Thomas Alfred Coward

“ How can we describe the man? He was no miserable shore shooter who tramped along the tide line, fearful of losing his way on the wastes, snapping his 12-bore at any passing gull, balked by the first deep gutter. No; in his younger days he was a true wild-fowler, who loved the roar of the punt-gun that hurled a pound and a half of lead into the packed grey geese or barnacles, laying low ten, fifteen, or twenty at a shot. ”

“ Somewhat bent, more perhaps through much crouching in the old punt than the result of years, the old fowler was a fine, broad-shouldered, well-built man. There was penetrating keenness in his eyes, which twinkled with humour beneath heavy eyebrows, though, like all men of crepuscular habits, he had a half-frown. ”

“ When the tide was full, when we could see shadowy boats steaming down the distant channel seaward, the grey geese came, following the water from their sandbank refuges, now many feet below the tide. Only for a minute did we see the pack, then they settled, hidden in the mist; one or two skeins broke from the main body, flying inland towards the fields. Fine birds, these pink-footed geese, as with outstretched necks they swing along in regular line with steady, powerful strokes; there is nothing in their wild freedom to suggest the awkward, waddling, averted birds of the farmyard. ”