Promise of the White Fox.
1972. A location in the British Isles.
The horn sounded; the dogs barked and ran to the scent; the fox in close cover ran for its life, dashing across an open field heading for the woods and the freedom it would find there. But the fox was caught in the open and although he frantically changed his direction, in an effort to evade the hounds, they persistently continued the hunt until the lead dog launched itself on the fox, bringing it down.
What followed was a yelping, and a tearing of flesh. It was a scene of lunacy; the hounds in frantic ecstasy, wagging their tails, running around the fox; their masters blowing triumphantly on the horns, sitting high on their horses.
I watched unobserved from my hidden military position on the hill opposite, silently protesting, wanting to voice an opinion, wanting to seek some justification for what I had witnessed; but I remained silent. When the blooding had taken place I watched the group turn their horses and hounds home victoriously, leaving me emotionally still long after they had gone.
Some time later I heard the voices of Red Troop,' as they came looking for me, and while about to secure my position further, a sudden movement to my immediate right, caused me to look sideways into the undergrowth. In all of my days I have never witnessed anything so beautiful, so natural; there face to face with me stood a vixen, noticeably pregnant. She sat and looked at me, and in a trance-like state I returned her gaze; totally intrigued.
From time to time her gaze would shift from me to the carcass below, and I felt that she expected me to give her some reason or explanation for what had taken place. I felt a deep regret, and a voice that did not seem like my own spoke out softly; I don't know,' I really don't know,' I said.
By now Red Troop had moved off in the direction of the huntsmen, and the vixen, passing within inches of me, turned for the last time, before running into the field below.
I watched as she explored the ground, and I heard her whimper as discovery was made; like a lost child, she looked around as if unsure of which way to turn. She started off in the direction of the woods, but after only a few yards she turned back, and lay on the ground facing the remains of her mate. Again the whimper, although this time it seemed prolonged and throaty, somewhat of a lament, I thought.
In the distance someone fired a shotgun at a far away target, but the vixen, startled, stood and timidly prepared to run should the need arise; but it did not, and after what I can only describe as a period of mourning, she turned and ran off across the field, disappearing into the woods.
As I watched the white of her tail become engulfed in the foliage, I stood, unaware that I may have betrayed my position, revealing myself to the soldiers searching for me. Slinging the rifle over my shoulder, I walked down to where the remains of the fox were. What remained was spread over an area of twenty feet, and what was left could not be identified as being a fox. Reflecting on that instance in time, I seem to recall that I stood there for rather a long time, and I often wonder, if perhaps, I like the vixen, was paying respects to a lost friend. Looking behind me to the woods, and speaking loudly, I said; you run lady,' you run,' they will not take you this season.'
With that done, head down, I followed in the track of my comrades.
Approximately a mile across the field I saw something that made me stop abruptly; it was the white tail part of the fox, slightly bloody, lying at my feet. What prompted me I will never know, but I squatted and picked it up. Holding it gently, as if afraid to damage it further, I continued to walk across the fields until I reached a road. From there my direction was northwards and a stationary green Army truck.
Are you alright, Sir? Inquired the red-faced sergeant with the vehicle; I nodded. If you don't mind me saying, Sir, he continued, you look rather pale, almost white! I am fine, thank you sergeant, I assured him, while climbing the back of the truck to sit on the bench seat. The sergeant eyed me attentively for a brief moment before leaving. Looking out across the fields, my thoughts turned to nature, and the realization of how uneducated I was in such things became forefront in my mind, angering me slightly.
The sergeant returned, poking his head into the truck. Brought you a nice mug of tea,' he said; and I laughed lightly at his expression. He passed me the mug carefully; I accepted it gratefully; it was good; hot, strong and not too sweet.
About thirty minutes later the first soldiers of Red Troop began to come in, and on seeing me they realized that they had failed in their mission to detect and prevent me from reaching the truck, and their disappointment was evident. It took another two hours before all twenty soldiers had returned to the vehicle, and with the last arrival the engine was started, and we headed back to camp.
