When the Rhallt shooting syndicate was formed some three years ago (now the Cambrian Roving Syndicate) I rocked up on the first day to the shoot hut outside Welshpool to be met by this young well attired gentleman who in his softly spoken voice welcomed me exuberantly, introducing himself as Charlie Fitzherbert-Brockholes. Oh, Christ I thought to myself here we go, yet another posh twat! How wrong I was. Posh he may have been, twat he most certainly was not. As far as I am concerned anybody who extols the virtues of “ratting” with such enthusiasm proclaiming it to be the “Sport of Kings” is a class act and one in a million. All too often in the shooting world guns are concerned about numbers, have they shot their quota, has the team got what they paid for. Not Charlie, for Charlie it was all about the company, the crac and that one shot of the day be it an excellent high bird or the inadvertent pillowcase. A good shot, an excellent shooting companion and a true gentleman someone who I thought I would get to know better in the coming years, alas it was not to be. Hannah, it is difficult to put into words what we all feel, certainly for my part my heart goes out to you, Oliver & Phoebe, and that Charlie “the main man” will be sorely missed by all who knew him. Wyn