I have ridden a few hirelings, but hunting on them gave me no pleasure; because I was entirely ignorant of their capabilities, and it is not a pleasant feeling to ride at a nasty fence with a big note of interrogation sticking in one’s heart. “Scrutator” in his interesting book, Foxhunting, says he “never could find any pleasure in riding strange horses. They neither understand your way of doing business, nor you theirs, so there must of necessity be doubts and drawbacks until both become more intimately acquainted.” I have seen so many bad accidents happen to men who were riding hired hunters, that I cannot too strongly impress on my readers the necessity of letting caution mark the guarded way, by testing a strange mount at small fences to see how he shapes, before taking unwise risks. Last season, a young man who was hunting with the Pytchley on a hireling came a cropper at the first fence, staked his mount and got a kick in the head. He was greatly distressed about the poor horse which the dealer had assured him could “jump anything,” a feat that no hunter in the world can perform. An accident of this kind with a hired hunter is a most unpleasant occurrence; because, if the bruised and mud-stained horseman happens to be a stranger to the dealer, the latter will naturally blame his riding, while the injured one who has to break the news as gently as possible, will consider that he has been misled concerning the animal’s jumping capabilities. Jorrocks’s advice, “know your horse,” should be engraved in capital letters on the heart of everyone who hunts, as its observance would prevent many distressing accidents both to humans and equines.
FARMERS AND WIRE.
There is very little wire in Leicestershire, though it is far too common in other parts of the Shires. Fences where the warning red board ([Fig. 136]) or red rag ([Fig. 137]) is seen, should be avoided, as these signals denote the presence of wire. As these death-traps bear no warning notice in some places ([Fig. 138]), it behoves people hunting in such countries to keep a sharp look-out for unmarked wire and iron hurdles ([Fig. 139]).
Some farmers appear to use wire in an unnecessary manner. For instance, placing it on the top of a gate ([Fig. 140]) seems to have no raison d’être, except to hurt unfortunate hunters which in breasting such a gate to push it open, are apt to get badly pricked and run suddenly back to avoid it, with the possible result of injury to both horses and riders behind them. Also, I have seen wire put up in fields in which there were no cattle, and removed after the hunting season, to duly appear again in the following one. Other tricks, such as sending sheep-dogs to head foxes, and stationing farm hands to shout “wire!” where there is none, have also come under my personal notice. Indeed it is impossible to live in the country, without observing such acts of hostility on the part of farmers towards “hunting people.” I cannot help thinking that much of this tension might be removed, if every hunt secretary followed the example of Colonel Francis Henry, the Hon. Secretary of the Duke of Beaufort’s Hunt, of whom we read in Baily’s Magazine of March, 1902:—“Colonel Henry, who, in the opinion of his numerous friends, seems to possess the secret of eternal youth, contrives to enquire personally into every complaint that is sent to him, whether relating to damaged fences, loss of poultry or, rarely, ‘wire offences.’ There is no better known figure in Gloucestershire than that of Colonel Henry on his hack, one of his own breeding by the way, which carries him on his long rides; he is wont to say that in dealing with a grievance ‘one visit is worth a dozen letters.’ His geniality, and the painstaking care with which he investigates every matter to which his attention is called, dissipate at their beginning many difficulties which, handled with less sympathetic diplomacy, would ‘come to a head’ and produce the friction which tells against sport. Landowners, farmers, and business men alike in the Badminton country are keen supporters of fox-hunting, and their attitude towards the sport is due in no small degree to the unremitting attention and care for their interests displayed by the honorary secretary both in winter and summer.” The truth of Colonel Henry’s remark that one visit is worth a dozen letters, was exemplified to me the other day by an old lady, a farmer’s wife, who regretted the sad change in “hunting people” since her young days, when they “used to come in and chat with me as affable as could be.” She mentioned the name of Mr. Wroughton, who partook of some of her “cowslip wine,” and so much was she impressed with the visit that every small detail of it, even the year, month, day and hour, and also where he sat in her parlour, remains a treasured memory. He made a friend who will always speak of him in the highest terms, because he was nice and civil to her, and it seems to be a matter for regret that this friendly feeling is not more generally cultivated than it is in hunting districts.
Unfortunately, the old-fashioned motherly, hardworking farmer’s wife is a type of woman which is rapidly dying out, and the modern specimen belongs to that large and useless brigade of “perfect ladies” who are above their position and who regard work as undignified. I recently saw an advertisement from a farmer’s daughter who said in it that she had offers of plenty of mounts, but wanted some lady to give her a riding habit! Surely it would have been far better for her to have worked and earned one, instead of cadging in such a manner for her amusement? Proverbially bad as our fresh butter in the Midlands is, I fear the time is approaching when butter making will entirely cease, for, with few exceptions, farmers’ daughters are not trained to do dairy work. A modern “young lady” from a farm, who had been educated in a Board school, applied to a well known lady of title for a situation as governess; but her ladyship pointed out that her educational attainments did not qualify her for such a post, and suggested that she should obtain employment as a parlourmaid. Needless to say that the farmer’s daughter scorned the idea of thus “lowering” herself! Even the daughters of farm labourers nowadays ride their bicycles, instead of going out to service as their mothers and grandmothers did before them, and dress themselves ridiculously out of keeping with their position and surroundings. It seems very incongruous to see such girls living in indolence in country villages, while the daughters of their parson, as frequently happens in large families, turn out and earn their own livelihood.