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NEWCASTLE JOURNAL FOR 30.6.04

Those of you who are in touch with the thought processes of NuLab MPs (and if you have ever wondered what an ‘oxymoron’ meant a NuLab MP that thought for itself would be a fine example) may have wondered about their apparent calm about Hunting. After all, the hunting of hunting is their favourite blood sport. However, you need not worry, NuLab believes that it has a ‘cunning plan’. That ‘great and good man’, Gerald Kaufman, who I think may now be a ‘Sir’, said recently that that he had received an ‘assurance from Peter Hain’ about hunting ‘which I trust totally’. Anyone who can say that about the egregious Hain must be privy to the old CIA maxim that the secret to winning the hearts and minds of people is to get a firm grip on their gonads. My Westminster Mole tells me that Nulab's cunning plan runs like this – the government will present a Hunting Bill to Parliament just before the summer recess, which is timed for July 22. This will go through the greasy mess that is the House of Commons like the proverbial hot knife. It will get its second reading during September when MPs return from their well earned (?) break of sea, sun, carcinoma and chips and will go through the Commons in a day. It will then go to the Lords. If Their Lordships demur, as they did last time, then the Speaker (may his glottal stops increase) will add a certificate saying that the Parliament Act may be applied and, Hey Presto, the deed is done, for bye Her Gracious Majesty giving Her assent. Then all us Hunting people will become criminals in time for Christmas. No time will be allowed for the usual leisurely procedure of consideration and consultation. The Bill will be pushed through as emergency legislation (as it might be for acts of terrorism). To convert all hunters into terrorists, a clause has been added to the proposed Civil Contingencies Bill, which will allow emergency powers to be used to prevent the ‘destruction of plant life or animal life’. This mysterious clause is a catchall. It may be presumed that every print from a horse’s hoof may be regarded as a ‘destruction of plant life’ and if logic were to be applied (a most unlikely contingency) it would also mean no more meat eating as that would entail the ‘destruction of animal life’. All butchers would be terrorists. But, of course, the clause’s real intention is to knock Hunting on the head and this is where the proverbial manure will really hit the proverbial fan. The Countryside Alliance, which has honed its skills by seeing off 16 anti-hunting Bills in the last 10 years, is waiting in ambush for just this sort contingency and has its finger on the trigger of a massive legal challenge, which is likely to be lengthy and convoluted. The Government is relying on the use of the 1949 Parliament Act. Many lawyers regard this Act as legally suspect, as it is based on the original Parliament Act of 1911, which in turn is regarded as being legally and constitutionally wobbly. The 1911 Act arose from a dispute between Mr Asquith’s Liberal (now there’s a word that has fallen into grave disrepute) Government and the House of Lords. This Bill created a legal anomaly, whereby legislation could be presented directly by the Commons for Royal Assent, after the Lords had rejected a Bill in 3 consecutive parliamentary sessions. So such a Bill would not have been passed by Parliament AS A WHOLE and would mean that the Commons could change the British Constitution at its whim – exactly the sort of excess that the Lords is in place to curb. In 1949 the Attlee Government reduced the delay from three sessions to two. The legal validity of the 1949 Act, pushed through on the basis of the 1911 Act, has always been seriously in doubt. It has only been used three times - for the War Crimes Act, the Sexual Offences Act and the European Parliamentary Elections Act. None of these were challenged in the Courts. This time the Act will be challenged and in some tune.

All of this means that should the Government follow ‘Kaufman’s Cunning Plan’, NuLab will approach the next election embrangled in one of the biggest constitutional and legal rows of this century, not to mention the threat of serious agrarian unrest. It should follow the example of that great Libertarian, Fidel Castro, who learned the lesson that however revolting the Peasantry may appear to be, you should never oppress them to the point where they actually do it. The election platforms will be slippery with blood and all because of Hunting, which as a recent NOP poll showed, only 1% of Labour voters thought worth bothering with.

I rest my case.

