“Hunting Ladies.”
So much has it become an accepted fact that ladies in the hunting field,
like motor cars, are there to stay, that it is perhaps unnecessary to
trace the evolution of the modern sportswoman, or note her gradual
development from the timid heroine of former days to the Diana of the
present time, who is capable of holding her own with some of our best
men across the stiffest country, of selecting her own hunters, and who
possesses a thorough knowledge of all the details of stable management.
“Hunting ladies,” says a well-known contemporary, “drop into two
classes, the industrious apprentice and the lotus eater,” and, without
entirely endorsing such a sweeping assertion, there is much truth in the
statement.
“The industrious apprentice” knows all about stable management and the
price of forage, can identify a vixen with the tail of her eye, and may
be followed with confidence in a big wood. She rides to the meet, knows
all the bridle-roads, and three or four times during the season spends a
Sunday afternoon on the flags.
Have we not all met her prototype?
The “lotus eater” will ride nothing but the best, has a preference for
long-tailed horses with plaited manes, drives to the meet in a brougham,
rides home at an inspiriting canter, and devotes the evening to the care
of her complexion, the repose of her person, a Paquin tea-gown, and the
infatuation of her latest admirer!
Possibly some may think this an exaggerated picture; still, many women
in hunting countries go out because they are bored at home, because they
see their friends and can talk scandal, because the hunt uniform is
becoming; in short, for every conceivable reason, save and except a true
love of sport.
It is, however, with the different types of the genuine sportswoman that
we are now principally concerned, and though comparisons are always
odious, yet we must acknowledge that it is only by comparing our own
talents and performances with those of others that we can obtain a true
estimate of their merit.
There is perhaps no more wholesome or profitable lesson for either man
or woman than to be transplanted from the small provincial pack, where
they have been considered a “bright and particular star,” to a
fashionable hunt in the Shires, there to find themselves pitted against
other stars whose light is considerably stronger than their own.
No doubt the good man or woman in an indifferent country will soon come
to the front in any hunt, but competition is very severe, and whereas it
is comparatively easy to make your mark in a field of forty, it is
undoubtedly difficult to obtain a like distinction amongst the flower of
a Leicestershire field.
Hunting is almost the only national sport in which men and women meet on
really equal terms, and of late years women’s horsemanship, and perhaps
we may say capacity for self-help, has increased so enormously that it
must be a selfish man indeed who could truthfully declare that the
presence of the average hunting woman in the field is now any real
detriment to sport.
Also beauty in distress is a rarer object than in former days. Some few
years ago, taking a lady out hunting practically meant an entire
sacrifice of the day’s sport; now we seldom see Mr. B. off his horse, in
a muddy lane, doing his frenzied best to improvise a breast-plate from a
piece of string and the thong of his hunting crop for Mrs. G.’s horse,
who possesses that intolerable fault in a lady’s hunter, a lack of
“middle.” Self-girthing attachments have also obviated the irritating
and incessant demand, “Would you be so kind as to pull up the girths of
my saddle?” And ladies are undoubtedly much more helpful about mounting
themselves.
We often hear it stated by the last generation that, since women invaded
the masculine domain and took to cultivating field sports so
enthusiastically, men have become less chivalrous and considerate in
their manner and behaviour to the weaker sex.
Of course, now all intercourse between men and women is on a completely
different footing to what it was fifty years ago, nevertheless there is
no reason to suppose that a man respects a woman less because he does
not address her in the language of Sir Charles Grandison, and there is
still ample opportunity for the ordinary attentions and courtesies which
women have a right to expect, and which we must own, in strict justice,
it is usually their own fault if they fail to receive.
As far as horsemanship is concerned, we think men and women may be
considered to divide the honours of the hunting field fairly evenly.
Even Surtees, who was by no means an advocate of hunting women,
pronounced that when women did ride “they generally rode like the very
devil,” they know no medium course, and are undeniably good or seldom go
at all.
Every one will allow that with the long reins entailed by their position
in the saddle, their firm seat and light hands, women are singularly
successful in controlling a fidgety or fretful horse, and, in fact, are
capable of riding any good hunter, provided he is not a determined
refuser and puller; but if we analyse those qualities in which even good
horsewomen fail, an eye for country and an ability to go their own line
are unquestionably absent.
We once heard an enthusiastic sportsman declare that, in his opinion, no
one who could not go their own line should be allowed to wear the Hunt
button, but if all M.F.H.’s agreed with him upon this point, the greater
percentage of their field would go buttonless.
Whyte Melville used to entreat lady riders “not to try to cut out the
work, but rather to wait and see one rider at least over a leap before
attempting it themselves”; still, with all deference to such a
well-known authority, we cannot agree upon this point, as riding one’s
own line entails that combination of valour and judgment which is the
test of a really first-rate man or woman to hounds.