I sat observing all soldiers in turn; all young men, boys in fact, with an average age of eighteen years. In a way I felt sorry that they had not discovered me or my position, because they looked rather miserable, and I dare say, they would not be looking forward to more intensive training in enemy location.
My gaze drifted down to the hand that still held the fox's tail.
That a fox's tail,' Sir?
I nodded confirmation to the boy who had spoken.
But its white,' remarked another soldier.
Don't be a wally,' insisted the first.
I've never seen a white fox, Dave, never even heard of one;' stated the second.
Dave sat forward looking at him sarcastically; you never heard of a white fox, Jimmy?'
Jimmy shook his head.
Well,' informed Dave, legend as it, that whoever catches a white fox, or carries its tail, becomes just like the fox, smart, crafty, undetectable.
Jimmy was taken in completely, so I believe were most of the other soldiers, because they looked at the fox's tail in my hand admiringly. I was about to explain that this was just the tip of the tail, but someone at the front of the vehicle stated; No bloody wonder we couldn't find him then.' Most of us laughed, yet I felt a little guilty, I did not feel like laughing after my experience earlier, but when you are with a group of young soldiers, it is almost impossible not to do so.
When we reached camp the soldiers went for a shower before their tea, I returned to my quarters to do the same. I put the fox's tail on the dressing table next to the bed, thinking that perhaps I should throw it away, but after tea I forgot. However, over the next few following days it became something of a legend; it seems that a story prompted by a soldier in the back of a truck became taken literally, and I discovered that I had been christened The White Fox,' a name that was spreading throughout the camp.
At that time I continued to carry the tail as an inspiration for the men, but I did not know then, how much the tail would change my life, nor what it would come to mean.
During the next month, those defined as Red Troop would undergo further training, under sergeant Robert Williams, their instructor; with me as their troop lieutenant, observing as adviser. Training was to shape the group, to mould it into a unit, where each man worked as a team member, and where each man became part of a family.
When the training period ended, it was decided that another exercise in enemy location and search procedure would be undertaken.
The morning we left was warm, yet a ground mist cloaked the soil like a chilly blanket, and so I had decided long before leaving the truck, to stay on the high ground for as long as possible, or until the mist had cleared.
I left the vehicle at a point determined as Point A,' and I had a maximum four hours to reach Point C,' where the truck would be parked. Red Troop would be deployed from Point B,' intermediate between points A and C.
My own method was to travel as fast as possible, and to get as near as I could to Point B. The theory was that the troop would not be looking for me so close to their position, simply because they would not expect me to be there. Unfortunately for me, we had trained them too well; their search procedure, which I observed through binoculars from a distance, proved very effective, and instead of going forward, my only alternative was to go backwards in an effort to swing around onto their right flank.
I must admit, that after three hours I almost gave up hope of being able to break through their line. Eventually, by calm or proficient action on my part, I finally reached a position from where the truck was in clear view, the only obstacle being two soldiers.
While debating my next move, the horn sounded, its eerie blare seemingly to echo across the landscape like a phantom. I looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing, yet as the minutes past the sound of the horn grew louder, and I knew it was getting closer.
The noise of the horn had broken the concentration of the two soldiers in my path to the truck, and they began to move away. I concluded that by making my way along the top of the hill I could easily avoid the soldiers below, so I went for it. On reaching the location determined earlier, my prime objective became to survey the area and to verify that my path was clear. Close scrutiny of the area revealed that my path was open, and the final three hundred yards would prove uninterrupted.
From this position I had approximately forty minutes to reach the truck, and so I decided to remain at advantage on the high ground until the last minute.
The day had brightened and grown warmer, the mist now only a memory, but as I lay in the sunshine I shivered slightly; maybe an unnoticed breeze blew against me, or perhaps it was the sound of the horn.
