Where would Christmas be without hunting? Bing Crosby dreamt of a white Christmas with every Christmas card he wrote. When that card shows the traditional scene of the hunt on the village green or in the market square on Boxing Day, then so much the more Christmassy. And along with the cards come the carols, with all their ancient hunting associations. We sing of the boar’s head or the running of the deer and know that Advent is in full swing.
Whether it’s a fell pack with a tradition of singing at hunt get-togethers, or a grand shire gathering at the Master’s stately home, hunts enjoy their carolling as much as the other seasonal rituals – fancy dress hunting on Christmas Eve and thanking the hunt staff on Boxing Day. “To me carol singing at the kennels means Christmas has really started,” strikes up, hounds join in and the rest of the verse is lost in the canine chorus of “whooo, whooo, whooo”. Sometimes this is actually a good thing, to cover the confusion of the male field’s plaintive bleating when asked to carry without female assistance. But according to Laurie-Bentall, the whole occasion ends up being a satisfying cacophony: “I particularly enjoy it by the time we get to , which is always fun and gets rowdier and rowdier with each verse,” she says.
