The music of the pack is it’s

CRY!

Summer 2000

 

 

 

“Have a care over my people. You have my people – do that which I ought to do. They are my people. Every man oppresseth them and spoileth them without mercy; they cannot revenge their quarrel, nor help themselves. See unto them, see unto them, for they are my charge. I charge you, even as God has charged me.”

                                                  Queen Elizabeth I, to the Judges of the Realm

 

As a Hunt, we are perhaps unique in that we hunt in two countries and four counties. (If you believe that the Maelor and its inhabitants live in a different world, make that four counties, three countries and two planets.) Each area has its own distinctive characteristics and you only have to compare Whitchurch to Wrexham, Malpas to Ellesmere or Farndon to Holt to realise that these are wide and varied. But, because of hunting, all these differences are set aside and we can truly be described as a community in the very best sense of the word.

 

We have two televisions and for some strange reason  - perhaps because we bought one in Chester and one in Wrexham - we get English T.V. on one and Welsh – S4C and BBC Wales - on the other. The difference in content and style is extraordinary, particularly when comparing the two BBC programmes. BBC Wales still produces balanced, well argued and above all well mannered programmes, many of which are countryside related to reflect the demands of the majority of their viewers. Their coverage, for example, of the Royal Welsh Show is exemplary.

 

Compare this to the ill informed, spin-doctored, urban orientated rubbish that is now churned out nightly on English BBC. As a simple example a recent news item covered a proposed by pass which threatened ‘an ancient and important wild flower meadow’ – cue for the cameras to close up on a waste tip covered in ragwort. We are beginning to realise that the powers-that-be have taken the decision to ignore us rather than listen to us.

 

The Cabinet Office has a budget of £1.4 billion, the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food £1.0 billion. That is £400 million less. Gordon Brown’ s £43 bn shopping spree promises farmers new funding to allow  “the right to roam and to open up the ancient networks of rights of way.” Well, quite……

“Spending by the Food Standards Agency is to rise from £87m to £111m by 2004, confirming the importance of the new body.” It is going to be really important when there is no British food left to standardise.

 

But, whatever the present difficulties we must never forget that this is our countryside,  our home, our work  and our recreation. Another season is upon us and we are going to enjoy it as we have in the past and will continue to do so in the future. Overall, we get on extremely well with our neighbouring hunts; there may be the slight matter of the Flint & Denbigh cheating outrageously at our Hunt Quiz, but when the Cheshire have a good run into our country we don’t send out supporters to go and beat their supporters up. This is the same nationally and, as Lord Burns points out in his report, internationally too. Far from being a small, persecuted minority, the Government is shortly going to find out exactly what we are:-

 

EUROPE’S LARGEST STANDING ARMY

 

Happy Hunting

 

 

 

THE CAMPAIGN FOR HUNTING

 

On the 12th of June the Burns Report was finally published; in Civil Service time scales this was an astonishing achievement and Lord Burns must be congratulated for the depth of research that he has managed to carry out into all aspects of hunting in little over six months. Compare this with the report into the Maxwell Pension Fraud – arguably a much simpler subject – which has yet to deliver many years after ‘Captain Bob’s’ demise.

 

The Government, however, well and truly nailed their colours to the mast by pre-empting the report with an announcement that they will introduce their own ‘Hunting Options’ Bill in the next session of Parliament – without even bothering to discover whether or not this action was justified by the Report.

 

The Report is a complicated and detailed piece of work and demonstrates clearly that there is no objective reason for Parliament to institute a ban on hunting. Nobody’s personal freedom can or should be overthrown on the basis of anything in the content and conclusions of the Burns Report. In particular the report makes plain that hunting with dogs is no less humane than any of the other methods of control.

 

Unfortunately many of the violently anti-hunting MPs will take a leaf out of the Government’s book and not bother to read the report, preferring instead to pursue their vindictive campaign with still greater ferocity. There is ample evidence that backbenchers have no intention of allowing themselves to be informed by the facts or by the proper consideration of the report.

 

This was made plain by their performance on the BBC ‘Question Time’ programme where their arrogance, ignorance and hysterical outpourings of the same old cliches – many of which Lord Burns had proved to be false - turned what should have been a balanced debate into a playground squabble.

 

And – as Max Hastings quite rightly pointed out in the programme – do not think that shooting and fishing will escape. The dubious moral arguments trotted out for a ban apply equally or more so to other field sports and few could deny that a pheasant has its welfare ‘seriously compromised’ by being shot.

 

For ourselves, the foot soldiers, this is possibly the worst time. The threat is now very clear and very threatening and we do not even have the solace of a days hunting to take our minds off it. But rest assured that the Countryside Alliance is moving heaven and earth to ensure that we will win what promises to be the longest and toughest battle of what has been an exhausting and utterly  unnecessary war.

 

Since the publication of the Report a sustained and escalating campaign of action has started. It will be relentless, implacable and prolonged. It will be local and national and targeted not only on the media but on all members of Parliament now looking towards re-election. It will lead up to and beyond the biggest march that London has ever seen.

 

Supporters, individuals or groups, are asked to stand by. A ‘call to arms’ may be at short notice. It may require travel and it will certainly require commitment. We have a well established communication system but if anyone out there is not part of it and would like to be please give David Higham a ring on 01948 666 750 (Work) or 01829 782 420 (Home.)

