Nature and sport in Britain

II Fox-hunting In The Shires

BY

T. F. DALE, M.A.

Author of " The History of the Belvoir Hunt," etc.

Ill

THE MASTER OF HOUNDS

BY

G. F. UNDERHILL

Author of " A Century of Fox-Hunting "

With contributions by Lord Ribblesdale,

Lt. -Colonel G. C. Ricardo, Arthur

Heinemann, John Scott, etc.

London: GRANT RICHARDS 48 Leicester Square, W.C.

BY

H. A. BRYDEN

AUTHOR OF "hare-hunting AND HARRIERS,"

"gun AND CAMERA IN SOUTHERN AFRICA,"

"kloof AND KARROO,"

"nature AND SPORT IN SOUTH AFRICA,"

ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

LONDON GRANT RICHARDS

DEDICATED TO MY BROTHER

WILLIAM RADFORD BRYDEN

A GOOD SPORTSMAN

AND A TRUE LOVER

OF NATURE

AUTHOR'S NOTE

SOME portions of this book have appeared in The Fortnightly Review ^ Longman's Magazine ^ Chambers's Journal^ The Saturday Review^ The Fields Country Life^ The Sporting and Dramatic JVews, The Standard, and 77ie Pall Mall Gazette. I am indebted to the courtesy of the Editors of these publications for their permission to republish here.

CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV Fox-hunting and its Future

ix

PAGE I

IS

34 41 47

55 62

. 68 lOI

109 119

CONTENTS

CHAPTER XVI PAGE

CHAPTER XVII British Birds in South Africa . . . . 153

CHAPTER XVIII Cormorants and Anglers . . ... 165

CHAPTER XIX A Hare in the Snow . . . . . 172

CHAPTER XX Grouse-shooting in the Mayo Mountains . . . 186

CHAPTER XXI The Kestrel . . . ... 197

CHAPTER XXII William Somervile : the Father of Modern Hunting 204

CHAPTER XXIII A Sussex Sheep-washing . . ... 220

CHAPTER XXIV White-trouting in Connemara . ... 226

CHAPTER XXV Badgers and their Ways . . . . . 235

CHAPTER XXVI Otter-hunting . . . . . . 249

CHAPTER XXVII Pallas's Sand-grouse . . . . . 258

CHAPTER XXVIII Quiet Partridge-shooting . . ... 264

CHAPTER XXIX Spring and Autumn by the Shore , ... 283

CHAPTER XXX Wild Life on the Sussex Downs . . . . 293

CHAPTER XXXI Snipe . . . . ... 310

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PLATE

I. A Haunt of Otters : Michelham Priory Frontispiece

TO FACE PAGE

II, Pevensey Marshes . ... 6

XIII. Redshank Nesting: Ireland. Nest of Red

SHANK : Ireland

XIV. Nest of Sandpiper

XV. Cormorant , . . .

XVI. The Kestrel's Nest

XVII. Death of the Stag

XVIII. A Sussex Sheep- washing

XIX. The Crowhurst Otter Hounds : Michelham Priory . . . .

XX. Otter-hunting— An Anxious Moment

xi

III. The End of the Marsh

IV. An Old Decoy . . . .

V. Young Heron Fishing. Heron: Adult Plumage 48

VI. Ruff : Breeding Plumage. Ruff : Winter Plum age .....

VII. Woodcock-shooting— Old Style

VIII. Fox-hunting in the Downs

IX. Hare-hunting on Foot— A Check .

X. Great Bustard . ...

XI, Old-time Fox-hunting— An Earth-stopper

XII. Prawning .....

156 162 168 198 216 222

250 252

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PLATE

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

TO FACE PAGE

Otter-hunting— Crossing to a Holt . . 254

Netting Partridges with a Setter . . 274

Nest and Eggs of Ring Plover : Sussex Coast 283 Nest and Eggs of the Green Plover: Sussex

Coast Seagull's Nest : Beachy Head Cuckmere Haven Nest of Snipe Georgian Snipe-shooting .

288 296 306 312 316

Chapter I A Sussex Marsh

Pevensey Level — Its attractions — The eel-fisher — Sussex dialect — Sheep-washing' — A legend of William Rufus — Pevensey and Herstmonceux Castles — A herony — The rare spoonbill — The "Crumbles" — Shore flowers — Wildfowl — Grey phalarope — Hooded crows — Black scoters — Marsh hare hunting — Sussex smugglers — The "lookers" — Floods — Marsh islets — A reposeful scene.

