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?