 

 

Your

Countryside

Needs

YOU

 

 

THE PUPPY SHOW

 

This years Puppy Show was held on Thursday 22nd June; slightly later than normal. The judges were Captain Ian Farquhar M.F.H. (Duke of Beaufort’s) and Mrs Kate Horgan M.F.H. (Duhallow.)

 

We were particularly lucky with the weather as the morning rain held off. The judges saw 21 ½ couple of young hounds. The Doghounds were not quite as good as the Bitches. Winning dog was Saxon, walked by Pauline House from Dandy Lodge. He is a lighter framed quality dog and is by our Parker ’97 out of Sector ’95. Parker’s top line goes back to some good hounds including Governor ’93, Woolham ’88 and North Warwickshire Worker ’82. Sector is one of the only hounds in the kennel that are 100% pure Old English. Curragh was second, walked by Susanne Davies at Edge Grange. He is a nice rangy dog by Cotswold Caistor ’92 who was by Brocklesby Colonel ’88. Saddler, walked by the Darlingtons at Bradley, was third. He is a litter brother to Saxon but possibly lacks the quality. Chapman, by Brocklesby Craftsman out of Cereal ’95 and walked by Mrs Matson, was fourth.

 

We felt that the bitches were a better, leveller lot. We were particularly pleased with the quality and overall standard of Brocklesby Craftsman’s progeny. His top line is all Brocklesby and he has stamped some quality. The bitches were won by Clinic (out of Landscape ’97) who was walked by Mrs Guy Hanmer. She went on to win a third place ribbon at Builth Wells the following week. Second was Contour, also by Craftsman out of Golden ’96 and walked by Mrs Lewis. We were particularly pleased here as the dam was quite small. Third was Chitchat walked by Richard Darlington and fourth was Polish walked by the Slaters. She was by Belvoir Poldark ’97 and is the tan exception to a very dark litter.

 

The best working hound for the previous season was Passion walked by Mrs Carter. She has proved to be a very good bitch and is by Limerick Pewter ’94.

 

The day was enjoyable and it was particularly good to see so many Hunt Servants there. The final word, having thanked everyone who helped organise the day, should be for the Puppy Walkers. We are extremely lucky to have so many willing volunteers and I feel that the young entry were a great credit to both them and the Hunt Staff.

 

W.F.C.W.

 

Our longest serving – and most valuable – Hunt official tried to keep a rather special birthday out of the public domain. Fortunately the Hunt Secret Service uncovered this dastardly plot….

 

“I would like to take this opportunity to thank all who contributed towards my birthday present from the Hunt of two lovely garden chairs. It was a great surprise when Baz drove up in his pick-up and unloaded them by the front door. Now I await the sun and warm weather to be able to really enjoy them.

 

Many, many thanks for such a kind thought.”

 

Nancie Shepherd

 

HORSEY NEWS

 

Success at the Royal Show for local breeder. Ann Woolley Dod from Edge Hall, Malpas, was delighted when her home bred filly Weston-Super-Mare won first prize in the warm blood section at the Royal Show, Stoneleigh. The three year old chestnut filly, sired by Broadstone-West-Country out of her own mare Grandezza was shown by Ian Wynne and produced by Pat Powley. Last year Weston-Super-Mare won ‘Best British Bred Mare’ at the Hannoverian Show at Addington, Bucks. Grandezza has at present a colt foal by Demonstrater of which the owner has high hopes for the future.

 

Elsewhere our intrepid – and growing – band of eventers have been notching up successes from all corners of the compass. Most exciting of all is Jancis Tulloch and Ballyfree who are on the shortlist for the Olympic team and have just returned from their final session of team training at Waresley Park with the final squad  due to be announced on 3rd August. They were a very creditable 17th at Badminton and Claire Phillips also had an excellent ride there on her young horse.  Polly Clark had to withdraw from Badminton owing to a minor injury but both she and Emily Hancock have strings of promising youngsters.

 

And on the point to point scene the Hunt was well represented by Michael Worthington, Chris Stockton, Ian Wynn and Tessa Clark – who won on a horse of Joint Master Charles Barnett’s – not to mention Emily Hancock and David Bardell both having epic rides in the Members Race.

 

 

Malcolm, Ann and Robert wish to say thank you to everyone who contributed to making the Farming and Wildlife Evening such a great success and in particular a special thank you to the Sponsors for making the evening possible:-

 

Our little Farm in Halghton,

Is not that big, you know;

But every now and then,

There’s something we can show.

 

Be it a lamb in Springtime,

Or a Bullock in the shed.

And  when I’ve had a pint of beer,

It may be what I’ve said!

 

As time goes by I reminisce

Of things that I have seen

- A corncrake in the mowing field,

Or elvers in the stream.

 

 

Along the meadow pastures,

Wild flowers still remain

As we strive to keep our little Farm

Traditionally the same.

 

Although it’s getting harder,

With Messrs Brown and Blair.

We didn’t ask them on the walk,

Because THEY DO NOT CARE.

 

The hunting season comes round fast,

We must ensure it’s not the last.

It’s up to us to make a stand,

And show that hunting won’t be banned.

 

We hope that you enjoyed yourselves,

And liked what you had seen.

And each and every one of you

Are welcomed back again.

