“Near the close of the season I was made third whip. My summer was spent in selfishly hoping the other whips would leave before next season, which they most kindly did do, and I entered the winter (1920) as Master.
“Thanks to the kindness of certain benefactors and by dint of judicious buying, we now had 13 couples of hounds, and my hopes rose accordingly.
“I soon found in Mr. R. S. de Havilland, the Treasurer, the kindest and most sympathetic supporter. He gave me the impression that, whatever might go wrong and whatever every one else thought, he would always be on my side and ready to back the beagles against any one. From him I soon mastered what I might call the ‘etiquette’ of the hunt, and all the small delicacies which surrounded it.
“The practical side came from another quarter, and in the shape of none other than the renowned kennelman, Champion. He is probably one of the most delightful and certainly the most entertaining character I came across. Many a day I used to go up to kennels to listen to him tell stories. The seriousness which accompanied the most obvious remarks was a continual source of delight. A riddle of his about the Mayor of Cork I shall never forget, but unfortunately it was quite unrepeatable.
“No one could pass old Champion without an allusion to his family. At present they number four, and include himself, his wife, a son and a small daughter. No one could be more obliging and kind-hearted than Mrs. Champion, always ready to offer you a seat by a warm fire, and in fact to do those hundred and one things that ‘always count.’ As to George, I remember him before the War stopped us, when, though far younger than any of us, he used to keep going all day and never give in; after the War he seemed almost grown up and became like an auxiliary whip to me, his help at times being quite indispensable. He could run and keep up better than our best, and none of us were keener sportsmen. Lastly, though only a T.Y.O. filly, the youngest member already knows all the hounds by name, and they certainly all know her, willingly offering their backs for a ride.
“Well, to leave this wonderful family I go back to where we found them. I soon learnt from Champion my first duty was to visit all the farmers over whose land we hunted, some thirty in all.
“Starting with those near home, I at once discovered a most agreeable fact, for they were all so kind and generous that I soon realised why it was that only 3% had any objection to us restarting after the War. One day I am going to farm myself, so we had a good ground for conversation that helped to break the ice after an informal introduction. It was then that I got to know them, and knowing them meant liking them.
“I cannot pay these farmers a greater tribute than to say that no one of them ever showed me anything but the greatest civility and kindness. Of course, some pointed out perfectly legitimate annoyances, but they never showed any bitterness in expressing them. It is with a certain feeling of bitterness that one realises that all we give in return to these farmers, who offer their crops to trample and hedges to break, is a brace of pheasants and a hare if they are lucky.
“Of course I could fill a book with accounts of our sport that winter, but I must confine myself to a few remarks. Any success we had when I was Master was not due in any degree to me, but to the hounds. I believe all the joy of beagling, and its value as a sport, is to watch the hounds work, and with a good pack the less the Master interferes the better, and then only when the hounds seem to look to him for help. Of course I am prejudiced, but our pack seemed to me close on perfection by the time we reached the Easter Half: steady, obedient and fast; to watch them spread like a fan at a check and then a whimper (no babblers, mind!), and all the pack were away again raising their enchanting song.
“I never wanted a show pack; what I wanted were good noses, good bone, good feet. Noses they certainly had, and the way the eight season bitches stayed was enough indication of bone and feet. We try to keep the pack between 14½ inches and 15½ inches, as this will give a pace which allows all to see a good share of the run, and it also allows one to kill hares, and, since all packs seemed to be judged (in my opinion quite wrongly) by the number of hares they kill, it follows you must have speed in your pack. This is especially the case when hares are too numerous, and unless you press your hare continually a change is inevitable.