"nice to see you, to see you nice"

Okay then, spent the day with the other person "related to me by marriage" and a wonderful time (according to some who were participating) was enjoyed by all. Personally I did enjoy the Glenlivet - 18yo - and the ham and Stilton portions

Moving on . . . 

Foxhunting the sport (or chase) of a fox by men and - sometimes - women on horseback, led by a pack of dogs (hounds if you must) is a tried and true way of life in the English countryside. In England, foxhunting dates from at least the 15th century. It probably is an outgrowth of the ancient art of stag and hare hunting.

What we think of and consider regarding foxhunting, (when we think at all about it) began in the 19th century shortly after Hugo Meynell - credited as - the father of the modern 'English chase", started hunting. Hunting soon developed into a national upper-class pastime; with a character in Oscar Wilde’s play A Woman of No Importance referring to it as “the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.” 

Be truthful for a moment here, you like that line don’t you? (thought so)

Moving on . . . The traditional procedure and decorum of the “hunt” is still observed out here in rural parts of the country where said traditions are maintained, up to and including the wearing of the proper kit. 

The foxhunting “uniform” consists of a scarlet coat with a white stock (cravat) and black velvet cap for the master, huntsman, and whippers-in. Followers of sufficient prestige are invited to wear scarlet, with the individual buttons of the hunt, and a top hat: the velvet cap being strictly the prerogative of those actively engaged in the control of hounds, though by modern usage – and “politeness” women may also wear it.
 
Other followers wear black coats, with top hats or bowlers (this last description included myself). In the case of some ancestral hunts run by noble families (the ‘landed gentry), the uniform may be green, yellow, or gray instead of scarlet. The hunt is conducted by the ‘Master’ and all who take part in it do so at his invitation, even when they pay (handsomely I hasten to add) for the privilege of participation. 

The total entourage of a hunt also includes grooms; second horsemen, who ride relief horses for the master, the master’s staff, and leading followers; plus a cadre of so-called ‘earth stoppers’, people who are supposed to close up all the dug up/out earth, or fox dens destroyed by the hounds. 

The hounds, roughly 20 or so matched pairs, are controlled by the huntsman, who may be the master but is generally the senior paid servant of the hunt. Or the guy with the most hounds really

Point of privilege here; my “esteemed” brother-in-law had the “honour” of presiding as last master of the family hunt and was the invitor (don't know if that's a word) for me today. But I definitely digress here, so back to the narrative . . .

Two or three ‘whippers-in’ assist in the fox reconnaissance and in keeping the hounds together as a pack. The “Master” huntsman, and whippers-in all take precedence over the other ‘followers’ to hounds. The huntsman controls the hounds by voice, his calls being known as cheers, and by a horn  - strange, he never referred to it as a "bugle" like I thought it was -

All hunts begin with a meet-and-greet, where the followers join the hounds, acknowledge the master and partake of offered hospitality provided by one of their number who acts as principal host for the occasion. Delectable Stilton, cured country ham, loaves of bread and as much 18yo Glenlivet as your liver would allow (and mine allowed enough!) were on offer today

All of which was (eventually) followed, on the command of the master, by the hounds off to draw -aka- search the targeted area (woodland, gorse, or field) where it is suspected the fox may be hiding – or just doing what an unsuspecting normal animal might be up to in the course of living his day-to-day.

I’m just saying 

Anywhooo, when a fox is located, this fact is noted by the cry of hounds, blowing of the horn, and the shout “Tally-ho” (no lie, just like in the movies) which signifies the hunt - as it were - is on and in due time proceeds to the stage where the fox is roused/spotted by all, a moment signalled by a loud screech of “Holloa.” 

So now, traditionally, if a kill actually happens, the brush -fox's tail-, mask -his head-, and pads (the feet) of the fox are given as trophies by the master to any of the followers whom he (or she) considers to be deserving of the honour.
 
(why I’m thinking of “Basil Brush” right about now, I have no clue! And to those of you not living in the UK, or of age, apologies are proffered regarding your lack of ‘Basil’ knowledge)

What becomes of the fox’s body (remnants) after the “awards” are passed out you ask? Good question actually, well, it’s 'presented' to the hounds: to the "victors" go the spoils as it were.

A few years ago, as most of you probably know, ‘enlightened’ efforts to end the "sport" intensified, and in 2002 Scotland banned foxhunting altogether, just said nope, not going to do it here anymore, forget about it, go away you heathens. 

Two years later, about 2004, the House of Commons basically outlawed the killing of wild mammals in hound-led hunts in England and Wales, with however, certain exceptions. No one here could recall what those exceptions were, so we all agreed it had to do with dead sheep
 
Regardless of a number of legal challenges, and I guess there were a hell of a lot of them, early on in 2005 or so, the law banning hunts went into effect. However, some hunts have continued to be held throughout England and Wales, private affairs as they say, but then (by definition) aren't all hunts "private affairs"?

Anyway, hunts these days, the ones actually carried out, are done with the hunters and hounds leisurely following a laid scent trail rather than a live fox. This I'm told, is what's commonly referred to as drag hunting. Or definitely not anything like today's exercise in humility (in my case at any rate)

Also, nowadays, when a live fox IS hunted, law requires the animal, if it is to be killed, be shot by the hunters rather than ripped to shreds by the hounds, humane is, what humane is I guess.

Well anyway, today nothing was had but a good time and yeah, Tally-Ho to you all, and to all a good

"Holloa"

And yeah, the horse pictured wanted about as much to do with me as I wanted to do with him!