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Memoir of The Common Man by Bob Redwater

Bob Redwater, exercising his ancient right to bear arms and protect his country from foreign invasion by using traditional methods. I didn’t have a green uniform or connections with the gentry to qualify for the old boy’s club but I did have my own long bow which I had cut and made myself. I kept a low profile by standing under a large elm tree and shooting arrows outwards late on summers evenings when the Meadows was almost deserted.

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Memory of a Poacher: Royal Archers on the Meadows by Bob Redwater

A familiar sight for Edinburgh folk heading home from work across the Meadows on a late summer’s afternoon. I have always admired those splendid chaps in their green uniforms and eagle feathers in their bonnets. The Queen’s Bodyguard in Scotland, practising the noble art of archery in an effort to keep her majesty safe when she does her annual flying visit to distant Caledonia, God bless her.

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Tales From The Lives of A Poacher by Bob Redwater

The wee boy on the left hand side of the photo, with the baggy breeks, fierce expression and kirby grip in his hair, is me, young Bob Redwater. My Ma told me, “If you don’t want to get your haircut, then you’ll need to wear one of your sister’s hair grips to keep your hair out of your eyes or you’ll go blind”. “Okay” I said to my Ma, “I don’t care”.  I was a thrawn child, stubborn as a mule.

Sioux, The Irish And Running Horses By Bob Redwater

A love of horses runs in my family. One of my earliest memories was being put on the back of a gigantic ancient heavy horse called Darling. She was blind in one eye and liked to stand against the farm fence and get petted by local children.

We gathered handfuls of grass for her from our side of the fence. She was a gentle giant and stood still while we were given a peg up onto her back. She never moved away from the fence and seemed to know we were in her care. It was exciting and scary at the same time. Read more

Beyond The Urban Fox by Bob Redwater

I sold all of my guns. The time had finally come for me to retire from an active life of hunting and poaching. It was my lack of mobility and fitness rather than a sudden attack of  guilty conscience that made up my mind. I need two sticks for walking and am no longer able to outrun a gamekeeper.

Most of my secret hunting activities took place on private estates owned by the gentry and run by their tweed clad servants. I was able to feed my family with a healthy diet of wild meat as apposed to battery reared animals and fowl which had lived a miserable life before they were slaughtered. My hunting methods were many and varied, perfected by trial and error over a lifetime. Rabbits were my mainstay but we also feasted on Hare, venison, pheasants, partridge, goose, duck, salmon and trout.

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