Artist and diarist Joe Appleyard has a day with the Glaisdale, a Yorkshire based pack, where, after a day’s hunting he found himself warmly welcomed into the company of “a hard hunting, hard riding, hard drinking crowd.”
A quick glance at the map, shows Glaisdale and its environs tucked away in a northern part of Yorkshire. Not unlike its neighbours, such as Bilsdale, Farndale and Rosedale it is made up chiefly of rough pasture and moorland. Glaisdale itself is a quiet little village and apart from its’ hunt with hounds kenneled nearby, nothing seems to happen. Admittedly it is busier at the weekend with the visitation of motorists and hikers, but the work-a-day week is as peaceful as in medieval times.
One fine morning during October I was invited to hunt with this hardy pack “The Glaisdale Harriers”. Like the Bilsdale hunt mentioned in a previous article, the hounds hunt over similar country. At the time I hunted with them Mr. R. Brown was Master and Jim Winspeare, the Kennel Huntsman.
It was truly a farmer’s hunt and keenly supported by both mounted and foot followers. The Meet was held at the Duke of Wellington, Darley-in-Cleveland.
Mr. Herb, a big broad-shouldered man, with a slight stoop, was dressed in a black jacket, rust red riding breeches, fawn cloth leggings and a neat hard bowler hat. He was mounted on a typical Yorkshire Cob, well up to his weight: bay in colour with a doctored tail and sporting a bridle, minus noseband. Jim in a faded scarlet hunting jacket was on a rough coated Galloway which had a long mane and unplucked tail. Raincoats in the case of each rider were rolled and strapped over the cantle of their saddles. Other mounted followers were typical of the many seen in Yorkshire and all favoured the black rat-catcher rig-out.
About thirty mounted followers were out. On foot those assembled outside the inn were numerous. I found it convenient this time to be out on foot myself and had in my raincoat pockets a box of watercolours and small flask of water, it being my intention to do some colour work.
When the hounds moved off they made their way up on the moor tops and moved over into Westerdale. Luckily I was offered a lift in a car and arrived at a good vantage point, which would enable a good view of the Dale from top to bottom. It was whilst waiting to see the hounds put to work that I was introduced to a few stalwarts of the hunt, David was present at the time and we were soon at ease with Tom Boyes, a horse dealer and farmer of sorts from Middleton-in-Cleveland.
What a character he was – a popular mounted follower clad in tweeds and jodhpurs with a hard hat – his horse was the typical “bit o’ blood” and would have graced any point-to-point meeting.
He was accompanied by a Mr. Fred Middleton and he too was of the same ilk as Tom. Continually wise cracking and joking with everyone present – a remark Tom continually kept repeating throughout the day. I shall never forget. It was in reference to the hunted hare and was “It won’t be long before we have his gizzard in ‘t’ pot!” Meaning of course the hare pie supper, which was to follow in the other country inn at Danby. He also made the day more enjoyable by his encouraging calls to hounds. This may sound out of place in any other part than the Glaisdale district but such was the cooperation between huntsman and follower – no doubt Tom would have made a good whipper-in. Friend Middleton although the quieter of the two, certainly added flavour to anything Tom said. They were inseparable and even in the lull of the hunts quiet moments these two kept things going in their light hearted way.
Major J. Fairfax-Blakeborough, the well-known author and sporting correspondent was out, I think too, a Mrs. Lund, on a beautiful grey mare. Tom’s son Lewis was present on another spirited looking bay, he being just as quiet as his father was noisy!
Mr. E. Watson was also in evidence on a really good hunter. Others I have forgotten, but in all it was a most homely field and although David and I were strangers within their midst, we were made to feel quite at home.
Apart from an excellent day’s hunt, much in the same pattern as the Bilsdale, I could not comment on the sport. My main objective was to paint and paint I did. Casting my memory backwards I remember doing three watercolour landscapes – all within five hundred yards of each other. No hounds all riders were introduced in these sketches, but ultimately one sketch was used on a larger painting, showing hounds in full cry, being quickly followed by Jim Winspeare. Three kills were recorded that day – all in Westerdale. I was fortunate enough to be near the last one and saw a good run with the hounds coming towards me.
A Hare Supper
Now the hunt was over came the highlight of the whole show. The Hare Supper! Although my memory for pub names is extremely good may I be forgiven in not recollecting this one at Danby – I remember the place quite well, an old building with red pantiled roof and it was situated at one end of Danby Green.
And what a crowd assembled at 5.30 p.m.! All who had hunted that day, visitors from nearby, and locals!
Drinks before supper and a chat about the day’s sport set off the proceedings. Afterwards, the supper crowned with three huge hare pies and two veg. The company sat down in relays and it wasn’t long before “gizzard in ‘t’ pot” disappeared entirely by this ravenous human pack.
Once retired to the bar parlour, amusement and hilarity ran riot for the rest of the evening. Needless to say Tom and his friend were the main actors. It is good occasionally (Mark you, I say occasionally) to be in the company of a hard hunting, hard riding, hard drinking crowd.
Drinks were flowing like wine, the room thick with tobacco smoke and everyone talking and shouting for all they were worth.
Tom soon had the proceedings well organized, when with a full double whiskey glass in hand (not accounting for whiskey already consumed) he blew a long last on the hunting horn. It was a ringing “whoop-whoop” which almost cracked the eardrum. Then rather unsteadily with liquor spilling from his glass, coaxed everyone into singing “John Peel”. He sang the verses and all joined lustily in the course. Many good local songs followed including the immortal Blaydon Races. Luckily Major Fairfax-Blakeborough has cherished most of these songs and words in his manuscripts of folklore.
I tried to sketch a few of the scenes centred around Tom and Fred Middleton, but pencil sketching on such an evening was an impossibility.
Already I was feeling “fizzy” myself and must admit entering into the choral activities with gusto.
So things went on in this happy roaring turmoil until it was time for me to leave about 11 p.m. I was glad of the walk over to Middleton where I was staying; feeling much refreshed by the cold nip in the night air. I heard later that the proceedings carried on into the early hours of the morning.