It is wonderful in a large field of horsewomen how remarkably few can
live even three fields with hounds without a pilot; the path of glory
may be said to lead, if not to the grave, at least to loss of hounds and
frequent falls, yet, perhaps, there is no such intense rapture
experienced as the bit of the run which we can truthfully assert we rode
entirely “on our own.”
She had kept her own place with a feeling of pride,
When her ear caught the voice of a youth alongside,
“There’s a fence on ahead that no lady should face;
Turn aside to the left—I will show you the place.”
* * * * *
To the field on the left they diverted their flight;
At that moment the pack took a turn to the right.
If a lady is unable to go her own line and selects a pilot, she should
remember that she is conferring no honour or pleasure upon her chosen
victim, rather the reverse, as in most cases her company is “neither
asked nor wanted.”
In return for his good offices, therefore, she should at least refrain
from reproaches, if his judgment is not always infallible, neither
should she weary him with unnecessary and tiresome questions, such as,
“Can Tally-ho jump a really big place?” or, as we once heard while a
whole field were waiting, strung up at the only available place, in the
fence, “Bertie, Bertie, _ought_ I to jump on the beans?”
Many women ruin their nerve and limit their amusement by persistently
riding only one or two especial horses; whereas, if they made an
occasional change in their stud and rode as many fresh mounts as they
could possibly obtain, it would be an incalculable advantage to both
their courage and their horsemanship.
If there is one point more than another in which the modern horsewoman
triumphs over her prototype of the last generation, it is in the matter
of economy. Up to a few years ago, in addition to the chaperonage of a
male relative, it would have been considered quite impossible for any
lady to hunt unless she had a groom especially told off to dance
attendance upon her, a necessity which added very considerably to the
expenses of hunting.
Now that both this custom and the also old-fashioned idea that a horse
required special training to render him fit to carry a lady have died
away, women can mount themselves both better and cheaper than formerly,
and, thanks to their good hands and light weights, are able to make use
of the many good little horses which fetch such comparatively small
prices at Tattersalls’ and elsewhere.
Those who regard hunting as a luxury to be reserved exclusively for the
wealthy would possibly be surprised to find upon how very small a sum
many keen sportswomen obtain their season’s amusement; and certainly in
this department, at all events, the “industrious apprentice” triumphs
over her “lotus-eating” sister. We have read in sporting novels, and
even come across an isolated case in real life, of a lady who professed
to act as her own groom. Yet here we must draw the line, for it must be
an exceptional woman indeed who can turn to and strap a horse after the
exertion a day’s hunting entails. The majority of ladies in such
circumstances, we feel sure, would agree with the ethics of an old
“teakettle” groom, who was wont to observe that he did not “’old with
all that they cleaning and worriting ’oss, after ’unting; guv ’im a good
an bid o’ straw and let ’im roll and clean hisself!”
Still, without actual manual labour, the eye of a mistress who knows how
things ought to be done is a valuable adjunct to the efficacy of stable
management; and when this is the case, old Jorrock’s precept may be laid
down as correct, namely, “Hunting is an expensive amusement or not, jest
as folks choose to make it.”
Finally, do men admire ladies in the field, or do they prefer to find
their womenkind daintily attired by the fireside awaiting their return
from the chase?
We all have our fancies and ideas as to what is most pleasant and
agreeable, and like many things in this world, the key of the situation
probably lies in the identity of the lady who hunts.
If she is pretty everyone welcomes her; if the reverse, they wonder
“What brings _her_ out?” As Surtees, again, justly remarks, “dishevelled
hair, muddy clothes and a ruddy and perspiring face, are more likely to
be forgiven to the bloom of youth than to the rugged charms of maturer
years.”
Some men think mounting themselves quite as much as they can manage in
these hard times, and would rather have a wife looking after the house
than tearing across country in hot pursuit of hounds; also (but let us
whisper such a terrible suggestion), the lady might have the temerity to
ride in front of her lord; and then, indeed, would come the end of all
domestic peace and concord.
Most close observers, however, will have noticed that the real good
sportswoman is a success in almost every relation of life, for she
brings to bear upon the situation both courage, pluck and endurance,
learnt amongst a host of other useful and valuable qualities in that
best of all schools, “The Hunting Field.”
M. V. WYNTER and
C. M. CRESWELL.
Some Theories on Acquiring a Seat.
