Remember the wood with all the elms? I went back for a visit.
While I was there, trying to make my steps on the dried leaves quiet, waiting for the birds to settle, I began to hear a sound.
As soon as I heard, I stood stock still, turning to try to locate the source. There was this primal instinct - find out from where and then flee or hide.
From somewhere, the hounds. Getting closer.
I hate the hunt. The pointless cruelty. Yes, I know: they can't chase foxes. But they do. They claim they can't control the hounds. But they could. And besides, why else would hunts fill up badger setts just before a meet if not to stop the fox going to ground?
They say it's part of rural culture. Well, so was serfdom. Bear baiting. Burning witches. The fuckers should be made to eat what they kill. Raw. Fur and entrails and claws.
I didn't know which way they'd be going. So I stayed still.
The hounds didn't mistake me for whatever they were after.
Then I heard the hooves.
And this is where the shame comes in. Bear in mind, that I was trespassing. this wood is off the public right of way. And hunts have the say so of the landowners. Damn, they probably included the landowners.
Even so, my goddam pusillanimous self. You'll hear.
How I hate myself for that. I was scared and just went straight for appeasement. Poor old Anne Frank wouldn't have lasted long in my attic. What a coward. What a lily-livered wimp.
I followed the horses - obviously a long way back. Saw a badger's latrine and thought I might find a sett filled up then I could get the bastards. But it was getting dark and the eerie screaming amid the riotous barking of the dogs made me sick at heart and I left.
Pathetic.
Upsetting. :-(