 

Also profuse apologies for omitting a personal thank you on the night to Kenny and Mandy Clough of Halghton Maintenance Services who so kindly gave a great deal of voluntary time and work to restoration projects. Their telephone number is 01948 830 326 – All Work Considered!

 

After fifteen years the originators of the Hunt Wildlife Competition, Jill Hutchinson-Smith and Christine Jones are handing over their baby. The tremendous success of the competition is entirely due to their selfless hard work and enthusiasm. Here Jill reflects on their reasons for starting the competition and the rewards that it has brought.

 

SIR W.W. WYNN’S HUNT WILDLIFE COMPETITION 1986 – 2000

 

The idea behind this competition was to demonstrate to the public that fieldsports conservation and good farming practise go hand in hand. Fifteen years ago we foresaw the battle for hunting in which we are now engaged and the need to put forward our ideals. It was likely that a latter day Scott Henderson Report (1947) would be called for in the future and its sequel became the Burns Inquiry.

 

Our report to Lord Burns is a fascinating document describing some 15,000 acres of Sir Watkin’s country and covering about 100 farms. A huge amount of wonderful work has been done; some of which occurred long before the word conservation became fashionable. There are plantings, woodlands, hedgerows, cleared ponds, streams, set aside management regimes and secret places all designed to enhance wildlife. On hunting days we have been able to point out to our companions places of special interest, perhaps where orchids flower in the summer, ancient trees or special nesting sites.

 

To me judging days in particular have been a delight shared with Christine Jones without whom the competition would never have become airborne. We have had wonderfully generous support from our sponsors who have entertained competitors, their families, friends and neighbours at prize giving evenings. Our initial sponsors were Jones Peckover, to be followed by North West Farmers, B.M.S.S and finally the Greenalls Group took up the challenge and have sustained the competition for several years.

 

Christine and I have decided that it is  time for new organizers – you can, after all, take conservation too far!. It is lovely that Simon and Alex Martin have agreed to take it on. I am sure that they will have lots of support for they are also keen and enthusiastic conservationists. I hope that they will enjoy it all as much as we have.

 

J H-S

 

 

SIR W.W. WYNN’S HUNT WILDLIFE COMPETITION 1999

 

The 1999 competition proved to be a vintage one and I think that it is fair to say that any of the competitors could easily have won in previous years; it was just their misfortune to all enter in the same year! The judge,

Jane Lewis from the Cheshire Branch of the Farming and Wildlife Advisory Group, had her work cut out to come to a decision  as her comments to the competitors prove:-

 

“ A most enjoyable and lovely farm to visit, a first class example of how with consideration good farming practice and conservation can be successfully combined,”

 

“It is commendable to see modern commercial farming incorporating the principles of Integrated Crop Management using professional advice from the organisations such as Linking Environment and Farming (LEAF) and Environmental Crop Management (ECM.) ”

 

“The majority of ponds have been retained and an ongoing programme of pond restoration is achieving significant benefits. The planting of small uneconomic areas between the pond and fence is an excellent idea and provides a valuable habitat for birds and invertebrates”

 

“Altogether some very exciting projects are in action which will result in significant wildlife improvement when completed.”

 

“There are excellent examples of ridge and furrow with permanent pasture, it is lovely to see they are valued and kept.”

 

“Altogether an excellent example of what can be achieved when commercial production, sporting potential and conservation are viewed in partnership.”

 

One of the great difficulties in judging is the variation in the farms visited; in this case four grassland farms, one mixed grass and arable and one fully arable. After what must have been a great deal of heart searching,  Jane Lewis declared Mr and Mrs Malcolm Adams of Charity Farm the 1999 winners with the following comments:-

 

“Charity Farm is a 120 acre farm, the main enterprises being suckler cows, beef and 200 sheep. Since coming out of dairy a decision has been made to return to a more traditional farming approach and extensify. A high awareness of conservation and the effects of farming operations has resulted in an outstanding example of what can be achieved when wildlife, conservation and landscape are viewed as an integral part of the farming system.

 

Advice has been sought about the possibility of various grants and the management of habitat. There is a willingness to consider new ideas and adapt to the change in objectives the farming industry is presently undergoing.

 

In 1995 the heavily grazed woodland was fenced off in order to allow natural regeneration. It now has a healthy ground flora and shrub layer. This active conservation is highly commended.

 

The farm supports several valuable, unimproved, species rich grassland sites. These are becoming extremely rare due to a trend towards re-seeding. It is a credit they are still present on Charity Farm and management is necessary. It is important not to fertilise these areas and to maintain grazing. Sometimes these areas are lost because grazing or mowing ceases – it is usually these very methods of management, carried on over many hundreds of years, which have created the grasslands in the first place. There is no need to fence off the banks where the lesser spotted orchid is found.

 

The majority of ponds have been retained and an ongoing programme of pond restoration and care is achieving significant conservation benefits.

 

All field boundaries are hedged. The hedges are suffering due to sheep. It is the intention to fence some of them off which is an excellent idea. From a wildlife point of view cutting hedges in rotation every 2 or 3 years would be desirable. This means the shrubs have the opportunity to flower, fruit and set seed, which in turn allows young hedge plants to develop to keep the hedge regenerating. It is also important to resist being over tidy and cutting hedges too early. Where possible this should be done in late winter as wildlife dependence is at its lowest at this time.

