ANGELA BERRY, DAUGHTER OF ROGER BERRY, ON HER MEMORIES OF "THE MASTER" - PETER WILSON
It seemed extraordinary for us children that we should call the man who was in charge of the Rand Hunt Club "MASTER". I was firmly instructed by my father that, at the beginning of the Hunt, we were to say "Good morning, Master" and at the end of the Hunt, to approach him once more and say "Thank you, Master".
At no time were these greetings met with anything other than a grunt. Here we were faced by a man of such awe-inspiring importance, that everyone addressed him as Master, and that was why he was allowed to swear continuously at everybody within earshot, particularly at us children who thundered across the dry, dusty veld, over-horsed and barely in control our horses having failed on the race track were now sampling drag hunting. It is only now, some 30 years later, that I realise the obsenities we suffered were simply brought on by an excruciating fit of nerves.
One day Master visited our house, no doubt to discuss hunt matters with my father. As he settled himself comfortably onto the sofa, drink in hand, my pet chicken, who treated our house as her own, strutted across the floor and, with one leap, fluttered on to the top of Master's head. I looked on with a mixture of horror and fascination as my chicken, without so much as a ruffle of a feather, perched on top of such an important head.