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HORSE & HOUND - 1.4.04

So where stands Hunting in the Realm of Politics? In a sort of No Man’s Land is the answer. What we know is that Blair has given a verbal promise that ‘Parliament will settle the hunting question once and for all.’ Several points arise from this:

1: Blair has no convictions about hunting – he regards it as a political pawn to be moved at best.

2: To use a well-worn ‘Goldwynism’ – Blair’s’ verbal promises are not worth the paper they are written on.

3: ‘Parliament’ means the Commons and the Lords, nor must we ignore the role of European Human Rights legislation

Hunting is a political tight rope stretched between two opposing poles. At one extreme there is old Col Pole-Wiggley, whose motto (if he spoke French) might be ‘Ici ils ne passeront pas’. The other pole is represented by Dave Spurge, Class Warrior, who clings by his fingertips to the to the very Leftern (sic) edge of the Labour Party. The chance of any constructive dialogue between the two poles must be regarded as sub-zero. But between them lies an (admittedly) bumpy stretch of middle ground through which you might think that people of good will, who care about Animal Welfare, might be able to thread a way forward. They might, but the ground is heavily mined. There are the mines of Class Warfare. You might think that in the 2nd Millennium, this concept would be dead and buried, but there are still extremists of both the Right and Left who cling to it as a child might cling to its ‘comfort blanket’. You might think that the so-called ‘Animal Welfare’ societies would welcome any move that might rationalise Animal Welfare. Yet these same organisations are reputed to have spent c. £30 million over the last five years trying to get an outright ban on hunting and frustrating any attempt at compromise. The cynical reader (if such a creature exists amongst Horse and Hound readers) might say that that is because these societies regard the struggle against hunting as something that keeps their tills jangling – shame on such a thought.

A compromise position does exist. It is enshrined in the Wild Mammals (Protection) (Amendment) (No 2) Bill. This is an amendment to the Wild Mammals (Protection) Act 1996. It has been presented to Parliament by Lembit Opik. The ‘Opik’ amendment has been supported throughout by a Cross Party group of MPs that calls itself the ‘Middle Way Group’ – it includes - Kate Hoey, Gwynneth Dunwoody, Austin Mitchell and others of ‘credit and renown.’ l urge you to obtain a copy of this Bill and read it for yourselves – it is mercifully short.

Clause 1 of the 1996 (the ‘Donoughue’) Act forbids – “any person to mutilate, kick, beat, nail or otherwise impale, stab, burn, stone, crush, drown, drag or asphyxiate any wild mammal.” I cannot believe that any of these things are part of the daily routine of any reader. Nor can I imagine any reader who would disagree with the Amendment that seeks to replace that rigmarole with the simple statement:

“Any person who intentionally causes undue suffering to any wild mammal shall be guilty of an offence.” The nub of the matter is whether this amendment could be read so as to include Hunting. Different people will have different views on this. Under the Opik Amendment a ‘Regulatory Authority’ would be established to consider proper codes of behaviour towards wild mammals. These codes would be submitted to the Secretary of State who would either make a regulation recognising a code, or would write to the authority – “setting out the reasons why he (she?) does not consider a certain code to be suitable for recognition.” In which case the Authority would have to go back to the drawing board. Perhaps some of you are sucking your teeth at the words – ‘Regulatory Authority’ and thinking of a body stuffed with Islingtonian nerds and Welsh Badger Watchers. In fact the Amendment stipulates the composition of ‘The Authority’

(a) a chairman appointed by the Secretary of State – a dodgy start you might think, but…

(b) one member nominated by each of the following organisations

1: The Royal College of Vet Surgs

2: The Joint Nature Conservation Committee

3: The Country Land and Business Association (CLA)

4: The NFU

5: The Game Conservancy & British Deer Society (jointly)

6: The Council of Hunting Associations

7: BASC & National Gamekeepers Organisation (jointly)

8: Universities Federation for Animal Welfare

9: The RSPCA

10: Two members appointed by the Authority

You can do your own maths on that, but it strikes me that there are enough there with common sense to see that hunting does not include animals having ‘unnecessary suffering inflicted upon them,’ although the RSPCA has already condemned the Amendment. I know that many hunting people have been suspicious of the Middle Way group, but its proposals have been supported by the Countryside Alliance, ACPO, NFU and CLA.

