From the field
Catherine Austen gears up for the season aboard a mannerly new ride – even getting airborne – and hopes everyone plays ball when it comes to Covid-19 restrictions
Gearing up for a new season
ANEW pair of grey, shapely ears adorn the left-hand side of this page, you might notice. The great Molly Austen went peacefully to heaven in June, and I was fortunate enough to be given Flynn shortly afterwards. His owner, a former master and chairman of our hounds, has sadly hung up his hunting boots and very kindly sent middleaged Flynn my way.
Comparisons are odious, and I was deeply attached to Molly (someone had to be). However, it’s a whole new world. Physically they are very different; Flynn is both taller and wider – and white. I have already finished one bottle of purple shampoo in an attempt to keep him snowy, whereas Molly’s blue-roan coat meant I didn’t even check for stable stains at 4.30am during autumn hunting – I just threw her tack on and loaded her.
Temperamentally, he is a complete joy. Polite, mannerly, kind, very straightforward to do. Out hunting he is enthusiastic when on the move, excellent with hounds and other horses and, unlike his predecessor, will quite happily stand on his own.
He might not be a rocket like Molly, but he’s faster than I thought he’d be, and has a scopey, careful jump. He’s done some eventing in the past, and works sweetly in the school. The dream, right? I am a very lucky girl, and I know it.
Having spent the past 13 seasons endlessly repeating, “I’m so sorry…” every time Molly did something embarrassing, like attaching herself like glue to a horse she had never set eyes on before, or standing up and napping violently in some apparently random direction, I am enjoying watching other horses do those things while I sit serenely still.
I also have 13 years-worth of gates to open and close but, as he stands still, it’s a breeze. I used to have to borrow a friend’s cob to do my gate-shutting duty on – it was totally impossible on Molly – but no longer.
Flynn does have a tendency towards idleness – once, when exercising in the summer, he ground to a halt on our way home. I thought he might need a pee, and even, after a few minutes, got off in case he didn’t want to do it with me on board. No. He just stared at the lovely Cotswolds view for a while, and then started eating. But there is nothing more boring for either rider or horse than having to nag – or be nagged – constantly to get them to go forward, and after a little sharpening up exercise last week, he has woken up and is much more responsive.
He came to me fat and unfit, and after a few weeks of gradually building some fitness, my good friend the lady master realised she’d better get us airborne in advance of autumn hunting. Knowing I would much rather go for a tame happy hack without elevating, she plays a good game. I did wonder why we were going that particular route out of her yard, but didn’t connect A to B until she turned left 200 yards later and popped a set of rails straight off the lane. There was barely enough time for a plaintive whinge before Flynn and I were over it as well.
Two more hunt jumps and the local National Hunt trainer’s schooling hurdles later both horse and jockey were grinning and on our way to becoming a partnership. Clever lady master.
THERE cannot be anyone hunting this season who doesn’t appreciate how lucky we are to be doing so. It’s been a pretty awful year, although many of us in the countryside have escaped the worst of it. Let’s not bugger it up for ourselves. The Hunting Office and hunts themselves have worked so hard to implement good practice in terms of Covid-19 hygiene, social distancing, track-and-trace systems and so on.
I know hunting is often something of an escape from the “real world” for those of us in the field, but we need to keep our wits about us as never before and make sure we are complying at all times. At the risk of sounding flippant, isn’t it rather heavenly not to have to stand next to someone with whom you can’t be bothered to make polite conversation?