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NEWCASTLE JOURNAL - 24.06.04

I went to Bewcastle. At least, I think I did – it’s bad to find, is Bewcastle, which must be a great relief for those who live round and about Bewcastle - wherever it may be. At this point some impatient geek is going to be saying – “But where’s it near?” The whole point about Bewcastle is that even if it does exist, it does not do it near anywhere, but it is in that hidden corner of Northumberland that sticks out east of Carlisle. It is so hidden and so quiet that almost no one goes there. Mind you it must have been a lively spot, at one time, judging by the number of Peel Towers and Bastles and them much needed with the Scottish Border only a mile or two away and it bristling with Grahams, Elliots and Armstrongs and other merry thieves (I speak historically of course) but, after all, the ‘lifting’ of livestock and ‘insight’ was a perfectly respectable form of employment on the Border in those days. Indeed, it was the only form of employment available to the wild Borderers and the best thieves of those days are Dukes today and jolly good luck to them. Although I am not sure that the unfortunate ‘Sergeant of Bewcastle’ would have echoed my sentiments. He must have been truly ‘one of Britain’s hardy sons’ (although Britain did not exist then) as he had both his ‘bal stanes ‘ (sic) shot away by a ball from a pistol fired by a Graham, or, as it might be, an Elliot, or, for all I know, an Armstrong. Whatever, it makes you wince to think of it. Anyway, you won’t find (if you do find it) a more peaceful spot than Bewcastle today. I went there for two reasons – first because I had always wanted to explore that bit of country and secondly, because I had been invited to attend a Hound Trail there. Hound Trailing is not high on my list of excitements. The hounds are ‘loused’ and you watch them disappear over the first crag, then there is little to do for the next 20 minutes until they re-appear over another crag. But the crack was good and the whisky plentiful. It was a pretty dreich day, but then that bit of Northumberland imports its climate from nearby Cumberland. I am glad that I never carried out my one time plan to go and live in Cumberland. I had my fill of rain from my youth in the far west of England. Still, I did meet a lot of nice Journal readers and I did at least, see a signpost to Bewcastle. All this was Bewcastle Hunt country. I have always meant to have a day with this famous pack, which has been run by three, if not four, generations of the Proud family. Everyone tells me that they have great sport and one day, I will get there, although it is something like 70 miles of a hike from the Breamish Valley, which goes to show what a huge county Northumberland is. People in the south, whose sense of distance cannot stretch beyond the M25, have no idea of the size of the ‘North’. I remember a London Editor suggesting that I ‘pop over to Manchester’ to do a job. ‘Haud on just noo, Man’ I said – ‘ that’s a five hour drive.’ He insisted that this must be nonsense – ‘its in the North isn’t it?’ The answer to this is ‘no’. As far as I am concerned Manchester is in the Midlands. ‘The North’ can only be said to start at York and then only just. I know that Yorkshiremen will argue with this, but then them dour buggers will argue about anything. Anything south of the Tyne has got to be pretty suspect, like the so-called Angel of the North, which I always refer to as the ‘Luftwaffe Memorial’ – it usually gets a rise.

What a wonderful stretch of weather we had through June. There is nowhere better than Northumberland when the weather is nice. People often ask me where I am going for my holidays? The answer is nowhere. I have had my fill of travelling and all the inconveniences and discomforts that go with it and to what purpose? To lie on a beach and seek skin cancer? That would drive me mad, even if I missed out on the carcinoma. Besides, as the Dragon Lady says, if you live in a place so beautiful that other people come there for their holidays, what is the point in leaving it? She has the truth of it. They say that travel broadens the mind. It also gives you fleas, Delhi Belly, DVT, Montezuma’s Revenge, discomfort and ‘other people’ – all the world and its wife, children and mother-in-law seems to want to travel these days and, what is worse, they all seem to want the seat next to me. Well jolly good luck to them, say I. I’m going to seek the peace of my own armchair.

Go well and may God go with you - but I won’t.