THE wide stretch of marshland known as Pevensey Level, or, more familiarly, Pevensey Marshes, lies to-day very much as it has lain these two hundred years past. It has seen but little change since Charles II.'s time. There are, perhaps, more dykes, the system of water drainage is more perfect, and the winter floods are of less volume. But in other respects the aspect of the country has seen few changes in two centuries. It is one of the quietest parts of Sussex, and until the era of the safety cycle few people other than sportsmen, cattle dealers, and the Marsh graziers set eyes upon it. Within the last half-dozen years cyclists from Eastbourne, Bexhill, and Hastings have begun to know something of the Marsh and its aspect ; but as a rule these are folk not greatly interested in the country and its wild life. Some few may discover the

B home of the handsome yellow iris, flaunting its yellow banners by the dykeside towards early June, or pluck the water-lilies here and there ; a bird-lover or two may note the herons fishing pensively amid the wide green plain, or winging their majestic flight towards Herstmonceux and Windmill Hill. But the majority of wheeling folk pass over the Marsh unheedingly, knowing nothing of its history, still less of the quiet pleasures that may be gathered within its borders. To them the chief matter is whether the wind is for or against them ; if with them, they whisk across the few miles of level road happily enough ; if against them, the bufteting breeze entails a sore struggle and earns many an objurgation.

Yet to those who cultivate its friendship and seek its pleasures, Pevensey Marsh has a wonderful charm of its own. Its wide skies, its spacious sunrises and sunsets, its rolling autumn mists, the pleasant hills that enlap it, the lonely line of Martello towers along its seaward aspect, the magnificent contours of Beachy Head and the rampart of South Downs that rise westward, the fat green pastures, the well-to-do cattle — all these things carry with them much contentment to the wandering and observant eye. Thoroughly to appreciate the sport and the wild life of the Marsh and its shore-line, one must, of course, serve a somewhat close apprenticeship. Nature requires wooing, and it takes time and patience to induce her to yield up her secrets. It takes time, too, to become familiar with the country people, their sports, ways, legends, and the curious knowledge that has descended to them from remote times. It was two or three years, for instance, before I became acquainted with a Marsh eel-fisher and his methods. Seeing an old, rugged-looking fellow one day tramping along the road with a great canvas bag, and a long pole having at its extremity a singular, flatpronged fork, I fell into conversation with him and learnt his trade. He was an eel-fisher, and made some part of his living by spearing eels in certain parts of the Marsh dykes. It is a hard and not a particularly paying business, yet this man seemed singularly attached to it. He had known the likely spots and the deepest holes all his life, and the flavour of sport imparted, I suppose, much of the pleasure which undoubtedly he obtained from his arduous following. He feels deftly for his prey, and, having located an eel, jabs into it with his flat, slightly barbed prong, and hoists out his catch. Sixpence a pound is the price he gets for his booty, which, considering the long walk to and fro, the toil of wielding his long and heavy pole, and the uncertainty of his catch, is by no means an extravagant remuneration. In this part of Sussex the peasants speak in a way that recalls very clearly their Saxon origin. Th is invariably pronounced by them d. Thus, when one hears the familiar the uttered as de, one might almost fancy oneself listening to a Boer or a German, both of them, after all, not so very remotely connected with the South Sussex hind.

One of the prettiest summer scenes of the Marsh is at a certain sheep-washing, which takes place in the stream near Sewers Bridge, on the far side of the Level as you ride to Ninfield from Eastbourne. This has been a sheep-washing place for centuries, and the method of procedure is without doubt identically the same as that practised in the time of Elizabeth — ay, even of the Plantagenets. A narrow part of the stream is hurdled off, and the sheep are passed from the green meadow through the watery alley-way, emerging clean, if somewhat breathless, at the farther end. An old-fashioned inn, an orchard, gay with blossom, and the hill rising gently from this eastern end of the Marsh, add a sufficiently pleasing background to a unique Marsh picture. It must have been while hunting in the ancient forest beyond this spot, remains of which still linger between Sewers Bridge and Bexhill, that Earl Moreton, near kinsman of the Conqueror, to whom was granted the Rape of Pevensey, saw on the day and hour of the death of Rufus that dreadful vision of which he has left record. Straying from his followers during the chase, he beheld a great and terrible black goat, carrying upon its back the naked body of the slain Red King. The Earl solemnly charged this apparition by the Holy Trinity to tell him wherefore it bore such a burden. To which it answered, "I am carrying your King to judgment ; yea, that tyrant William Rufus," and so passed on its way, to the exceeding disquietude of Robert, Earl Moreton.

