A farewell to hounds
The role of huntsman or Master is a huge commitment for small remuneration. But handing back the horn isn’t easy, as several former incumbents explain
What do amateur Masters and huntsmen do when they hand back the horn? Adrian Dangar finds out
NO ONE ’cept a huntsman knows a huntsman’s cares,” said Jorrocks of hunting hounds in the good old days. Surtees’ famous character would no doubt choke on his substantial hunting breakfast if told of the additional challenges facing huntsmen some 160 years later, which include hunting within the law, dealing with saboteurs and simply finding enough space in a crowded countryside to arrange a day. Yet hunting continues to thrive and there is no shortage of practitioners prepared to step up to the mark and discharge the amateur huntsman’s role – and when it all goes well, most would agree there is still nothing to match the joy and fulfilment of handling a pack of hounds in good form. With a handful of notable exceptions, most amateur huntsmen have shorter careers than their professional counterparts and, when it’s all over, many choose to give up hunting altogether rather than return as a member of the field. It’s often said that the pleasure of following someone else’s hounds is small beer compared to the heady draught of carrying the horn.
That was certainly the case for Hugo Busby, who hunted the RAC beagles before showing fine sport in Dorset as Master and huntsman of the Portman in the 1990s. “After nine seasons I reached a stage where I wanted to be able to put my hand in my pocket and buy a round of drinks, but I didn’t have the financial wherewithal to do so; I had lived off the generosity and favours of others for too long,” he remembers.
Despite the all-consuming involvement in the chase that is the huntsman’s lot, Busby decided straight away that he would hang up his hunting boots at the same time as his horn. “I’m either doing it or not doing it,” he says. “I’m no good at hovering around on the fringes irritating others, so I just stopped altogether and went to London to explore various projects.” He later set up an auctioneering firm in Bridport (Busby) and is now married with four children. “I’m not sure I would want to be married to an MFH,” he chuckles. “At least not at the level we did it. The hunting would have to be very good to get me back on a horse. I still miss it but haven’t seen a hound for five seasons. I do have a pipe dream to return one day, but sometimes the memory is better than the dream.”
Martyn Lee, who hunted the Oakley, Taunton Vale and Cattistock from the late 1970s to early 1990s, also cites financial reasons for giving up in his prime. “I was so broke by the finish of my hunting career that I had to change direction completely and ended up managing West Country pubs. My mother [the late and legendary Sally Lee] bought the White Horse in the heart of hunting Exmoor in her late sixties and
“I’m either doing it or not doing it. I’m no good at hovering
around”
reasoned that running a pub was the same as having friends to stay, except that you charge them. And that’s how I got into pubs. I pretty much gave up hunting overnight; it was either front or nothing for me, and I didn’t want to be cocktail partying at the back. There are enough ex-masters putting in their two-penny worth of say without me being there, too. But I still miss my hounds.”
Others whose lives took on a dramatic change of direction after resigning the horn include the late Dermot Kelly, an exciting and inspirational huntsman who gave the sport his all for 13 seasons with the Meynell & South Staffordshire before leaving to forge a successful career in the City with Lloyds. In 1998, Simon Hart MP, the current Welsh Secretary, gave up his decade-long Mastership of the
South Pembrokeshire, where he is remembered as a passionate and dedicated exponent of the art. Skills honed on the hunting field are now put to good use in politics. “In some ways, the life of an MP is quite similar to that of an MFH,” he explains. “In both roles a need for dedication, discipline and organisation is a given.” Hart was so obsessed with hunting that few of us who rubbed shoulders with him back then – or earlier still when he hunted the Radley College and RAC beagles – could ever have imagined him forsaking hunting for Westminster, but the cabinet minister will always remember his 14 years as a huntsman, “warmly, for the fun they were”.
Whilst these former amateurs have made a good life outside of hunting, others have been determined to carve out a new role within the sport, albeit not one that will ever quite measure up to the giddy heights
“I tried hunting everywhere the season after I gave up and
found it very difficult”
of carrying the horn. Martin Scott made the transition after giving up the VWH in 1986 and is respected throughout the hunting world for his encyclopaedic knowledge of hound pedigrees. “I tried hunting everywhere the season after I gave up and found it very difficult,” he remembers. “Then I realised it’s best to identify one pack to hunt with, but to stay out of the politics. Fortunately, my great friend Ian Farquhar arrived to hunt the Beaufort, and the subscribers there made me extraordinarily welcome. I still enjoy trying to be a nuisance by helping out in the field when I can; both Ian and Matt [Ramsden, Beaufort MFH and huntsman since 2016] have been very good to me. I’ve also been very lucky that successive VWH Masters have asked me to breed their hounds. I consult closely with their huntsman and enjoy spring hunting with them in Cirencester Park, but essentially I am a VWH man in summer and a Beaufort man in winter.”