 

 

ANNA & JOHNNY TURNER

 

Anna and Johnny have retired this year after eight seasons as Hunt Secretaries. They followed on from an illustrious line of predecessors who, since 1960, have included Colonel Fitzhugh, Philip Warburton-Lee, Colonel Bill Martin, Tim Ritson, James Ormrod, Sally Kenyon and Tim Bell.

 

The job of Hunt Secretary is one of the most demanding. Apart from having to extract money from reluctant subscribers there is a great deal of planning and liasing  that occurs before each day’s hunting. Much of this falls to the Secretaries as does much of the grief at the end of each day. In the administration of the Hunt’s affairs they were most admirably assisted by Nancie Shepherd who will be continuing in this role with their successors.

 

It is perhaps in the area of money extraction that the Turner regime will be best remembered. The familiar sight of J.T. - face often of a similar hue to the colour of his red collecting bag - bellowing abuse at those thrusters trying to leave the meet without paying their cap will be sadly missed this season . Woe Betide those who arrived late and thought that they could evade the eagle eye of Anna. Wet February Thursdays in the Fens or fashionable December Saturdays in the Vale were all the same to our intrepid secretaries. Money was there to be collected.

 

The skills of calculating appropriate subscriptions form insiders, outsiders, aspirant farmers with thirty nine acres and the myriad other combinations that the hunt rules do not recognise now fall into more military hands.

 

Many thanks to Anna and Johnny for the huge contribution they have made to the Hunt over the last eight seasons. I suspect that Anna will continue to be seen at the head of the mounted field and – as in the past – occasionally ahead of huntsman/hounds/fox – for many seasons to come.

 

A.F.Anson

 

WYNNSTAY BRIDGE

 

I took over the running of the Wynnstay Bridge Competition from Peter Rosselli for the 1999 – 2000 tournament; sixty two pairs competed and I do hope that they enjoyed themselves.

 

We had the ‘Final’ in May, when I managed to get the finalists for the ‘Cup’ and the ‘Plate’ together at Broad Oak on the same night. Christopher and Penny Axton, from Marbury, won the Cup after playing last year’s winners,  Mara Cox and Ann Lea. In the Plate Robin Rees-Webb and Scilla Corbett triumphed over two local ladies, Edna Skelland and Myra Wynn.

 

Cards can behave strangely and at both tables the winning pairs had a run of very good cards; consequently three rubbers were finished soon after dinner.

 

I do hope that everyone will enter again this autumn and encourage friends to play too. I am sending a cheque to the Hunt and also a donation to the Countryside Alliance.

 

Diana Warburton-Lee

 

CAR FOLLOWERS

 

We are now looking forward to the start of another season and I would like to take this opportunity to thank car followers for their help and contributions. Special thanks to Patricia Budgen and Margaret Evans for their very valuable help in collecting car caps, enabling us to swell the Hunt’s coffers by £3,547.

 

Thanks must also go to Wendy Woods and Geoff Dilworth for their tireless efforts in promoting the Whisky Draw. This raised the impressive sum of £1,425 and 5 pesetas! The sum total of Car Cap and whisky Draw comes to £4,972.

 

The Cap will remain the same for the coming season but it would help enormously if you get your season ticket early and display them on hunting days – not only to show that you have paid but also to indicate that you are a Hunt Follower.

 

Helen Edmunds

 

JOHN BRIDGE

 

Great Hunting men often come to resemble their preferred quarry species – the M.F.H.A. has more than its share of scavengers – and John Bridge, who’s first love was otterhunting, had much in common with the otter. In or out of the water he was always sleek, his coat well groomed, house and car always beautifully valeted – and woe betide those who disturbed his meticulous arrangements.

 

He valued the privacy of his Holt; firm roots were important to him but he was always willing to travel long distances in search of sport – whether of a venatory or amorous nature – and his ability to move silently and unobtrusively enabled him to get to close quarters with his quarry before making the decisive move. This great skill was an invaluable advantage in the fight against the enemies of the countryside in which John engaged so effectively.

 

Whether hunting otter, fox stag or women – the latter ideally of a Russian gymnast build not often found in the modern Wynnstay field – Bridge did not like to be seen in active pursuit – that might have flattened the creases in his suit or tarnished his image as “The Chosen One.” But the pursuit was often more vigorous than it appeared and Bridge’s reputation for always being “one jump ahead” was hard earned.

 

He did not, however, neglect to ensure – in hunting matters at least – that those who genuinely shared his passions were no more than “one jump behind.” He was mentor to a whole generation of ‘Boys’ – now mostly into their forties – who might not all have seen the sport they have without Bridge’s encouragement or even survived to see it without his steadying influence.

 

He trained, nurtured, counselled and bollocked us. He was the self appointed cultural attache on weeks and weekends away in the West Country, Wales, Ireland, The Lakes, Yorkshire and the Midlands. His great negotiation skills with numerous hoteliers ensured the week continued. Invariably when we were away the Bar maids moved out and the Ready maids moved in but Bridge was always ‘The Chosen One.’ (Honest.)

  

The great exponent of oneupmanship himself made the boys even more determined to catch him out but I can honestly say that in 35 years I only managed it once when a fictional situation was created, resulting in several months correspondence between him and a hotelier. The most amusing part of this was that he was confiding the developments in the case to a well known ‘Borough Surveyor’ so the Boys knew his every move!