Historically, the Marsh and its vicinity are full of memories. The noble ruin of Pevensey Castle, with its splendid remains of Roman and Norman times, lies well within the Level, and many a good hare is hunted each winter round the old grey walls. In the heart of the little rounded bay of Pevensey landed the great Conqueror himself, taking seisin as he fell, in either hand, of the soil of England. Across the Marsh, looking northward from where Duke William landed, stands the magnificent ruin of Herstmonceux Castle, a stately and unique pile built by Sir Roger de Fiennes, who fought with Henry V. at Agincourt. This noble castle was reared in the reign of Henry VI. ; it is built of brick, and is undoubtedly one of the earliest forerunners of the Tudor brickwork manor houses. The bricks of which it is composed are small and thin, and as hard almost as pieces of flint or iron. Here at Herstmonceux formerly existed a fine herony.

The herons, however, have shifted their habitations, and now build their nests at Windmill Hill, half a mile away. One of the pleasantest of spring sights, to my mind, is to watch this fine herony during the nesting season. The great birds are constantly going and returning to and from the group of tall trees in which their habitations are placed, and one can observe and appreciate their grand flight to its greatest advantage. The neighbouring Marsh dykes and streams afford ample fishing-grounds, and one seldom crosses the Level without seeing these acute and patient fishers. Fish, frogs, eels, newts, and even water-voles, and the young of moorhens — for these birds are carnivorous as well as fish-eaters — form their staple diet. After watching the Windmill Hill heronry closely for several seasons, I come to the conclusion that about the same number of birds frequent it each year. What, then, becomes of the increase of population, added by the rearing of young each spring? It is hard to say. Our grey heron of Britain is found widely distributed over the world — in Europe, Asia, Africa, even in countries as far distant as Japan and Australia. It is not impossible that, like the wandering Briton himself, our English herons pass into far distant regions beyond the seas, and make there new homes and abiding-places. I have watched with interest the common heron in South Africa, and have wondered to myself whether he was "colonial-bred" or, like myself, "home-born." It is, I think, certain that few British heronies show any appreciable increase of population, except temporarily during the nesting season.

A fairly near connection of the heron, the now rare spoonbill, occasionally strays to Pevensey Marshes. Although never now nesting in England, as it used to do, the snowy spoonbill makes an occasional pilgrimage in May, June, or July. In East Anglia these birds have become familiar in recent years on Breydon Water, near Yarmouth, and, with the protection they are afforded, may possibly even attempt to nest again in Britain. In Sussex they are scarcer. Still, they occasionally pay our marshes a surprise visit. A specimen, shot, I regret to say, a few years since on the eastern part of Pevensey Level, is to be seen, stuffed, at the inn near the sluice.

Many interesting birds, some resident, some merely migratory visitors, are to be seen on the marshes and their shore-line.^ Snipe and wild duck are fairly common, teal and widgeon occasionally met with. In hard winters many of the rarer wildfowl and sea-ducks become familiar. In the hard and prolonged frost of January and February, 1895, wild geese were to be found in many parts of the Marsh. So tamed were they by cold and starvation that they were actually seen resting in the garden of a Marsh farmer, and could have been shot from one of the homestead windows. Not many were killed ; they were, as a farmer's son said to me, too poor to be worth eating. Many rare sea-ducks were about the coast at the same time. I remember that while skating near the sea, within a mile of Eastbourne, on some flooded hollows amid the wide expanse of shingle known locally as the " Crumbles," wildfowl flew over the heads of the crowd of skaters on several occasions ; among these I noted that beautiful duck the Golden-Eye. This strange expanse of pebble beach, the Crumbles, runs from Pevensey to Eastbourne, and is about three miles in length by three-quarters of a mile at its widest part. It has many attractions for wild birds, and at one time

^ During the winter of 1902 some Glossy Ibises — far wanderers indeed — were about the Marsh, and a few specimens were shot.