Simon Roberts resigned his Mastership of the Derwent in 1994, and also needed to earn a living after 12 seasons living on the breadline as a young amateur. “I had two kids by then and needed to prioritise my life,” he recalls. “I loved hunting hounds but decided I definitely wasn’t ready to give up altogether.” Respecting the protocol that exmasters do not hunt with their former pack for at least a season, he subscribed to the adjacent Middleton. “I felt a bit like a refugee, being herded about and not really knowing what was going on.” That all changed when the Middleton’s Frank Houghton-brown asked Roberts to act as his field master, and a winning partnership was born. “I had eight fabulous seasons with Frank,” Roberts remembers. “He was a superb huntsman with a good country to ride across and a wonderful pack of hounds.”
As a former huntsman Roberts remembered the frustration he had felt if his followers missed out on a good hunt, but also understood the importance of giving hounds space when needed. “I was determined to keep the field in touch with hounds but also provide them with a good ride,” he says. “I
also appreciated the venery, such as the need for silence at a check – that’s like being in an exam for hounds, and there should be no noise to interfere with their concentration.”
Roberts confirms that field mastering did not offer quite the same thrill. “I enjoyed the excitement of the ride,” he says, “but there is nothing to touch actually hunting a pack of hounds. With my son, Tom, now hunting the Sinnington I feel even more connected; I go on hound exercise, help within the country, we have bitches to whelp and walk puppies. It’s as if the wheel has turned full circle.”
And then there are those who gave up hunting hounds, did something different but have returned from the wilderness to a role they cannot live without. Edward Knowles first came to the attention of the foxhunting world as a sharp amateur whipper-in to the Beaufort when under-agent at Badminton before going on to hunt the South Dorset for seven successful seasons. “It was a lovely country, hard work and a lot of fun,” he says, “but I gave up when I got married and had to earn a proper living as I didn’t want to rely on being subsidised by others. I had the odd day’s hunting on Dartmoor, which I found pretty difficult; it was easier to stay away, as going out just made me want to go back – a bit like being an alcoholic, except the drug is hunting.” Many years later, Knowles was invited to join the Waveney Harriers Mastership whilst resident agent at Somerleyton in Suffolk, which made him realise just how much he had missed being around hounds. In 2016, Knowles moved his family back to Wiltshire to take up his new appointment as Joint Master and huntsman to the Tedworth. “It felt completely natural,” he says of his return to the fold after an 18-year absence,
“like I was back doing what I should be doing. And, rather like riding a bike, you never forget. I’ve no regrets but being away for so long has made me even more appreciative of where I am now.”
Guy Morlock resigned his Mastership of the Spooners & West Dartmoor in 2007 after eight seasons – “I was tired and broke and needed a break” – and worked in Angola and Afghanistan for the Halo Trust before returning to the UK and taking a stalker’s job on Jura. “There are no foxes on Jura, just deer and otters so it was complete cold turkey for me,” he jokes. “I didn’t see a pack for several years and couldn’t see the point of going out, as being a member of the field just doesn’t do it for me. But I missed it when the days shortened and specially on Boxing Days, shooting was no substitute.”
Then came an opportunity to look after Knowles’ Tedworth hounds whilst their Master was on holiday, and Morlock realised how much he had missed the hunting life. A few months later he was asked to return to hunt his former pack when the current Master left. “I was 52 years old and stuck on a remote island,” Morlock remembers. “Devon has always felt like home, so I didn’t hesitate. I was beginning to think I had missed the boat when the Spooners opportunity arose. It’s strange to be back, the country hasn’t changed at all but my former followers now come out on foot. I face a new set of challenges but can’t think of anything I would rather do than hunt a pack of foxhounds”.
“Going out made me want to go back – like being an alcoholic,
except the drug is hunting”