Heady days in pursuit of the redcoats. Reminiscence about the pleasures of hunt sabbing
- Published: Wednesday, 24 June 2009 11:04
The start of autumn always reminds me. The thud of Dutch paratrooper boots
on our door at 4am and young voices yelling: ''Get up everyone. It's the
Once someone let them in, they would clatter up and down the stairs of our squatted terrace in Brighton, hammering on doors and blowing horns.
After rising in the pre-dawn chill of the unheated rooms, throwing on parkas or bomber jackets, we would stand outside waiting for the convoy of Land-Rovers that came to pick us up of a Saturday morning. Amateurs like myself would stand to one side, thin roll-ups in shivering fingers, hung-over and grumbling. The real enthusiasts, however, were always raring to go. This was the highlight of their week, a holiday from the urban ghetto. Suddenly, they had an identity and a purpose. They were hunt saboteurs.