IN THE corner of my hall is an old leather Horse Artillery shell bucket that is overflowing with walking sticks. Some have marvellous metal attachments for swatting thistles or digging out docks; others are beautiful, elegant ‘dress’ sticks with ebony or lignum vitae shanks and ivory, silver, agate or gold tops. There are four ‘system’ sticks: a leather-bound sword stick, a Malacca cane with a hidden spirit flask, one with a snuff box concealed in the top and another with a 19th-century surveyor’s measuring rod inside it.
Among those are a selection of hazel, ash and holly sticks with handles carved in the heads of various animals: terrier, foxhound, greyhound, salmon, pheasant and one made of ivy with a snake entwined around its length. Leaning beside them are half a dozen ram’s horn crooks, which I use virtually every day on the farm,held me more or less vertical at countless game fairs, point-to-points and coursing meetings – but what makes my silent, dependable companion so special is that I made it myself.
