Date: Saturday 6th March 1999
Time: 11am
Location: Surrey Union. Farnham Lodge, Peper Harow, Surrey.

The day didn't start well when we overheard the police saying that they had already seen Noel Cahill digging out before the hunt had even begun! Noel is seen here in typical pose on the right. Surrey representative for the Fell & Moorland Working Terrier Club, he likes his terriers hard (like his brain) - not averse to violence when the situation arises, he isn't up to much without a gang of thugs in tow. The police are full of bullshit about how he was told to stay away from this hunt for 'being too much trouble' but they are too scared to do much about him turning up when he or the hunt feels like it.

The meet is across the A3 from one of the hunt masters' houses and the 'hunting' is so predictable that all you need to do to sab it is have enough people in the vicinity of the earths in the area and you will be in a position to try to stop them killing. I have never known them to kill a fox above ground here - only ever from dig outs and bolts, which are often over quickly because the soil is so sandy and easy to dig.

Last year from this meet, the hunt suffered a major upset when the master (and then huntsman) Sprake was arrested to prevent a breach of the peace. The sabs had stopped a dig out in Warren Hill by sitting in the holes of an earth as the terriermen agreed to leave the fox alone. Everyone was leaving when Sprake rode up nearly riding over a copper in the process and started hysterically shouting about how he wanted this fox killed. The police rightly saw this as inflammatory and nicked him! Even though they didn't have the bottle to charge him, at least they did it. This year, the police capitulated and became hunt servants for the day as they made every effort to protect a dig out in the first wood the hunt tried.

They didn't even make the pretence of hunting, riding 200 yards across 1 field to Norney Wood where the terrier vehicles had been parked for 1/2 an hour prior to the hunt moving off. Sprake nearly cocked the whole thing up at the start by jumping off his horse to go for a female sab climbing over a barbed wire fence - brave man! The huntsman put the hounds into the bottom of the wood in sight of where the 'men' had been trying to bolt a fox. The fox however, was too shrewd (they would say 'unsporting') and went down another earth against a garden fence. The fox was outnumbered by about 10 terriermen and ghoulish followers (when their own rules say there should be no more than 3 present at a dig) and the police were threatening to arrest any sab who went near. (We will remember this the next time they try to get all matey, pleading that they are only doing their job and how they are really on our side). Despite this I managed to sneak past the old bill and caught the terriermen scratching their heads trying to work out where the fox had gone! It must have come out in the garden of the house next to the wood as I got a call that it had already crossed the road heading North. We kept watch on them waiting to see what they were going to do - it was quite satisfying knowing the whole hunt, hounds and followers were stood around the small wood waiting for a fox to come flying out when it was already long gone. Serves them right for being so contrived. After 15 minutes of poking holes and trying to make their dogs go down them, they gave up and the hunt moved off past Peper Harow school and down to the boarding kennels near Warren Hill all of which were blank.

They tried, as ever, the earths in Warren Hill where Sprake was arrested last year, but these too were blank so they plodded the familiar route to Mitchen Hall and up through the big woods behind Rodsall Manor. In the steep valleys near Rodsall, a couple of us had shadowed them, so when they started to draw, we had the whole pack over to us with some well timed holloas. We then had to do a bit of cross country to evade the puffing cops, but there are some nice thick conifer plantations around there! I could hear the 2 police sent to get us moaning on about losing us - and I was stood about 15 feet from them!

I lost the sab I was with at this point, but cut through to Puttenham Common - where they always draw. They got onto a scent in the bracken, but the fox got to ground on a hillside where they left it. Sprake and the other redcoats blocked the holes up with large branches. Under the by-laws of the common, the hunt are not allowed to dig-out any foxes that go to ground, so quite what they were doing blocking it, I don't know. The mounted police displayed their gullibility by assuring me that the hunt left the fox because I was there - they were a bit red faced when I told them the hunt weren't allowed to dig out there anyway. It makes you wonder what kind of interest or briefing in the law pertaining to the hunt these police have. Or maybe it doesn't!

From here on in, it was over the bridge into the Lord Lieutenant of Surrey's land - Hampton Park. We've always had problems here due to the lack of footpaths and the cosy relationship between the hunt and his office. The Lord lieutenant is the Queen's Equerry (or something like that!) in the area and appoints magistrates in the county etc, so no wonder we have little faith in the courts!

We lost them in the big woods around the park for about 1/2 an hour but managed to pick their trail up again heading back over towards Cutmill Ponds. At this point we received word that a big contingent of sabs who had earlier packed up both the Chiddingfold, Leconfield and Cowdray foxhunt and the Crawley & Horsham hunt in Sussex were only a few miles up the road. The thought of catching the terriermen in the middle of a dig was a possibility, but they must have had advanced warning from the police as they were nowhere to be found. When the sabs, and there must have been upwards of 60 of them, came across the hunt, there was a lot of shouting etc, but no trouble. I think everyone including the hunters realised their day was effectively over, so there was the traditional piss-taking back at the meet before adjourning to a local pub to swap stories of each other's days, and plan for the next week's 'activities'.