Free Constable on the Hill by Nicholas Rhea

me, was hare coursing. I had never been in contact with it, but soon after my arrival at Aidensfield, I learned that the headquarters of the Ryedale Coursing Club was at the Brewer’s Arms, Aidensfield. The pub was the headquarters of almost every other village organisation, ranging from the Catholic Women’s League to the British Legion, so the identity of the Coursing Club’s HQ did not surprise me. Coursing meetings were held at Aidensfield during the winter of each year.
    My very first coursing meeting came one crisp November day. I was on duty at the time, which meant I could officially visit the scene; in fact, I was allocated that duty because of the expected traffic influx and other associated problems. There would be a bar, for example, and I had to be on guard against youngsters buying ale. Such is the lot of the rural policeman – he attends everything on his patch “just in case”.
    I had read a good deal in the papers about the coursing of live hares. It had, and still has, a lot of enemies, particularly among Socialist Members of Parliament. Attempts have been made since 1924 to place an Anti-Coursing Bill upon the statute book but, to date, all have failed. I knew that the political atmosphere surrounding the sport could lead to some aggravation, but was that likely to happen at Aidensfield?
    Against that background, therefore, I attended my first coursing meeting. Sergeant Blaketon advised me to be on the alert for trouble because he had learned of a similar meeting, in Lancashire, where a crowd of anti-blood sport fanatics had demonstrated. They had invaded the coursing field into the bargain. Chaos had resulted, with some violence from all parties and I was warned against a repetition of that. Chaos must not occur at Aidensfield, ordered Sergeant Blaketon.
    In uniform, with wellies on my feet, I walked down to the course. It was held on the flat fields of Home Farm. These were spacious grassy areas, although some were of stubble, and all were bounded by trees and interesting copses. They provided good running for both dogs and hares, and I was happy to learn that there were adequate parking facilities, with ample space for the roving crowds. Spectators at coursing meetings do not stand still, but wander around to seethe action. The action depends greatly upon the location of the hares which are the focal-point of the sport.
    Another feature of the place was the mobile canteen and its supplies of hot soup, meat pies and sausage rolls. Next door stood the mobile liquor bar, and although it was only ten o’clock in the morning, it was open and serving alcoholic refreshment designed to warm the cockles of anyone’s heart. The necessary licence had been obtained – I checked that. The arena was growing busier by the minute.
    The essence of this misunderstood sport is that of hunting a hare with a greyhound. The sport has persisted since the beginning of time and the first laws of coursing were drawn up in the sixteenth century. The modern sport, however, differs from the ancient in that the killing of a hare does not necessarily determine the winning dog. Many enemies of the sport believe that this is one of the rules – it is not, as I was to learn from that day’s duty.
    Mingling with the spectators and competitors, I watched the sequence of events and soon the objects of the sport and the marking system became reasonably clear. I was helped by the chap who served the beer on the make-shift bar and learned that he was secretary of the local club. It was affiliated to the Old Yorkshire Coursing Club which had closed forty-eight years before this meeting, but which had been revived only a year earlier. The headquarters of that club were also at a pub.
    With the barman, whose name was Sid, I watched the prelude to the day’s events. A long line of beaters, each equipped with a white flag and a good voice, were despatched into the distance. When they were some 400 or 500 yards away, each man smartly