When the hunt came over a distant hill my attention turned to them, and using the binoculars I watched them as they proceeded in their quest; but I did not see any fox.
As the minutes passed I realized that the hunt was actually heading in the direction of the truck, and it became apparent to me that it was more than possible that they would pass close by to it. I decided that if the hunt continued along that path then I would use that opportunity to make my way to the vehicle.
A feeling of satisfied contentment flowed within me, knowing that once again I had defeated Red Troop, outfoxed them,' to say the least. In anticipation of fore coming victory I became over eager, unconcerned about being observed by any watchers. At my leisure I began to survey the surrounding area, and also the hunt, recognizing nothing more than dogs, masters and horses. In this relaxed state, free from worry, I turned my attention to the surrounding countryside behind me.
It was then that I saw her; almost two thousand yards away, laying on the ground, panting for breath, the vixen, now heavily pregnant.
I can only describe the feeling inside me to be a scream from every part of my body; standing upright, physically shaking, I felt as though my body was about to explode outwards.
Before I knew it I was running towards the vehicle, shouting at the top of my voice, waving my arms frantically. I did see, but I did not observe that other members of Red Troop were present, five to be exact, at different locations around the truck. They had hidden themselves the way that I had taught them, and they had lain in wait to prevent me from reaching the truck.
I ran that day like a man possessed, beyond all reason, above all bounds; even though the soldiers were much closer to the truck than I, even though they were younger and fitter, they proved no match for me, and I sailed past them like a wind.
The Sergeant knew immediately that something was wrong, and over the curses of the soldiers, I heard him say; what is it Lieutenant,' 'what is it Sir?'
I tried to speak, but I had no breath; I tried to breath, but I had no air. The Sergeant bent me double, telling me to take it easy, to take my time, but on his last words the dogs past the truck, and the horn of hell sounded in my ears.
A pain shot across my chest causing me to stagger, but I managed to remain standing and break free from the Sergeants hold. Climbing into the truck, I started the engine, and then I physically pulled the Sergeant into the driving seat beside me.
I simply pointed and gasped fast.'
The Sergeant drove off in the direction I had indicated, and I placed my hand on the horn, leaving it there. Faster,' go faster,' I managed to say.
The noise from the vehicle horn upset the horses, panicking them, causing them to run in all directions, out of control. Through the dogs,' my strained voice ordered, and as the big truck approached them the dogs separated either side, and slowly we began to pull ahead.
When we reached the vixen I jumped out of the vehicle and ran towards her, putting out my hands; at my advance she snarled, snapping defensively. I moved my hand closer, but she almost jumped at me, in an effort to protect herself.
Looking up, I saw the dogs were less than one hundred yards away; on my hands and knees I pleaded with her; come on lady,' come on.'
Once again my hand went foreword, but this time she whimpered. I can only imagine that she had caught the scent of her mate from the tail that I carried, because I was able to pick her up, and get into the truck with her on my lap.
My eyes clouded with tears and so without looking at him, I said, drive Sergeant,' drive,' they can't have this one.'
Behind me, the dogs, barking and howling; behind them, the hunters screaming and cursing; behind them, my soldiers simply dumbfounded.
The vixen was taken to the outskirts of the camp, where I would see her and the cubs regularly during the remaining five month I was stationed there; as far as I know, her descendants remain there still.
Sergeant Robert Williams did not betray my emotion in the truck and as far as anyone knew my actions were calm and proficient.
The troop was beaten once again, but my recommendations and general good comments lessened their disappointment. As one would later say; how can you beat the legend of the White Fox, when you know you can't to begin with?'
The hunt did make a formal complaint to my camp commander, but I was able to convince him that the hunt came directly through our training area, and in fact, had put my soldiers in danger; nothing more was ever said.
The fox's tail would practically become part of my uniform, and I carried it in one way or another during my remaining years of service; I carried it from that day forward in memory of the fox, but it always served to remind me, that although a soldier, compassion was the greater part of valor.