The Merry Chase

Oscar Wilde once called it "the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable." Nationwide polls show that half of the British population would like the sport banned. Yet never has fox hunting had such an avid and devoted horde of admirers. From the vast, hilly estates of Leicestershire to the pit-scarred mining fields of Wales, the peremptory piping of the hunter's horn and cries of "Yu-rt, my lassies, Yu-rt" were everywhere last week. As the annual season began, dukes and duchesses, and workingmen as well, were galloping after the fox. So many thousands of others were coming just to watch that the hunt is beginning to emerge as a national spectator sport.

Smashing Barriers. Once the sport of the titled and the wealthy, the chase no longer has an easily identifiable horsy set. Distinguished old blueblooded hunting associations like the Quorn, which was organized 250 years ago, still flourish. But the 200 hunts in the British Isles today include such proletarian pacesetters as the Banwen Miners, a club formed in 1963 by Welsh coal diggers. While the miners may not all wear the scarlet coat and velvet cap, they bound after the fox with abandon. The Duchess of Beaufort, who rode with them one Saturday, graciously paid the supreme compliment of pronouncing the pace "grueling."

Though the average chase can cost a huntsman as much as $28, the low-income enthusiast finds ways to economize. The miners chase the fox on Welsh ponies rather than on horses. A complete hunting outfit, including horse and secondhand saddle, can be bought for as little as $300. The hunts raise money for the chases through bingo games and other events. One club even enables its members to pay their annual fees on a time plan.

Many horsemen come along merely for the ride or, as a London sportswriter put it, "the colossal bang of a hell-for-leather gallop over good country." Droves of fans pay no admission, trail the hounds on foot, and even in cars and on motorcycles. Of an estimated 200,000 fox-hunting rooters, many are organized into "supporters' associations," such as the 7,000-member club affiliated with the Pytchley Hunt. "They would never have been tolerated before the war," said one hunt master. At a recent meet in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire counties, some 2,500 cars clogged the vicinity. At another chase, the parking attendant's car ran over and killed the fox before the hounds even caught up with it.

Night Riders. How to explain the craze? One old hand, Major G. N. Loraine-Smith of the Pytchley Hunt, says that it "has something to do with the mechanical age creating a longing to get back to something near the earth." He adds: "We even have factory workers hiring ponies and riding out without sleep after working a night shift." But one vocal segment of the British population objects to this form of outdoor recreation.

The League Against Cruel Sports publicizes with horror such hunt traditions as the initiation of children into the sport by smearing their faces with blood from the dead fox. It says these rituals are "similar to those practiced by Mau Mau." Some of the 20,000 league members go so far as to come to the hunts and drop chocolate biscuits and rotting meat in the fields to lead the hounds astray. So well known is their leader, Raymond Rowley, 46, that he often wears disguises to the chases. But Rowley admits that another association of "antis," the Hunt Saboteurs, are "the real James Bonds of the business."

One London columnist believes that "hot tempers about hunting are cooling fast," that in fact "the war seems over." One reason may be the steadily rising numbers who are joining the rustic cavalry. A boom in pony clubs enables children to begin riding to hounds at the age of ten. Even farmers, opponents of fast-riding horsemen who smash their fences, are not only allowing the fox hunter to cross their land, but are also mounting up and joining the chase in ever-increasing numbers.

The Dead-Beat Fox. In the hope of improving its image, the British Field Sports Society has hired a public relations firm to ensure that "the hunting community get a fair crack of the whip."

The firm advises masters to invite newsmen to luncheon and to view the chase, and prepares other suggestions for dealing with the press. One recommendation: not use such expressions as "the hounds killed their dead-beat fox" when talking to reporters, but say simply that the fox "was accounted for."

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