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NEWCASTLE JOURNAL - 17.6.04

I dislike Rape. I am of course talking about Oil seed Rape, of which I know little, rather than about any other kind of which I know nothing (This is for the ‘Avoidance of Doubt’). I am not and never have been an arable farmer. I can understand that rape is an important crop for them. I do not like it for two reasons. The first is the sickly, un-English, yellow colour of the flower. It somehow seems unnatural, rather like a tan painted on from a bottle. The other reason is that it does bad things to me. I once lived in a house, which, on one occasion, was completely surrounded by Rape. For about a month, my inflamed sinuses played war with me. However I realise that Rape is an important crop, but not nearly as important as it ought to be. This is entirely the fault of this vile government. The Curry Report stated:

‘England needs a long term strategy for creating and exploiting opportunities in non-food crops… Bio-ethanol, which is made from starch and sugar crops, can be used to run petrol engines. Bio-diesel made from plant oils is used in diesel engines…’ The government, committed to the reduction of green house gasses and CO2 emissions, hailed the Curry report as ‘ground breaking’, but has not turned a single sod (steady Poole – this is a family paper, so none of those jokes, please) to facilitate the findings of the report. This, in spite of the fact that it is calculated that bio-ethanol would reduce CO2 emissions by some 70%. Indeed it has stated in a White Paper that:

‘Fuels made from bio-mass represent an important potential route for achieving the goal of zero-carbon transport, creating new opportunities for agriculture in the UK…’ Fine words, but then this government is notorious for fine words and complete lack of action – ‘all mouth and no trousers’ in fact (and I am going to resist that one too) there is no UK production of transport related bio-diesel. DEFRA refers to such production as an:

‘ Extremely small cottage industry…at the moment in the UK producing bio-diesel, but in order to have an industry which would really make a difference, in terms of environmental benefits, in terms of our farmers, or indeed, in terms of being able to go into a petrol station and buy something which contained bio-diesel…we do not yet have an industry’.

As I understand it, all our rape seed oil goes to Germany to be made into Bio-diesel there, some of which is then re-imported here. In contrast to our pathetic approach, Spain produces 300,000 tonnes; France 344,000 tonnes; Germany 130,000 tonnes. So you may ask why the government does nothing about Bio-fuels, in spite of their obvious and scientifically proven benefits? ‘Spite’ is certainly an operative word here. This government wishes to do nothing that might improve the financial lot of our farmers and thereby impede its vicious political endeavour to cleanse the countryside of its indigenous inhabitants. In pursuing this policy it is aided by the fact that the Bio-fuels are the responsibility of no less than 5 government departments – DEFRA, DTI, Transport, Customs & Excise and the Treasury. If you consider the buggers’ muddle that any one of those departments can make of the implementation of a single policy, just think of the stramash (a fine old Doric word) that can result from 5 of them sticking their fingers in the pie. On top of this, add the heavy pressure from the big oil companies to resist the government giving financial aid and succour to any alternative that might loosen their stranglehold on the motorist.

The only government department that has a clear policy on this is the Treasury. Government has offered a duty derogation of 20% on Bio-fuels, but the Treasury does not agree with this (are you surprised?) Hear what comforting words the Son of the Manse has said:

‘…The thing is to return unequivocally to the fact that the principal purpose for duty derogation is not to put in place another form of production subsidy… for farmers in Britain…’ In other words, whilst a reduction in fuel duty, might be welcomed by the Great British Public, if it is also likely to be welcomed by those wicked ‘natural fascists’ - farmers and other country people, then you can whistle for it. And if that is not ‘Spite’, then I am a Bush Baptist.

As this is a phrase that I use quite often, several people have asked me what a ‘Bush Baptist’ is? The answer is that I have not the faintest idea. The term came from my Great Uncle Tom, a widely travelled sailor. He was often besieged by Jehovah’s Witnesses. He would neatly snooker them by saying that he was very sorry, but he was a ‘Bush Baptist’. It always seemed to work.