I imagine the stone-curlew, or thick-knee, sometimes called Norfolk plover, found an excellent breedingplace here. Rabbits are abundant, and hares betake themselves hither when too hotly pursued on the scentholding pastures of the adjacent Marsh. In summer the handsome sea-poppy, or horn-poppy, blooms here abundantly, and its delicate yellow flower and the fine blue of a wild borage show notably against the grey glare of the interminable shingle. The sea has much receded along this part of the coast, and whereas in in old times ships rode at anchor close to Pevensey Castle, it is now nearly a mile from the walls of that stronghold to the shore.

Along the coastline of the marsh many notable and some rare birds are to be seen at different seasons of the year. Flights of dunlin, wheeling in the winter sunlight like little clouds of drab and silver, or running briskly along the edge of the tide, are familiar objects. I have noted along the quiet shore-line between Pevensey and Little Common redshanks, sanderling, stints, knots, and grey phalaropes. These last are rare visitants, which occasionally rest here on their way south. The grey phalarope is one of the most interesting birds that visit our shores during autumn and winter. Breeding in Spitzbergen and other remote places within the Arctic Circle, it may be seen during summer swimming contentedly among the icebergs off the coast of Greenland and other frigid shores. It has been observed as far south as Chili and New Zealand. As with the divers, the legs are compressed ; the toes are coot-like, with curious lobed webs. In size the bird is somewhat bigger than a dunlin. These birds are usually, on their first arrival, extraordinary tame, and, unfortunately for themselves, are easily shot. On shore and in flight they look extremely like sandpipers, and are occasionally mistaken for them. They are most expert swimmers. The red-necked phalarope is a much rarer visitant. I shot one morning a black tern and that elegant little wader the pigmy curlew, or curlew sandpiper. Gulls and terns are, of course, constantly fishing along the coast. Two elegant plovers, the ring-plover and the grey plover, are to be noted. The ring-plover is to be constantly met with, running with twinkling feet along the wet sands ; the grey plover is not a common visitant, but is occasionally to be seen. Oyster-catchers are not uncommon. On the Marsh itself, besides many small birds, snipe, wildfowl, herons, partridges, and the green plover, which nests here commonly, are familiar ; the hen harrier is now and again to be noted. And at intervals peregrine falcons, which breed in the cliffs not a dozen miles away — I will not indicate precisely where, for obvious reasons — sweep over the wide Level. I am told that Montagu's harrier and the Marsh harrier have been seen on Pevensey Marshes. These rare wanderers I have myself never had the good fortune to set eyes on in this locality.

It is curious to note with what extraordinary regularity the hooded crows appear and disappear in this part of Sussex. These birds come to the marshes for the winter, arriving from the north about the middle of October, and leaving towards the end of March for their spring and summer quarters in Norway and elsewhere. In the mild winters experienced during the last few years the sea-going ducks have been less common than in harder seasons. Black scoters, often called *' black duck," are exceptions, however ; they are constantly to be seen in Pevensey Bay. In January of the year 1902 I watched some two hundred of them riding easily on the tide 200 yards from the shore.

These birds are, of course, wretched eating, and are not worth powder and shot. So fishy is their flesh that in Catholic countries it is permissible to eat them during Lent. But even a good Catholic, one would imagine, must be very hard up for food to dine off a scoter.

