For an easy way to use up the last of the garden's raspberry harvest, try Philippa Davis' raspberry, cardamom and custard tart
A pretty pud that makes the most of the garden harvest.
Make a pretty pud with the last of the garden’s raspberry harvest. Philippa Davis’ raspberry, cardamom and custard tart is guaranteed to go down a treat. And if you don’t have any raspberries to hand, blackberries and currants work equally well.
For more puds perfect for supper parties, try our roast plum mousse with pistachio praline. It is the perfect contrast of tart, fruity plums and softly whipped cream and egg whites.
RASPBERRY, CARDAMOM AND CUSTARD TART
This is a pretty and delicious way to use up the last of the summer raspberries from the garden, although it also works brilliantly with blackberries and currants.
300g shortcrust pastry
For the filling
400ml double cream
1½ tsp ground cardamom
½ tsp vanilla powder
5 egg yolks
70g caster sugar
150g raspberries, plus a few extra
Plain yogurt to serve
28cm fluted loose-bottomed tart tin
Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4.
Roll out the pastry into the tart shell pressing it well into the sides, then trim and prick the bottom with a fork.
Chill in the fridge for 30 minutes.
Line with parchment and fill with baking beans and cook for 15 minutes.
Remove the paper and cook for a further five to eight minutes or until the pastry has started to go golden. Remove from the oven and leave to cool on a rack.
Lower the oven temperature to 160°C/325°F/Gas Mark 3.
To make the filling, in a small saucepan add the double cream, cardamom and vanilla powder and bring to a simmer.
Crack the egg yolks into a bowl and whisk in the sugar, then whisk in the hot cream.
Pour into the pastry case and dot over the raspberries.
Bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until the tart is just set – there should be no wobble in the middle.
Take out of the oven and leave to cool completely before cutting. Serve with spoonfuls of yogurt.
The Mercedes Benz E-Class All-Terrain is enough to make folk in the Shires go weak at the knees – an estate car with off-road credentials. But Charlie Flindt won’t be replacing his farm truck just yet
The raised suspension on the All-Terrain will cope with a muddy track but not much more.
Few cars will be greeted with as much joy as an estate car with off-road ability. The Mercedes Benz E-Class All-Terrain ticks all of these boxes. But Charlie Flindt will be hanging on to his farm truck for a little while longer.
For more cars that prove useful on the farm, the Suzuki Ignis Allgrip is, rather surprisingly, the perfect runaround.
MERCEDES BENZ E-CLASS ALL-TERRAIN
We country folk love a good estate car – and we like our estate cars even more if they come with a bit of off-road ability: a bit of cladding here, an extra pair of driven wheels, a soupçon of raised suspension. Study the point-to-point car park and you could be forgiven for thinking that we prefer them to the SUVs that tumble in their thousands out of the showrooms and onto the drives of our urban cousins.
The dashboard has the appearance of a long, thin iPad.
Estate cars don’t come much better that the Mercedes Benz E-Class, and you can imagine the joy out in the Shires as the All-Terrain version arrived complete with cladding, four-wheel drive and raised suspension.
The inside is a curious mix. The dashboard seems to have fallen victim to the “we must appeal to the yoof” concept, looking like a long, thin, horizontal iPad. There’s also an odd control pod sitting in the middle of the centre console, masking perfectly the buttons on the other side of it. But gadgets and gizmos aside, the interior is lovely. Room in the front is good, although the steeply raked A pillar is a bit of a nuisance; room in the back is better and the load area in the boot is vast. Put the back seats down flat and the floor extends to more than two metres. The self-opening boot sounds just like the “no no no cat” off YouTube, which I found hugely entertaining for at least 10 minutes, even if no-one else did.
Mercedes obviously know us better than we thought; the All-Terrain comes with only one choice of engine, the long-serving and excellent three-litre V6 diesel, which is all we want. No hybrid nonsense or underpowered power plants for the sake of tax efficiency; give us plenty of cubic inches of oil-burner and be done with it. It’s enough for some serious performance in a big car, even if the fuel economy is a tad 1980s for the same reason.
Like a true off-roader, the car also has cladding.
The raised suspension is useful on a muddy track but not for deep mud, therefore the All-Terrain is never going to replace my farm truck. While it sounds a lot in millimetres, it’s only in fact a couple of inches.
Leaving aside the metric/imperial debate, there’s another crucial reason why the All-Terrain fails in its claim to be “all terrain”: the tyres. I was strolling round it, pretending it was mine. There’s no spare wheel (instant black mark), so I’d buy one to replace the idiotic glue kit. What size would I need? The number on the back wheels says 275/35 R20. So that’s what I’d need for the inevitable off-roading puncture. But a different number caught my eye as I passed the front wheel: 245/40. I know the boot is spacious but I’m damned if I’m carrying two sizes of spare around. No, no, no, Mercedes (as the internet cat would say): give us four equal wheels and a proper spare in the boot. Otherwise, you’re soft-roading, with the Waitrose and the point-to-point car parks being the limit of your ambition. And as much as we love the E-Class estate, that’s not All-Terrain.
With a degree in biology and PhD in molecular biology Dr Nina Krüger now works as a journalist, advocating our right to be part of the landscape
Dr Nina Krüger's passion for hunting was sparked by a trip to a high seat with her father.
Dr Nina Krüger’s passion for hunting was sparked by a trip to a high seat with her father. With a degree in biology and PhD in molecular biology, she now works as a journalist and campaigner.
For more sporting Dianas, seriously sporting ladies offering advice and encouragement, Polly Portwin is encouraging others to speak up for the sports they love as Campaign Manager at the Countryside Alliance. And Désirée Lantz is following in the footsteps of her late father and is a qualified Professional Hunter, impressive shot and dog handler.
DR NINA KRÜGER
I am the eldest of four siblings. My father, a country vet, introduced us early to the biological order of nature and I recall vividly the day he took me roe-buck hunting for the first time. I had joined him on rabbit hunts and pigeon shoots before but rarely went with him to a high seat – probably because I was too young to sit still.
That evening, he decided to give it a try. We waited and watched and a roe buck appeared, marking its territory. My dad ordered me to cover my ears but I was already shivering and my teeth chattering – buck fever had hit me hard. The high seat was shaking so badly it was impossible for him to shoot. Luckily, this buck was meant for us. It was still beating bushes and scratching the ground by the time I had calmed down.
That night woke my passion for hunting. In summer, I went pigeon shooting with my dad after school, competing to see whose labrador could retrieve the most birds. I bred ferrets for rabbiting and made plans to take the hunting licence exam myself as early as possible. The plan was made without taking puberty into account. As a teenager, my interest in the countryside declined. I even became a vegetarian for some years, only breaking this self-imposed nutritional rule for the occasional venison dinner prepared by my mother on holidays.
Things levelled out when I finished school, and choosing biology over veterinary medicine was the extent of my rebellion against family traditions. Halfway through university my desire to hunt reawakened. While studying human evolution, I realised that I had to hunt for the meat on my plate myself if I truly wanted to deserve it.
In my childhood, small game was abundant in Northern Germany, while wild boar were still scarce. How things have changed. Diseases such as RHD [Rabbit Haemorrhagic Disease], changes in farming practices and new hunting laws have eliminated many small game species from the quarry list.
Post-doctorate, her desire to enter the political debate grew and she now speaks out as JÄGER magazine’s editor for biological and scientific topics.
The wild boar population, on the other hand, has grown massively, in common with most wild ungulate populations in Europe. In my hunting area north of Hamburg, they are now the main game besides roe deer. Wild boar are exciting and difficult to outsmart, though roe deer remain my favourite quarry. Beautiful, elegant, underestimated little warriors, I would ditch almost anything for a good stalk in the middle of summer.
When it comes to equipment, I am a purist. My rifle is a tool that I want to control to perfection. The common thought that only moving targets are difficult is fallacious in my eyes – buck fever, uneven terrain and a flinch can ruin everything if shooting has not become instinctive.
