THERE are still places in this kingdom where an ancient magic lingers. Seen through a pair of pricked grey ears, the outline of ruined Corfe Castle on its knoll, misty in gathering dusk between two long ridges of hills, stirs thoughts of frustrated armies, the clash of sword on armour and perhaps even an Arthurian banner flying in the wind. In the other direction, white horses gallop across the largest natural harbour in Britain, where countless birds gather. Such is the view from the Rempstone estate, the southernmost corner of the South Dorset country, on the edge of Poole Harbour. “It is like going back in time down there,” affirmed Joint Master James Baillie. “It’s always that little bit special.”
Several dozen riders, including visitors from the Portman, Wilton, Cattistock and Hursley Hambledon, gathered in late March to enjoy the view – as ever, improved further by a level pack of hounds – to a generous welcome from Dougie and Sarah Ryder, loyal hosts and puppy walkers. Baskets of sausage rolls and trays of port circulated. However, my