 

The presence at his funeral of friends from all parts of the United Kingdom and Ireland was a great testimony to the sort of man that he was. When we laid Bridge to rest in Christleton churchyard at the beginning of April we were all very aware of the unrepayable debt we owed for the enrichment he put into our hunting lives. We came away from the graveside with still greater determination to maintain the values for which he stood.

 

Bridge; this is only the second time that you have not been one jump ahead – we will remember you.

 

“Fourstroke.”

 

                   Together 1917

 

      Siegfried Sassoon

 

Splashing along the boggy roads all day

And over brambled hedge and holding clay,

I shall not think of him:

But when the watery fields grow brown and dim,

And hounds have lost their fox, and horses tire,

I know that he’ll be with me on the way

Home through the darkness to the evening fire.

 

He’s jumped each stile along the glistening lanes;

His hand will be upon the mud soaked reins;

Hearing the saddle creak,

He’ll wonder if the frost will come next week.

I shall forget him in the morning light;

And while we gallop on he will not speak:

But at the stable door he’ll say goodnight

 

 

CYRIL BELLIS

 

Cyril Bellis, who died recently at the age of 91, was a stalwart of the Wynnstay Hunt, a loving husband and father and above all a true country gentleman who enjoyed his hunting, shooting and fishing. He had a rod on the River Dee for over 40 years, was a keen motor cyclist as a young man and almost became a professional footballer, having been asked to play for Chester City F.C.

 

He was born at Balls Hall, near Rossett, into a large farming family, and entered the family farming business, developing Bellis Brothers into the large family concern that it is today. His stories of the strawberry fields and farming entertained many generations; before the Second World War Bellis Bros were the largest strawberry producers in Europe, employing hundreds of people and requiring extraordinary horticultuarl and logistical skill to grow, pick, pack, despatch and deliver such a perishable crop to markets throughout the country.

 

It was in the late 1950’s that Cyril became more involved with the Hunt as his daughter Ruth began to follow hounds on her pony. It was not long before he and his dear wife Inez took on the new fangled job of collecting car caps. “It wasn’t such a hard job in those days,” he used to say “there were only about 12 – 15 cars out!”  They were to continue with this unenviable but important task until 1997, by which time it was not unusual to have over a hundred cars out on a Saturday; in over thirty years they must have collected many thousands of pounds for the Hunt.

 

For many years that slight sense of depression inspired by the last meet of the season was always lifted by the hospitality of Cyril and his family at Trevalyn Farm, with a generous meet being followed by many excellent days hunting in that seldom visited pocket of hedges and grass. This was then followed by a wonderful tea of the old fashioned kind, with great joints of beef and ham and tea and whisky on tap.

 

For many followers this will be their last memory of Cyril; doing what he loved best, playing host with that mischievous twinkle in his eye to his many and varied friends. He will be sadly missed by all of them.

 

Helen Edmunds

 

 

I like the hunting of the hare

Better than that of the fox

I like the joyous morning air,

And the crowing of the cocks

 

I like the calm of the early fields,

The ducks asleep by the lake,

The quiet hour which Nature yields,

Before mankind is awake.

 

I like the pheasants and feeding things

Of the unsuspicious morn;

I like the flap of the wood-pigeon’s wings

As she rises from the corn.

 

I like the blackbird’s shriek, and his rush

From the turnips as I pass by,

And the partridge hiding her head in a bush,

For her young ones cannot fly.

 

I like these things, and I like to ride

When all the world is in bed,

To the top of the hill where the sky grows wide,

And where the sun grows red.

 

I covet not a wider range,

Than these dear manors give;

I take my pleasure without change,

And as I lived I live.

 

I leave my neighbours to their thought;

My choice it is, and pride,

On my own lands to find my sport,

In my own fields to ride.

 

The lags, the gills, the forest ways,

The hedgerows one and all,

These are the kingdoms of my chase,

And bounded by my wall;

 

Nor has the world a better thing,

Though one should search it round;

Than thus to live one’s own sole king,

Upon one’s own sole ground.

 

I like the hunting of the hare;

New sports I hold in scorn.

I like to be as my fathers were,

In the days ere I was born.

 

                                                            Wilfred Scawen Blunt

                                                                From The Old Squire

 

PONY CLUB NEWS

 

“Write something about the early Pony Club Camps” – so said our Editor, so here goes. Not all these recollections are mine and I have had great fun talking to lots of others about their memories including Claire Smith, Liz Winsor, Vernon Dickin, Adam Brodie, Nancie Shepherd and others but we take no responsibility for any inaccuracies.

 

Our Camp has always been held at the racecourse stables at Bangor-on-Dee but in the early years there were no buildings over the road on the actual racecourse itself except a wooden weighing room and various huts. All our catering and eating was done in an army tent which was erected on what is now the stable car park between the stables and the road.

 

At that time there was an army base at Park Hall, Oswestry and many of the army officers hunted with our hounds. Camp had a distinctly military flavour with great emphasis on discipline. I remember that they sent a Bombardier from Oswestry to be in charge of the boys one year but the poor chap was constantly called on to mend girls’ collapsed camp beds at all hours!