He is a bold man, indeed, who presumes to write on the art of
horsemanship. The very attempt is, as it were, a challenge to a host of
critics—some competent, many otherwise, but all blessed with a keen eye
to detect the incompetencies of the writer. And though the latter, in
warming to his subject, may write with an air of final authority on what
he thinks are incontravenable truths, still he is always open to a very
different conviction, if only these said critics can contradict him to
his own satisfaction. But in the art of horsemanship there is always one
great drawback, that only those can thoroughly understand a
comprehensive treatise thereon who are, and save the expression, expert
themselves. For this reason the writer confines himself to one or two
aspects of the art, only at the same time he must confess that if what
follows is understood and successfully practised—well, then, the
foundations are laid, the walls are built, and the sod before long
tumbles naturally into its place.
Now riding is essentially a sleight of hand, and though we may all be
clowns to a limited extent, yet no one has achieved the status of a
perfect clown without hard work. And so the suggestion is thrown out
here that no one ever became a perfect horseman without assiduous
practice. On the other hand, no one has achieved the status of a perfect
clown—or shall we say acrobat—who is not naturally endowed with certain
india-rubber characteristics. And here, again, no one ever became a
perfect horseman who was not naturally the possessor of an active and
elastic, though not necessarily india-rubber, body. From this we may
infer that practise can make a good rider, but that natural bodily
activity as well is essential to the making of a first-class rider. It
is a misfortune that there is no tyro more jealous of instruction than
the tyro in horsemanship.
I have seen so many young riders, and it is they alone who concern me,
who have really had latent possibilities, but who, from an original
faulty position in the saddle, and, alas, a deaf ear, have not made the
progress they should. Still, if they do not listen to the counsels of
wisdom, and yet aspire to go straight, they will find sitting astride on
their saddle that hard-bitten dame, Experience. She rides with us all.
She likes hunting—is seen to play polo, and is known to go racing.
Those, therefore, who like to find out all for themselves, can listen
indefinitely to this good lady, and so take it first hand.
And now to get to the point, I would say to every tyro, watch carefully
all good riders and compare them with yourself, and remember that in
your present state of inefficiency you cannot judge for yourself. You
must take them on trust.
And here let us marshal what might well be axioms of a textbook on
horsemanship, namely:—
(1) That riders are made, not born.
(2) That an active, pliable body is the foundation of horsemanship.
(3) That in as far as the pliable body is born so is the horseman born.
(4) That pliability can be largely developed.
(5) That a really good seat is never seen without really good hands.
(6) That, therefore, hands and seat are an indivisible term.
(7) That a merely stick-fast seat, without ease, is not a good seat, and
is always minus hands.
(8) That a really easy seat is a firm seat and goes with hands.
(9) That the really easy seat is due to balance, and balance is due to a
correct position and great flexibility.
(10) That a proper grip, _i.e._, a non-fatiguing grip, is founded on
balance and not balance on grip.
(11) That a true balance not dependent on grip alone gives a free,
quick, strong leg—the mark of a “strong” rider.
(12) That a true balance is founded on a proper length of stirrup, which
alone can ensure the rider sitting really on his saddle.
(13) That the true balance, founded on a proper length of stirrup and
pliability of body alone, gives the long free reins which is half the
problem of hands.
(14) That to ride with too long a stirrup is a very common fault. It
means too forward a seat, hence too short a rein, and consequently bad
hands.
(15) That to ride with too short a stirrup is an uncommon fault, and
only interferes with the hands in as far as it affects security of seat.
(16) That there is little variation between the seats of six first-class
horsemen, a great deal between the seats of six secondary horsemen.
And so on with postulates _ad infinitum_, but to tabulate thus may make
for lucidity.
Take No. 1. Many hunting men must constantly have seen a useless hand
ride himself into a higher sphere of horsemanship, must have seen him by
constant practice change from a stiff automaton at variance with his
horse into a quick, pliable, strong rider; and Experience has been the
mistress. But real experience means riding, firstly, many different
horses; secondly, horses nice-tempered, but beyond him; thirdly,
unbroken, hot and bad-tempered horses, and last, but not least, a
“slug.” No man will learn to really ride if he always rides what he can
manage; for that is not experience.
But to make a rider into a first-class man, to make him acquainted with
the power of the leg, to teach him how absolutely essential it is, and
how the automatic and non-fatiguing use of it alone makes the “strong”
rider, and is half the battle in keeping to hounds, check-mating
refusers, ensuring a perfect bridling of the horse and getting the
uttermost jump out of him at a fence, then let him finish his education,
which, by the way, never is finished, by riding a well-bred slug for a
whole season on the top of hounds.
The remaining postulates more or less speak for themselves. They are all
part of a whole, for it is hard to believe, if a man is to go in unison
with his horse, that he can divide his equestrian body into parts. Hands
and seats, as the writer understands hands and seats, are one, if horse
and rider are to be one.
