FOOT-and-mouth - the phrase flies like shot to the heart of farmers across the UK and no more so than in Worcestershire, where for three months in 2001 lorry after lorry rumbled across the county to disgorge its disgusting cargo of dead livestock on to the vast burial site at Throckmorton.

We hoped we had seen the last of upturned cattle being tipped unceremoniously into huge pits, their stiff legs sticking straight into the air, and we hoped we had smelled the last of the billowing black smoke from their funeral pyres, as it drifted over the green fields where they once grazed.

Maybe we have, but this week's news that a fresh case of the disease has been found near Egham, in Surrey, only a few miles from last month's outbreak shows foot-and-mouth is a devious opponent for the protective suits of Defra.

Just as they thought it was safe to move animals again, the bogey man creeps out of the woods. Or in this case the mud, for that's where the virus is believed to have been hiding for longer than expected.

Just like a retired marshall in the Old West, who has long hung up his guns, Philip Smith-Maxwell knows there might be more shooting to be done again soon if foot-and-mouth rides back into Worcestershire.

He was one of Defra's marksmen last time around and is ready for the call should it come again.

A farmer by trade, he also holds a slaughterman's licence, and, as he puts it, is "fully ticked up" to put down animals.

"Depending on the circumstances,this is done using either a bolt gun or a free bullet from a rifle," Philip explained. "But whichever way, it is done as quickly and humanely as possible given the situation."

His experience during the 2001 outbreak began in the most traumatic fashion.

When foot-and-mouth was confirmed on the family farm, he shot all the animals himself.

"Friday the 13th of April 2001 is a day I will never forget," he said. "Foot-and mouth was in the area and we thought it would only be a matter of time before it reached us. Of course, you hope it doesn't, but it did.

"I must have been one of the few people who milked their cows one day and shot them the next. It was something I fervently hope I never have to do again."

In all, Philip put down a dairy herd of 380 cattle and a large flock of sheep. It was the start of a prolonged period of culling that stretched on into the summer. Indeed, it was October before the spread of foot-and-mouth was halted and, by that time, 2,000 cases had been reported across the UK and around seven million sheep and cattle killed.

"It was one of the most stressful things I have ever had to do," said Philip. "The sweat poured off me. Not only from the physical effort of firing the guns, but also because you knew you were in a potentially lethal situation for yourself and those around you. There was undeniably tension about.

"After all, these were real guns with live ammunition. They weren't toys.

"For the most part I shot the animals where I found them because it saved the distress of moving them. Everything was carried out under Defra control and there was always a ministry vet on hand."

After the shooting, the dead animals were routinely moved to another location on the farm and the carcasses burnt. This gave rise to the huge, funeral pyres of smouldering straw and beasts' legs sticking into the air, which proved such an enduring and unfortunate image of the crisis.

Later, as the numbers of culled animals increased, large burial pits were opened. In Worcestershire, the one at Throckmorton took more than 100,000 carcasses before the emergency was over.

"I hope we never seen anything like it again and I hope lessons have been learned," said Philip. "Because I don't think anyone wants to go through that again."