THE SHOOTING PARTY
To earn extra money for the family, for some time I had been working some weekends as 'staff' at a local shooting lodge. The lodge, 'White Bridge' was miles from anywhere, set low in a steep sided valley, with a popular salmon river running just yards from the walled garden. The lodge was full of character and characters.
The building was old, proper old with walls adorned with stuffed animals and prints of shooting and fishing scenes. The fires where huge, the dining room and lounges warm, cosy and comfortable, the bedrooms old Victorian luxury with copper piped plumbing and huge Goose feather quilts. The staff were great and on the whole, the guests were a lovely mix of old and new money. I was mainly involved in front of house duties, serving food, clearing tables and other cleaning tasks around the lodge.
It was, however another duty that I enjoyed the most. At least once often twice a week in the shooting season, I had to take lunch way up onto the hills for the grouse shooting parties. This involved driving, or rather being driven up six or more miles of rough track in one of the many Land Rovers the estate used for gamekeepers, beaters, pickers-up and guns, (the term used to describe shooting guests).
The road from White Bridge Lodge to the South moors where the day's grouse drives were taking place, was steep, rough, rutted and required a driver to cross at least one river and two deep streams. This was far beyond my abilities and so on most occasions a couple of the younger less experienced under-keepers would help me load the food and then drive me to the lunch huts. I loved it as I got a break from front of house work and could enjoy the stunning views as I was bounced around for an hour or so.
"All loaded up Jo?" young Jack shouted as he walked in his finest tweeds from the gun room across the gravel drive towards the Land Rover and me.
"Hop in, we've got company today."
He added, pointing towards another young looking lad, resplendent in clearly new tweeds and boots, walking, gun broken over his arm towards us.
"Jo, this is Matty, he's new, so be gentle with him," Jack laughed.
I should be so lucky. Matty was tall, slim with short scruffy hair just showing under his flat cap. He wore the estates tweeds and still had that, uncomfortable with being so smart look that only young guys get, he was new and he showed it. Gun safely stowed in the back he slid into the Land Rover, squeezing thigh to thigh with me in the tight confines of the cab.
We bumped down the rough track leading from the lodge, through the river, before dropping into noisy second gear, as we lurched up the far bank and began the long and bumpy climb up from valley bottom to the high heather covered moorland.
Conversation at this point was very 'shouty' and we laughed as Matty, rolled left and right, often clashing with my body as we rocked in and out of the deep rutted tracks. Now I'm a busty girl, or rather woman and Matty was young enough to have been my son, but as his hand landed on my thigh for the fourth or fifth time, me clutching my big full boobs in both hands, to control their wild bouncing, I laughed loudly.
"If one pops out Matty, feel free to hold it for me."
Matty looked shocked, he didn't know whether to laugh, smile or what, but he managed a sheepish grin at my comment and perhaps the thought. Jack on the other hand knew me well and leaning forward for a better view of my wobbling tits, he nodded his head jokingly in time with their bounce and exclaimed.
"I'll take the right one, if you take the left eh Matty?" He leaned back and roared with laughter as we all grinned like idiots.
After three or more rough miles the lunch hut came into view. It stood, its black planked walls and red door standing out against the clear blue sky, and as we pulled up outside on the rough grass surrounded by juniper bushes. It felt like heaven.
"Jump out Matty," Jack shouted as he hoped out of the driver's seat. "Not got long to get Jo sorted," he added with a laugh.
"Not sure Matty wants to sort me out," I quipped, as Matty slide from my side to stand, cap in hand, holding the door open for me, still with a broad grin on his face.
The boxes, baskets and flasks were shifted from Land Rover to hut with the usual efficiency. Jack and I had done this so often and with Matty's help setting up the table and buffet, it was only minutes before we shut the door and stood once more in the beautiful sunshine.
"You hear that Matty?" Jack asked, turning to face him. "That's the sound of posh folk spending money," He laughed as another muffled round of gun shots echoed across the moors, some half a mile or so away, just over the hill.
"We just go park up now, out of sight and wait till they're done, then help Jo clear up, easy days," He laughed, doffing his cap in my direction.
"It most certainly is, Sir Jack," I mocked, faking a curtsy, before climbing back into the Land Rover.
Squeezed once more into the cab, we drove away from the lunch hut and parked just out of sight next to an old overgrown shooting butt. This was the life indeed, the sun was bright, the breeze light and the sky a deep seductive blue, perfection.
"Matty, take Jo in the butt," Jacked shouted loudly, unable to hide his laughter. "She's used to it, don't worry." He added, searching for another innuendo.
Matty, grinned like a child in a toy shop as he held out a hand to steady me as I stepped across the narrow ditch and boggy heather at the side of the track.
"Thank you Matty," "Lovely strong hands for a young man."
Matty looked a little embarrassed at the eye contact and the rather too long hold of his hand.
We sat; or rather lay back in the warm sun, the grass rustling gently in the light breeze. Jack passed cans of lager round and as they 'clicked' and 'shshed' open, we laughed and made small talk.
"So Matty, who's the lucky lady in your life," I asked innocently.
There was a pause before he spoke.