Although I have done a lot of long-range shooting on ranges, I am not a fan of shooting quarry at distances much over 100 metres. A friend of mine once said, “Anyone who shoots over 120 metres is a horrendous stalker”, and he is right. Ethical hunting for me means perfecting technique before aiming at a living object. Nevertheless, for some years, especially during my PhD research, hunting remained a hobby. When working post-doctorate, my desire to enter the political debate surrounding hunting started to grow. The field of nature conservation was now dominated by the greenies and NGOs because hunters had stayed quiet. New laws threatened many traditional hunting practices and, along with the rapidly growing wolf population in Germany, the voices claiming that human hunters are outdated become louder.
As JÄGER magazine’s editor for biological and scientific topics, I am able to speak out. My main focus is the controversial rewilding of rural landscapes. The international network of sceptics is growing every day, especially as the reintroduction of large predators into our densely populated landscapes seems to create more problems than benefits in an ecosystem that has had centuries to evolve without them. Something their proponents are unwilling to admit.
I also report regularly on latest developments in wildlife biology research. Last year, I followed the German research team of the Game Conservancy Deutschland, led by Dr Daniel Hoffmann, with a camera team at Glenogil estate in Scotland – a traditional grouse moor. The result is an impressive document about the biodiversity potential of managed landscapes, which would quickly lose their abundance of species if left unattended (view it here).
TOP TIP:Never stop learning. As hunters, it is our duty to know as much about biology as possible: population structures, breeding times, age assessment. Sound knowledge allows us to hunt ethically and sustainably. It is part of the respect we owe to nature for the bountiful table it is offering – and the best armour against critics.
Does introducing a puppy to your one-canine household put the older dog’s nose out of joint? David Tomlinson advises on how to introduce a puppy
Older dog Rowan and newcomer Emma enjoying each other's company on a hot day.
Ensuring a new recruit is welcomed by long-standing residents can be a tricky business. David Tomlinson advises on how to introduce a puppy to an older dog, having successfully integrated sprocker puppy Emma into the pack.
There are many considerations to weigh up when looking for a new pup, including which breed. Read best spaniel breed: a new companion for David Tomlinson’s musings on which spaniel is top dog.
HOW TO INTRODUCE A PUPPY
It was a question from a Field reader that has inspired this month’s column.
“Recent family discussions have centred around getting a new puppy; we already have a 12-year-old labrador. This poses a question, following a comment made by a family friend. If we bring a puppy into the home, will the old dog feel she is being replaced? Our friend said they sense you have brought home a replacement. We certainly don’t want her to feel like that. We had never thought about it before but now the question has been raised, it has made us stop and think. Does the resident see the younger model entering the family home and feel their days are numbered?”
Introducing a new puppy to a long-established resident is a tricky business, and one that I wouldn’t have felt qualified to comment on a year ago. However, regular readers of Sporting Dog will know that a sprocker spaniel puppy called Emma joined the Tomlinson household this summer, posing the challenge of how to introduce her to Rowan, the 12-year-old resident springer. We bred Rowan, as we did her mother, and her mother before that, so after a long succession of mothers and daughters it was the first time we had had a new recruit for many years.
Initially, we favoured taking on a rescue dog. A quick search on the internet revealed a worryingly large number of gundogs looking for a new home, mostly through no fault of their own. We eventually decided
on a puppy as we were far from confident that Rowan would tolerate another adult moving into her territory. Since her mother died at the age of 15, two years ago, Rowan has been top dog.
I suspect our concerns were largely unfounded, as a succession of friends’ dogs stay with us during the year. As I write this there’s an elderly cavalier in temporary residence, the presence of which is totally ignored by Rowan. She does, in fact, ignore most of our canine visitors, with the notable exception of her two litter brothers, both of whom stay frequently. She tolerates visitors using her bed, usually because she is sleeping in theirs, and the only hard rule is that she won’t share her dinner bowl with anyone.
I asked various friends as to the best technique for introducing a puppy to an old dog. One idea I rather liked was hiding the puppy in the garden and letting the old dog discover it. The idea is that the old dog somehow feels responsible for the new puppy and tolerates it accordingly. I think that this is somewhat anthropomorphic, but it an idea with an appealing charm.
THE DIRECT APPROACH
Instead, we opted for a rather more direct approach. Rowan was taken with us when we went to collect the puppy, and the two spaniels had an hour’s journey in the car together on the way home. In fact, they didn’t actually travel together but the old dog would certainly have been aware of the puppy in the car. They had a more formal introduction in our kitchen, with Rowan giving us a look that assured us she was appalled that this small bundle of mischief was moving in.
For the next two or three days Rowan remained aloof, curling her lip if the puppy came too close, which of course she did. Then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, Rowan accepted the newcomer, permitted her ears to be pulled and was quite happy to indulge in long and noisy rough-and-tumbles. Emma was clearly accepted as a member of the pack. Even more surprisingly, Rowan appeared protective of her new companion when they encountered other dogs on their first walks together.
Perhaps we were lucky but there’s no doubt now that the two are firm friends, with Emma happy to climb into bed with her godmother. Of course, Rowan wouldn’t dream of getting into bed with Emma, but we long ago noticed that daughters will happily climb into their mother’s bed but never the other way round. Only the dinner bowl rule remains: it is Rowan’s private property and never to be shared. They will, however, cheerfully lick a plate together if it is held for them.
Rowan has never been a jealous dog, which might explain why she has been happy to befriend Emma. If you know that your older dog is of a jealous disposition, then introducing a new puppy is likely to be a far harder and more stressful experience. Most adult dogs are mentally programmed never to hurt a puppy, mouthing them with their teeth but never actually biting. A jealous dog, on the other hand, might inflict serious damage on a puppy, something to be aware of. Meetings must be carefully chaperoned.
One modern essential when introducing a new puppy is a cage or crate to house it in. This is the puppy’s sanctuary, somewhere it feels 100% safe. Should the puppy pester the older dog persistently, then it can be shut away until it calms down. Similarly, the puppy can be fed in the cage without the risk of the older dog stealing its supper.
Lastly, dogs live for the present and don’t look into the future. I’m confident that Rowan doesn’t think that Emma is her replacement. If she did, then perhaps she wouldn’t have been so welcoming.
With cold weather comes comfort food. Try Philippa Davis' pheasant, madeira and kale pie with cheddar and caraway pastry to warm the cockles
This pheasant pie is rich and creamy, and uses a cooking method that ensures the meat stays moist and tender.
Philippa Davis’ pheasant, madeira and kale pie with cheddar and caraway pastry makes the perfect comfort food supper for when the temperatures drop. Rich and creamy, the cooking method ensures the meat stays moist and tender. Or multiply the ingredients and serve it for shoot lunch.
PHEASANT, MADEIRA AND KALE PIE WITH CHEDDAR AND CARAWAY PASTRY
The perfect way to use up your brace – or introduce others to the taste of game. This pie serves two – simply multiply the ingredients to cater for the correct number of guns and guests.
Serves 2
1 pheasant
1 tsp fine sea salt
1 white onion, peeled and thinly sliced
100g smoked lardons
2 sticks celery, finely chopped
2 tbsp olive oil
70g raw kale, blanched in boiling, salted water until just cooked
1 x sheet of ready-rolled puff pastry
1 egg yolk
1 tbsp milk
20cm wide x 4cm deep circular pie dish
PASTRY
250g plain flour
50g cold lard
50g cold butter
50g strong cheddar
2 tsp caraway seeds
2-4 tbsp ice-cold water
SAUCE
50g butter
1½ tbsp plain flour
300ml milk
4 tbsp crème fraîche
20g finely chopped tarragon
35ml Madeira or cream sherry
Place the flour in a bowl and grate in the butter, lard and cheddar using the large holes on the grater. Sprinkle in the caraway seeds and mix well.
Add enough iced water to bring the dough together into a disk.
