South Borsetshire Hunt - 2002 Boxing Day meet

Despite the parliamentary cloud that is hanging over hunting at the moment, there was a great deal of joviality as the South Borsetshire Hunt assembled outside The Bull at Ambridge for their traditional Boxing Day Meet.

With more than forty riders and around three hundred supporters (some of whom had travelled from as far away as Birmingham) assembled to drink Alun Michael’s health, there was plenty of action for hosts Sid and Joleen Perks and their staff. After giving the crowd an hour to exchange greetings and admire the hounds, new M.F.H. Oliver Stirling asked huntsman Robin Forrest to move off to the first draw at his own Grange Farm.

Within twenty minutes the hounds had chopped an old dog fox who had been making a nuisance of himself around Mr. Stirling’s barns and then Robin moved them on to the first natural covert. Here scent was found to be rather poor and the field were left to their own devices at the outer edge of the farm, from where they were they could hear in the distance the irregular fusillade of a pheasant shoot.

“Sounds like Brian’s giving Matt Crawford a good day,” said Caroline Pemberton to Shula Hebden-Lloyd. “Rather him than me”, replied Caroline. “Goodness knows I’ve got nothing against shooting but I don’t understand why we are seen as unspeakably cruel if we kill one decrepit fox in a day and someone like Crawford can blaze away all day with his character unstained.” “He does miss rather a lot” broke in Oliver Stirling handing his flask to the ladies.

He soon had to grab it back, however, as just then whipper-in Walter Jakes gave an ear-splitting holloa from the side of the covert and pointed his whip in the direction of the quickly retreating form of what was obviously a very straight-running fox. Accompanied by a toot from Robin’s horn the hounds tumbled out of the covert and were away in pursuit of what seemed was an improving scent. They were followed in quick succession by Robin, Walter and Sir Martyn Hassett on his grey point-to-pointer, Malvern Mist.

Oliver Stirling was left to organise the body of the hunt to follow at a more modest pace or what John Francombe refers to as a married man’s gallop.

Up front things were becoming interesting. The fox first headed for a bend of the River Am which was beginning to show signs of flooding. The fox obviously knew exactly where to cross and was away towards Lakey Hill with hardly a pause. The hounds managed to get through or over the river but lost the scent on the far bank. The hunt staff and Sir Martyn galloped straight for a jumpable place and reined-in to help the bewildered hounds.

 At this point our reporter lost contact with the action but was lucky enough to salvage his day, and his job, by having a chat with huntsman Robin Forrest in his cottage at The Kennels. This, in Mr. Forrest’s own words, is how the rest of the day went.

“After we got over the Am I asked Sir Martyn if he would go right-handed to stop the hounds getting near Home Farm. I didn’t think Mr. Aldridge’s London friends would appreciate a pack of hounds amongst their pheasants. Sir Martyn went off over Mr. Stirling’s hunt jumps as though he was at Cheltenham (where he’s going in March, by the way). We reckon that grey bugger’s got a good chance in the Foxhunters”. He then passed me another glass of whisky and settled back in his chair.

“I then sent young Walter left-handed along the riverbank with three and a half couple of hounds. I left the rest of the hounds in the reeds near where Charlie crossed. That’s something these antis don’t understand. I knew he’d gone towards Lakey Hill but I had to get the hounds on the scent. Just then Mr. Stirling arrived with the field. He’s doing well, Mr. Stirling, kept them all away from the hounds and made sure they weren’t chattering. I asked Mrs. Hebden-Lloyd to canter over to help Sir Martyn and to take a couple of the youngsters with her. They were delighted at having a go at the jumps. You should have seen their faces. Do them far more good than wandering around them shopping malls. Caroline Pemberton took a couple more left-handed towards young Walter.

“The hounds weren’t making much noise but they were concentrating well and it’s best to leave them be when they are. Just as well I did because just then old Crumpet seemed to get more interested. ‘Course that old fox was soaking wet when he came through there so it was difficult getting a sniff. But she did, the old darling, and she soon had the others nosing the same place. She started speaking a poor line out of the reeds but she was obviously on to something.

“Before long we were on a proper hunt, not much more than a trot at first but they gradually quickened up and I had to blow for young Walter to join me. We went over a couple of Mr. Stirling’s jumps and then the hounds started streaming towards Lakey Hill. We had a nice little gallop for about five minutes with the kids behind whooping like Apaches. Then it stopped. That’s how hunting is. That’s why it is so fascinating.

“I moved them on to this side of the last hedge before the vale country before the hill. If he had carried on we’d have had a nice old run. But he’d done something else. I couldn’t see anywhere where he could have gone to ground so I put the hounds in along the hedge to see if they would find which way he’d gone.

“The one thing I was hoping was that he hadn’t gone right-handed because that’s where Home Farm is. I sent another couple of likely youngsters to reinforce Sir Martyn and hoped they wouldn’t be needed. Brian Aldridge has been in a bit of a mood lately for some reason.

“However, as luck would have it that’s the way the bugger did go. Again the hounds were hunting slowly and steadily but they were going the wrong way as far as I was concerned. However, we had about a mile to cover and at this pace there was no danger. Trouble is they’re first class hounds and they soon got going again and this time I could see why. That old fox was sitting there waiting for them and when they got within a hundred yards he lit off for Home Farm like a goodun.

“I had to get young Walter to whip the hounds in and I galloped on to help Sir Martyn. I shan’t tell you what he actually said when I got there but he did seem to think that we’d had a bit more fun than he had.

“At least he saw the fox. That old bugger picked his spot between us and walked, calm as you like, through the hedge into Home Farm. As he did so, young William Grundy came through the other way.

“You could see he was worried ‘Good afternoon, Sir Martyn. Afternoon, Robin. I hope you’re not coming through because my beaters will be coming along in a few minutes’.

“Poor lad. He could just imagine his shoot absolutely ruined. But Sir Martyn reassured him and he went back through the hedge looking slightly less worried. The wonderful thing was that the old fox must have heard his beaters because he shot out of the hedge about a hundred yards down and between two of the youngsters. They rightly hulloo’d and we had the best half-an-hour we have had this season.

“That old fox went back the way he had come with the whole pack screaming after it. He seemed to know exactly where we would have chosen to ride and he gave those children the thrill of a lifetime. If Alun Michael bans hunting now I think the South Borsetshire Pony Club will succeed where Guy Fawkes failed.

“And we didn’t get that fox. He took us right back to Mr. Stirling’s and lost us among the outbuildings. I hope we meet him again. Now what about another drink?” Our thanks to Robin Forrest for his co-operation in this piece.