It may have been seven years since I started my business but the job of wildlife artist has been around for at least 64,000. Although I’ve never drawn on the side of a cave, there is a resemblance: the hunt, the food and then drawing it all in charcoal. My…
Growing up, I was fortunate to own a pony and have patient parents who were prepared to take me to Pony Club without burdening me by being overly competitive. While the other girls demonstrated commitment to becoming eventers, I soon discovered three other disciplines far better for a teenage girl…
An ‘L’ plate was stitched on to my hat silk when I rode my first Shetland. At five years old I thought this stood for ‘Lucinda’ but it wasn’t long until I was getting up to mischief with a trio of grey ponies charging about the Oxfordshire countryside. Blonde hair…
Growing up in the suburbs, country life was relatively unknown to me until I was in secondary school. I’d certainly never heard the words ‘Olympic Skeet’. My father stumbled across rural pursuits and found them a wonderful escape from his City job. He offered me some pocket money to load…
Hunting began rather by chance for my twin sister and me. Hailing from Yorkshire but with some of the more renowned hunts, such as the Middleton or the Bedale, mostly out of range, we took our first day with the York & Ainsty North after one of the Masters called…
At two years old I remember being sat on a little grey pony named Smokey. It was a far cry from the King’s Troop. I haven’t wanted to get off a horse since. My parents took me for weekly lessons at our local riding school. Eventually, they were worn down…
I was fortunate to have grown up on a beautiful arable farm in the north-west of England. As the youngest of three daughters, I was encouraged, along with my sisters, to grasp life and live it to the full. Holidays were mostly spent in the fields building ‘handy pony’ courses…
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t fish. It’s in my blood; it’s what I know. My entire life revolves around it, from work to weekends spent on the water as a fly-fishing instructor and even the decor throughout my house. It was my dad who introduced me to…
My earliest memory of the shooting field is bumping along on my mother’s back as a toddler out beating. It didn’t go swimmingly. She stopped for a pee and we got completely lost in the depths of the Scottish countryside. I remember being absolutely freezing, and there was a lot…
My shooting career started not with a gun, but with a beating stick. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of a family shoot in Hampshire. the day was run by my great uncle Bill and you could always tell where he was, especially behind a hedge, with the train-like…