On a lightly floured surface roll out the pastry and line your pie dish. Trim the edges and rest in the fridge for one hour.
To make the filling, preheat oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4.
Place the pheasant in a large pot of cold water and bring to a simmer; cook for one hour or until the bird is cooked through.
Remove from the pan (keep the liquid for stock), leave to cool then remove the meat and cut into small chunks.
In another saucepan, sauté the onions, celery and lardons in the olive oil until soft, take off the heat and stir in the blanched kale and chopped pheasant. Check for seasoning.
To make the sauce, in a saucepan, melt the butter then add the flour, slowly whisk in the milk and cook until thickened. Stir in the crème fraîche, tarragon and madeira and season.
Stir the sauce into the pheasant mix then pour into the pie dish.
Top with puffed pastry, using a pie bird or add a few slits in the top to let out steam.
Mix the egg yolk and milk together and brush the top.
Bake for 40 minutes or until the centre is piping hot and the pastry golden brown.
Once an inconvenient by-product, demand for straw is rising fast as it is used for everything from animal fodder to fuel. Could its worth outstrip that of grain, wonders Tim Field
Once an inconvenient by-product, demand for straw is rising.
Straw used to be an inconvenient by-product, but now demand is rising as it is used for everything from animal fodder to fuel, says Tim Field.
For more on farming, read about the conservation farmers restoring wildlife on their land making a powerful case for Government funding in exchange for public benefits post Brexit.
RISING DEMAND FOR STRAW
Creeping up a field margin is my idea of an evening well spent. Eyes peeled for two ears poking above the corn. Once the dock-leaf imposters have been ruled out, the glasses go up to spy between the ears, hoping for a set of antlers for the stalk to continue. As summer turns to autumn the combine harvester passes by and with it goes the roe buck rut. The stage is set to venture out with decoys, build a hide from a few bales and ambush the woodies as their banquet of chaff and grain spoils is revealed.
Whether standing or baled, in the field, the pen or the stable, straw is a welcome accessory for the field sportsman – certainly valued more highly than by the rushing commuter or tardy school-mum stuck behind yet another bale-carting tractor-trailer. This year more than ever, farms are also appreciating the value of straw. In July, record prices were reported with a standing acre yielding £200 in straw alone.
Historically, conflicts for straw supplies would have been between building and thatching material, animal fodder and bedding. With more mixed farms in the past, the latter would ordinarily be generated on-farm and markets more localised. However, with modern agriculture seeing a national split – with arable dominating the eastern counties and livestock to the west – and increasing demand from other markets, the price and supply of straw has become highly volatile for farmers.
Today, we see additional conflicts for straw. In a bid to increase soil organic matter where livestock is absent, there is an argument for chopping the harvested straw and returning it back to the soil. This would certainly be a favourable option if wet weather persisted during the baling-time window. There are other benefits to chopping straw, from reduced handling effort, carting and thus less issues of soil compaction. However, those who do manage to bale their straw now have a healthy demand from biofuel power plants, which are hungry for any surplus. Sadly, those in fixed contracts with the power plants won’t see the benefits of the current rocketing prices, yet they contribute to the overall increased demand and financial pain for those livestock farms looking to buy.
THE NEW PLASTIC
With plastic disparaged by consumers, and biodegradable and natural materials favoured, there are interesting innovations in packaging. Straw can now find its way into a variety of plant-based materials and as global chains such as McDonald’s and Starbucks yield to pressure and ban plastic straws, perhaps it won’t be long before they follow our recent steps to introduce rustic but functional wheat drinking straws.
Expansion into new markets will have helped accelerate demand and consequential price rises but ultimately the past 18 months have seen the perfect storm of equally short supply. The dry spring in 2017 led to poor development, followed by a wet harvest that restricted ability to bale, followed by a prolonged winter putting huge demand on dwindling supplies, followed by 2018’s summer drought that will no doubt leave us short again. Many farms will have prayed for decent harvest conditions to break this cycle, otherwise more heads will be turning to bedding alternatives, such as the poorer grass crops, waste paper, recycled wood shavings or sawdust.
Reflecting on the primary purpose of straw – a stem upon which the grain grows, ripens away from pests and disease, and presents for harvest – the failure to perform this essential role can also spell misery. A field of flattened corn is a sorry sight and this “lodging” can result in a yield dip of up to 75%. There are numerous causes of lodging, from excessive fertiliser application to disease, but, ultimately, top-heavy, high-yielding varieties combined with adverse weather and soil conditions are the principle contributors to a crop’s downfall. In a bid to overcome the risk of lodging, plant growth regulators are applied, or varieties bred to have shorter straw length. It is yet another factor contributing to the rising value of a bail. With farmers in spring joking that a tonne of straw will be more expensive than a tonne of wheat, straw is now seldom seen as an inconvenient by-product.
Owen Williams explains his affinity for woodcock and tells Janet Menzies why he’s started painting on vellum – and prefers to venture out at dusk
Flighting, by Owen Williams.
Owen Williams’ work is inspired by watching wildlife at a time that belongs to nature, rather than humans. He explains his affinity for to Janet Menzies, and why he has started painting on vellum.
For more sporting artists, for Juliet Cursham travel was the best form of training. And Katrina Slack’s work doesn’t just depict environmental damage, but incorporates it.
OWEN WILLIAMS
Without much regard for whether the word exists or not, Owen Williams describes himself as a “crepusculophile”. A quick check online shows that it doesn’t. Asked to define the term, he says: “I have always loved the dusk. Really that was what inspired my first sporting painting, when I was 15 or 16 years old. I had read Peter Scott’s Eye of the Wind and that made me want to seek the excitement of being outdoors, to experience for myself those sounds of the wind and the geese. I made myself a decoy out of polystyrene tiles and painted it in teal colours and set off without much optimism to see if I could decoy a duck. It was a January evening. There was still snow laying in the lee of the rushes. It was getting darker and colder, and then this teal drake landed next to my decoy. The tingle I felt – it had actually happened. I wanted to flush the bird and shoot it fairly, so I walked to the edge of the water with my single-barrel shotgun and it got up and flew… I hadn’t taken the safety catch off. I was livid with myself. But I walked down off the moor and I thought that was such an amazing experience and I had to get it on paper. That was my first crepuscular moment.”
Flushed.
Ever since, Williams’ work has been infused with the emotions generated by watching wildlife as it inhabits a time of day that belongs to nature rather than humans – the crepuscular. A wild boar trots across a snowy ride, lit more by moonlight than daylight. A stag holding hinds pauses for a moment as the shadows lengthen below a Scottish ben. And woodcock in the dusk, just fleeting shadows glimpsed against a paler sky. “My favourite pastime is watching woodcock flight out to feed on a cold winter’s evening,” he says. “In 2007, I started a project to ring woodcock. In France, Yves Ferrand had pioneered a technique to catch and ring woodcock, so I began working with the GWCT to establish woodcock ringing as an activity across the UK. Now we have the Woodcock Network of more than 30 enthusiasts all over the country, ringing about 1,500 woodcock each year.
“I introduced geolocating trackers so you can follow the birds on their massive migrations. Olwyn was a favourite. She went off to Russia and raised a brood and I was watching her return journey, hoping to see her back in Wales again – but she went to Hull instead. Then the next year she went to Lincolnshire. Seeing all this happening gives you great respect for these extraordinary birds as individuals. I give talks on woodcock and I detect that people are changing their shooting attitudes as they gain an insight into the birds. It is exciting because I want to communicate about sustainable and ethical shooting.
REAL ROUGH SHOOTING
“I pick-up on snipe shoots. That’s real rough shooting, and it is amazing. You see wildlife that otherwise you would never come across. I grew up living in the moment of being in landscape and in wilderness, and the frisson you only get with hunting in that environment. I think even on commercial shoots there is a mood of people feeling culturally it is not cool any more to be shooting large numbers of driven birds.”
