THE WILLEY KENNELS.
The Willey Kennels—Colonel Apperley on Hunting a Hundred Years
ago—Character of the Hounds—Portraits of Favourites—Original
Letters—Style.
“Tantivy! the huntsman he starts for the chase,
In good humour as fresh as the morn,
While health and hilarity beam from his face,
At the sound of the mellow-toned horn.”
THE style of hunting in vogue in Squire Forester’s day was, in the
opinion of authorities on the subject, even more favourable to the
development of bodily strength and endurance than now. The late Mr.
Thursfield, of Barrow, was wont to say that it was no unusual thing to
see Moody taking the hounds to cover before daylight in a morning. The
Squire himself, like most other sportsmen of the period, was an early
man.
[Picture: Childers, Pilot, and Pigmy]
Col. Apperley says: “With our forefathers, when the roost-cock sounded
his clarion, they sounded their horn, throwing off the pack so soon as
they could distinguish a stile from a gate, or, in other words, so soon
as they could see to ride to the hounds. Then it was that the hare was
hunted to her form by the trail, and the fox to his kennel by the drag.
Slow as this system would be deemed, it was a grand treat to the real
sportsman. What, in the language of the chase, is called the
‘tender-nosed hound,’ had an opportunity of displaying itself to the
inexpressible delight of his master; and to the field—that is, to the
sportsmen who joined in the diversion—the pleasures of the day were
enhanced by the moments of anticipation produced by the drag. As the
scent grew warmer, the certainty of finding was confirmed; the music of
the pack increased; and the game being up, away went the hounds in a
crash. Both trail and drag are at present but little thought of. Hounds
merely draw over ground most likely to hold the game they are in quest
of, and thus, in a great measure, rely upon chance for coming across it;
for if a challenge be heard, it can only be inferred that a fox has been
on foot in the night—the scent being seldom sufficient to carry the
hounds up to his kennel. Advantages, however, as far as sport is
concerned, attend the present hour of meeting in the field, independently
of the misery of riding many miles in the dark, which sportsmen in the
early part of the last century were obliged to do. The game, when it is
now aroused, is in a better state to encounter the great speed of modern
hounds; having had time to digest the food it has partaken of in the
night previous to its being stirred. But it is only since the great
increase of hares and foxes that the aid of the trail and drag could be
dispensed with without the frequent recurrence of blank days, which now
seldom happen. Compared with the luxurious ease with which the modern
sportsman is conveyed to the field—either lolling in his chaise and four,
or galloping along at the rate of twenty miles an hour on a
hundred-guinea hack—the situation of his predecessor was all but
distressing. In proportion to the distance he had to ride by starlight
were his hours of rest broken in upon, and exclusive of the time that
operation might consume another serious one was to be provided for—this
was the filling his hair with powder and pomatum until it could hold no
more, and forming it into a well-formed knot, or club, as it was called,
by his valet, which cost commonly a good hour’s work. The protecting mud
boots, the cantering hack, the second horse in the field, were luxuries
unknown to him. His well-soiled buckskins, and brown-topped boots, would
have cut an indifferent figure in the presence of a modern connoisseur by
a Leicestershire cover side.” “Notwithstanding all this, however,” he
adds, “we are inclined strongly to suspect that, out of a given number of
gentlemen taking the field with hounds, the proportion of really
scientific sportsmen may have been in favour of the olden times.”
The Willey Kennels were within easy reach of the Hall, between Willey and
Shirlot, where the pleasant stream before alluded to goes murmuring on
its way through the Smithies to the Severn. But in order to save his
dogs unnecessary exertion there were others on the opposite, or Wrekin,
side of the river—
“Hounds stout and healthy,
Earths well stopped, and foxes plenty,”
being mottoes of the period. The dogs were of the “heavy painstaking
breed” that “stooped to their work.” How, it was said,
“Can the fox-hound ever tell,
Unless by pains he takes to smell,
Where Reynard’s gone?”
Experience taught the Squire the importance of a principle now more
generally acted upon, that of selecting the qualities required in the
hounds he bred from; and by this means he obtained developments of
swiftness and scent that made his pack one good horses only of that day
could keep up with. He prided himself much upon the blood of his best
hounds, knew every one he had by name, and was familiar with its
pedigree. Portraits of four of his favourites were painted on canvas and
hung in the hall, with lines beneath expressive of their qualities, and
the dates at which the paintings were made. The Right Hon. Lord Forester
takes great care of these, as showing in what way the best dogs of that
day differed from those of the present; and through his kindness we have
been enabled to get drawings made, of which his lordship was pleased to
approve, and we fancy there is no better judge living.
