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Country Colour: A Word Sketch

While dallying over a drop of something warming on a hilltop the other day, the thought suddenly struck me – our countryside has changed.  Now, I don’t mean the land as such, or the work, or the houses.  No.  This change has more to do with the people... 

Once upon a time, there was an unwritten dress code for country dwellers.  Those of us who lived and worked amongst the ‘hunting, shooting and fishing’ fraternity were easily distinguishable from our neighbours whose livelihood depended upon farming.  The attire of the HS&F set relied heavily on tweed in all its forms.  Plus twos, plus fours, jackets – all were manufactured in tweed, in any colour…as long as it was green.  Headgear was restricted to a deerstalker, flat cap or, for the female of the species, a suitably toned headsquare.  Woolly jumpers were optional (depending upon the season) and welly boots were green.  So, all very standard issue, no surprises.

Similarly, those connected to agriculture were easily distinguishable by their attire: tweed jackets (again in shades of green but with the occasional nod towards brown), navy dungarees, checked shirts, flat caps, green or black wellies and the obligatory piece of orange baler twine – usually actively engaged in any task normally associated with a belt, button or buckle.  The females of this species varied little from the males in their appearance although, on occasion, the fact that they were members of the fairer sex was acknowledged by the substitution of a headsquare in preference to the flat cap – but only occasionally.

And visitors to the countryside adhered to the rules.  Country clothing retailers were awash with shades of brown and green and everyone was happy.  But now, it’s a whole new ballgame.  Suddenly, the world has gone mad for ‘pastel shades’ and ‘primary colours’.

For example, welly boots can now be purchased in a variety of colours and patterns.  Pastel pink, baby blue and (perish the thought!) scarlet.  I suppose they do have their advantages – if you fall headfirst into a peat bog the emergency services will locate you with startling speed and efficiency as your scarlet wellies shine like a beacon across the moorland.  To every cloud there is a silver lining…  

But, has anyone considered the effect this explosion of colour has had upon our country pursuits?  Thought not.  As ‘paying guests’ spill from their 4x4s onto the gravel driveway of Ye Olde Shooting Lodge they now resemble Dulux colour charts – to the detriment of our country sports... 

Consider, if you will, the noble art of stalking.  Man pitting his wits against beast, blending seamlessly into the countryside, at one with the wilderness.  Alas, no more!  That’s how it used to be.  Nowadays there’s no need to bother about technique.  No.  All you do now is hunker down behind a boulder for several hours and wait for a passing deer.  As poor Bambi approaches, you leap from behind your boulder and shock Bambi to death with your kaleidoscopic outerwear.  Yes.  It’s those ‘pastel shades’ and ‘primary colours’ again…

And fishing doesn’t escape.  Spare a thought for the noble salmon.  Having survived deep oceans, fearsome storms and towering seas it returns home to its little river in the sun.  And as it swims happily along, minding its own business, its eye alights on a gaily-coloured fly.  But, alas, as it approaches said fly it’s suddenly confronted by two rubber pillars of autumn leaves.  Confused?  You would be.  The patterned welly boot has a lot to answer for…

But it’s our feathered friends that have my deepest sympathy.  Even those splendid birds who partake in the traditional shoot are victims of the countryside fashion epidemic. 

Picture the scene: Wing Commander Grouse (‘Red’ to his friends) holds sway over the debriefing after the annual August sortie.  His second-in-command (‘Famous’) is reading the roll call of those missing in action.  Suddenly, Famous glances nervously at Red.  He gulps and speaks, nay, whispers the name of a close friend – ‘Beaky’.  Red turns a beady eye upon Famous and enquires as to the nature of Beaky’s demise.  But, alas, the truth is almost too horrific to relay – he’s been shot by a female (no shame in that) but a female wearing PINK welly boots!  The gruesome truth is almost enough to make a bird hit the bottle, never mind appear on it…

by Ruth Ainley