BEAGLINGThere's more to beagling than the killing, argues the honorary secretary of the Curragh Foot Beagles club, writes Eoin Butler
DOWN A DUSTY road, through green cast iron gates and past a sign saying "Military Installation: Authorised Personnel Only" is not where any sensible person would expect to find the headquarters of one of Kildare's leading (civilian) field sports clubs. The Curragh Foot Beagles are kennelled in the army's (long since evacuated) old magazine.
Not the army's present day weapons dump, as I had mistakenly understood. Therefore, I should begin by thanking the two military policemen who intercepted, redirected and kindly refrained from shooting me on sight.
The club's honorary secretary, Philip Donnelly, is waiting at the top of the hill to guide me in. Dressed casually in a Patagonia sweatshirt and jeans, he is mild mannered and articulate. Only the whip in his right hand hints at his involvement in a sport that is deemed "barbaric" by anti-blood sports groups .
The hounds yelp excitedly in their cages as we inspect them, and Philip greets some of them by name. There are 24 in all (12 pairs, in beagling parlance), with the bizarrely monikered "Signpost" seeming to be Philip's favourite.
Once a week, from October through until February, the dogs are released into the wild for a few hours to hunt hares and, when successful in that pursuit, kill them. Donnelly is adamant that beagling is not a cruel sport and he makes a persuasive case. "Mankind has been hunting for five or six thousand years. It's instinctive for a lot of people - there's a huge social aspect to it."
Hares, he points out, are the second fastest mammals on earth after the cheetah, with a top speed of 70km/h. So actually catching them is far from a foregone conclusion. "We have 20 to 25 meets per season. Last year, we killed no hares. The year before that we killed two.
"You bring wellingtons, a raincoat and binoculars. What you're here for really is some exercise first of all," he says.
Hares and foxes, he points out, have no natural predators. In the UK where hunting is banned, farmers are resorting to shooting, poisoning and snaring - all of which are perfectly legal - in order to keep down the numbers. "These methods frequently cause the animal considerable suffering. The kill in hunting, by contrast, is very quick and clean."
Hold on a minute. Didn't he say a moment ago that his own club had killed only two hares in the past two years? That's hardly going to control hare population. He concedes the point. "Well, I didn't say that we were any good, did I?"
Many assumptions people make about beagling, he argues, are outdated. "I'm not a lord," he says. "I'm not a member of the landed gentry. I'm a school attendance officer. I go around Finglas trying to get young people into school."
Other members of the club, he says, are school teachers or work in warehouses. "Those old stereotypes are completely inaccurate. But that's what the anti-hunt brigade rely upon. When people realise what beagling is all about, they're a lot more favourable to it."
So does Donnelly worry that a ban similar to the one in force in Britain may eventually be imposed here, particularly since the Green Party joined Fianna Fáil in government. "It's not a development we'd welcome. But we'll defend our sport and we'll defend our way of life."
He recognises that Ireland is becoming more urbanised and Irish people are moving further and further away from the land. "People may just not understand what hunting involves. It doesn't involve mass slaughter. The killing, when it does happen, is quick and clinical."
Before he bids me farewell, Philip presents me with a flagon of home-made cider and an honorary Curragh Foot Beagles membership badge. Now, maybe it's the pomace . . . or maybe beagling is just a great hobby after all.