Williams funds some of the Woodcock Network’s research through selling his bronze woodcock sculptures. Purchasers can get involved in the tagging of a woodcock and then follow its movements online. “Each bronze comes with its own reference number and accompanying book. If I manage to recapture their woodcock and download the migration data I send a supplementary page.”
Scolopax.
Recently, Williams has begun painting on vellum. He explains: “I found a reproduction of the Book of Kells in a second-hand bookshop and was enthralled by the quality of the illuminating, so decided to incorporate it in my work. Vellum is still available from just one company, William Cowley Ltd, who still produce the vellum used in Hansard. Learning how to use gold leaf on the illumination was a big learning curve but it came out well in the end. The watercolour is a difficult medium as vellum is so much less absorbent but I found I could add gouache and I am pleased with the way it came out. I chose woodcock and hare as my first two subjects as they have a mythic quality about them. I have always felt the communication between the hunter and his quarry, and I want to reflect that in my work.”
Williams is a member of Redspot artists group, currently putting together an exhibition at All Hallows-on-the-Wall, City of London, in aid of XLP, a charity working with inner-city youths (www.xlp.org.uk).
Philippa Davis' spiced squash bread is excellent for shoot elevenses. Or keep for surreptitious snacking, smothered in butter
Grill for breakfast, enjoy alongside soup or serve for elevenses.
Philippa Davis’ spiced squash bread is as versatile as it is delicious. Eat it at any time of day. Grill for breakfast, smother in butter for snacking or enjoy alongside a comforting bowl of autumnal soup. Or this recipe will make more than enough for shoot elevenses. You can’t go wrong with this guaranteed crowd-pleaser.
This is somewhere between a loaf, a bread and a cake. It is suitable for breakfast, lightly grilled, as a snack smothered with butter or it makes the perfect accompaniment to a warming bowl of autumnal soup. Each loaf weighs a pound, and loaves will freeze well.
Makes 2 loaves
1 x onion squash, weighing about 700g
300g light brown sugar
200g butter
2 eggs
3 tsp cinnamon
3 tsp ground ginger
½ tsp grated nutmeg
100g pecans, roughly chopped
4 tbsp pumpkin seeds
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
½ tsp baking powder
200g bread flour
Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4.
Cut the squash in half and roast on a tray for 1 hour or until soft.
Once cool, discard the seeds and skin then mash the flesh with a fork. You will need 400g for this recipe.
In a bowl beat the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy.
Gently beat in the eggs and 400g of the squash purée (any leftovers are delicious mixed through soups or stews).
With a spatula, stir through the spices, pecans, 2 tablespoons of pumpkin seeds, the bicarb, baking powder and bread flour. Once well mixed, divide into the two tins and sprinkle with the rest of the pumpkin seeds.
Bake for about 1 hour or until a skewer comes out clean. Cool in the tin.
At last, says Charlie Flindt, someone has listened to despairing owners of country transport. The result? A Defender-sized hole in the market has been filled
The test vehicle came in a lovely rural green.
Charlie Flindt is so impressed by the ISUZU D-Max Huntsman that he has gone all Henry Higgins. Has the Defender-sized hole in the market finally been filled?
For more on which motors could replace the Defender in the countryside, read Charlie Flindt’s review of the Dacia Duster Commercial.
ISUZU D-MAX HUNTSMAN
After a minute or two strolling round Isuzu’s new Huntsman special edition, I went all Henry Higgins: “By George, I think they’ve got it. I think they’ve really got it.”
By “it”, I mean “what we really want from our countryside vehicles”. And good old Isuzu, niche maker of pick-ups and lorries (and the much-missed Trooper), has obviously been lurking in a rural pub or two, eavesdropping on the conversations of discontented owners of “country” transport. “We don’t want to drive a chrome-clad monstrosity with ‘THROB’ written down the side in 8in letters,” they sob into their pints of Gribble’s Old Gruntyfusters.
It has black wheels – including a full-size spare – with not a hint of chrome to be seen.
The result? The Huntsman. Isuzu has taken the already excellent D-Max Utah Doublecab and given it a rural makeover. It comes in a lovely green (among other colours), with black wheels and a complete lack of chrome; perfect for stalking up on animals and skiving tractor drivers. There’s the small matter of the lurid day running lights, but they’re nothing a bit of black tape, or a trip to the fuse box, or a club hammer, won’t sort out.
The inside is spacious and comfortable with easy-to-clean leather seats (or were they quality plastic? Some serious seat sniffing produced nothing but funny looks from the children). The view out is fantastic through the four-door windows but less than brilliant through the pick-up cover.
The transmission is proper old school, with 2wd high and 4wd drive high/low. First gear in high is low enough to cover the vast majority of off-roading situations. There’s a bit of drive-line shunt and the six-speed box feels a bit secondhand. Third gear was particularly reluctant to be found. You get (Lord be praised!) real off-road tyres and a full-sized spare.
On the road, the old-fashioned diesel gives lots of grunt at low revs and pushes the Isuzu to respectable speed. You know you’re in a pick-up, with a skittish rear end thanks to the leaf springs (even with the fancy red bits that come with the extra accessory pack) and a vast, unwieldy turning circle, not helped by the sheer length of the Huntsman. Avoid multistorey car parks at all costs.
There’s an easy-to-use gun draw and a nicely damped tailgate.
Some serious work has gone into the pick-up bit: there are gun drawers in a false bed, sturdy and easy to use. There’s room above for all but the largest of dogs (although some non-slip covering would be welcome on the nicely damped tailgate). It’s a field sports conversion that really works. (Bentley, take note.) To make up for the poor visibility, a pick-up cover has to be good and do more than just provide extra security. The Huntsman’s certainly earns its keep.
In fact, it’s not just the tilt that works. The whole concept is right. Isuzu has indeed “got it”. It has spotted the large Defender-sized hole in the muddy-car market and the Huntsman fills it very well; it will be hugely popular, well beyond the narrow niche that its name suggests it’s aimed at. I predict they will be filling up rural pub carparks in no time at all. Let’s hope there’s enough room to turn – especially after one-and-a-half pints of Gribbles.
Supermarkets have identified the culling of bull calves at birth as a red flag for losing customer confidence. So what are the alternatives? Tim Field reports
A Hereford x Friesian is a traditional suckler cow with a trademark white face - milky from the dairy and stocky from the beef.
Customer confidence is being lost by the culling of bull calves at birth. Happily, modern development and past traditions are offering alternatives. Tim Field discusses the alternatives to culling bull calves.
For more on farming, read clutching at straw. Once an inconvenient by-product, straw is now used for everything from animal fodder to fuel – and demand is rising fast.
THE ALTERNATIVES TO CULLING BULL CALVES
A cup of tea or bowl of cereal simply isn’t the same without a glug of the white stuff to wash it down. Heaven forbid that the children should swipe the final drop before I’ve secured my daily ration. British dairy farmers do a superb job of keeping us in milk for all 12 months of the year, enabled by a spread of calving through the seasons. However, autumn is the busiest calving window, triggering lactation and the next milking cycle.
Generally, a heifer calf is sought after from cows with favourable and milky attributes, so she can be brought on as a replacement for any retired from the herd. With the aggressive and notoriously bad-tempered black-and-white bulls too much to take on, artificial insemination is often the preferred route and the job is done having selected the desirable traits from a semen catalogue.
Leaving nature to do the rest, roughly 50% of these end up as black-and-white bull calves and – as also determined by nature – they are useless at producing milk. With extreme dairy breed genetics that yield more than 8,000 litres of milk per lactation, the Holstein dairy cow is a milk machine but most of her skin and bone brothers are redundant in the dairy herd. Sadly, the cost and effort to carry them through and fatten them up as beef simply doesn’t stack up. As a result, some modern dairy farming has a tainted image where bull calves are known to be culled at birth and discarded; their sole purpose to induce milk production in their mother.
