“My third year, when the customary notice came round asking for the names of prospective beaglers, I decided to make the experiment. This decision was not made without a feeling of misgiving, as I thought it more a sport for my elders and betters, because in those days all the ‘celebrities’ beagled, or so it seemed to me at the time. Some of my friends took me to the first meet, and I remember being haunted by the childish yet awful idea that I might do something wrong. However, one soon learnt there was not much time for doing wrong, the only necessity being to try to keep up with hounds. “Vaguely I remember struggling and inwardly praying for a check. When at last I did catch up, it was generally time to go home, unless one wished to violate the laws of lock-up. As yet I was not one of those ‘bravos’ who cared little for their tutors and lock-up, yet inwardly admiring them and longing to be one of them. And so it was that with persistent regularity I used to reach my house just as the lock-up bells broke out. “The after-sensations of a day’s beagling are hard to describe, but all who beagle with a true heart know the infinite joy of sitting in a comfortable armchair by a warm fire just ‘thinking it over.’ “Before the end of my first season I had made friends with the kennel huntsman, of whom more hereafter, and even began to criticise inwardly the Master and whips, so conceited was I. “Mentioning whips, I remember one day, when nearly all the field had gone home after a poor day, we found a hare which took us a two mile point before we checked. When I arrived on the scene I remember the Master saying, ‘Congratulations, you may have your whips.’ From that day the height of my ambition at Eton was fixed. “The War was now in full swing, and the authorities bowed to the demands for economy by demanding that the pack should be disbanded, or, more accurately, sent out to walk. It was not for me to criticise, but it was never quite clear to me how economy was effected, all that happened being that the hounds were overfed individually instead of being economically fed as a pack. “During this awful period I often used to walk to the forsaken kennels on Sunday and ‘talk hunting’ with Champion, the huntsman. At last the War was over, and before long the survivors of the old field began to talk about reassembling the pack. “At first every one seemed against it, though probably this was more fancy than fact. Old Etonians were not silent on our behalf: they signed petitions, wrote letters, and in fact did all they could do. Probably it all helped, and the Head Master met them half-way, and said his decision would rest on the goodwill of the farmers, which he proposed to ascertain by sending a letter to each of those over whose ground we normally hunted.