A Bohemian Variation

The snow was not deep, not crisp and certainly not even. Rather it was a frozen slush having thawed the day before. I was acquiring some pheasants. I knew where the gamekeeper fed them and sprinkled some raisins soaked in rum around the feeders. The pheasants love them, get a little giddy, the roost to sleep it off. This means I can hook them off their roost, a quick snap of the neck and there we have it, a nice plump brace for St. Stephen's Day lunch. I'm not greedy, I only take a brace for the pot.

Any way, I hook my brace of pheasants and come out of the edge of the wood to a field adjacent the big house. It's late, the moon is bright, but no-one should notice. I'm just getting to the field edge when out pops from nowhere a finely dressed fella in a tunic, he called out to me, " Hey you, " I looked around at him saying nowt.

"Yes you, peasant, I'm talking to you."

I quickly stuffed the brace of pheasants into my large inside coat pocket, the pocket that's stained red with hare's blood from a few weeks back, it won't wash out. I respond to him, "Pheasant? What pheasant? I see no pheasant.'

"No", retorts the posh bloke, " I said peasant. Peasant." He emphasised the "p".

I thought he was a right cheeky toff as I'm no peasant, but I thought I'd better humour him. So I walks up to him and look him right in the face and ask, "Who are you then?"

"I'm the King's page. He spied you from the balcony in his palace and asked me who you were and where you are from."

"Oh did he," I says, "then why doesn't he come down and ask me himself?"

"He's the King" the Page replied with a huff.

I felt I couldn't argue with that, but asked, "Why does he want to know?"

The Page was taken a back at my impertinence at questioning the King's motives, "He has a custom of random generosity this time of year, and likes to know his subjects. Anyway he is the King, and to not answer me would be treason and you know what that would mean." The toffee-nosed Page stuck his head in the air and made a slicing motion with his finger across his throat.

So I figured I'd better comply, after all he was acting for the King, "My name is Zak, I live in the forester's lodge just the far side of the wood, below the hills by St. Aggie's well."

"Very well," said the Page, "you may leave."

So I scurry off home as the Page trapped back to the big house.

Anyway, next morning I am sat ony porch plucking the second pheasant whilst my missus is gutting the first ready for lunch when out of the edge of the wood stumbles a bloke with a red coat trimmed with ermine looking like Santa Clause. He is carrying a leg of venison on his shoulder and following behind him laden with logs and wine bottles was that toffee-nosed Page.

The tall guy in red looks across and waves at me and I drop my pheasant below my stool and wander over to him, "Good morning sir, are you lost?"

Laughing he roared, "Far from it my friend. I have been looking for you." He must have seen the look of horror on my face as I feared his wrath for poaching pheasants,"Fear not," he said, " I come bearing gifts," and he swung the leg of venison off his shoulder and dropped it firmly on the boards of my porch at my feet. The Page hobbled up and placed a case of wine next to it that he appeared only too pleased to be rid of his burden.

"Well, thank you kindly", I said, "would you like to come inside to get warm?"

The frozen Page looked longingly at his master who replied, "Why not, most kind."

So I called to the missus, "Hey, Ulrika, get the coffee pot on we've got visitors." I brought in the venison and the wine and once the big guy and his Page were settled drinking acorn coffee snuck the pheasant in from outside which Ulrika finished drawing whilst our guests were distracted by the fire.

I chatted awkwardly as the big guy asked me about what I did and he was really interested in forestry and how I managed the wood. But curiousity got the better of me and I asked, "Forgive me sir, I hope you don't consider it too impertinent, but who are you?"

The Page choked on his coffee and, swallowing hard said, "Why he's the K...."

But the big red guy raised his hand silencing him and interrupted,"Oh I'm no one in particular, I am a winter resident at the big house the far side of the forest."

I looked at the Page, who turned red, but kept silent. "Oh , that's a mighty fine gaff," I said.

The red guy looked puzzled, "What's a 'gaff'?"

"Oh forgive me sir, it's what is folk call a large house."

He roared with laughter, "Oh I like that, from now on I'm going to call it 'My Gaff'." He then turned to Ulrika and said, "Pray madam, do please tell me what are those two birds you have prepared?"

Ulrika looked nervously at me and I nodded before she replied, "Why, sir, they are pheasants."

"Pheasants," said the big red guy. "You tell me you can actually eat those birds." He chuckled, "Why, I've never tried pheasant."

So I said, "They are fine eating sir. If you wish, as you've been so kind to us I would be only too happy to give you the pheasants to take home and cook."

The big red guy looked at the Page and asked, "Will cook know how to cook them?" The Page nodded a 'yes'.

So the big red guy and the Page departed with a much lighter load of a brace of oven-ready pheasants.

Now when I have told folk about this some have said that it sounds like he was King Wenceslas. Me, I think that is baloney and he was just the big red guy from the posh gaff on the far side of the forest.