 

The majority of us hacked to Camp at the start of the week with a parent bringing the accompanying kit by car as very few people had any form of horse transport. There were no such things as machine washable jodphurs – only thick and heavy cavalry twill ones which were very hot in August; we had Summers in those days. Nobody had more than two pairs and by the end of the week with no showers and not even a swimming night they used to practically stand up beside the bed.

 

The stables only had earth floors and when it rained – which it always did at some stage during the week – it was like sleeping in a swamp and made mucking out the ponies more like coal mining. Believe me that by the end of the week everything was pretty steamy.

 

There were no highly qualified paid instructors; just various members of the Hunt and the Military to teach us such as Mrs Noel Dewhurst – mother of Jonathon, Simon and Gemma, - Essex Pinney, Nancie Shepherd, Roddy Owen – Gerrard’s father, Sarah Reid – all the Reid family were very much involved for many years - Brigadier Usher from Oswestry whose daughter Margaret (later Mrs McTaggart) also attended camp.

 

There was a splendid soldier called Joe ‘Spud’ Murphy who ended his days in and around Whitchurch and whose alcoholic exploits were as famous as his equestrian ones. On one occasion he was asked why the horse he was riding in a point-to-point had fallen and he replied “By Jeesus didn’t the bandage on his leg come undone and trip him up.”

 

Sir William Lowther, who was a Master at that time, was O.C. discipline. Any misdemeanours and you were hauled in front of him. Vernon Dickin told me that he and Roger Done (Althrey) were caught in the hayshed with two girls (forgotten who) and had to tidy the muck heap for the rest of the week. I am sure that they were only studying their Pony Club Manuals of Horsemanship! Another time Lloyd Kenyon (now Lord Kenyon), his brother and A.N.Other were caught smoking and sent home. Their father was so cross he refused to send any transport and they were made to hack home – I can see them now riding forlornly away up that hill towards Overton. Our present Hunt Chairman, Liz Darlington (Winsor now) and others also incurred his wrath when they pushed an instructors car over the road and down the hill onto the racecourse.

 

Lady Hanmer was D.C. then (her great grandson Thomas is coming to Camp for the first time this year) and she used to make all the rosettes herself and produce them at prizegiving from an enormous handbag. Ruth Lady Lowther was Matron, handing out plasters, T.C.P. for stings and aspirins from a caravan parked just outside the stableyard gate. Of course, this was before the rigid Health & Safety regime came into being and Common Sense was permissable.

 

On the final day we had competitions; gymkhana, showjumping and a wonderful Handy Hunter with a farmyard and a farmer, Harold Clarke who farmed all the surrounding land on which we had our rides. We had to ask his permission to ride through his farmyard under the washing line and jump out over some rails – a far cry from the events of today!

 

I apologise for not mentioning all the many other people who helped along the way but suffice to say that their contribution is in no small way the reason that so many of us are still involved with Camp today, some forty plus years on.

Freda Taylor

 

 

THE HUNT SUPPORTERS CLUB

 

Patron: Sir Watkin Williams-Wynn, Bt.                                    President: Mrs D.W. Hutchinson Smith

 

Vice Presidents: A.R. Hewitt Esq.; J Chantler Esq.; P. Robinson Esq.; Mrs G. Lea, J.P.;

Mrs J. Taylor,; J.C. Barnett Esq.

 

Chairman:       Mrs J. Chantler 01829 270 233

Vice-Chairman: Mrs G Hanmer 01948 710 634

Hon. Secretary:          Miss K Slater 01829 250 217

Treasurer:      P Lawrence Esq.

 

Editor: David Higham, Rose Farm, Coddington, Tattenhall, Chester CH3 9EN

 

Area I (Wrexham)

 

Chairman: S. Lloyd Esq. 01978 780 368

Secretary: Mrs Linda Maurice, Cinders Fm, Overton Rd, Ruabon, Wrexham LL146HL 01978 822 424

 

Area II (Whitchurch)

 

Chairman: S.N.R. Brunt Esq. 01948 710 678

Secretary: Mrs G Hanmer, The Stables, Bettisfield Park, Hanmer, Salop SY13 2JZ 01948 710 634

 

Area III (Malpas)

 

Chairman:  Mrs J Davies 01829 250 212

Secretary: Mrs Sally Chantler, The Bulls Head, Clotton, Chester. 01829 781 354

 

 

 

REYNARD THE FOX OR THE GHOST HEATH RUN

By John Masefield

 

In the last issue the Ghost Heath run had got well under way, the Yell Brook and the Vale having taken their toll. The fox has run up Gallows Hill and is heading towards Tineton Copse across “ten ploughed fields, like ten full stops……” Hounds and their Huntsman, Robin Dawe, are not far behind

 

 

The fox raced on, on headlands firm,

Where his swift feet scared the coupling worm;

The rooks rose raving to curse him raw,

He snarled a sneer at their swoop and caw.

Then on, then on, down a half ploughed field

Where a ship-like plough drove glitter-keeled,

With a bay horse near and a white horse leading,

And a man saying ‘Zook,’ and the red earth bleeding.

 

He gasped as he saw a ploughman drop

The stilts and swear at the team to stop.

The ploughman ran in his red clay clogs,

Crying ‘Zick un Towzer; zick, good dogs!’

A couple of wire-haired lurchers lean

Arose from his wallet, nosing keen;

With a rushing swoop they were on his track,

Putting chest to stubble to bite his back.

