CLIVE GAMMON
Bailey's Hunting Directory does not have a wide circulation. But, like Wisden and other sporting bibles, it is a compulsive read 'for the dedicated, and it has its moments even if you never expect to find yourself booted and spurred on a frosty morning, gulping down your cherry brandy in the saddle.
It lists, for example, the Mexican hunt (its Master comes from Tipperary) which declares that 'with the entire Republic of Mexico available, the Hunt will be exploring for a long time to come. Hare, white-tailed deer and local fox are hunted. All type of country is met with, including very fast country broken by cactus hedges, ditches, banks and ravines. There is no subscription.' And under 'Other Hunts of Europe', you will find one of the newest entries: the Weser Vale Hunt.
The Weser Vale was started in Detmold, Germany, in 1968 by officers of that prestigi- ous amalgamation, the Blues and Royals (the Blues, that is, and the Royal Dragoon Guards). The regiment has been equipped with tanks for a long time now: only a single mounted squadron is detached for ceremonial duties in London. But it main- tains its long tradition of the hunting field even abroad.
The trouble was, the regiment found when it was posted to Germany, that no hunting of foxes, or of any live game, is permitted in the Bundesrepublik. Indeed a similar prohibition was one of the first acts of Hitler in the 'thirties. (See what an ally you had, League Against Cruel Sports!) During the official occupation which lasted until 1955, foxes were hunted by various British regiments but they were said to be disappointing, reacting to the bay of the hounds by deep bewilderment. 'In any case,' an officer told me, 'half the bloody things were rabid.'
So the Blues and Royals had to cast around for an alternative, and they found it when they saw a film on television about bloodhounds. Previously they had considered drag-hunting, in which hounds follow a pre-, pared trail of aniseed or fox's urine, but they decided they didn't fancy that much. Blood- hounds, however, could be used to hunt an actual quarry. People, of course.
It was Eric Furness in Derbyshire who first imported a strain of bloodhounds from the us, the descendants of the coon hounds (no disrespect intended) which were used to hunt down runaway slaves in the Deep South. The Blues and Royals were able to recruit hounds from Furness and other sources and, quite soon, they had enough to start the Weser Vale and, in correct idiom, to 'hunt the clean boot'.
The clean boot usually belongs to a trooper who has volunteered for the Satur- day job. He is given an hour's start over farm land close to the Teutoburgerwald in this hilly and bucolic part of Germany. and, while he is sweating his way through the
stubble, the Hunt meets in traditional style at the Schloss of one of the local notables; for although the Weser Vale baffled the Germans when it first started, it is now the smart thing to have it meet on your lawn.
The full trappings of an English Hunt are maintained, with the joint Masters in pink, and stirrup cups offered from silver trays. The sound of horns echoes across the countryside, and the deep music of the hounds, stirs a clear response among local villagers who follow in cars or on bicycles.
Meanwhile, up on the hillside, the quarry rubs a sleeve in a hedge and tries to help the hounds out: there is no attempt consciously to baffle them. There have been only a few untoward incidents with inexperienced quarries. One trooper was so atavistically moved by the hounds' baying that he climbed a tree and wouldn't come down. Another's scent was unfortunately picked up by a wild boar which interposed itself between hounds and quarry, but he was able to shake off the animal in thick brush.
The ending of the hunt is perhaps a little anticlimactic. When hounds eventually catch up with the quarry ('A kill on the ground', that's called), he simply turns to meet them and they lick his face. The mistake is to keep running, since the pack may then think sud- denly that it's for real,
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