures of the countryside as seen with benefit of gun. He welcomed the recent brief excursion into the strange and dubious pleasures of fishing, but urged exploration of the yet wider shores of men hunting supper.

This threw me a bit, I  must admit - the old gun cabinet contains a modest range of shooting implements suitable for pheasant, rabbits, pigeons, geese, and even grouse - not much used that one. But what else did he have in mind?

"Bow and arrow, mate, bow and arrow".

This threw me no end. I mean, when was the last  time you saw a woodland edge with eight or nine chaps lined up in plus fours and flat caps with great bows and a quiver full of Hull Cartridge Company arrows? Though I suppose at least it would be a lot easier to resolve those disputed birds if each bow had his own coloured arrows.

I asked what had brought this on.

"Ah well, old son, it was actually a Welsh Rabbit the missus produced the other night for supper"

"Welsh Rarebit you mean" I responded rather primly (one likes to keep standards up).

"No no, Welsh Rabbit, that's what made me think of it. Welsh Rarebit is just your posh English name."

"Well, whether it's a rare rabbit or whatever it is, I don't see what it has to do with bows and arrows"

And he explained thus:

"Most people think that it was the English yeoman that developed the skill at the longbow that defeated the Frenchies at Agincourt, but actually it all began in the Welsh valleys. Lots of yew to make good strong flexible bows, and not much else to do in the valleys except target practice, let's face it. So, the Welsh got pretty good at it.  Then the English barons got wind of all this and started sending their fit young soldiers to improve their skills. They had always shot arrows for food in the fields and warrens but they weren't used to the much bigger yew bows of the Welsh.

This all went very well and soon the English had strengthened their right arms (well, except the left handed ones of course) and they suggested that it was time to practice under battlefield conditions. How about, the English suggested, an element of a sporting contest to sharpen the wits. And a sporting contest to fill the larder would be even better.

So a rabbit hunt was organised, two teams, Welsh and English. Along the valley and onto the hills. The English of course were used to rabbit hunting so they soon had a pretty impressive bag.  But the poor old Welsh were only used to standing targets and by the end of the day they had only a couple of bunnies between them.

So when that evening the soldiers strolled into the medieval thatched olde welshe village, naturally the English soldiers were hunks of the month and got the rabbit stew  with onions and...er...onions, whilst the Welsh with nul bunnies just got the usual cheese on toast.  As the English soldiers passed by on their way to stuff themselves with rabbit with all the extras they saw the poor valley boys miserably eating cheese on toast, and to cheer them up in that jolly English way, shouted sneeringly, "Call that Welsh Rabbit?!?!"   Absolutely true."

I looked at Stuffer and his empty glass.

"Do you seriously think I am going to put junk like that in my blog?"

He waved his glass at the barman and pointed meaningfully at the beer pump.

"Yes".