Kennel huntsman Nick Hopkins exercises the North Cotswold foxhounds through the village of Broadway. / Denya Massey Clarke photo
On holiday one spring day in 2008 my husband (non-horsey) and I were walking down High Street in Broadway, enjoying the charms of one of the most attractive towns in the Cotswolds. Suddenly I heard hounds.
I determined to find the source, while my husband is thinking, “Really? We’re on vacation, and she finds hounds? Out of the blue? Really?” I saw a lane called Kennel Lane, and there, one block off High Street, were the kennels of the North Cotswold Foxhounds!
I was enchanted by the hounds living right in town. It made them so accessible, yet they weren’t. The North Cotswold foxhounds are a beautifully bred, highly respected pack. I imagined seeing them out of their kennels on a hunting day, yet, since we travel regularly to the Cotswolds in May, that wouldn’t happen.
While planning our third trip to Broadway, I couldn’t resist. I knew that the Joint-Master of the North Cotswold, Mr. Nigel Peel*, was a contributor to Foxhunting Life—in fact a member of FHL’s Panel of Experts. I asked editor Norman Fine if it would be impolite to ask to see the kennels. He kindly offered to introduce me by email to Mr. Peel, who bred this beautiful pack, hunts them himself, and whose reputation as a breeder and judge of foxhounds is universally renowned.
Fast forward: the phone rings in our Cotswold ‘cottage.’ It’s Nick Hopkins, kennel huntsman for the North Cotswold Foxhounds, calling on Mr. Peel’s behalf to invite me to walk out with the hounds on the twentieth of May at 7:45 a.m. Of course, I say. Thank you. Oh, mentions Nick, we’ll have a bike for you. A what? A bike. Oh, ok…. We hang up.
Blimey, I came prepared for walking. Suddenly this has become a fashion question! What to wear while biking with a top pack in England? Well, best to ask. So the day before, I popped round to the kennels and asked a young boy if Nick was there. Which Nick, he asks. The kennel huntsman, please, I answer. Then, in true kid fashion, a huge holler, “DAD…!”
Given the urgent question regarding dress code, Nick was calm, and reassuring. Something comfortable, and, yes, given my questionable biking skills, he would assign the second whipper-in, Eliot, to keep an eye on me.
I was up and at the kennels well before the appointed time. Not too eager, I hoped. And a lovely day. I had written Mr. Peel by email that among my shortcomings was an inability to judge hounds, but my longcoming was that my heart never failed to beat faster when I heard hounds, my family legacy of the love of foxhunting.**
Flanking the author are (l-r) Nick Hopkins, kennel huntsman and Nigel Peel, MFH.
Mr. Peel arrived with his Jack Russell terrier, and we chatted as he gave her a walk before taking hounds out. By the time hounds moved off, the day was warming up, and by my rough count, forty-eight couple of the North Cotswold hounds swarmed around me, Eliot, Nick and Mr. Peel.
We headed out of the kennel yard on foot, going south through two fields, including one with hundreds of sheep and lambs. Eliot and I brought up the rear, which was actually the best place to see the hounds. They are so beautifully balanced, and watching them move was akin to seeing water flow. The pack ebbed and flowed around Nick and Mr. Peel as though the pair were magnetic. A few younger hounds would bound around the edges, adding extra good cheer to the exercise.
As we approached a farm gate opening onto Snowshill Road, all the hounds held outside the gate (that’s a very dense pack!), as Eliot ran across the road to Patsy’s house where the bikes were parked for us. Once we four had our bikes and no traffic was coming, hounds were allowed in the road, for about a 100 metres, before heading west on West End Lane.
Yours truly wobbled an awful lot, but Eliot was good to his word, and kept an eye on me while doing his job. I couldn’t get over how Nick and Mr. Peel never wobbled, despite hounds swarming around their bikes. And never an “ouch” from a hound, either.
When vehicles came along, drivers stopped patiently, smiled, and were thanked four times, as hounds flowed past them. At a big road, hounds packed up around Mr. Peel until the going was safe, and over we went (me, the laggard, peddling fast as I could!). Hounds were allowed free time in a cropped field while we chatted. They rough-housed, they bounded about, they came up to Mr. Peel and Nick for a pat and hello, and off again—never far away.
Time to go home (darn!) and the walk was repeated in reverse. After we left the bicycles with Patsy, a retired member, I darted in front to take a few photos from that side, and had the privilege of walking with Mr. Peel for a while. I asked if he had roughly forty-eight couple out. I was very close! It was forty-seven couple. Whew, my only talent!
Upon our return, hounds were kenneled with a minimum of fuss. After a chat, we parted—me with a vivid memory of sight, sound, feel, and history.
I scooted out the following morning, a bright sunny day, to get a photo of hounds coming at me along Snowshill Road. It was Nick and Eliot and quite magical—that rush we get when we have a glimpse of a beautiful pack of hounds. While our knowledge of hounds is worlds apart, there is no less appreciation to Mr. Peel on my part for this wonderful experience, both precious and joyous.
Posted June 4, 2014
* Nigel Peel has been Master and huntsman of foxhounds for forty-two seasons. In 2010 at the Bryn Mawr Hound Show in Pennsylvania, he became the first overseas recipient of the Julian Marshall Award for his lifetime contribution to hounds and hunting.
** Denya Massey Clarke is the stepdaughter of the late author/editor Alexander Mackay-Smith, MFH. She grew up riding and hunting with Mackay-Smith, her mother, and her two sisters. Denya lives in Toronto.