At this summer’s Agricology Open Day at the Royal Agricultural University, Cirencester, we heard David Main, a professor of production animal health and welfare, explain that this simply shouldn’t be an option any more. Along with the over-use of antibiotics, Professor Main explained that supermarkets have identified the culling of bull calves at birth as a red flag for losing customer confidence. Forget veal crates and battery hens, this waste of life is the new animal welfare issue to provoke action.
MODERN DEVELOPMENTS AND PAST TRADITIONS
Thankfully, there are alternative options derived from both modern developments and past traditions that can help maintain the dairy industry’s integrity, its efficiency and combat this wastefulness. When selecting desirable traits from a bull in the genetics catalogue, sexed semen is one option. In the past, dairy farmers have been hesitant to shell out the high cost of sexed semen due to issues of reliability, however, improvements in methodology make it an ever more tempting option. Whereas for the less extreme dairy breeds – such as Friesians and Ayrshires – dairy bull calves are brought on through a beef enterprise thus investing in sexed semen is less of a concern. The bullocks of these breeds are worth fattening as their stocky conformation is distinctly different to their lanky, skinny Holstein cousins.
A dairy does not need every heifer calf as a replacement and only the best cows will be crossed with a dairy bull. However, all cows need a calf to come back into lactation. The opportunity to produce a more valuable calf for a beef unit is where the Hereford beef breed made its mark in history. A Hereford x Friesian is a traditional suckler cow with a trademark white face. She’s milky from the dairy and stocky from the beef.
At Daylesford, all calves – bar pedigree Friesian heifers – are taken into the beef enterprise. Hereford x Friesian cows are crossed back to a native beef bull, yielding a calf with hybrid vigour that races away on mother’s milkiness and father’s ability to convert grass to beef. A Gloucester bull on the heifers gives a slighter frame with less issues at calving and supports a rare breed when sold as Gloucester beef. Phil the head stockman’s selective breeding with South Devon and Aberdeen Angus bulls across the rest gives a beautifully performing suckler herd.
With recent trends in veganism and dietary intolerances discouraging a growing number from drinking milk, I believe there are few dairy farms that would willingly risk their milk contract where bull calves aren’t suitably utilised. I recall an interesting conversation with one of our cheese makers, a vegetarian, who was content working in the creamery because she knew the cows were treated well and the bull calves were not wasted. Cruelly, I made the conversation somewhat more awkward when I asked about her egg sandwich, knowing the fate of male chicks.
This apple, honey and carrot cake is satisfyingly rich and sweet so perfect for your shoot tea in the afternoon.
Serves 10-12
150g brown sugar
150g sunflower oil
150g runny honey
3 free-range or organic eggs
300g plain flour
2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
3 apples (all work well)
1 orange zest only.
100g grated carrot
Icing
100g soft butter
100g sifted icing sugar
200g room temperature cream cheese
To decorate
1 tbsp runny honey
1 tbsp orange zest
22cm deep cake tin and baking parchment
Preheat the oven to 160°C/310°F/Gas Mark 2.5.
Line the cake tin with baking parchment.
Using an electric whisk, mix together the brown sugar, honey, eggs and oil until doubled in volume.
In a bowl, mix together the flour, spices, baking powder and bicarbonate of soda.
Gently whisk the flour mixture into the egg mix until just combined.
Grate the apples, leaving the skin on but discarding the core, and gently squeeze out most of the juice. You need to keep 200g of apple (you can just drink the juice).
Stir through the grated apple, carrot and orange zest then pour into the cake tin.
Bake for 50 minutes (checking after 40 minutes) or until a cake skewer comes out clean.
Leave for 10 minutes then turn out onto a cake rack to cool completely.
For the cream cheese icing, beat the icing sugar and butter together until pale and fluffy.
Add all the cream cheese at once and beat until combined.
Spread on top of the cake then drizzle with the a tablespoon of runny honey and a sprinkling of orange zest.
This Diana of the Chase cum racing stylist has a ‘have a go’ attitude to fieldsports, though is happiest ‘on the wonk’ over drains and hedges
Sarah Kate Byrne's passion for sidesaddle was launched by an old saddle rescued from a crumbling country pile.
Sarah Kate Byrne has hunted since she was four, and started riding sidesaddle at just twelve years old. Today she brings vintage flair and flamboyance to her role as a racing stylist, and her ‘have a go’ attitude has seen her enjoy fieldsports across the world.
For more sporting Dianas, seriously sporting ladies offering advice and encouragement, journalist and campaigner Dr Nina Krüger has a PhD in molecular biology. And Polly Portwin is encouraging others to speak up for the sports they love as Campaign Manager at the Countryside Alliance.
SARAH KATE BYRNE
A year ago I shot my first stag on a glorious estate in Sutherland, after a long crawl up a burn from where we’d left the boat on the loch shore. That moment confirmed my opinion that all sporting opportunities are precious and should be embraced and experienced. My mantra has always been to “have a go” and although I may never be a passionate stalker, I know I can place the bullet and cut the mustard. This is an important aspect of my sporting life and from a young age I developed a can-do attitude, especially where horses were concerned. I had the fortune to be raised in rural Ireland in a house full of animals, where horses came and went but not until they’d been under a sidesaddle.
My parents were forever accumulating old saddles and tack as they toured Ireland’s crumbling piles for their work, reclaiming and conserving historic houses. It was a sidesaddle from one such house that launched my passion for this style of riding.
I started hunting astride a Shetland pony in Carlow country when I was four. When the old sidesaddle turned up eight years later, I started to hunt ‘on the wonk’. Those days with our surrounding packs – the Carlow, Kildare, Wicklow and Shillelagh – were often hairy, always wet and my sister, Aoife, and I were the only children ever out sideways. The sense of adventure and exhilaration it gave me was palpable. I still feel it now, returning home annually for days aside with the Blazers, Limericks and Duhallow, to name a few. Having hunted sidesaddle with a dozen or more packs in England since moving over here in 2006, I have seen a real revolution in the way women approach their hunting. The sidesaddle movement has had a real shot in the arm from those true thrusters, such as Lucy Holland and Fran Moulaert, who don’t just look elegant but really go for it. I wouldn’t call it a sisterhood but it’s no longer a novelty and that’s a good thing.
Her ‘have a go’ attitude sees her getting stuck in to fieldsports across the world.
Having missed the inaugural Dianas of the Chase sidesaddle steeplechase due to a ski crash on the giant slalom run in Verbier, I was determined to enter at the next available opportunity. Riding Karen Bamford’s trusty if a little sturdy Alfie, and despite a heavy peck at the last, we came home an honourable sixth, thus silencing one lady who asked me why I had chosen a cart horse as my mount. I always admit that my prowess in the saddle is entirely down to the bravery of the steed I am lucky enough to have under me.
My boyfriend is an obsessive shot and fisherman and I’m happy to get stuck in, too. My introduction to shooting was unplanned. Starting the day as peg fluff, I found a gun being thrust at me by a bored Special Forces officer who nonchalantly gave me some instructions while puffing away on a cigarette. Some years later, I found myself on a peg in Spain on a whopping double-gun partridge day. I’ve fished the Ballinahinch in the West of Ireland and the Deveron under the guidance of a charming gillie who recited poetry to me from the bank. However, these things don’t match the thrill of flying a black hedge or a deep drain on a forward-going hunter. I really enjoy the opportunities for visiting and the social side that fieldsports offer. On that trip to Spain, Martha Sitwell and I were the guests of a charming Spanish duque who took us pig-sticking and put us up on horses for a monteria, where we drove the pigs and deer towards the rifles. What a thrill to be able to do all this sideways in a country where hunting is taken so seriously and is so enshrined in ceremony.
My intention is to continue to give everything a go and seek new sporting opportunities. There’s talk of a trip to Africa and as the house is festooned with big-game trophies, I might as well try to add a few. The thought of stalking a buffalo with a double rifle appeals and as a natural thrill-seeker I’m sure it would deliver just as much adrenaline as the wildest day over walls in Ireland.