He swerved from his line with the curs at heel,

The teeth as they missed him clicked like steel.

With a worrying snarl, they quartered on him,

While the ploughman shouted ‘Zick; upon him.’

 

The lurcher dogs soon shot their bolt,

And the fox raced on by the Hazel Holt

Down the dead grass tilt to the sandstone gash

Of the Pantry Brook at Tineton Ash.

A sneaking glance with his ears flexed back

Made sure that his scent had failed the pack,

For the red clay, good for corn and roses,

Was cold for scent and brought hounds to noses.

A horn blew faint, then he heard the sounds

Of a cantering huntsman, lifting hounds;

The ploughman had raised his hat for a sign,

 

He upped his brush and went with a will

For the Sarsen Stones on Wan Dyke Hill

And the hounds were lifted and on his line.

He heard the splash in the Pantry Brook,

And a man’s voice : ‘Thiccy’s the line he took.’

And a clear ‘Yoi doit!’ and a whimpering quaver,

Though the lurcher dogs had dulled the savour.

The fox went off while the hounds made halt,

And the horses breathed and the field found fault,

But the whimpering rose to a crying crash

By the hollow ruin of Tineton Ash.

Then again the kettledrum horsehooves beat,

And the green blades bent to the fox’s feet,

And the cry rose keen not far behind

Of the ‘Blood, blood, blood,’ in the foxhounds mind.

 

Past Tineton Church, over Tineton Waste,

With the lolloping ease of a fox’s haste,

 

 

The fur on his chest blown dry with the air,

His brush still up and his cheek-teeth bare.

Over the Waste, where the ganders grazed,

The long swift lilt of his loping lazed,

His ears cocked up as his blood ran higher,

He saw his point and his eyes took fire.

The Wan Dyke Hill with its fir-tree barren,

Its dark of gorse and its rabbit warren,

The Dyke on its heave like a tightened girth,

And holes in the Dyke where a fox might earth.

 

He had rabbited there long months before,

The earths were deep and his need was sore;

The way was new, but he took a bearing,

And rushed like a blown ship billow-sharing.

Down he went to the brook and over,

Out of the corn and into the clover,

Over the slope that the Wan Brook drains,

Past Battle Tump where they earthed the Danes,

Then up the hill that the Wan Dyke rings

Where the Sarsen Stones stand grand like kings.

 

Seven Sarsens of granite grim,

As he ran them by they looked at him;

As he leaped the lip of their earthen paling

The hounds were gaining and he was failing.

He passed the Sarsens, he left the spur,

He pressed uphill to the blasted fir,

He slipped as he leaped the hedge; he slithered.

“He’s mine,” thought Robin. “He’s done; he’s dithered.”

 

At the second attempt he cleared the fence,

He turned half right where the gorse was dense,

He was leading hounds by a furlong clear.

He was past his best, but his earth was near.

He ran up gorse to the spring of the ramp,

The steep green wall of the dead man’s camp,

 

He sidled up it and scampered down

To the deep green ditch of Dead Men’s Town.

Within, as he reached that soft green turf,

The wind, blowing lonely, moaned like surf,

Desolate ramparts rose up steep

On either side, for the ghosts to keep.

He raced the trench, past the rabbit warren,

Close-grown with moss which the wind made barren;

 

He passed the spring where the rushes spread,

And there in the stones was his earth ahead.

One last short burst upon failing feet –

There life lay waiting, so sweet, so sweet,

Rest in a darkness, balm for aches.

 

The earth was stopped. It was barred with stakes.

With the hounds at head so close behind

He had to run as he changed his mind.

This earth, he saw, was stopped but still

There was more than one earth on Wan Dyke Hill

A rabbit burrow a furlong on,

He could kennel there until the hounds were gone.

Though his death seemed near he did not blench,

He upped his brush and he ran the trench.

He turned the bend in the hill, and there

Was his rabbit-hole with its mouth worn bare.

But there, with a gun tucked under his arm,

Was young Sid Kissop of Purlpit’s Farm,

With a white hob ferret to drive the rabbit

Into the net which was set to nab it.

 

Down from the ramp of the Dyke he ran

To the brackeny patch where the gorse began

Into the gorse, where the hill’s heave hid

The line he took from the eyes of Sid;

He swerved downwind and ran like a hare

For the wind blown spinney below him there.

He crossed the spinney with ears intent

For the cry of the hounds on the way he went;

His heart was thumping, the hounds were near now,

He could make no sprint at a cry or cheer now,

He was past his perfect, his strength was failing,

His brush sag-sagged and his legs were ailing.

He felt, as he skirted Dead Men’s Town,

That in one more mile they would have him down.

 

Through the withered oak’s wind-crouching tops

He saw men’s scarlet above the copse,

He heard men’s oaths, yet he felt hounds slacken,

In the frondless stalks of the brittle bracken.

He felt that the unseen link which bound

His spine to the nose of the leading hound

Was snapped, that the hounds no longer knew

Which way to follow nor what to do;

That the threat of the hound’s teeth left his neck,

They had ceased to run, they had come to check.

 

He heard bits chink as the horses shifted,

He heard hounds cast, then he heard hounds lifted,

But there came no cry from a new attack;

His heart grew steady, his breath came back.

