SPORTS AND PASTIMES
Many of the inn signs to be met with in the old provincial trading centres
recall the sports of our ancestors. Too often these were of a brutal and
barbarous character, suited only to an age which took its pleasures
strenuously and knew nothing of squeamishness and delicate nerves. Not
that we of the twentieth century are at heart one whit more humane. The
cockney who would faint at the bloodshed and slaughter in a bull-ring,
devours greedily in his Sunday newspaper all the details of a horrible
murder, or a railway accident.
Bull-running and bull-baiting was an attraction only rivalled by
bear-baiting. The corporations of some towns had a by-law forbidding
butchers to exhibit bull beef for sale, unless the animal had previously
been baited by dogs for the amusement of the populace. Over the entrance
of the ancient Butchers’ Hall at Hereford, still hangs the bull-ring that
was used on these occasions. It required the introduction of several
fruitless bills into the House of Commons between 1802 and 1835, before an
Act was finally passed to abolish the practice. _Dog and Bear_ is a very
common sign, usually Jacobean in its origin. _Bull and Ring_, _Dog and
Bull_, _Bull and Butcher_, are all somewhat rare.
[Illustration: Horse and Groom, near Waltham St. Lawrence]
Cock-fighting was a very favourite spectacle from the earliest times,
enjoyed heartily by gentle and serf, young and old, learned and simple.
Nature intended the game-cock to strive for mastery with his rival, and
with the weapons provided by nature the combat has a fearful interest for
the modern British boy, as each spring new conflicts recur in the
farmyard. But the art of the Elizabethan sportsman supplemented nature
with a sharp spur of steel. A graphic account of a cock-fight is given by
Count Kilmansegge in his “Diary of a Journey to England, 1761-2.” The
scene is to be identified by the little passage from Queen Anne’s Gate to
Birdcage Walk, still known as Cock-Pit Alley.
“On the 1st February, we went to see a cock-fight, which lasted the whole
of the week, where heavy bets, made by the Duke of Ancaster and others,
for more than 100 guineas were at stake. The fight takes place at the
Cock-Pit close to St. James’s Park, in the vicinity of Westminster. In the
middle of a circle and a gallery surrounded by benches, a slightly-raised
theatre is erected upon which the cocks fight; they are a small kind of
cock, to the legs of which a long spur, like a long needle is fixed, with
which they know how to inflict damage on their adversaries very cleverly
during the fight, but on which also they are frequently caught themselves,
so breaking their legs. One bird of each of the couples which we saw
fighting met with this misfortune, so that he was down in a moment, and
unable to raise or to help himself, consequently his adversary at once had
an enormous advantage. Notwithstanding this, he fought with his beak for
half an hour but the other bird had the best of it, and both were carried
off with bleeding heads. No one who has not seen such a sight can conceive
the uproar by which it is accompanied, as everybody at the same time
offers and accepts bets.... We were satisfied with seeing two fights,
although we might have remained to see still more for the half-crown which
we paid on entering.”
The cock-pit was not infrequently to be found in the inn yards. At Lincoln
the corporation pit was in the yard of the _Reindeer_, and here James I, a
great patron of this sport, was entertained. Pope, whilst living with his
father at Chiswick, took great delight in cock-fighting; all his
pocket-money was laid out in buying birds from various choice strains.
From this passion, we are told, his mother had the good sense and skill to
wean him.
Country towns generally contain an inn called the _Cock-fighters_,
sometimes with remains of the old pit _in situ_; and the sign of the _Cock
and Bell_ is said to be derived from the shrovetide cock-fights, when boys
matched their birds against each other, and to the lucky owner was awarded
a silver bell, which he wore in his hat for three Sundays following.
Originally, the Shrovetide cocks were mounted on stools and stones thrown
at them. Out of this has grown the modern “Cocoanut Shy.”
The sign of the _Bird in Hand_, often merely facetious, may when seen on
old inns, as at Widmore, near Bromley, have reference to hawking; so with
_Hawk and Buckle_ and _Falcon_ which, as a rule, we are content to treat
as heraldic emblems.
