AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ODDS & ENDS 51 



foot and a horse which will buck was not pleasant. 

 It was a weird little country, tiny banks and tiny 

 fly fences, but such a lot of wire that a kindly 

 sportsman warned me never to jump a hedge 

 without hitting it first with my whip. 



Hounds were always getting lost in that country ; 

 they ran from hill to hill, and we scrambled across 

 the valleys guessing which hill they were at, and 

 generally guessing wrong. But I saw one quite 

 nice hunt from somewhere near Prestatyn, over a 

 line of Httle banks in which I got a bad start 

 and was hopelessly left. 



My mount was my old Sally, which I had sold 

 to a friend, but she had to do so much driving 

 that she was not in hunting humour. 



I had some hunting in Ireland after that, a 

 few days with Mr. Charteris. 



And one day in particular which laid me up for 

 years. I was back for three weeks, and a very 

 kind friend gave me his own best horse so that 

 I could have a really good time. 



Tearing down a lane a young farmer turned 

 across me suddenly, I had either to crash into 

 him or puU hard aside. I pulled my horse, slipped 

 and went down, turning back my foot so far as he 

 fell on me that my thick hunting boot was torn 

 open Uke paper. 



Curiously enough I got up, though four little 

 bones and two toes were broken and the tendon 

 AchiUes snapped. 



