A poem – Inglorious Bastards by Jeremy Sabel

England’s uplands are infested

By old money and interests vested

Lords, Earls, Viscounts and Dukes

Morally bankrupt driven grouse shoots

But don’t meddle with

The rural way of life

Swathed in lies

Publicly subsidized

Cloak and dagger

Soaked in blood

This traditional slaughter

Fusillade and laughter

Wildlife murdered

Where are our Hen Harriers?

Insurmountable barriers

Rows and rows

Of Stoats, Foxes and Crows

Goshawks, Peregrines and even Hobbies

Fall foul of this criminal lobby

Who could have thought

That they call this a sport?

The Glorious 12^th

Maintaining the countryside’s health

Paying eye-watering amounts

For the privilege

To kill for fun

To them its just game

But its not just

And its not a game

Reload and volley

The poor red grouse

They don’t stand a chance

Filled with lead shot

There’s no escape from the pot

Or the men in tweed

The Establishment

Illegitimate heirs

To our natural heritage

These crooks

Down on us they look

From their lofty perches

They laugh in our faces

And perform these outrages

They take our money

For burning and shooting

An ecocide, they try hard to hide

Stewards of the land

You wouldn’t understand

Please sign this e-petition by Chris Packham calling for a ban of driven grouse shooting.

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