In Memory of
Clyde Roland Inskeep
October 6, 1926 - January 1, 2015
Eulogy for Clyde Inskeep
Delivered by Mike Long, MFH, on behalf of Bull Run Hunt, graveside ceremony, January 18, 2015
It has been said, “ The best measures of a man’s life are his friendships and the little, nameless unremembered acts of kindness and love.”
Clyde Inskeep was a friend of mine, and the love and kindness he showed me and my family will never be forgotten. As you can all see here today, Clyde had a lot of love and friendship to go around. Clyde Inskeep, by any measure, was a great man.
As many of you know, Clyde had an extraordinary passion for foxhunting. Clyde and the Inskeep family are the reason that Bull Run Hunt moved to this area more than 25 years ago. The photograph of Clyde on the cover of your program is Clyde foxhunting. He’s pointing to where the fox is and with his trusty radio, telling us where to find the fox. Clyde always knew where to find the fox.
Clyde was a foxhunter extraordinaire and became a wonderful ambassador and protector of a tradition begun over 500 years ago in 16th century England. Members of Bull Run Hunt are here today to honor Bull Run’s greatest foxhunter.
I would like to share with you a poem that speaks to Clyde’s love of life and foxhunting -
-Adapted from a poem written by Fay Bohlayer, a member of the Shakerag Hounds (GA), in 1981
Here’s to the dawn of an autumn morn!
The cry of the hounds and the sound of the horn...
Down in the river bottom mist
Before the rising sun has kissed
Away the dew on the pasture rise,
There, before our very eyes:
The halt! the wait—a flick of his brush
And the red fox departs, at the rush
Of hunting hounds with clamorous voice
Finds the scent and ends the fox’s choice:
To amble home or sit in the sun.
Discovered, now, he has to run!
Now out of the woods and along the banks
of the river, gathering, closing ranks
The hounds stream on; their chorus swells.
A whip beyond, in his irons, tells
With his cap aloft what the lead hounds say:
“Tally Ho!” and “Gone Away!”
Then over the coop, horn in hand,
The scarlet figure of a man
Born to hunt and born to ride,
(Gathering speed with every stride)
Urging his hounds to hunt ’im hard,
His horse at a gallop with no regard
For fence or ditch or trappy ground,
His horn supports the flying hounds.
A gleam in his eye and a rebel yell!
As he passes, all of us can tell
It’s a good first day of this hunting year,
And the foxhunter is grinning ear to ear!
Yes, here’s to the dawn of a hunting morn!
The cry of the hounds and the sound of the horn!
The woods and fields are silent now.
It makes you wonder if, and how
You’ll hunt again with hounds and horn
On some other autumn morn...
But one thing for sure I know
Before there is a hint of snow
Hounds will run and horn will blow...
For they are running...south of here...
And Clyde is grinning, ear to ear...
Photos by BRH Member, K. Trimmer