Goodnight

A rare trip to the Big Smoke from Northumberland for Tessa Waugh and her family ignites a sense of patriotism as she takes a tour around the Household Cavalry’s Hyde Park barracks

Columnist Tessa Waugh’s hunting diary

‘“Husband hunting,” muttered Adam. But

in defence of those girls it was the horses,

not the men, who attracted them [to the Household Cavalry]’

MUCH as I enjoy living up here surrounded by sheep, it is good to have a change now and then, particularly at this time of year when proper spring still feels a long way away. And so a chance to escape with a trip to London and a tour of the Hyde Park barracks, home of the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment was welcome.

It was an enormous privilege to see first hand everything that goes on there, and reminded me that when we were in our 20s, a couple of friends used to help exercise the horses there before work.

“Husband hunting,” muttered Adam uncharitably when I told him. But in defence of those girls it was the horses, not the men, who attracted them, and a hack around Hyde Park must be one of the better ways to start the working day.

My youngest, Jack, had been dispatched to Wiltshire with the grandparents so it was just Adam, Mary, Alec and I who found ourselves meandering through Knightsbridge on the morning of the visit.

“This must be it,” said Alec, “I can smell it,” as an unmistakable waft of horses stopped us in our tracks — incongruous among the Ferrari showrooms and designer shops.

Two hundred and fifty horses, stabled in what looks like a multistorey car park, produce a very potent horsey smell and a lot of muck, all of which has to be carried out by conveyor belt and collected daily by a farmer.

There was a brigade of mounted troopers in full regalia preparing to head up to Buckingham Palace as we arrived, and the captain who was our guide explained that the regiment’s main purpose is to guard the monarch, a service they perform 365 days a year.

He called forward the Corporal of Horse so we could admire him and his horse at close quarters, explaining that the maintenance of the kit is a big part of the troopers’ daily work — they spend at least an hour on each jackboot.

“But these are not tin soldiers,” the captain added. “Corporal, what tours have you done?” “Bosnia, Afghanistan,” he replied.

As we patted drum horses (huge, in order to carry a man plus two solid silver kettle drums), tried on helmets and armour, held swords that have been part of the cavalry’s armoury for hundreds of years and admired portraits in the Mess, we all felt extremely grateful to these soldiers — past and present — and immensely proud to be British.

“I thought it would be boring,” whispered Mary, who is eight, as we departed on a high, “but it wasn’t at all.”

You can always rely on children to bring you down to earth again.