The old Whaddon Kennels lay silent

The song of the hounds no more.

The cause is the countryside changing

For the better, I’m not very sure.


The old Linford country has gone,

Milton Keynes has taken its place,

And those wonderful old rough pastures

Hounds would cross at lung bursting pace.


It is urban sprawl that now dictates

Over land where hounds can run,

And many a good hunting farmer

Has had to make use of his gun.


Now concrete cows are standing

Where herds of bullocks once grazed.

If you really call that progress,

Well, I really am amazed.


Hounds would run from Linford to Shenley

Crossing the main railway line.

They would cross the A5 at Two Mile Ash,

But of trouble there was never a sign.


At Shenley there lived the Stoddarts

A foxhunting family for sure,

But now there’s a shopping precinct

And the big manor house is no more.


Long runs were a regular occurrence

Of ten miles and often more.

It was sport of the highest order

Of that you can really be sure.


Albert Buckle was the huntsman,

A man at the top of his game.

Now his horn has fallen silent

The old country will never be the same.


Of the years I spent at Ascott

The best sport I ever had.

To see the kennels stand empty

It makes me very sad.


Of my life on this earth I’ve been lucky,

I have a good family and wife,

And I’ve lived in our wonderful countryside

What more could you ask for in life?


David Randall

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