Erskine Bedford, MFH On a sharp December afternoon beneath a
slate gray foxhunter's sky Erskine Bedford followed the
Piedmont Hounds home one final time. They headed a funeral
procession nearly five miles long. Erskine would have been
happy. He loved leading a big field. The previous Sunday his horse suffered a
heart attack 20 minutes into what was by all accounts the
best chase in two seasons. The sudden collapse of his mount
sent him face first into the drought-hardened turf. Many
people out that day thought it was an easy fall and expected
him to jump right up. When he did not, the rescue squad was
summoned by a field member's cellular phone and he was air
lifted to the Washington Hospital Center where he died later
that Sunday evening, with his family at his side. He was born of foxhunting parents, Dean
and Louise Lott Bedford, both masters of foxhounds and
founders of the U.S. Pony Club. With them he often visited
Dr. and Mrs. A. C. Randolph of Upperville, where he hunted
with the Piedmont and grew to love the countryside,
including an aged estate in need of much care, Old
Welbourne. He attended Choate School in Wallingford,
Connecticut, and graduated from Cornell University with a
degree in agriculture. After a short stint in the Army he bought
and moved to his beloved "Old Welbourne" in 1961 and at Mrs.
Randolph's invitation began hunting with the Piedmont
shortly thereafter. According to Albert Poe, Piedmont's
huntsman at the time, the invitation was extended to quiet
his chain saw on hunting days. Erskine's first love was the land and
working on it. He was twice honored as Loudoun County's
Farmer of the Year. He spent a great deal of time with
Piedmont's landowners, championing open space and
conservation, discussing crops or chasing stray cattle. He
was at the front of new methods of farming and was among the
first to use no till planting. His farm became a
demonstration site for the area. His life touched many in the horse world.
He was a former treasurer of the U.S. Combined Training
Association, one of two trustees for the race course at
Glenwood Park, a trustee of Morven Park and one of the
founders of the Museum of Hounds and Hunting. He was a
former steeplechaser and a senior member of the National
Steeplechase Association and often officiated at race meets.
But he was most renowned for his abilities as a field
master. According to ex-MFH Gail Wofford, "He had
a sense of the country and a feel for what was going on with
the hounds. He was a gentleman, kind, and a mentor to the
children. Everyone loved him." William "Billy" Wilbur remembers him much
the same way. After serving as master of the Warrenton Hunt
for 14 years, Mr. Wilbur shared field master duties with
Erskine at Piedmont before and after Erskine became joint
master in 1979. "I led the field when Erskine forced himself
to go into work. At that time he worked for the investment
firm of Alex. Brown in Leesburg. It was always fun, hunting
with Erskine, when things were slow, bad scent or something,
he would wait at the jumps and grade you as you came
over." This was something he continued and
expanded on Sunday rides in the summer where he not only
graded each jump but would often dismantle the jump to help
a green horse or rider come along. He encouraged children's
participation and would often call them to the front of the
field to discuss the day's events. He loved the sport of
foxhunting and his joy was infectious. "In many ways we couldn't have written a
better ending," said Cricket Whitner, his daughter. "It's
hard for us to say because we don't want him gone, but he
went out doing what he loved." Country folk have a different
relationship with death. Growing up on a farm around large,
yet fragile, animals conditions them to the fact that death
is just a part of life's cycle. The dangers inherent in
foxhunting are given little notice. For foxhunters the chase
has always been more important than the death. Erskine's
service was a celebration of life rather than a ceremony of
a death. Trinity Episcopal Church in Upperville,
was packed to capacity and its stone courtyard overflowed
with the huge crowd. The police conservatively estimated 700
but it was closer to 1,000. Cars lined Route 50 for at least
a mile in each direction as the local community and the
community of horse and hound gathered to say their last
goodbyes. Nearly two dozen huntsmen, with a few masters who
hunt their hounds, followed the pastor through the tall
wooden doors in full hunt livery. To the left of the family
they formed a scarlet color guard and stood as six young men
carried the casket down the aisle on their shoulders. The
pall bearers were all young men who Erskine had infected
with his enthusiasm, encouraged, and then cultivated into
foxhunters. He had cleared trails with them, preached the
gospel of open space, and lectured them on Civil War actions
on the land they were hunting over. Another two dozen of
Erskine's peers, friends, and hunting companions formed the
honorary pall bearers following behind. Among the prayers and traditional hymns
sung by the congregation, which included "Amazing Grace,"
"All Things Bright and Beautiful," and "Go Forward Christian
Soldiers," Julia Ross and the Willisville & St. Louis
Village Singers performed the wonderful Southern gospel
"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." Julia Ross worked for Erskine most of her
life, helping to raise his children, Cricket, Daphne, Dean,
and Lilly. The rest of the group worked either for Erskine
or his neighbors and had known him most of their lives.