Three of these are shown in our engraving at the head of this chapter.
Pigmy, the bitch in the group nearest to the fox, is said to have been
the smallest hound then known. Underneath the portrait are the following
lines:—
“Behold in miniature the foxhound keen,
Thro’ rough and smooth a better ne’er was seen;
As champion here the beauteous Pigmy stands,
She challenges the globe, both home and foreign lands.”
1773.
The one the farthest from the fox, is a white dog, Pilot; and underneath
the painting is the following:—
“Pilot rewards his master Rowley’s care,
And swift as lightning skims the transient air;
Famed for the chase, from cover always first,
His tongue and sterne proclaimed an arrant burst.”
1774.
The dog in front, with his head thrown up, is Childers; and underneath
the picture are these lines:—
“Sportsmen look up, old Childers’ picture view,
His virtues many were, his failings few;
Reynard with dread oft heard his awful name,
And grateful Musters thus rewards his fame.”
1772.
The following letters from Mr. Forester to Walter Stubbs, Esq., of
Beckbury, afterwards of Stratford-on-Avon, where he became distinguished
in connection with the Warwickshire Hunt, show how particular he was in
his selection. It would seem that whilst admiring the Duke of Grafton’s
hounds, which under the celebrated Tom Rose (“Honest old Tom,” as he was
called), who used to say, “a man must breed his pack to suit his
country,” gained some celebrity, he not unnaturally preferred his own.
We give exact copies of two of his letters, they are so characteristic of
the man. In all the letters we have seen he began with a considerable
margin at the side of the paper, but always filled up the space with a
postscript:—
“WILLEY HALL, March 15, 1795.
“DEAR SIR,
“I beg leave to return you my hearty thanks for your civility in
sending your servant to Apley with three couple of my hounds that run
into your’s ye other day. Could I have returned compliment in
sending ye three couple, that were missing from you, I should have
been happy in ye discharge of that duty, so incumbent on every good
sportsman. I hear you are fond of the Duke of Grafton’s hounds.
It’s a sort I have ever admired, and have received favours from his
Grace in that line, having been acquainted together from our infancy
up; and on course, most likely to procure no very bad sort from his
Grace’s own hands. I have sent you (as a present) a little bitch of
ye Grafton kind, which I call Whymsy, lately taken up from quarters,
and coming towards a year old. She’s rather under size for me, or
otherwise I see not her fault. She’s, in my opinion, _a true
Non-Pareil_. Your acceptance of her from me _now_, and any other
hound of ye Grafton sort, that may come in near her size, will afford
me singular satisfaction; as I make it a rule that no man who shows
me civility shall find me wanting in making a proper return.
“I am, dear sir,
“Your obliged and very humble servant,
“G. FORESTER.
“P.S.—Next year Whymsy will be completely fit for entrance, but
rather too young for _this_. The Duke’s hounds rather run small
enough for this country. I see no other defect in them. They are
invincibly stout, and perfectly just in every point that constitutes
your real true fox hound.”
* * * * *
“WILLEY, April 19, 1795.
“DEAR SIR,
“Per bearer I send you yr couple of bitches I promised you. The
largest is near a year old, the lesser about half a one, and if she
be permitted to walk about your house this summer, will make you a
clever bitch; further, she’s of Grace Grafton’s kind, as her father
was got by his Grace’s Voucher, and bred by Mr. Pelham. Blood
undeniable, _at a certainty_. As to yr dam of her, she’s of my old
sort, and a bitch of blood and merit. The other bitch I bred also,
_to ye test_ of my judgment, from a dog of Pelham’s. I call her
handsome in my eye, and not far off _being a beauty_. Her dam was
got by Noel’s famous Maltster, out of a daughter of Mr. Corbet, of
Sundorn, named Trojan. I wish you luck and success with your hounds,
and when I can serve you _to effect_, at any time, you may rely on my
faithful remembrance of you.
“I remain, dear sir,
“Your very humble servant,
“G. FORESTER.
“P.S.—The largest bitch is named Musick, the lesser is named Gaudy.
“P.S.—We have had good sport lately; and _one particular_ run we had,
upon Monday last, of two hours and one quarter (from scent to view),
without one single interruption of any kind whatever.”