Society
Frank will lose his job; pity he does not have a tail
Published 19 June 2000
I spent one Saturday last March sitting on a quad bike with my arms wrapped around a farmer called Frank. This was Gloucestershire at the end of the hunting season, and we - neither of us keen on horseback riding - were bumping along, up and down hills, following the Beaufort hunt.
Frank is an agricultural contractor who mends fences and helps with the upkeep of pony paddocks. Half of his income comes from hunting; although because it is only half, he is probably not counted among the 8,000 who, according to the newly-published official report into hunting under Lord Burns, will lose their jobs if a ban comes into effect.
There are many in his shoes: farmers who, following the BSE crisis, can afford to run their farms only by keeping horses for huntsmen; others who rely on hunting kennels to pick up carcasses (up to half a million each year) for free to turn into feed for their hounds (the knacker's van would charge for the service); still others who make ends meet by becoming "terrier men" during the fox-hunting season (this involves waking up at four or five in the morning to check the grounds for the 11 o'clock meet). To use the glorious words of the Burns Report, a ban would "seriously compromise the welfare" of farmers such as these.
The ban now looks a certainty, although Frank and friends should take heart from remembering that, a few years ago, better education and an improved NHS were considered a certainty, too. It will cull not only Frank's income, but also his social life. In a rural community, as a divorced father of two, Frank would feel pretty isolated if he didn't attend the quiz nights, tea dances and pub get-togethers that kick off each hunt. It's a social scene the inclusive character of which should earn it new Labour's blessing: gathered round a pint are a vicar, a burger-van driver, a plumber, a waitress and a toff or two. Every one of them has taken part in a Countryside Alliance march and sees Tony Blair as an enemy on a par with the League Against Cruel Sports, who send a film crew in a Land Rover to follow every hunt.
"What does our dear Prime Minister know about the countryside?" asks one farmer. His words have everyone nodding. The "dear Prime Minister", they reckon, views huntsmen as red-faced, red-coated place-mat caricatures. He thinks of them as latter-day bear-baiters, dressed up in top hats and tailcoats. But, for the farmers, a fox is a pest, not a pastime - it kills their chickens and sheep, and wrecks their fences; and can anyone think of a humane way to kill a pest?
So here is a traditional means of pest-control that brings together the lord of the manor and the farmer who works the soil. A minority interest that also represents the only means of livelihood for a vulnerable few. Sounds just up new Labour's street, you'd think: well-heeled Westminster urbanites could afford a small concession to the rural poor, couldn't they? The issue hardly touches them, after all - the typical Londoner sees a fox scavenging in his rubbish bins far more often than he meets a farmer.
Yet fox-hunting is proving irresistible for new Labour. It offers a golden opportunity for schmaltz and bogus morality. The government loves to manipulate the soft-toy sentimentality that oozes from British hearts - witness its handling of Diana's death and Leo's birth. On a Richter scale of sympathy, dirty-nailed farmers come a lot lower than little furry creatures with long tails. By showing himself to be a soft touch for the campaigners against cruelty to animals, the hard man of the Home Office can show that some compassion does run in his veins. And, finally, a government accused of broken pledges sees an opportunity to get on its moral high horse, by presenting the fight to ban fox-hunting as a battle between Good and Evil.
If only Frank would don a furry costume and glue on a tail, he might stand a better chance.
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