The Old Dog and Duck by Albert Jack

September 3rd 2009


The Horse and Hounds

From a hunt loving monarch to an aristocratic saboteur



Once regarded as the typical English country pastime, fox hunting, like cricket, was transported across the world during the heyday of the British Empire. The hunt, with all its pomp and ritual, lives on in America, Canada, Russia, New Zealand and many European countries. In Britain the hunt continues, especially the Boxing Day 'meet', the hounds now following an artificial trail that doesn't lead to a fox (or not intentionally).

It is only the hunting of foxes with hounds that is affected by the ban. There's nothing to stop hunters shooting foxes or running them over with a horse. Although the use of hounds to track and trap prey can be traced back to the ancient Egyptians, the earliest recorded fox hunt with hounds dates to 1534 when farmers in Norfolk sent their dogs out to hunt and kill foxes in an attempt to control the 'vermin'.

There is no doubt a single hungry fox can decimate a hen house in minutes if the crafty pest can get into one, and country folk, quite understandably, should be able to do what they can to protect their livestock. It is difficult to find anybody who seriously disagrees with this sentiment. The main objection, albeit shrouded in a veil of animal rights concern, appears to be to the vulgar spectacle of the landed gentry in their red tunics, blowing their bugles and galloping over the countryside with packs of hounds ripping foxes apart, all in the name of 'pest control'.

 


The city law makers, argue country folk, don't understand the countryside and the problems caused by pests. Meanwhile, city folk argue that country people don't understand the cities and the problems caused by pests living there, either. It was Charles II who encouraged the training of hounds to hunt foxes, and the king himself was an enthusiastic fan of the hunt - perhaps in retaliation for all those years spent at bay.

It is recorded that one of his closest friends, George Villiers, 2nd DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (1628-87), established the first organized hunt during his time at court. Their side's losing of the English Civil War following the Battle of Worcester in 1651 ensured that both men experienced what it was like to be hunted (see THE ROYAL OAK); like the king, George managed to go to ground, however, escaping to Europe in the aftermath of the war. Following the restoration of the monarchy in 1660, when both men had emerged from exile, they were keen to be on the side of the hunters once again.

Thanks to the new king's fondness for the sport, fox hunting with horses and hounds became a national pastime, along with the familiar appearance of horses and hounds milling around taverns and inns that still bear the name to this day. But there was also opposition to fox hunting, and long before the twenty-first century too. The original hunt saboteurs found that hunts could be thrown into disarray via a rather strange means - using a smelly fish. Herring has long been one of the most widely caught fish in the seas around Britain. In the days before refrigeration, herring and mackerel were preserved by a process of heavy salting and smoking to ensure the fish were still edible by the time they arrived in the inland market towns.

This process, also known as kippering, turns the herring a deep reddish brown and heightens its already strong smell. Dragging these pungent fish over the fields was found to confuse the hounds, which would follow the scent of the herring rather than that of the fox, and it led to the expression 'red herring', meaning a false trail, becoming established in the English language. Back in the nineteenth century, an English lord who resented hunters riding their horses all over his fields in pursuit of foxes paid one of his farm workers an extra shilling to lay a trail of herring that would lead the hounds away from his land.

On the morning of the hunt, the lad did exactly what was asked of him and laid a fishy trail down across the fields, through the wooded glade, over the hedge, through the meadow and past the river. After several hours he decided to take a break and popped into the local pub, called ironically enough the Fox and Hounds, for a bite to eat and a pint or two. Before long, the distant sound of barking dogs could be heard and the lad grinned as the noise grew louder: his plan had clearly worked. But they were getting a little close for comfort now and he became alarmed as they drew into view outside the pub.

Looking down, he realized he still had his bag of herring with him, but it was too late: the hounds poured into the pub and tore him and several other customers to shreds