The _Kentish Bowman_ and the _Bow and Arrow_ remain to tell us of archery,
the favourite village pastime in rural England until quite recently. It is
a disputed point whether the resilient virtues of the wood, or their use
in Palm Sunday processions had most to answer for the hacked and mutilated
condition of the branches of old churchyard yews. _Speed the Plough_
recalls the rustic ploughing competitions.
_Dog and Gun_, _Dog and Duck_, _Dog and Badger_, _Fox and Hounds_, and
_Huntsman_, all betray the characteristic trait of John Bull, who
celebrates a fine frosty morning by “going out to kill something.” The
Hunt meet is usually in front of some leading inn; and hither when the run
is over choice blades repair to recount the doings of the day. These inns
abound in trophies of the chase, mounted antlers, stuffed foxes, otters,
or rare birds in glass cases; though few can vie with the collection of
specimens and prints at the _Swan_, Tarporley; where even the plate and
crockery bear witness to the pursuits of its patrons.
The _Blue Cap_ at Sandiway, in Cheshire, built in 1715, was so re-named in
1762 in memory of a very remarkable hound. So fast was his pace that a
weight had to be slung round his neck to prevent him outracing the rest of
the pack. On one side of the signboard his portrait appears. On the
reverse the following account of the race which first brought him into
notice:
“On Saturday, September 28th, 1762, Blue Cap and Wanton, ye property of
Mr. Smith-Barry, Master of ye Cheshire, in a match over ye Beacon course
at Newmarket, beat a couple of Mr. Meynell’s (ye Quorn), one of which was
Richmond. Sixty horses started with ye hounds. Mr. Smith-Barry’s huntsman,
Cooper, was ye first up, but ye mare that carried him was quite blind at
ye end. Only twelve got to ye end. Will Craine, who trained ye Cheshire
hounds, came in twelfth on Rib. Betting was 6 to 4 on Meynell’s.”
According to Daniel the race was run at fully thirty miles an hour.
From an inn named after an hound, we pass to another in the same county,
much more curious and antique in its thatched roof gables and old
furniture, which keeps green the memory of a splendid racehorse. The
_Smoker_ at Plumbley has nothing to do with tobacco. The portrait of the
old horse, together with the arms of Sir George Leicester, father of the
first Baron de Tabley, owner of the horse, have been painted on the
signboard by the daughter of Lady Leighton Warren, a member of this
family.
Inns are no longer betting centres, but their owners are keenly interested
in sport, and many jovial souls still notch calendars by racing events,
referring to some local episodes as having occurred “in the year when
Stickphast won the Derby.” Although the _Running Horse_ was a Hanoverian
emblem, most of the houses of this name within a few miles of Epsom must
owe their origin to the racing fraternity. The old _Running Horse_ at
Sandling, near Maidstone, so students of Dickens declare, suggested Mr.
Pickwick’s adventure with the eccentric steed, hired for the benefit of
Mr. Winkle.
Bowls is still almost as favourite a pastime at the old inns as it was in
the days of Sir Francis Drake. In East Anglia the greens are often of
remarkable size and beautifully kept. The finest bowling green in the
South of England is, we believe, that behind the _Queen’s Head_ at
Hawkhurst, an old-fashioned house to be visited for its sweet situation
and cosy arrangements--as well as for the almost unique collection of old
furniture gathered together by the late Mr. Clements. On the lawn of the
_Anchor_ at Hartfield, a game is in vogue called “Clock Golf,” which we
have seen nowhere else, but which possesses its attractions.
It is a traditional habit among prize-fighters when they retire on their
laurels to assume the management of a tavern, where their reputation makes
them efficient in maintaining order; but the sedentary style of life
usually produces too much adipose tissue for perfect health and happiness.
