I have always had a soft spot for the Fox - ever since I found a deceased one on a teenage ramble through the fields surrounding our home at Holcombe in the wilds of the Mendips, Somerset. I carried it home, slung across my back and deposited it outside the back door of our house, much to the dismay of our Mother. Although I was told to take it back from whence it came, I did chop its tail off before doing so. I kept it for many weeks until the smell forced me to put it in our dustbin. I grew up in the West Indies on tales of Br'er Fox and Br'er Rabbit and always had a sneaking regard for the former. Mr. Tod was also one of my favourite characters in the Beatrix Potter stories. On a trip to London, our family visited the Natural History Museum in South Kensington. I recall being far more interested in the cases containing a badger, a weasel, a stoat and a fox, rather than the more exotic animals of the world. I still have the four card leaflets I bought then
Then I bought David Stephen's excellent story of String Lug the Fox - published by the Lutterworth Press in 1950. My copy was the Fontana paperback edition of 1957. I still have it, with my childish writing on the fore title: Kenneth Hillier. 1957. Winter Term. Not long ago, I tracked down a copy of the first edition, in its dust wrapper. I now have half a dozen novels relating to foxes, dating from 1843 to 1950. Their front covers appear below. I shall read them all (most again) before Christmas.
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