Into the breach, in defence of English foxhunting, gallops a German. His account of riding with the Quorn hunt takes nearly the whole of the front page of the travel section of Die Zeit, a Hamburg broadsheet weekly newspaper, and more on the next page. The heading: "Isn't that pure madness?" at a time "when the Government forbids its people to eat T-bone steaks." You could, of course, Reiner Luyken writes, forbid people to keep cats, in the country anyway, because of the cruel way they deal with mice and rats. And anyway, isn't Michael Foster, who introduced the anti-hunting motion, an angler?
But most of the long article is taken up with an account of the writer's day out with the prestigious Quorn. He explains that there are 236 foxhunting areas in England, five of them in Leicestershire, the heart of the craft, if that's the right word. The top names - "the beautiful names" - are the Belvoir, Cottesmore, Fernie, Pytchley and Quorn. He quotes Baily's Hunting Directory which establishes the Quorn as being the first foxhunt on horseback, way back in 1698. By one Thomas Booth.
He is intrigued by his fellow riders. The lady in black, riding side-saddle, wears a black veil over her face, which lends a touch of the mysterious. Old gentlemen in antiquated style. A lady who must be going on for 80, yet on horse makes a dazzling impression. The master is the unquestioned ruler of the proceedings. He can put anyone who errs, in any way, off the field. The writer is thoroughly captivated. "In trying to describe riding with the Quorn, I am at a loss for words. It is an overpowering feeling of happiness ... sailing over the thorn hedges of Leicestershire can perhaps be best compared to the uplifting bliss of hearing an especially beautifully-played symphony by Mendelssohn Bartholdy".
One of the Master's aides rides up to him. "I see that you are smiling all the time." The author's reply: "I am in Heaven." There is much about the dangers and the serious injuries which many hunters have to endure, but more about the exhilaration of the hunt. On the way back, he murmurs quiet words of contentment to his horse, and strokes his neck. The horse switches back one ear to him. "We are now quite alone. And we are completely at one." No mention of a fox-kill. Y.