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NEWCASTLE JOURNAL - 10.6.04

To the Derby - I suspect that most of you suspect that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Racing Man – whizzing about in a battered felt hat and a covert (ed-sic) coat, festooned in binoculars and covered in badges and labels – not true. I very seldom go racing for the very simple reason that I find it about as exciting as creosoting. I do admit to watching the Gold Cup and the National – they are exciting. But I can watch them from the comfort of my armchair and get a much better view than I would get on any racecourse. However, in recent years, I have taken to going to the Derby. The reason for this is that, when in London, I frequent an establishment called Boisdale, which is a restaurant cum bar cum cigar club cum jazz club. The carpets may be worn, the woodwork chipped and it would give any interior decorator the vapours, but no body cares – the place is packed every night and the crack is tremendous (there is live trad jazz each night). As the Spanish say – ‘The fish stinks from the head’. The chieftain (I use the word advisedly) of Boisdale is Ranald, ‘The Younger of Clanranald’. Ranald is a wicked young man, whom you can easily imagine with dirk and claymore. The best ‘deer from the hill and salmon from the river’ come into his kitchen, together with the finest Aberdeen Angus beef. So you eat the best of Scotland, he has ‘whisky and wines of the best’ and one of the best collections of cigars in London. But that is not all. Every year, Boisdale runs a trip to the Derby on one of those open topped busses, with the in-house jazz band pumping away. It is an outing not to be missed. I dread to think what the per-capita booze consumption for the day must be, but from the kick-start Bloody Mary at 0930, there is a never-ending succession of bottles of wine, until you fall off the bus in the evening. In between there is luncheon and such a spread you never did see. I always feel rather like Mole in the ‘Wind in the Willows’ when confronted with the Water Rat’s picnic. What about the Racing? I hear you cry – well, there is an occasional flash of sweating horseflesh across the bows of the bus, but I am much too busy to pay attention. I do not even bother to buy a race card. In fact I have slept through two Derbies in spite of a fun fair behind me and the roar of the stands in front. One of my very few skills is the ability to smoke a cigar whilst sleeping and whilst balancing a glass of Champagne wine in the other hand. I think that I should get some award or other. The Dragon Lady, on the other hand – is that three hands? Does take an informed interest in the racing and comes away with a handbag bulging in cash. Do I not get bored? Not with the Great British Public to observe at every level of awfulness. This year there was a male streaker to cheer as he was hunted up and down the course by a pack of heavily sweating stewards:

“My goodness! He’s quite a big boy!” said the Dowager sitting next to me, as she keenly observed the chase. I met a very nice girl from Darras Hall, who told me that there had once been a plan to fence to place in and have electronic gates. I could not quite gather whether the idea was to keep the sons of the Reivers out, or to keep the inhabitants in. I told her that I favoured the latter, but she was a very nice girl and did not seem to mind.

Then we sipped, supped and smoked our way back into London, whilst the band played on. It was indeed a great day out and the racing did not, by one jot, interfere with my pleasure.

Oh dear! Oh dear! I see that the Nanny State is intent of interfering with those of us who enjoy our smoking. It witters on about the dangers pf ‘passive smoking’ (totally unproven) in which case it ought to ban barbecues as well – the smoke is far more carcinogenic. It also pretends to be concerned about people smoking themselves into and early grave. But if that is what people want to do, why should they not? Let us be practical about this. Those who go puffing and wheezing to their coffins do so because they wish to. I know that people say that their treatment costs the taxpayer a lot of money, but the smoker is a taxpayer too. Just think what his/her early demise saves the taxpayer in pensions and geriatric care. I remember the tobacco grower in Cuba who told me that smoking killed his mother. Every day since childhood it had been her custom to climb into a tree and smoke a cigar:

“It killed her,” he said sadly.

“How?”

“She fell out of her tree and broke her neck.”

“How old was she?”

“She was only 92” he said sadly.

