I REMEMBER a conversation from long ago during which I expressed a desire to write. ‘I’d rather be a participant than a spectator,’ my companion responded, somewhat disparagingly. However, for those privileged to write about fieldsports, the roles of participant and commentator are often combined. That is especially true of hunting, where riding strange —frequently brilliant and, occasionally, downright dangerous—horses across country or tramping for miles behind a pack of beagles is all part of the job.
There is no fieldsport more suited to our green and beautiful countryside, nor more compatible with Britain’s cool, damp climate, than hunting with a pack of hounds. From dew-drenched early September mornings to frigid February afternoons, when black hedges beckon beneath snow-flecked skies, scent lies stronger here than anywhere else on earth. I’ve enjoyed hunting on assignment with English foxhounds all over the world— Africa, America and Australia, even Trinidad —yet nowhere can completely replicate the supreme hunting environment of Britain and Ireland. Hunting has transported me into the heart of diverse and glorious landscapes best appreciated from the back of a horse— from Scotland’s Kingdom of Fife to high Leicestershire, liberally sprinkled with thorn fox coverts, to the steep pastures and tall beeches of Laurie Lee’s Cotswolds and the starkest moorland vistas of upland Britain.
Denne historien er fra October 18, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent ? Logg på
Denne historien er fra October 18, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery
