The love between huntsman and hound is a special relationship: Matt Ramsden, new amateur at the Beaufort, and friend
The role of amateur huntsman was once a dream job for the rurally minded young man. Adrian Dangar, who has lived the life himself, finds that, although times are harder, it’s still a worthwhile ambition
I’m very glad I disregarded my father’s advice of more than 30 years ago to put aside my ambition to hunt a pack of foxhounds and secure a ‘proper’ job. Like the parents of many wannabe mfhs before and since, he felt that I should obtain a qualification to fall back on before embarking on a career chasing foxes. However, by then, amateur huntsmen (defined by the initials MFH after their name), such as Alastair Jackson and Capts Fanshawe, Farquhar and Clarke were already household names and glamorous figures to every student of the Chase.
Their careers, as well as those of many professionals, were presided over by the legendary Capt ronnie Wallace, so revered (and sometimes feared) during his 25-year mastership of the Heythrop that he was universally known as God. These men were devoting their lives to running a hunting country and getting by very nicely, thank you.
The expansion of commercial shooting, restrictions imposed by institutional landowners, the virulence of saboteurs and the long shadow cast by the Hunting Act 2004 means that good sport has become much more challenging to organise. However, opportunities for amateurs have increased as hunt committees recognise the workload involved, the shortage of suitable candidates and the need to provide those willing and able with the wherewithal to maintain standards, traditionally by way of a guarantee or supportive joint masters.
Ability, knowledge and enthusiasm—plus charm—are more important than deep pockets and a country estate. It also helps if they can ride a bit, as there are big savings to be made on cheap, tearaway horses that often discover brilliance as a huntsman’s mount. One of the best I ever sat on cost me the proceeds of two weeks’ skin money on Dartmoor. A nightmare in the field, Waggie settled in front of one field and I ended up hunting three different packs from her back. I acquired another good one after persuading his owner that a trial in hunt service was a better option than being fed to the hounds.
There are rich rewards for those who get it right. Given supportive farmers and landowners, the result of good public relations, there’s no other occupation that can claim so accurately the glorious english countryside— the poet W. H. Ogilvie’s battleground for bravery—as its far-reaching playground.
In addition to the fulfilment of breeding and working a pack of high-mettled foxhounds, the successful amateur may reap other benefits of what has been described as a Champagne lifestyle on a beer income. Shooting invitations come thick and fast where there is a harmonious relationship between the two sports and, to be MFH of the Sinnington in yorkshire during the 1990s, as I was, meant at least three invitations every week during winter, even if there was never time to take them all up.
During summer, the amateur huntsman will trade his heavy red coat for a well-cut grey suit to fulfil puppy-show judging obligations. This always involves a sumptuous lunch and tea and sometimes extends to edwardian hospitality at a grand country house. I remember lunching beneath Stubbs’s 1792 painting of Brocklesby ringwood before judging that hunt’s young entry and my host’s generous insistence on sending me away the following morning in a car full of fuel.
The late Willy Poole wrote of his desire to experience the glamour of the Chase— red coats have been turning heads for three centuries. Wise masters will heed the advice offered by my old kennel-huntsman at the Stowe Beagles to marry for love, but love where money is. Some have done just that over the years and built a life of greater comfort than they could ever have expected. Others have been less fortunate and still resort to the flesh house for a joint of meat when repaying long-overdue hospitality.
These men were devoting their lives to running a hunting country
If all this sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Gone are the days when the master of the Quorn could arrive by helicopter to find a delectable hunting country prepared by the hunt secretary. Farmers don’t want the monkey anymore; they expect the organ grinder himself and there will always be problems to resolve that demand his diplomacy, skill and time.
I’ve spent many a sleepless night worrying about sport on the morrow, only to be overwhelmed by joy when it all falls miraculously into place, but eagerly anticipated days can also result in crushing disappointment.
Thankfully, there’s still a small but steady stream of young men coming forward to take up the challenge. Many, such as the Heythrop’s Charles Frampton, started, as I did, with college beagles, before spending a season as general dogsbody to a pack of foxhounds. Richard Tyacke arrived as a lanky school leaver to do just that at the Sinnington in 1994, having hunted the Stowe Beagles; as MFH and huntsman to the Wynnstay, he now holds down one of the top amateur jobs in the land.
‘I set out my stall to hunt hounds at a very early age and it’s all fallen into place thanks to supportive joint masters,’ Richard explains. ‘The pressure can be horrendous in an all-grass country, especially when balancing the wishes of our farmers with the expectations of a hard-riding field, but when it goes well, there’s nothing to beat it.’
Many amateurs have fallen by the wayside, often due to the challenges of making ends meet. Not all hunt committees are prepared to dig deep enough to keep a good man at the helm. Tim Coulson has won praise hunting the Lauderdale, followed by the Bedale, but will be standing down at the end of this season. ‘I’ve absolutely loved it, but the time has come to earn a decent living,’ he admits after 10 seasons in the hot seat.
Tim is in good company, as demonstrated by the likes of Martin Scott (formerly at the VWH), still a renowned expert on hound breeding, but now working as a financial
consultant in the City, Simon Hart (South Pembrokeshire), a Conservative MP, and Hugo Busby (Portman), now running an auction house, who have all built successful post-hunting careers.
Others, such as James Andrews at the South & West Wilts and the College Valley’s Adam Waugh, have resumed carrying the horn after lengthy breaks; however, both men have returned to the fray with ‘grown-up’ jobs to sustain them.
There’s also a small, select group of senior masters who have devoted their whole lives to hunting and flourished accordingly. Ian Farquhar recently relinquished the Duke of Beaufort’s horn after more than four decades and Nigel Peel (currently with the North Cotswold) has astonished and delighted the hunting world by taking on the Thurlow next May in the twilight of a career that started with the Goathland back in 1969.
When I asked Capt Farquhar’s successor, 30-year-old Matt Ramsden, what it feels like to be hunting hounds as an amateur at the start of the current season, he replied: ‘I may have gamekeepers to pacify, miles of electric fencing to deal with and land we’re forbidden to cross, but the moment the first hound opens to the line, all my worries seem to disappear.’