Their voices echoed among the wooden beams lifting spirits
and setting the tone for the service. Neighbor and friend for nearly 40 years,
Victor Dupont, spoke of the farmer, conservationist, and
family man who he came to know, after thinking him crazy for
buying that old run down farm next door. Gail Wofford, who had served with Erskine
as joint master, read a poem by G. J. Whyte-Melville, "A Rum
One To Follow, A Bad One To Beat." A fitting
tribute: Shelby Bonnie shared a family secret with
the congregation that the children wanted to be told. For
years their father had claimed that his hearing was failing.
"The children," Shelby began, "want everyone to know that
Erskine was not deaf. It was just a trick to get you to come
closer so that he could quiz you on your time of return on
Saturday night or a forgotten chore. "He reveled in his joys, made fun of the
hard time," Shelby continued, "He fancied himself a
gentleman farmer, but he was also a historian, a
conservationist, businessman, ambassador, and
partner." The Piedmont hounds and staff met the
hearse and led it to the stone walled cemetery on Old
Welbourne. The founder of the Piedmont Hounds as well as the
Upperville Horse Show, Colonel Dulaney, lies buried there as
well as several Randolphs. The Morrison family gave permission for
Erskine to be interred in their family cemetery for no one
had loved this land more than Erskine. As the hearse pulled
up to the wrought iron gates the procession stretched back
nearly to the church. The hounds were held at the lower end
outside the grave sites as the field between the manor house
and the walled plot filled with cars and people. The sky
grew a deeper shade of gray and a hush fell over the crowd.
As Julia Ross, Ann Lee, Kay Lemon, and Lottie Payne sang
"Just A Closer Walk With Thee,"the six young men lifted the
casket to their shoulders and slowly walked to the final
resting place of their mentor and friend. Softly the choir
sang as the casket was placed down onto the grave.
Erskine's traditional blue hunting jacket
lay draped across a prayer bench at graveside, a single rose
rested across the lapels. After the committal and the Lord's
prayer, Andrew Barclay blew and Joint Master and Huntsman
Randy Waterman stepped forward and said, "For one last time,
good night, Master." He then turned down the hill and
mounted his horse. Quietly the staff and hounds filed past
the cemetery. The large crowd turned, as the hounds passed,
and watched them disappear over the hill. Never have so many
horsemen gathered together been so quiet. They stood there,
the profoundness of the moment settling upon them. This was
truly the end of an era for the Piedmont Hunt. Two Junes
before, Erskine's mentor, friend, and joint master, Mrs. A.
C. Randolph, died. Together they had guided the hunt for
nearly 40 years. There was what some may call a strange
parallel on the days of their deaths. Mrs. Randolph's death
brought severe thunder storms and flooding as she galloped
around getting things straight up there. Erskine's death was
also followed by rain. It broke a long, hot drought. But,
predictably, it was not a violent storm. It was a slow,
gentle rain, a rain that was good for the land.
By Tommy Lee Jones
In & Around Horse Country
A man we all swear by, a friend of our own,
With the hounds running hardest, he's safest to go,
And he's always in front, and he's often alone.
A rider unequaled, a sportsmen complete,
A rum one to follow, a bad one to beat.