My work as a racing stylist gives me every opportunity to be around racecourses and racing people, which is in my blood. I’m an aesthete and I try to dress ITV Racing’s host, Francesca Cumani, in as much vintage clothing as I can. This goes hand-in-hand with my approach to the sporting wardrobe. It’s not a fancy-dress party but there’s always room for a little theatre and one should strive to look a little quirky. It’s all part of the fun. The joy of vintage clothes is that they are properly made and one-of-a-kind pieces that you won’t see on the lady next to you at paddock or covert-side. After all, we only do these things for fun so there’s nothing to be shy of when displaying a touch of flamboyance.
TOP TIP:We’re here for a good time, not a long time, and my advice is to embrace every opportunity while adopting my grandmother’s mantra: “Spend it and God will send it.”
What are the requirements for the best beating dog and which breeds should you choose? David Tomlinson describes some of the best – and worst – he’s encountered
Border collies can make great beating dogs, as they are usually calm, quiet and obedient.
Over the years, David Tomlinson has seen just about every sort of dog in the beating line. But what makes the best beating dog? He considers some of the best – and worst – that he has encountered.
If you are considering adding a pup to the pack, discover how David Tomlinson settled on his next spaniel. Read best spaniel breed: a new companion.
THE BEST BEATING DOG
Poodles, rottweillers, cockerpoos, collies, Jack Russell terriers… over the years I’ve seen every sort of dog working in the beating line. Proper shooting dogs, by which I mean spaniels, retrievers and HPRs, may be in the majority but to be an efficient beating dog you don’t need field-trial champions in your pedigree. In fact, the opposite is true, as high-powered gundogs can become too hot to handle when beating.
The requirements of a good beating dog are few. The first and most important is an ability to work close to you all the time, plus reliable recall. It helps if a dog can use its nose and hunt, but that’s not essential. Many good beating dogs simply walk steadily with the line and don’t get too carried away with all that hunting nonsense, leaving it to the spaniels. Resisting the temptation to chase whatever might be flushed is also essential: there are few things more embarrassing then seeing your faithful hound disappearing over the hill or through the line in pursuit of an unexpected hare or deer.
If your beating dog is to be employed on a smart shoot, then it should work silently. Giving tongue is frowned upon. However, this isn’t the case with more modest shoots. My first springer spaniel invariably barked when she flushed a bird. As we didn’t have a lot of game this gave a handy warning to the standing guns to be on their mettle. What was important was that she never barked at anything other than a pheasant, so the armed members of the party knew that they could rely on her.
A decade later, I had a pair of spaniels, mother and daughter, that were silent hunters, which was much more satisfactory. However, the older bitch’s litter brother used to come beating on the same shoot and he was noisy. His excited barking would invariably summon my two, who would gallop off to help him. In the middle of the drive this wasn’t a major problem, as they would soon come back, but it was frustrating at the end, when I would emerge from the beat dogless.
Retrieving dogs are not an asset in the beating line, as the temptation to retrieve can overcome even the best-trained of animals. I’ve seen an immaculately trained keeper’s dog absent itself from the beating line towards the end of the drive to go picking up. The lure of a retrieve is often overwhelming. Beating dogs on grouse moors are usually adept retrievers, often picking up many more birds around the butts at the end of a drive than the official picking-up teams, but such behaviour is not generally considered acceptable on a lowland shoot.
PHEASANT AND PARTRIDGE SHOOTS
If you are picking up on a pheasant or partridge shoot, it can be exceedingly irritating if the beaters’ dogs appear from nowhere and start to retrieve the birds you have marked. This has happened to me on a number of occasions but was most annoying when I was training a young spaniel. The shoot was small, so the number of retrieves we could expect were few, but on one drive there were two marked retrieves for me to send the dog to. Frustratingly, before the drive had finished a large black labrador burst out of the wood and snatched both birds, leaving my spaniel with nothing to do.
There can be other drawbacks to working a retrieving dog in the beating line. On one occasion, I was working the spaniels on a shoot run by members of the local hunt. There was a motley assortment of dogs in the beating line, including a pair of thuggish hunt terriers. Halfway through the drive they pegged (mugged might be a better description) a pheasant, which they savaged. My spaniel brought me the tattered corpse. If I had produced it at the end of the drive it would probably have been assumed that my dog had done the damage so, somewhat guiltily, I stuffed it down a rabbit hole.
Pegging game is a serious problem with beating dogs. Even the best-trained dog will occasionally peg, but serial peggers are a menace and deservedly hated by keepers. I’m unaware of a cure, so the only solution is not to take a pegger beating.
Quite what the best breeds are for beating dogs is debatable. I’ve been impressed with border collies, as they are usually calm, quiet and obedient, rarely showing any inclination to chase or pursue game. Other non-sporting breeds that are not genetically programmed to hunt can also be satisfactory. Last season I came across a duo of cockerpoos that were excellent, being both biddable and enthusiastic. Their sire was a working cocker.
Of the proper gundogs, there are no better beaters than spaniels, as they will enter even the thickest of cover. However, they do require constant handling, which is often difficult when you are also fighting your way through the brambles. Both Clumbers and Sussex spaniels are classic beating dogs, and usually less hyper than cockers or springers.
I’ve long suspected that the beaters get the most enjoyment out of a shooting day. The same is certainly true of their dogs, too, while many shoots reward beaters with dogs with an extra fiver, an added incentive to take the dog out for the day. Have fun!
Add a game twist to your Sunday Roast with Philippa Davis' salt-crust baked pheasant with truffle butter
This clever salt-crust ensures you can roast the pheasant without risking it drying out.
Add a twist to your traditional Sunday Roast by putting game on the menu. Philippa Davis’ salt-crust baked pheasant with truffle butter is guaranteed to impress.
For more inspiration on how to get your pheasant from shot to pot, read The Field’s top ten best pheasant recipes. We have enough suppers to see you through the season and beyond.
SALT-CRUST BAKED PHEASANT WITH TRUFFLE BUTTER
Gamebirds can be tricky to roast as they dry out quickly and are not forgiving with timings. However, my salt-crust baked method is a fantastic way to ensure the meat stays moist and delicious.
Serves 4
2 pheasants
Salt-crust pastry
660g plain flour
140g fine sea salt
4 tbsp finely chopped rosemary
2 eggs, beaten
280ml cold water
For the cavity
6 cloves garlic
2 sprigs rosemary
2 medium mushrooms, chopped
60g truffle butter, for under the skin
2 tbsp olive oil
For serving
60g truffle butter
6 sprigs rosemary
Non-stick baking paper
Preheat the oven to 175°C/335°F/Gas Mark 3.5.
Clean the inside of the birds and stuff them with the garlic, one sprig of rosemary each and the chopped mushrooms.
Gently slip your fingers under the skin around the breasts and push 30g of grated truffle butter into each bird.
Season the birds all over and rub with a little olive oil.
For the salt-crust pastry, in a bowl or food processor mix the flour, salt and rosemary, then add in the egg and water. Bring the mix into a ball.
Divide the dough into four balls with two balls being slightly bigger.
Roll out a small ball on a lightly floured sheet of baking paper. It needs to be big enough to take one bird leaving a 6cm edge. Brush edge with cold water.
Take another lightly floured sheet and roll out a larger ball into a disc large enough to lay over the pheasant and cover the base.
Lay the second disc over the bird and press the edges of the two sheets of pastry together, crimp and cut to neaten.
Repeat with the other pheasant and slip each of the birds onto a baking tray.
Bake in the oven for 1 hour, leave to rest for 10 minutes then take to the table to crack open and top with the extra truffle butter and sprigs of rosemary.
Once you have wowed guests carve and serve pheasant from a platter so the inedible pastry doesn’t soak up the juice.
The art of the Soper family provided a backdrop to our childhoods. Joy Baker tells Janet Menzies why she has fought to save the collection
Harrowing, by George Soper.