The threat of the hounds behind was gone;

He breathed deep pleasure and trotted on.

 

 

Robin on Pip came heaving up,

And stared at hounds and at the valley.

No jay or magpie gave a rally,

Down in the copse no circling rooks

Rose over fields; old Joyful’s looks

Were doubtful in the gorse, the pack

Quested both up and down and back.

He watched each hound for each small sign.

They tried, but could not hit the line,

The scent was gone. The field took place

Out of the way of hounds. The pace

Had tailed them out; though four remained:

Sir Peter, on White Rabbit, stained

Red from the brooks, Bill Ridden cheery,

Hugh Colway with his mare dead weary,

The Colonel with Marauder beat.

They turned towards a thud of feet;

Dansey, and then young Cothill came

(His chestnut mare was galloped tame.)

 

“There’s Copse a field behind,” he said.

“Those last miles put them all to bed.

They’re strung along the downs like flies.”

Copse and Nob Major topped the rise.

“Thank God! A check,” they said, “at last.”

 

“They cannot own it; you must cast,”

Sir Peter said. The soft horn blew,

Tom turned the hounds upwind. They drew

Upwind, downhill, by spinney side.

They tried the bramble ditch; they tried

The swamp, all choked with bright green grass

And clumps of rush and pools like glass,

Long since the dead men’s drinking pond.

They tried the white leaved oak beyond,

But no hound spoke to it or feathered.

The horse-heads drooped like horses tethered,

The men mopped brows. “An hour’s hard run.

Ten miles,” they said, “we must have done.

It’s all of six from Colston’s Gorses.”

The lucky got their second horses.

The time ticked by. “he’s lost,” they muttered.

A pheasant rose. A rabbit scuttered.

Men mopped their scarlet cheeks and drank.

They drew downwind along the bank

(The Wan Way) on the hill’s south spur,

Grown with dwarf oak and juniper,

Like dwarves alive, but no hound spoke.

 

Beyond the copse a great grass fallow

Stretched towards Stoke and Cheddesdon Mallow,

A rolling grass where hounds grew keen.

“Yoi doit, then! This is where he’s been,”

said Robin, eager at their joy.

“Yooi, Joyful, lad! Yooi, Cornerboy!

They’re on to him.”

 

At his reminders

The keen hounds hurried to the finders.

The finding hounds began to hurry,

Men jammed their hats, prepared to scurry.

The “Ai, Ai,” of the cry began,

Its spirits passed to horse and man;

Joyful ahead with spear-straight stern

They raced the great slope to the burn,

Robin beside them, Tom behind

Pointing past Robin down the wind.

For there, two furlongs on, he viewed

On Holy Hill or Cheddesdon Rood,

Just where the ploughland joined the grass,

A speck down the first furrow pass.

 

 

 

 

THE LION AND ALBERT

 

There’s a famous seaside place called Blackpool

That’s noted for fresh air and fun,

And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom

Went there with young Albert, their son.

 

A grand little lad was young Albert,

All dressed in his best; quite a swell

With a stick with an ‘orses ‘ead ‘andle,

The finest that Woolworth’s could sell.

 

They didn’t think much to the Ocean:

The waves, they was fiddlin’ and small,

There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,

Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.

 

So, seeking for further amusement,

They paid and went into the Zoo,

Where they’d Lions and Tigers and Camels,

And old ale and sandwiches too.

 

There were one great big Lion called Wallace;

His nose were all covered with scars –

He lay in a somnolent posture

With the side of his face on the bars.

 

Now Albert had heard about Lions,

How they was so ferocious and wild –

To see Wallace lying so peaceful,

Well, it didn’t seem right to the child.

 

So straightway the brave little feller,

Not showing a morsel of fear,

Took his head with its ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle,

And pushed it in Wallace’s ear.

 

You could see that the Lion didn’t like it,

For giving a kind of a roll,

He pulled Albert into the cage with ‘im,

And swallowed the little lad ‘ole.

 

Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,

And didn’t know what to do next,

Said “Mother! Yon Lion’s ‘et Albert,”

And Mother said “Well, I am vexed!”

 

Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom –

Quite rightly when all’s said and done –

Complained to the Animal Keeper

That the Lion had eaten their son.

 

The keeper was quite nice about it;

He said “What a nasty mishap.

Are you sure that it’s your boy he’s eaten?”

Pa said “Am I sure? There’s his cap!”

 

The manager had to be sent for.

He came and he said “What’s to do?”

Pa said “Yon Lion’s ‘et Albert,

And ‘im in his Sunday clothes, too.”

 

Mother said, “Right’s right, young feller;

I think it’s a shame and a sin

For a lion to go and eat Albert,

And after we’ve paid to come in.”

 

The Manager wanted no trouble,

He took out his purse right away,

Saying “How much to settle the matter?”

And Pa said “What do you usually pay?”

 

But Mother had turned a bit awkward

When she thought where her Albert had gone.

She said “No! someone’s got to be summonsed”

-         So that was decided upon.

 

Then off they went to the P’lice Station

In front of the Magistrate chap;

They told ‘im what happened to Albert,

And proved it by showing his cap.

 

The Magistrate gave his opinion

That no one was really to blame

And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms

Would have further sons to their name.

 

At that Mother got proper blazing,

“And thank you, sir, kindly,” said she.

“What, waste all our lives raising children

To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!