Bill Brushett

“If there’s one word that sums up Bill, it would surely be: ‘Countryman’. Many years ago, about 28, if memory serves me well, Bill responded to an advert in the Blackmore Vale Magazine for a trained adult dog (obviously a Spaniel – Bill had little time for Labradors!)

Eva and I had that dog. Bill and Jackie came to see her, fell in love with her and ended up coming back a month later for a puppy – in part due to the fact that Bill, although he’d had dogs before, he’d never had one quite like ‘Ruach’, (which means ‘Wind of God’ and boy, Bill loved the way she could run like the wind). Subsequently, he had dogs of similar breeding that followed in her wake. And having those dogs about the place was good for Jackie, too.

We were in contact from then on. I also introduced him to Field Trials, which he really loved, and it became a large part of his life and he used to say he’d wished that he’d known about the competition side of things 30 years earlier and, in spite of all the travelling involved and all the disappointments, which were far more frequent happenings than the successes, he kept on doing them and we often spoke of what we’d done at Trials, or when we happened to be at the same event if the draw brought us together.

He could be a cantankerous sod at times – often taking an opposite opinion in a discussion … it’d be a hard job to get him to change his mind and he was quick to remind folk of the things he found stupid or that he found hilarious. Like the time we met in Exeter, for Bill to drive his car on to Cornwall and, at the changeover of all the necessary clobber from one car to the next, it became apparent that I’d left my wellies on the drive at home in Somerset and the thought of me having to walk miles in rough and wet terrain in my smart shoes while trying to handle a dog really cracked him up – as well as reminding me that no-one could ever be so flamin’ stupid.

Fortunately, as we drove into Bodmin there was a small workwear shop that had opened early to do some accounting for the end of year … I’d been praying the whole journey … Bill just couldn’t quite believe it either.

He always had things to speak about on all sorts of aspects with everyone he met. If ever you rang him up for a chat, he would frequently be out stalking or on a shoot, of which he went to quite a few, like over at Cerne, and, eventually, to his favourite place of all, down with Pete Lardner , who is here today, and his team at Encombe, where he was at his happiest and in his element with the dogs.

He was so full of what they’d done and he’d ring me to tell me about the exceptional days; he never ever forgot those and would re-live them many a time through the years after his stroke.

Another thing that he loved, because it evoked many memories – and perhaps for many of us of a similar age, too, he would watch the DVD’s of Jack Hargreaves ‘Out of Town’ series. He loved them. Of course, it was nostalgia and we’re all prone to enjoying some of that aren’t we? But this was something that Bill easily attuned with because of his own upbringing where forays onto and in the Stour where he used to tickle trout as well as catch them … and horror of horrors to all fly fishermen, probably on a worm!

Bill always had an eye for what was going on around him … often while driving; be it a small group of deer to a hare in a field 50 yards away. He was wonderful with pest control and the songbirds around here may never know how grateful they should have been

School – also for some of us too perhaps – and certainly for me – was a relatively secondary matter in life because of all the exciting adventures that hedgerows and wildlife, copses and woodland, rivers and farms held for Bill. He loved Autumn and Winter far more than the other seasons for the simple fact that it meant the shooting season was with us again and he could do what he loved most.

Carpentry was his apprenticed profession and, like many in that sphere of life, he was always ready to turn his hand to other aspects of building and, at one time I remember him asking me about where I’d got all the various parts to build a kennel and what was needed. I duly made suggestions and gave advice; and Bill listened … then did his own thing making it completely differently from everything suggested.

He was a pretty good shot, too, most of the time; for when he offered to help out so that I could put what we call ‘a bit of polish’ on a lovely bitch (sister to his beloved Ruach) we duly went off, to a place about quarter of a mile from this very spot … and Bill promptly missed 3 pheasants, 2 rabbits, 2 duck, 2 woodcock, and a snipe, all within half an hour! That’s called a test of friendship. Smarting from the disaster and, knowing it was not usual for good ol’ Wild Bill Brushett, to shoot so badly, I did wonder for a few moments if he’d done it on purpose! Of course not, he was still a pretty good shot and just had a bad day.

You may be thinking something along the lines of ‘There’s quite a lot about dogs and shooting and country things’, but that’s because we all remember what we’ve been given by someone in our lives and, whatever we may think, it has an influence on us. And that’s what I saw of Bill – not just hearsay.

Some of you may have heard a song by Purcell called Dido’s Lament (better known as ‘When I Am Laid in Earth’), although less known is that the lyrics were written by the poet Nahum (Nathaniel) Tate and, I believe that they can bring something for us today … it’s OK I won’t sing it … not least because it’s a soprano part!

Thy hand, darkness shades me,
On thy bosom let me rest,
More I would, but Death invades me;
Death is now a welcome guest.

When I am laid, am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create
No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;
Remember me, remember me, but ah! Forget my fate.
Remember me, but ah! When I am laid in earth

And perhaps one thing, above everything else, that has come to me over all the years through knowing Bill and today as we gather in this single moment, to undergo together our farewell, is that Bill was a countryman and when we lay him in earth, it is indeed, the most fitting thing we do.”

Neil Garrod