Take, however, No. 14. What is the chief mechanical fault that lies at
the bottom of bad and second-rate horsemanship, the mechanical
foundation upon which all the subtleties of horsemanship rear their
intricate selves? Unquestionably too long a stirrup. This is the common
fault, every potentiality is nullified by it. It is a fatal bar to
riding, but, alas, its cure does not necessarily mean horsemanship. It
is easy to shorten the stirrup. It is far harder to acquire flexibility;
but with too long a stirrup real riding pliability and the hands that
accompany it are unattainable. Every good rider must remember the time
when he rode with too long a stirrup. He must remember, too, how the
gradual shortening was followed by an immediate improvement in his
riding, and the greater enjoyment thereof.
Probably he went to the other extreme and used too short a stirrup, and
nearly, or perhaps quite, lost his seat.
Now, how is the rider to find a proper length of stirrup? Not, it is
quite certain, by an absurd comparative measuring of legs and arms;
individual proportions differ. No, it is a matter of experience. It is
certain at first to be overdone, or underdone, but there comes a time
when a rider can attune his stirrups, according to the difference in the
width of horse or size of saddle he bestrides, with automatic readiness.
Now the first sensation of a rider who has been riding too long is that
he is now riding too short, and it requires a great deal of firm
persuasion on the teacher’s part, and docility on the pupil’s part, to
keep him at the proper length.
Now, why does he feel too short and insecure when his double may be
rejoicing in the security of the same seat? In the first place, with too
long a stirrup he has been relying unduly on their support for his
balance. He has also, to negative the action of the horse, been rising
far too strongly on them. Now let him watch first-class riders. He will
notice that they rise but little in their stirrups, the motion of the
horse is mainly taken in an easy motion of the loins and shoulders; and,
owing to the fact that they are _sitting on_ the horse and not
_standing_ in too long a stirrup, they show but little daylight, and
their feet are not dangling toe downwards for a support a good seat does
not require.
Let the young rider, then, shorten his stirrups and sit down on his
horse. He will gain the rudiments of balance without as yet much grip.
For some time he may feel bumpy, insecure—in short, like a man who is
trying to float on his back for the first time.
Still it is the only way to acquire the flexible body, and lose the
yearning for excessive stirrups. The mere fact that he will at first
still sit too much over his shortened stirrups and will try to rise on
them as of old, will tend to raise him out of the saddle and give a
great sense of insecurity. To lessen this unpleasant feeling, he must
for self-protection sit further back, when he will shortly find a
balance, this time founded on a real seat. The knees will find
themselves where they grip the best. The new position is also in that
spot which is best calculated to set up that rhythmic ease of body which
not only means hands, but by taking up the motion of the horse reduces
rising in the stirrups to a minimum. This will leave the actual seat
undisturbed—free to grip, to sit easy, what it will.
It stands to reason the motion of the horse must be transmitted to its
rider, but it must not be transmitted to the gripping machinery nor the
seat. It must be transmitted to that part of the body best built to bear
it, namely, the loins and sliding shoulder blades, which act as springs,
buffers, or cushions. It is possible, of course, and in bare-back riding
essential, for the loins and shoulder blades to take all the motion and
the stirrups none. But the stirrups are there for reasonable assistance
only; they are aids, not necessities.
We know if a loose marble was placed against the end of a fixed iron
rod, and the other end of the rod was smartly tapped, that the marble
would move. In the same way, if we substitute the action of the horse
for the tap and the immovable iron bar for the rider’s grip, we shall
find in the lively marble the pliable loins and shoulders of a good
rider, which are far more seat than that part of the rider which is in
actual contact with the horse.
The foregoing, then, is the secret of a firm seat and an easy one. From
such a seat spring fine hands, long reins, and the whole bag of subtle
tricks, which are otherwise, to mix one’s metaphors, a closed book. In
the above it should have been said that it is taken for granted the
rider rides “home” in the stirrup. Few real horsemen ride otherwise,
except in hacking. Using the stirrup in a limited degree, they prefer to
have it where it requires no attention, and is not liable to be lost. It
would mean a hole longer in the leathers, and of course a rider can ride
that way. But where a rider says he rides thus for the sake of the
spring it is a confession at once of too long a stirrup and inferior
riding. He is dependent on his stirrup a great deal too much. His
stirrup is taking far too much of that motion which should be finding
expression in the motion of the body. The leg, that is to say, is doing
a duty which has very little to do with it. It cannot, therefore,
properly discharge its own, which, as a free member, independent of
seat, is to squeeze and encourage the horse at will.
A toe in the stirrup, then, is often, but not always, an indication of
too long a stirrup, resulting in bad hands and all its host of attendant
evils.