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NEWCASTLE JOURNAL - 5.6.04

I am a Founding Father and you are going to ask – “of what?” The answer to that is ‘The Free Church of Country Sports’. You haven’t heard of it, because it is new. It is the product of a fertile brain belonging to one Rod Brammer, who runs a shooting school near Tiverton in Devon. His inspiration came from an answer to a Parliamentary question which asked the Government to ban ritual slaughter of farm animals, where the animal is killed by having its throat cut. This method of slaughter is part and parcel of both the Jewish (Kosher) and Muslim (Halal) faiths. The Government replied:

“While we realise that such ritual slaughter is cruel, we are not disposed to do anything about it, because we are not able to attack a religion.” This is a fact of law in this country and under European Law. Mr Brammer’s proposition is that Field Sports can and do qualify as a religion. This proposition has been backed by a Constitutional Lawyer, who agrees that Field Sports can qualify as a Church. To qualify as a Church, the proposition has to be backed by the signatures of 7,000 people. This should not be difficult as the Countryside Alliance has a membership of c.100, 000. To qualify as a Church, certain conditions have to be met:

1) The members must meet on a regular basis to discuss and practise their religion – no problem there.

2) Members must wear clothes that signify and show their adherence to the religion – no problem there, either.

3) Field sports involve a form of ritual killing, as does the Christian Religion, although it ‘borrowed’ the idea from a much older religion – indeed a ‘ritual death’ is probably one of the oldest forms of worship. I once attended a St Hubert’s Day Mass in France, where the Priest blessed the hounds and said that – “God is certainly a hunter.” I do not follow any established religion, but I do believe in God and I feel closer to Him / Her when I am hunting, than I do anywhere else.

As you may imagine this proposition is the equivalent of putting a fox in the political chicken run and has provoked a certain amount of hysteria, both in the papers and on the Beeb, which is institutionally against Field Sports. On this basis Mr Brammer is refusing to give the Beeb taped interviews. He knows how clever editing can turn black into white and is refusing to bare his throat to the knife.

Nulab is screaming ‘Foul’, because it knows that if and when (more when than if) we do become an official religion, then they cannot attack us. We accept the fact that there will inevitably be a court case, but then the matter will be sub-judice for the duration of the case. This will bugger-up NuLab’s timings about introducing any anti Field Sports legislation before the next election, after which Nulab may well be toast. To find out more about the Church, visit http://uk.geocities.com/mattbrammer@btinternet.com or write to:

The Countryman’s Weekly, Yelverton, Devon. PL20 7 PE.

I think that it is a spiffing idea.

By the way, the Government is in something of a muddle and has been dumped there by DEFRA. The Government is facing mega-Euros in fines because DEFRA has failed to sort out the fallen stock issue. Fallen Stock consists of the animals that die on farms. Since May 1st these may no longer be buried in a kett-hole on the farms, nor may they be sent to the Hunt kennels, unless the Hunt has a licensed incinerator. All fallen stock now has to be incinerated at a licensed premises. At the moment more than 50% of these licensed premises are hunt kennels. Were hunting to be banned, DEFRA would lose over half of its disposal units at a stroke. Dead and rotting carcases would have to be transported across long distances to premises that are already beyond capacity and you do not need much imagination to see the danger to public health and the possibilities of spreading disease that these journeys might entail. This is rousing a stink amongst Ministers (I mean have you ever smelled a dead sheep that has festered in the sun for a few days – a DEFRA employed contractor can sometimes take weeks to collect a carcase). Some of the more practically minded Ministers, and such creatures do exist, are beginning to think that appeasing the few Labour fanatics over hunting, just might not be such a wizard idea after all. If the fallen stock situation gets worse and the Taxpayer has to stump up for huge EU fines, the resulting stink will be far worse than that of any sun-ripe ewe.

In this connection there is a DEFRA man who does a round inspecting Hunt incinerators. He always accepts the offer of a cup of tea (hunt servants are polite and hospitable people) but never sets lip to cup. One chap found this curious and he rang round some other kennels to find that it was the same with them – curious. But the answer is out – DEFRA man is terrified that some hunt servant (whose livelihood DEFRA seeks to destroy) will poison his tea. Funny old world in’t it.

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