One of the features of Pevensey Marsh is an old-fashioned pack of foot harriers, which in winter rouses the blood of the inhabitants and enlivens the landscape. By reason of the innumerable dykes which bisect it the Level is practically inaccessible to foxhunters. Horses cannot compass these deep and trappy dykes, and broken backs would be too often the result if men attempted to ride the country. With foot harriers the Marsh is perfectly feasible, and many a stirring run is enjoyed by the hearty farmers and yeomen who principally support the pack. The younger sportsmen follow hounds pretty closely, and some first-rate long jumping is to be seen. Occasionally you may notice a thoroughbred Marsh lad negotiating the dykes with a leaping-pole, having at the end a flat button of wood. The elder sportsmen carry long five-foot staves, locally called "bats," by the aid of which they are able to cross the slippery and narrow pieces of wood which here and there are thrown across the ditches and act as bridges. The Marsh hares are extraordinarily stout, and stand before hounds, I am inclined to think, quite as well as their brethren of the downs. They are extremely plentiful — too plentiful, in fact, in some places — and sport is never lacking. The hounds employed are old-fashioned English harriers, standing about nineteen inches. They show a good deal of the ancient southern hound type, and have rich, deep voices, which may be heard far across the levels. A few ladies patronise the hunt, and, nathless the deep dykes and wet going, seem to enjoy the sport as keenly as their fellow-hunters of the sterner sex. Here hare-hunting may truly be said to flourish in the old-fashioned manner. Hares are not coursed to death, as is too often the case with dwarf foxhounds — the quarry has a fair chance for her life — and runs of an hour and a half or two hours are not uncommon. I know of no part of England where hare-hunting may be more thoroughly enjoyed than with the Hailsham Harriers on Pevensey Marshes. Plenty of hares are killed ; during the season of 1900-1 some thirty brace were accounted for by this pack. At the eastern end of the Marsh the Bexhill Harriers, a mounted pack, descend periodically from their higher country on to the Marsh pastures ; but, as I have indicated, the Level is not by any means adapted for hunting on horseback — that is to say, when hounds run hard.

The Marsh graziers, besides being good sportsmen, are, like most of their fellows throughout England — one may say throughout Britain — among the most hospitable people in the world. It seems a real pleasure to these hearty, downright souls to welcome hunting folk and set before them every good thing in the way of eating and drinking that their homesteads can produce. They are few in number, grazing being an occupation in which small holdings can have little part or lot. Some of these families and their forbears have lived in the same homesteads for generations. They have strange tales, handed down from their fathers and grandfathers, of the old smuggling days. I gather from these narratives that there dwelt in the eighteenth century scarcely a single farmer in this locality who was not in some way or another mixed up in the freetrading business. Men between fifty and seventy have told me, with a keen twinkle in their eyes, how their grandfathers evaded the excisemen, and sank their ankers of spirits in the Marsh dykes, or hid them in stacks or other convenient places. All this coastline seems to have been, like that of Romney Marsh, peculiarly adapted for running contraband cargoes. The Sussex smugglers were bold and desperate fellows, and were little inclined to stick at trifles. They were accustomed to oppose force by overwhelming force, and usually got the better of the preventive officers. So recently as the year 1822, on the nth February, three hundred of them, says Mr. W. D. Cooper, in an interesting paper printed in the Suss. Arch. Coll., ''went to Crow Link, near East-Bourne, to land a cargo, but were stopped by a signal from the sentinel ; four nights afterwards they landed at Cliff Point, Seaford, three hundred half-ankers, losing only sixty-three and a horse. On the 13th (two days later) they attacked the sentinel at Little Common (near Pevensey Marsh) with bats (thick ash poles about six feet long) ; he, however, shot a smuggler with his pistol. The boat made sail from the land, and a coach and six, which was waiting at the back of the beach, drove off empty to Pevensey." The last of these encounters seems to have occurred in this neighbourhood in 1833. "The smugglers, having killed the chief boatman of the local Blockade Service, formed two lines on each side till their cargo was run, and then left, not, however, without several of their party having received wounds. All escaped capture."

Sussex longshoremen seem to have shared with Cornishmen an evil reputation for wrecking as well as smuggling. Congreve says of them in some of his least elegant verse : —

" Sussex men that dwell upon the shore

Look out when storms arise and billows roar, Devoutly praying, with uplifted hands, That some well-laden ship may strike the sands, To whose rich cargo they may make pretence."

II

Besides the graziers about the Marsh, a number of men, known locally as "lookers," are employed by distant farmers who hire or possess grazing on the Level. One or two of these live on the Marsh itself; others dwell in the villages or hamlets near. The " lookers " are a kind of bailiff who keep an eye on the cattle put under their charge. They and the sturdy labourers who keep the dykes clean know more about the Marsh and its nature than any others. Where the wild duck lie, where the snipe are plentiful, the nests of partridge and green plover, the seats of hares — all these things are to them as an open book. It is natural enough that followers of the harriers should wish to be, as they usually are, on terms of friendship and amity with these people, important personalities as they are of the Marsh and its vicinity.

