Marching On Marmite Soldiers

I got into work on March Day + 1 and the boss said 'Carol, what were you chaps doing in London ? - you've already got us an earthquake of 4.8 on the Richter Scale !! What happens when you get REAL mad ?'

Goodness, what a long day it was. It all started at 0500hours when I fell out of bed, drank a gallon of tea and consumed two rounds of Marmite soldiers. Exercised the hounds, fed the chickens and was ferried to one of our Hunt coaches. We left Broadfield Court – a local vineyard – at 0630hrs in buoyant mood and spirit. Six coaches had been organised by the North Hereford Hunt – an heroic achievement given that we are one of the smaller hunts in existence.
Stopped for P & T at Membury Services on the M4 – who should I see disembarking from a neighbouring coach but the chap who judged Lydia at the last lurcher show we had attended. Hugs all round. And then on to London.
Arrived in Park Lane at 1030hrs to join the Liberty start of the March. Hyde Park was like a scene from a Lowry print – hundreds and thousands of scuttling creatures attempting to find their way to the actual start point. It was a surreal experience – overlaid by the smell of the bacon burgers, the Household Cavalry Barracks, the portaloos and mankind en masse. Our contingent walked across the park – the young being seduced by the whistle sellers "Pound a whistle – Three quid if you're labour !" Not many three quid takers. We had two banners proclaiming our allegiance to the North Hereford and the theory was that we would march between the banners and so keep together. This lasted while we were stationary – ie for the first 4 hours of our March experience. We queued and we queued and we waited and waited to join the procession to the start of the March. The good humour was tangible – we greeted every successive arriving contingent with whoops, holloahs, whistles, klaxons, cheering and clapping. Giffords Circus (run by a girl who used to hunt with the Vale of the White Horse) gained an enormous cheer. The Irish came en masse – the Welsh – the Americans – the Scottish (what a sight to behold with their saltires flying and the pipes playing). Soldiers from the Barracks cheered us on – they lined the balconies of their barracks, and if you peered closely you could see lining the walls of the corridors behind them pictures of long departed officers on their chargers who were surely with us in spirit. We bantered the hours of waiting away – one person remarked that at this rate we would surely be Marching on Monday ! There were fishermen, bootmakers, Trotskyists, babes in arms, bowler hatted gents, dairy farmers, rugger buggers, OAPs, pony club members, foxhunters, beaglers, coursers, terriermen, shopkeepers, postmen, publicans – you name it – the Countryside was out in force. We whiled away the hours by filling in forms to say we were there, putting donations in envelopes to help the cause, and generally soaking up the atmosphere. I would say the children made the day – I marched with two young boys – Adam and Matthew – ages approximately 10 and 13. This was only their second visit to London and they were agog. Matthew said that he would be decidedly tired tomorrow cause he'd walked a Hunter Trial course twice yesterday prior to riding it – and the thought of a Monday school day was definitely not on. Besides, he said, I shall have no puff when I've blown the pea out of my whistle ! We actually got underway at approximately 1430 hours – not marching but shambling ! There was nowhere to put one foot in front of the other !

We were filthy – the dust and sand from the carriage rides in the park had permeated our nether regions. All those smartly polished/cleaned brogues, Gucci loafers, top boots, Adidas Trainers, green Hunter wellies, court shoes, ballet pumps – why had we bothered ? But how we enjoyed ourselves and the slogans:

'Bomb the Ban'
'You tell my Jack Russell to stop hunting'
'I'm from Florida; we can't vote right but we support the English countryside'
'Born to Hunt. Forced to March. Ready to Fight'

The atmosphere was electrifying – the sheer volume of noise unbelievable. The support from bystanders and lookers on from the London Clubs. The moment when the two Marches, Liberty and Livelihood converged – absolute magic. The hairs stood up on the back of one's neck. Were we really a part of all this ? The massive procession down Whitehall, silenced at the Cenotaph. The rousing cheers as we passed under the arches where the numbers marching were counted. We were about the 311,000 mark – and still the numbers kept rising – I have never, and never again will see such a flood tide of humanity in unison.

Through Parliament Square – eat your heart out Mr Blair – 'You ain't seen nothing yet' was the general feeling. This is our LAST peaceful demonstration.

Sadly the March finished, but our euphoria prevailed – as we struggled all the way back to North Herefordshire. Via closed off tube stations due to sheer weight of numbers. Don't mention the 'hurry up and wait mode' on our coaches while stragglers struggled to reach us, don't even think about the hour and a half traffic jam going nowhere as we attempted to leave the capital. No room at the Motorway services for coaches to park "use any car parking space you can find" we were directed. The good nature of fellow marchers who were told that their coach drivers were 'out of hours' and that replacements would have to be sent for – meaning their journey's would be prolonged by yet more hours. People who had been up before dawn and who were needed to be up before dawn the following day to milk etc etc.

I finally crawled into bed at 0045hrs Monday am with a glass of champagne !

I would say the resolve of the Countryside is strengthened – if that is possible – mine certainly is. And we must all remember that although the causes to be championed are many and varied, none of this would have come about were it not for the practical organisation and logistical support of those most deeply involved in the prime cause – Hunting with Dogs.