The art of the Soper family formed the backdrop of our childhoods. Joy Baker tells Janet Menzies how she is inspiring a whole new generation with the collection, by keeping it together and opening a gallery and education centre.
For more sporting artists, Owen Williams is inspired by watching wildlife at a time that belongs to nature rather than humans. And for Juliet Cursham, travel was the best form of training.
THE SOPER FAMILY
The most interesting feature of the assembly hall at my urban primary school was a poster of a horse ploughing a field, surrounded by gulls dipping down out of a blue and clouded sky. “We plough the fields and scatter…” was the caption. I had never seen a ploughed field and had only the haziest idea of what scattering might entail, but I was so captivated by the picture that I made up my mind to work just as hard as it took to get where I could plough, and possibly even scatter.
Red squirrel by Eileen Soper.
A lifetime later, I have discovered that the iconic image was created by artist George Soper, the foremost painter of working horses around the period of the First World War, a time when Britain was still dependent on horsepower. Soper, and then his two daughters, Eva and Eileen, produced a massive body of work depicting the nature and wildlife of the countryside in the early and mid 20th century. Eileen’s work is even more inspirational than her father’s, as she illustrated Enid Blyton’s Famous Five stories, along with many other educational and natural history works. Between them, the Soper family influenced a whole generation, inspiring people to love and respect the rural world and to aspire to be part of it. Yet few of us have any idea how this potent and now nostalgic work came about.
Joy Baker has made it her mission to create The Soper Heritage Art Gallery and Education Centre to inspire a whole new generation. She explains: “So many people were affected by their work. One of our sponsors, Robin Bailey, chairman of Sudbury Chamber of Commerce, described exactly the same experience as you. It took him straight back to the classroom and Eileen’s illustration of fish under water, and how he had wanted to discover all about it.”
A STORY THAT MUST BE TOLD
Baker and her late husband, John, fell in love with the art of George Soper and his daughters back in the 1990s when the work began to be sold after the hospitalisation and death of Soper’s daughters. Baker says: “When John first saw the working horse paintings he felt it was tragic that the collection was being broken up. Their art and social history, the collaboration between horses and man that had made England – and was so important in the First World War – the work that they did and the relationship over all these years, is a story that must be told. So we bought a few paintings. And then we discovered Eileen and Eva and wanted to buy their work as well, but we didn’t know what to do about money. So John said, ‘Let’s take out a mortgage.’ We both felt it was imperative that as much of the family’s work as possible should be kept together. When my husband died of mesothelioma contracted during his war service, this became my mission. A major sale of the Sopers’ work came up and I had to do my best to establish the collection. But I had no money. So I asked the dealer if he would take a post-dated cheque and he said yes. Even so, I had no idea how I was going to manage, but I was determined.”
A kingfisher by Eva Soper for Royal Worcester.
Finally, Baker has almost arrived at her goal. “We have found a 17th-century barn just outside Lavenham, which is the perfect site for the gallery and education centre. So we have taken the plunge and put down a deposit on the site – but by 20 November we have to find the money to complete the purchase. For the past 25 years all I have done is concentrate on this and it has been so worthwhile. Now the work has got to be seen by the public. I know how you can change a child’s life by opening their eyes. Today especially, with so many young people in such troubled situations, it is vital to be able to inspire them.”
Could a Facebook-generation child be captivated by the Sopers’ imagery in the way that we were? Looking back, we may cast a rosy glow of nostalgia and idealisation over illustrations of children on adventures, or badgers emerging from their setts after hibernation. In fact, the Sopers’ work is earthy – both literally and metaphorically. “Their art is true,” says Baker. “It is representational art. It is totally true. There is no self. And today is about self, and it is not authentic depiction.”
Enid Blyton’s Five on a Treasure Island, illustrated by Eileen Soper.
When I was first exposed, almost subliminally, to the work of the Sopers, I was every bit as far from a horse or a badger as children are today. I think any child, of any time, wants the chance to hug a horse or be more badger.
Philippa Davis' parsnip tart tatin with whipped horseradish cream is a guaranteed crowd-pleaser, and the perfect addition to a gamebird roast
Try this parsnip tart tatin with a venison or pheasant roast.
Philippa Davis’s parsnip tart tatin with whipped horseradish cream makes an impressive addition to a game roast.
Roast pheasant can be tricky to master, but is essential for every game cook’s repertoire. Read perfect roast pheasant recipe for The Field’s top tips.
PARSNIP TART TATIN WITH WHIPPED HORSERADISH CREAM
This is an impressive dish and goes brilliantly with leaner meats such as roast venison or gamebirds, as it has a deliciously high fat content.
Serves 4
4 parsnips, 750g approx, peeled and chopped in half lengthways then horizontally
300g shallots
1 tbsp olive oil
1 dsp brandy
80g butter
60g demerara sugar
1 dsp finely chopped thyme
1 dsp cider vinegar
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp Dijon mustard
3 dsp apple juice
250g ready-rolled all-butter puff pastry
Horseradish cream
150ml double cream
2 tbsp hot horseradish sauce
26cm oven-proof frying pan
For the horseradish cream, lightly whip the cream, stir in the horseradish and season. Store in fridge until needed.
Preheat the oven to 175°C/335°F/Gas Mark 3.5.
Simmer the parsnips in a pan of lightly salted water until just cooked, then drain.
In the frying pan, season and gently sauté the shallots in the olive oil until softened, about 15 minutes, add the brandy and transfer to a bowl.
In the same frying pan, gently heat the butter and sugar. When the butter has melted add the parsnips.
Turning regularly, cook for about 15 minutes – or until the parsnips have caramelised – then add the thyme and cider vinegar.
Take off the heat and arrange the parsnips, cut side up, in a pattern of your choosing (I like a wagon wheel-type effect). Cover with the shallots and sprinkle some apple juice on top. Leave to cool completely.
Mix the egg and mustard together. Cut a 28cm circle of pastry and brush one side with the egg mix.
Lay it brushed side down over the parsnips and lightly tuck in the edges.
Brush the top with egg and make a small slit in the middle.
Bake in the oven for 45 minutes; the pastry should be golden brown.
Leave for five minutes before turning out onto a plate. Serve cut into slices with the horseradish cream.
The Rexton was once viewed as a bit of a joke – but no-one’s pointing and laughing at the latest model from the Korean car maker, says Charlie Flindt
The writer is not keen on the front grille.
Charlie Flindt is pleased to discover that the SsangYong Rexton can no longer be considered a joke. The latest for the Korean car maker is no-nonsense, straightforward, old-school simplicity.
For more motoring reviews, could the ISUZU D-Max Huntsman fill a Defender-sized hole in the market?
SSANGYONG REXTON
When we tested the first Rexton many years ago, it was an interesting experience. As it rolled and waddled its way up the motorway to the fabulous freebie SsangYong had laid on for us, other drivers pointed and laughed. Not just because it had trouble keeping in lane; it was, frankly, hideous.
Well, to misquote Bob Monkhouse: they’re not pointing now. The latest Rexton looks relatively bland – a sign of how Korean styling has been brought more up to date, more mainstream. True, the rear quarters have too much metal and not enough glass, and the front grille is a bit of a mess, but there’s nothing (except a set of ghastly chrome wheels) to induce a double take.
Too many bings and bongs.
The theme continues inside. It’s a lot better than it used to be but there are still taste-free zones, such as the quilted leather and terrible wood trim. But it’s comfortable and space is vast. My only interior grumble involved the small windows: the elbow was uphill from the shoulder when pottering round the farm surveying one’s acres with the glass wound down.
The really good news is that the Rexton is up to date but not that up to date. SsangYong has stuck with a separate chassis, a hi/lo box with options limited to, er, high and low. There’s no absurd menu of terrain choices featuring cacti and mountains; it’s no-nonsense, old-school simplicity.
