‘Why you dirty foreigner, you, speak to me like that.’
‘It is of course darling the language which exactly you deserve.’
Baptista Consuelo turning her nose up and backing her chestnut stallion away. Just as the squiffy chap with his horse grazing near, was lashed to the ground. The locals cheering and the gentry handclapping. The Major, florid cheeks puffing, and adjusting his stance for maximum leverage, continuing to flog your man.
‘Tally bloody ho, take that you sod. And that.’
‘O god, what are you doing to me.’
‘I’m thrashing you sir.’
‘You cunt.’
‘You cad.’
The squiffy chap rolling arms wrapped round his head. The gentry’s pukka shout of shame and a chorus of encouragement from the locals as the Major landed a boot thump in the ribs. Your man curling up from the concussion and then lying groaning and still. The crowd fading back. And Mr Arland’s voice.
‘You sir, are a pathetic bully and coward striking a man who is down.’
‘Poppycock sir. Ho got no more than he richly deserves. And perhaps you too should like a whipping.’
‘If I get down sir, from my horse, I assure you that you will never again get up on yours.’
The hair standing up on the back of my head at Mr Arland’s quietly delivered words. The Major grunting and turning away. Foxy said the randy Major would jump up on his own grandmother in her coffin and had put every scullery maid in his house up the pole. And he was widely known for his particular skill in administering indoor punishment to servants. When he wasn’t otherwise busy himself dressing up as a woman. And was now prancing about the meadow with victorious self importance. Stopping only to pose in the gaze of the mounted ladies. With Baptista looking down admiringly as he slapped the ivory of his whip into his white gloved hand.
‘I should venture to suggest that that should teach the sozzled insolent chap some manners. And I apologize to the ladies if this unbecoming fracas gave offence.’
The Master and Huntsman leading the field off down the road and into a boreen. Through rusting iron gates and across two fields. To the first covert which drew nothing save pigeons. Nor the second in a grove by a bog from which snipe flew in their shifting flight. But the third, a wood atop a stone strewn hill roused a fox. Skidaddling goodo pronto. The Huntsman blew his horn. The echoes sounding back from the nearby hills. The chase was on with the usual curses flying amid the whoops and hollers, and the rather more staid remarks of the elder members.
‘I say there, I do believe that that ruddy fox is departing.’
‘Yoikes, yoikes.’
‘After the bloody little bugger.’
Uncle Willie said hounds take their character from their Huntsman and this pack was splendidly disciplined. The sunshine bright up on their backs. Barking and bounding off north west, nose to ground, white tips of sterns bobbing. Foxy on Thunder and Lightning leaping to the forefront of the field between Huntsman and Master. On the heel of these, the brave contingent, already pounding half way down across a great spreading meadow. Hooves slapping the grass. Chunks of dark tan turf flying up behind in the sky.
The first minor casualties were the Slasher sisters. Two raving redheads, who both fell off in a deep flowing brook. Smiling, they remounted, water spilling from their boots and wet hair flying. And lips loosing rather not nice words. They charged up the hill. Fighting Murphy the Farmer was next. His horse going down at the gallop in a rabbit hole. And poor rider, he was flung like an arrow head first into the ground. Where he lay, believed to be soundly dead. Till someone hoping to borrow a nip from his small brandy bottle awakened him. He was soon up and mounted again and minus only his memory which it was agreed he never used anyway. And back at the crossroads this morning one saw various sober persons secreted behind hedges vomiting. And others minus their flasks, taking their courage in great gulps of whiskey in the pub. Some of whom now formed the courageous gang looking for a way through the thick tall tangle of ash briar and blackthorn at the top of the field. Till Foxy crashed a hole in the hedge big enough to bring an army through. And the Mad Vet himself said.
‘That pup Slattery would ride an elephant between two atoms stuck together.’
I kept mostly in the middle of the field with my Molly who did not like to get her feet wet or her coat scratched by briars. Being as she was a rather proud and delicate lady. Miss von B I could see ahead at the rear of the brave contingent. The twin acorns of her gleaming arse bobbing over her saddle. And closely behind Baptista. Who kept turning to look back at her most unpleasantly. And I stretched Molly’s legs galloping two fields with the nervous contingent before dropping back to lurk a little behind in the forefront of the cowards. To see that Mr Arland came to no early harm. And no one sniggered at him now aboard the barrel shaped Petunia.
‘Are you alright Mr Arland.’
‘Thank you yes Kildare. I am merely trepidatious.’
‘Uncle Willie says always take your first fall as soon as you can to get rid of your fear.’
‘Unfortunately Kildare having only one life, I think I may prefer to stay mounted and frightened out of my wits.’
The Major smugly smiling to each side of him at the ladies as he now passed forward through the field, having officiated over the farmer Murphy who since his amnesia was on every side proclaiming he was an African prince with a harem, instead, as someone said, a bog trotter with a paddock of scrawny pigs. And the Major while galloping by circulated the news.
‘That silly sod Murphy thinks now he’s a rich nigger.’
I sat on a hillock pausing in the sunshine with Molly puffing somewhat out of condition and viewing the Major just as he galloped up and over a high mound near by roaring ‘Gung Ho’ and then plummeted down the other side. Where his horse most wisely, but extremely abruptly, refused at a very wide deep ditch on the edge of the bog. And the Major, without wings was sent aloft. Landing stretched full face in the oozing deeply brown mud. Accompanied by the echoes of his Gung and Ho. And as he half raised himself up from the clinging muck the, humorously inclined Mad Vet cantering past, suggested loudly.
‘Sir it appears that it is you who is now the nigger.’
I twice caught sight of the poor fox Making his skulking way along the edge of a wood. Jumping a little to left and right. His red and brown coat so plain against the green. The sight of which would instantly alert these blood thirsty pursuers howling and shouting in the wake of his scent. With the pack of paws and hoofed avalanche of horses pounding upon his canine heels. To be in a breath atomized by flashing fangs. Sad fellow.
With most of the brave field gone ahead, the Major, his mouth spitting mud, was dragged by the boot heels back up to dry green land. He stood up, his hands pressed at the kidneys. And then with a long groan, keeled over backwards into the bog again. Baptista holding his horse and still levelling her best dirty looks in Miss von B’s direction and that of any member of the Andromeda Park contingent. The Major now mostly surrounded by the elder ladies making their inane remarks. And very much distracting the Major’s attention from his task of sloughing off his person the bigger chunks of clay. As in her haughty supercilious manner Baptista looking down at the Major keeps loudly uttering.
‘O I say what foul awfully bad luck.’
And the Major mumbling as he dug further copious muck from ear hole and nostril.
‘Yes quite.’
The baying of the hounds now seemed to have changed direction. And Baptista, right as we were enjoying the splendid view of the stricken and ooze encrusted Major, barged straight into Miss von B. Who spun round and gave the quarters of Consuelo’s horse such a slap of her whip that I thought I saw smoke rise where it burned into the hair and I would have sworn that Baptista this time farted in fear as her horse bolted, for she gave, as Uncle Willie called it, a backside bark and left behind a fume something entirely unhorsey. And as the sweeter air from green things swept it away, one was rather aware that it could be a fracas between females soon. This day already being most full of the unexpected. Just as last night had amply been full of most useful discovery.