Marsh floods are not so frequent or so great as they used to be. The sluices at Pevensey and elsewhere were carefully improved and repaired in 1804, when troops were encamped all along this coast, and Napoleon's invasion was momentarily expected. These enable an excess of water to be passed away seaward. If the French had landed, the whole level would have been at once flooded, and the difficulties of the enemy would have been added to by water as well as fire. Yet occasionally an abnormal and sudden rainfall will still flood the Level, farms are cut off, and their inmates have to reach the mainland in boats. Three or four years ago such a thing happened, and Horse-eye, Chilley, and one or two other homesteads were isolated. It is not difficult to understand how places like Horse-eye and Chilley gained their titles. They are little eminences in the Marsh, which in the pre-Norman days, and probably long after, were more often than not mere eyots or islands in the waste of flooded level. Eye — an islet — is, of course, much the same word as the Norwegian (p, pronounced eu. Horse-eye, being the most considerable elevation in the Marsh, was no doubt the islet where, in time of inundation, the horses, the most valuable and important of the country people's stock, found safety and grazing. Chilley, where another homestead stands, was, I imagine, in those far distant days often completely submerged, while the brow of Horse-eye stood bravely above water. Pevensey, Langney, Rickney, all marsh places, owe their terminations to the same fact, and were beyond doubt elevations or islets in the waste of fen.

The flat, verdant meadow of Pevensey Marsh is typically English, one might almost say typically South Saxon. It lacks the width and space and foreign aspect of the Norfolk Broad country, or the spreading marsh lands of Holland. The friendly pleasant hills encircling it smile always a kindly welcome to the occupant, and break the feeling of utter loneliness. The seascape gleams familiar beyond the low line of shingle. Here one can be completely alone with nature in her calmest and most attractive mood, without the sensation of being banished from mankind. In certain parts of the South African interior, notably amid the endless plains of Ngamiland, the enormous void of sky, the neverending flats, sun-scorched and burning, seem at times almost terrible in their monotony. Here upon this green English marsh there is no feeling of that sort. Nature is friendly, confiding. You may seek her secrets, spend hours and days in her company ; her face is nearly always placid, soft, reposeful. The breeze blows pleasantly from the sea ; the plovers flap overhead, calling at you or upon one another with high voices ; the heron fishes undisturbed yonder as you pass along ; even the reed bunting and his wife, just now busy with their nesting arrangements, seem to know that the Marsh spells peace and restfulness. A summer day spent amid these quiet Sussex pastures, with their pure air, their homely beauty, and their complete repose, is no bad thing for any man. A day here in winter, with the deep, mellow cry of harriers sounding over the leas, is in its way as fine a tonic as any healthy-minded person shall desire. If, like the writer, you can still run and leap a dyke, you may enjoy to the full as merry a hare hunt as any part of England can still offer you.

H

Chapter II The Old Decoy

The heart of the woodland — A neglected covert — Where the pool once stood — A mighty reed-bed — -The decoy ditches — A forgotten quince tree — How the decoy was worked — The decoy ducks — The dog and its business — The capture — Some great takes of wildfowl — Ancient duck -driving — 4,000 fowl bagged — A Mexican method — Value of decoys — Fritton and its income — Present British decoys — Former plenty — A vanishing system.

IT lies — neglected, unknown, forgotten — in the heart of a patch of woodland, no great way from the sea, what was once a good and profitable decoy — the pride of the squire on whose estate it existed, and the joy of the decoy-man's heart. Its glories are gone with the legions of wildfowl which once made this countryside their home, flighting over the flat marshes to and fro between the shore-line and the decoy pool. The neighbouring villagers still call the place the '"Coy," but even the oldest of them can now scarce recall the time when the decoy was in use and working order. Where once was heard the clangour of hundreds of waterfowl, silence now reigns. For some reason the covert is neglected. Once or twice during the winter a few beaters force their way through with infinite difficulty — for the place is sadly overgrown — and drive out a score or so of wild pheasants to the guns ; but for the rest, foxes, the few pheasants, a woodcock now and again, and in the spring and summer numbers of singing birds, have the undergrowth to themselves.

Occasionally the foxhounds draw the little piece of woodland and rout out a fox ; this and the rare pheasant-shooting episodes are the only events that ever disturb the wonderful quiet of the Old Decoy. It must, of course, always have been a solitary place. Wildfowlers and decoy-men must have quiet and peace — it was as necessary to them as din and uproar are to urban civilisation.