For those who insist on flinging their SUVs round mountain bends while avoiding the prickles, this is bad news. For those of us needing to tow 3.5 tonnes to Salisbury market at sensible speeds, or looking for a bit of extra grip in the August rains, it’s just the job. No menu required. Towing the fuel bowser through sticky woods to the combine, even rear-wheel, two-wheel drive did well on those sensible choice tyres – and the chrome wheels were soon a mud-splattered memory.
The interior is spacious.
Even the engine has a slightly old-fashioned feel to it: four cylinders, huge amounts of low-down grunt and a gruffness that’s easy on the ear. It propels the enormous Rexton with ease up to respectable speeds. The suspension feels a bit uneasy at medium speeds, hitting lumps and bumps with a curious springy firmness. Keeping the mud-pluggers and the bend-flingers happy is not easy.
Perhaps the only thing I miss about the old Rexton was the silence; the new one bings and bongs and plays infuriating little ditties as you get in, or stop the engine, or open the door, or just about anything. I don’t think I’ve ever shouted at a car to STFU so much. It also had a ‘lane departure warning’ that suggested Korean lanes are a lot wider that ours. No doubt a couple of hours with a tech-savvy teenager and the handbook would nail most of these but, mid-harvest, I just shouted. It was actually therapeutic.
We liked the Rexton: it’s a fantastically capable old-school beast of a four-wheel drive. My fear is that one day we’ll climb into a new model and find a cactus icon on the gearbox. Until then, we can enjoy this one.
For a sweet finale to your Sunday Roast, Philippa Davis' pear, chocolate, walnut and sour-cream cake is simple and delicious
You can't go wrong with pear and chocolate.
Few will say no to chocolate cake on a Sunday. Philippa Davis’ pear, chocolate, walnut and sour-cream cake is simple and delicious. Serve as the ultimate post-Sunday Roast pud.
Make your puds decadent and chocolate-y at this time of year. For more inspiration, our fig, chocolate and cognac cake is freezer friendly and ideal to have on hand for unexpected guests. Or our autumnal chocolate, chestnut and brandy mousse would make the perfect seasonal supper party pud.
PEAR, CHOCOLATE, WALNUT AND SOUR-CREAM CAKE
Serves 6
4 pears, peeled but stalk on
1 litre apple juice
1 star anise
2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp nutmeg grated
Cake batter
125 g butter
20g cocoa powder
125ml water
125g plain flour
3/4 tsp bicarbonate of soda
180g sugar
50g sour cream
1 free-range or organic egg
40g medium ground walnuts
Icing
60ml double cream
1 dsp sugar
25g dark chocolate, chopped
10g chopped walnuts
1lb loaf tin; baking paper
Line the loaf tin with baking paper.
In a small pan, place the pears, apple juice and spices. Bring to a simmer and cook until just soft. Leave to cool.
Slice the very bottom off each pear and gently scoop out the core.
For the cake batter, in a saucepan, melt the butter with the cocoa and water.
Take off the heat and whisk in the flour, bicarbonate of soda, sugar then sour cream, egg and 40g of ground walnuts.
Pour into the cake tin and sit the pears in the batter.
Bake for 1 hour or until a skewer comes out clean.
Leave to cool in the tin.
For the icing, heat the double cream in a small saucepan until it just comes to a simmer.
Take off the heat and leave to cool for 1 minute before whisking in the sugar and dark chocolate.
Place your cake on a serving plate and then drizzle over the icing. Finally, sprinkle over the 10g of chopped walnuts.
Poignantly, this year’s Remembrance Sunday services fall on 11 November, the centenary of the end of the First World War. What would those gilded names have wanted from us, asks Barney White-Spunner
Remembrance Sunday, Lest we Forget
Remembrance Sunday, whether present at the solemn grandeur of the national ceremony at the Cenotaph or in a simple service at the village war memorial, is always a time of sadness and reflection. This year’s Remembrance services will be particularly poignant as we mark, appropriately on Sunday 11 November, the centenary of the end of the war that prompted us to hold these annual commemorations, the war that gave us the poppy, the war that led us, for the first time, to give each soldier a marked grave in a cemetery near where he fell and a war so terrible that it reached into every home in the kingdom and across the empire. Six million men were mobilised; around 750,000 were killed and 1.6 million wounded.
We have not, since our rather unpleasant experience under Cromwell, been a nation given to maintaining large standing armies. Rather, we have relied on the Royal Navy to keep us safe, creating tailored land forces as and when we have needed them and generally doing so successfully. When we have been forced to fight European wars we have raised volunteer armies, only occasionally resorting to conscription. We did this in the Napoleonic Wars, where the numbers involved were relatively small. In 1914, facing the huge armies mobilised by Germany and Austria, we had to field a much larger force and to do so at a time when uneven advances in military technology meant that soldiers faced new weapons whilst lacking the commensurate communications and intelligence to use them without incurring terrible casualties. It is this tragic juxtaposition that causes the sad lists of names on our First World War Remembrance memorials to be so long. We had never raised an army of that size before nor one that was subject to such deadly firepower.
We have never been an overtly militaristic nation; Athens rather than Sparta. We have not suffered from the military culture or swagger that, for example, afflicted Germany. Voltaire could never have quipped about us that some states have an army whilst the Prussian army has a state. We have been a nation long proud of its small core of professional soldiers but whose mass armies, when mobilised, were civilians in uniform. That was always their strength. It is ironic that the man who killed the Nazi Panzer ace Hauptsturmführer Michael Wittmann, holder of the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords, in his state-of-the-art Tiger I tank in Normandy in 1944, was Joe Ekins, a shoemaker serving as a volunteer in the Northamptonshire Yeomanry in a mass-produced Sherman.
And that is what those six million men mobilised between 1914-18 were: civilians in uniform who became efficient and almost universally brave fighting men but were not in the Army because they wanted to be. They were there because they felt they had a duty to defend their country. They were patriots in the truest sense. They also came from every corner of these islands, including a disproportionate number from Ireland despite the ongoing struggle for home rule, and from every profession and class. Siegfried Sassoon’s unkind lines that, “Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight” and now “gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare” is misleading. Seventeen percent of officers who fought were killed as opposed to 12% of soldiers; 200 generals became casualties, despite revisionist historians attempts to portray them as château-based blimps.
There is an added pathos to those long lists of gilded names in that we also have a sense that their lives were wasted in mounting pointless frontal attacks against German machine guns. There is some truth in that; the loss of 50,000 men on the first day of the Somme in July 1916 has, correctly, become a cause of national shame as well as admiration at their courage. Yet we hear rather less about the Battle of Amiens, exactly 100 years ago, which involved more soldiers. The subsequent ‘100 Days’ offensive, which led to the tactical defeat of the German army and to victory, was a triumph of British arms. Many of those whose lives you will be commemorating in Remembrance services on 11 November fell in operations that were well planned and efficiently conducted.
Yet that will have been of scant comfort to those left behind, to the wives, fiancées and lovers whose hopes and aspirations were ruined, sadly, in so many cases, for ever. There is as much sadness in these stories, which we can only imagine, of grieving parents, fatherless children, economic hardship for decades to come as single parents, or in the sheer loneliness of a partnership destroyed, that brings as large a lump to the throat as the losses in battle.
REMEMBRANCE
Looking at our dignified memorials and hearing the list of names read out, wincing when we hear the same name repeated as brothers fell together, we find ourselves feeling a sense of guilt. Why did they have their lives cut short whilst we as a generation have, at least so far, been spared that sacrifice? There is no proper answer other than to think what would they have wanted from us. They would have wanted us to grieve, certainly, and to remember them. It is the least we can do and any person with a soul should be ashamed if they do not attend a service on 11 November. Yet beyond that, what those who once lived in those gilded names would surely want is for us all to lead our own lives to the very fullest extent that we can, to live the lives they were denied, taking advantage of every opportunity, confronting every obstacle, and being true to their spirit. That is the truest form of remembrance.
Lieutenant General Sir Barney White-Spunner commanded the Field Army.
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