As the result of a recent horn lesson, I am learning a new piece—Hunter's Moon by Gilbert Vinter. It was written in 1942 for John Burden who was the principal horn player of the London Symphony at the time. Hunter's Moon is a bright horn solo that is light hearted and perky. It actually says at the top "with good humour." I have been working on a more sombre piece with darker tones and longer notes, so this is quite a change of pace. This week my teacher suggested I do a little reading on what is known as the hunter's moon and the traditional British hunt so that I could better tell the story when I play the notes.The hunter's moon is the first full moon after the harvest moon and usually appears in October. It rises about thirty minutes earlier than the moon normally does, so hunters had that much more time to chase their prey. The horn solo has more to do with hunting than the full moon, though, with that uplifting horn call and constantly moving melody—the fox and the dogs and the horses running fast and furious in pursuit of safety or meat, depending on the animal.
Fox hunting dates as far back as the 1500s and has traditionally been an aristocratic sport and not a source of meat. Someone who is truly hungry is more likely to kill and eat efficiently without pomp and circumstance, without horn calls and ceremony. Chasing a fox with a pack of dogs and horses while wearing proper clothing is more a source of amusement than an act of survival. Oscar Wilde described the hunt as "the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable," and his sentiment has finally taken hold in the form of legislation banning the sport in England and Wales. It continues to be a heated debate with animal rights activists on one side and people who make a living from the sport on the other.
So, fox hunting is a brutal pastime of the upper class and is no longer allowed—I don't think that's the story my horn teacher has in mind when I sit down to play Hunter's Moon. I think I'm supposed to project prancing in the forest and jumping over pasture fences and following the barking hounds all juiced up on fox scent. I'll try to keep that in mind when I practice, and I'll try not to think of the occasions when the hounds actually catch the fox and rip him to bits. The dogs are just supposed to chase the varmint, but every now and then they get overly enthusiastic and yank off a leg bone or an ear.
I wonder what would happen if I scratched out "Hunter's" on my music and wrote in "Harvest" instead. I don't think there is anything objectionable about a farmer spending a few extra minutes harvesting on a chilly night in October. A dusty peasant quietly cutting wheat isn't as exhilarating an image as a dapper gentleman on his steed, and the only thing being chased is daylight, but then nothing ends up dismembered in the autumn leaves at the end of the day.
Comments
As an anti-hunt protester of many decades, I can only cheer our ban, Robyn.
The sight of weekending London solicitors on horseback cheering as a terrified animal is eviscerated for their amusement in front of them (and "blooding" their children with its innards) is sickening beyond belief.
As are the so-called "countryside alliance" we have here; affluent city folk who are trying to get the ban overturned by pretending it is a harmless pursuit of country folk and that only "townies" disapprove.
I've lived in the countryside all my life and - other than a couple of suck-ups in the next village who are paid by a particularly loathesome Londoner who only comes here to hunt - every country person I know hates this abhorrent practice with a vengeance.
I'm just sorry that such a lovely-sounding instrument as yours has such a sordid past.
Apologies for the grumpy downer.
I just sat back in my chair and looked warily at my pup.
JUST FOR FUN??? What was next? Rape and pillage?
I think you should straddle a steed my dear, equipped with your horn, just for the practice! You don't need to actually join the hunt.
We have an Adelaide Hunt Club - I've been on a "hunt" but it was nothing than a bit of a cross-country steeplechase by some dressed up riders. There was nary a fox in sight. Hee, hee. The "townies" turned up in droves to sip the early morning port before the horn sounded!