Newsletter - National Field Archery Society

The shoot got underway with no further ado and the crew
strolled around the course marshalling, chatting to other
archers and generally making a note of and raking for lost
arrows.
At the admin tent, Lucy and a few others spent the day
chatting to the archers who dropped by to say hello on their
way past, scoffing cakes and drinking coffee from the WI.
It seemed like everyone was getting on fairly well and the
number of people complaining about long-shots or difficult
targets were hugely outweighed by people who were having a
great day and couldn’t miss a thing.
The large standing deer’s head had come off again, but
they’d half-expected that, it was an old and well-used target.
This would normally be the sort of thing John and her
dad were hanging around for, but as she hadn’t seen him
since much earlier in the day, Lucy supposed he must still be
out on the course as normal.
The first of the archers came back with their score cards
at around quarter to four, and by half-past Lucy was part of
a small team double-checking the maths, organising score
cards and compiling a list of winners. She smiled when she
saw a few of them come in, people she knew who had done
well or had seen earlier in the day moaning and now had reasonable
scores on their cards.
Joan Wallace called out raffle ticket numbers and then the
winners were announced for the differing shooting styles,
with Gav’s booming tones as Joan handed out the medals. A
good day was had by all and thanks were given to the WI
ladies for their catering, and all the crew of Hollow Tree for
their help in putting on the day.
The small admin team Lucy had been with all day were busy
again, this time putting things away and slowly dismantling
the stands.
‘Well, ladies, thanks for your help earlier with the bow.’
Alan Johnson wandered over, laughing and smiling as he laid
the longbow across the table. ‘It’s been a pleasure shooting
with this today, whoever it belongs to.’
‘We still haven’t had anyone claim it, you know,’ Gav replied,
picking up the bow and turning it over in his hands. ‘No idea
where Alan got it from for you though. I’ve never seen it
before.’
‘Hmm, where is he anyhow?’ Alan asked. ‘I wanted to say
thanks but I really must be getting on. I’ve got an hour’s
drive ahead of me.’
‘Well, glad you enjoyed it mate. See you again!’
The crew carried on packing away some of the gear and piling
things into the heavy crates and boxes they used for
storage. Lucy picked up a large box and grunted softly; it
was heavier than it looked.
‘Here, let me take that for you.’ John Banks took the box
and started to walk away, calling back over his shoulder for
Lucy to follow him so that she could undo the padlock on the
lock-up.
‘About time.’ Alan Marshall was sitting on the floor of the
lock-up among the dust and cobwebs and was surrounded by
an array of bows, arrows and boxes of gear. John put the
box down on the floor and gave him a hand up.
‘I’m starving. Who on earth locked the door on me?’
‘Have you been in here all day, Dad?’ Lucy didn’t want to
laugh, not out loud at least. ‘All day in an oversize storage
box and the first thing you think of is your stomach!’
‘It’s all right, I had the spiders for company.’ Alan pulled
one out of his hair and threw it at his daughter, who
10
squealed and ran back outside into the fresh air.
‘What happened, mate?’ John asked. ‘And where did that
longbow come from?’
‘What are you talking about? I came in to get a club bow
and the door shut on me before I’d managed to find anything
half-way decent. I just wish somebody had heard me banging
to get out. Poor Alan!’
‘That’s it though, he found a longbow leaning up against his
car. Shot a storm with it. And I have to say, it’s a nice bit of
work.’
‘Well, he didn’t get it from me,’ Alan said, brushing away
dust and dirt as they headed back to the admin area. ‘I
barely got through the door before it closed on me.’
‘Then where did it come from?’
Callum, Gav, Joan and Lucy were waiting for Alan with a cup
of hot tea and the WI had been true stars unpacking some
of their goodies to provide him with a last-minute bacon
buttie and a cake.
He looked over at the bow in question and sure enough it
was fabulous to look at, apparently a marvel to shoot with,
and he shook his head with a sigh.
‘So, who do we think this belongs to, then?’
‘It’s not marked,’ Gav told him. ‘Never seen it before and
nobody claimed it, so you tell me. I don’t know of a single
person who’d be willing to part with a decent bow like that
and not own up to it.’
‘Old Pete would’ve done.’ Alan said.
‘Old Pete, haven’t heard that name for a long while, rest his
soul.’ Gav frowned, holding his hand out for the bow. He
turned it again in his hands, running his fingers up and down
the silky wood. ‘A sad day when he passed over. Giving away a
bow like that would be right up his street.’
‘Who’s Old Pete?’ Lucy asked.
‘The most honest and true gentleman archer I ever had the
pleasure of knowing,’ Gav told her, fondly recalling the man.
‘It must fifteen years or more since he died. He was at a
shoot once with a bunch of guys and somebody’s longbow
snapped. Pete lent the guy one of his spares. As luck would
have it, that bow broke too at the next target. The guy was
gutted – not only at breaking his own bow but now he’d done
it to Pete’s as well. But Pete, he just smiled, said it was a
shame but these things happen. Then he went back to his
van and pulled another bow out for the bloke to shoot. You
wouldn’t believe it if you hadn’t been there, but the third
bow broke as well!’
‘You’re making this up.’ Lucy folded her arms and pouted.
‘No, I’ve heard this story before,’ John Banks said. ‘Didn’t
Old Pete lend him yet another one?’
‘He did,’ Gav confirmed with a chuckle. ‘And he wasn’t bothered
about the broken ones either, just shrugged it off and
said he was just happy to help. Heart of gold, that man.’
For a few seconds the Hollow Tree Field Archers stood in
silence, Gav still running his fingers over the mystery,
unclaimed longbow. It was slightly gnarled and knotted along
the length, self-nocked, just the sort of bow Old Pete would
have treasured. But where had it come from?
He put the bow back down carefully and got back to the
task of helping everyone pack up for the day. ‘Hey! Put that
down Lucy, you’ll do yourself an injury.’
‘You’re right, Gav.’ She grinned and held out the heavy box
she had picked up. ‘Give me a hand taking this lot back to the
lock-up, Dad.’
Moira Hodgkinson