In essence, the Middle Way is a good old British Compromise. In a compromise, no one gets all they want, but they do not lose everything either. I think these ideas could form the basis of a sensible way forward to the future.

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HORSE & HOUND - APRIL

Were I but 10 stone lighter and several K richer, I would be a Staghunter. It is the closest thing to the old Venerie that we have in this country and as such should be preserved as an important part of our history and culture. I find Staghunting by far the most skilled and intricate of our Field Sports. The Red Deer is one of our most beautiful and fascinating of our wild animals and it is an interesting point that it thrives best in areas where it is regularly and fairly hunted. This is because the deer are revered not only by the people who hunt them, but also by the people whose land they are hunted over. There are only three packs of Staghounds in the country and they are all clustered on and around Exmoor. My first day’s Staghunting took place on 20th April 1965, when the Devon and Somerset Staghounds met at Sandyway. It was just after the end of my first season hunting the Dartmoor Foxhounds. The trip was Auntie Vi’s idea. Auntie Vi was the Hon Sec of the Dartmoor; she had also appointed herself keeper of my morals (which were nothing like as bad as I would have wished) and keeper of my privy purse (state: appalling). She thought I deserved a jolly and enlisted the help of ‘P’ mainly because he had a humongous and luxurious horsebox.

There was a huge crowd, mounted and vehicular at the meet. The Spring Staghunting had just become fashionable. The details of the day have become rather clouded by time, but I do remember that the stag took a lot of shifting by the tufters from the deep wooded combe where he was harboured. Then came the galloping Whipper-in blowing furious blasts on his whistle. The stag was away, the tufters stopped and the main pack, shut up in a steading, was to be brought on. I remember galloping along a series of narrow lanes behind a broad beamed farmer on an equally broad beamed cob. Then it was out on the heather with the Forest rolling away in front of us. Up and down steep combes. Crossing rocky streams. Then a scene of grief as we came to a boggy bit – horses foundering, men running after their mounts – a lot of shouting – But I was riding Red Knight, my best Moor horse. After Dartmoor this bit of ‘stuggy’ was as a bowling green to him – he just skittered across it. Then it was on, on, with a greatly reduced field. At last we paused outside the Deer Park at Oare. The stag had ‘taken soil’ in the river. I did not see him taken, but I heard the shot and came up in time to see the mortal husk being dragged out by many willing hands. I was told that it was the best hunt of the season. An 11 mile point was mentioned. Auntie Vi was there – a cunning old moor vixen if ever there was. The obsequies were performed and I was given the slot. It sits on my desk as a paper weight.

P had disappeared into a bog, so I was left to hold our horses whilst Auntie Vi departed in a Landrover seated on the carcase of the stag. The stag was taken just below the farm of that that great man, Bob Nancekivell, Joint Master and Staghunter extraordinary. I was standing there in the spring sunshine with the reins looped over an arm, when a man appeared, touched his cap and said that Mr Nancekivell would like me to take tea and that he (the man) would see to the horses. So up to the farmhouse I went. At this point I should tell you that I had eaten nothing since a boiled egg at 06.30 – tea, I thought would be nice. ‘Tea’ at Oare was a liberal interpretation – it came in bottles and half pint glasses and six of us got through 4.5 bottles in two hours (these petty details stick in the mind). At last I was told that a lorry had come to take the horses and me to Simonsbath, where P was waiting with his lorry. I got up, said my thank-yous, walked out of the door into the fresh air and collapsed. The lorry owner said that he was not having me in his lorry:

“Zpose he’m sick,” he said

Assembled company: “Oh get ‘ome do! Us’ll stick his 'ead out of the window and wind ‘un up. ‘Twon’t matter then.” And that is what they did.

On arrival at Simonsbath, they opened the door. I felt an overwhelming desire to lie prostrate in the middle of the road and sing (I know not why) the ‘Wearing of the Green’ and that is what I did

Auntie Vi: “The brute’s drunk!” – true but tactless

For years after, when I visited Exmoor, old men would sidle up to me and ask if I minded the time us had that good hunt from Sandyway and you… Oh yes! I remember it well.

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