Old cricketers also drift into the same haven. Indeed, the public-house
has contributed many of the best exponents of the national game. William
Clarke, the father of modern cricket, and first secretary of the famous
All England Eleven, kept the _Trent Bridge Inn_ at Nottingham; Noah Mann,
a famous Sussex player, and one of the heroes of the Hambleden Club, came
from an inn at North Chapel, near the Surrey border of the county. He is
said to have once made ten runs with one hit. At Mitcham, nursery alike of
vegetation and of Surrey cricket, every publican is a cricketer of repute.
_Bat and Ball_, _Cricketers_, and similar signs are, of course, to be met
with everywhere.
At the _Swan_, Ash Vale, close to Basingstoke Canal, and at present kept
by Mr. John Tupper, the well-known army trainer, there still remains one
of the last rat-pits--of course, now not utilized for the sport. Ratting
survived cock-fighting for a time, the usual method being to turn a dog in
with a number of rats, which he was expected to kill within a given number
of minutes. The pit was about six feet in diameter with a high unclimbable
rim either of wood or polished cement.
A more humane, but very exciting rough-and-tumble competition may
occasionally be witnessed in the public-houses of some east-end districts,
and is entitled “Boot hunting.” Various individuals who pay an entrance
fee of perhaps sixpence, group themselves on a platform at the end of the
room, and remove their footgear which are put into a barrel, shaken up,
and then deposited in a heap. The signal is given, each man scrambles for
his own property, and to the first who succeeds in getting his boots on
the prize is awarded. Sometimes the competitors are chosen by the audience
whose “gate-money” provides the trophy.
We can hardly trace the sites even of the inns and alehouses between Ware
and Tottenham mentioned in the “Compleat Angler.” But, like old Isaac
Walton, the modern piscator loves to sample “the good liquor that our
honest forefathers did use to drink of, which preserved their health, and
made them to live so long and to do so many good deeds!” The _Talbot_ has
disappeared from Ashbourne on the Dove, but there are “other inns as
good.” The _Isaac Walton Inn_, on the Dove, has been for many years a
favourite resort of anglers. On the banks of the Thames, Kennet, Arun, or
Great Ouse, there are hostelries in which anglers much do congregate at
eventide during the season; on their walls gigantic trout (suspected by
the stranger to be modelled in plaster), float in most lifelike attitude
within a sea of painted glass. And we know of snug bar parlours in the
backwoods of Bermondsey, Finsbury, and Bethnal Green, whither about nine
o’clock men laden with rods and heavy baskets or sacks may be observed
hurrying along to be in time for the “weighing in.”
The inn yards of Bishopsgate and Southwark witnessed the early
performances of the English drama; and the auditorium of the theatre takes
its form from the tiers of galleries surrounding the “pit” which the
players found there. Music halls have also grown up from the impromptu
concerts in the taverns. The older music halls, like the _Oxford_,
_Middlesex_, or _Deacon’s_, were twenty years ago simply public-houses
with a hall behind them, where a chairman, armed with a hammer to maintain
silence, announced each performer by name and arranged the order of the
programme.
Many inns contain museums. At the _Marquis of Granby_, near New Cross
Station, there is a magnificent collection of hunting-knives, rifles, etc.
The late Mr. Frank Churchill, of the _White Lion_, Warlingham, displayed
in the ancient chimney-corner of that house gridirons, spits, and
domestic utensils of ancient pattern, and Mr. Alfred Churchill had a
similar museum at the _White Hart_, at Bletchingley.
For some unknown reason the police are discouraging these museums, and in
some districts publicans are warned against harbouring games of any kinds.
Even good old English manly pastimes like bowls and skittles are under the
ban of the licensing magistrates.
The other day we discussed the matter with an old yeoman farmer, while we
watched a quartette of young fellows playing a kind of bagatelle. He
declared that the effect of this policy, now so sedulously pursued by the
police, of depriving public-house frequenters of any species of recreation
whatever, was fast driving young men into the political clubs where
extravagant gambling and hard drinking, especially of spirits, was the
fashion. Many promising careers had been ruined in this way--and this we
may corroborate from our own experience in various towns. With tears in
his eyes the old man confessed to us that his vote had blackballed his own
boy from admission into the local club. The total expenditure of the group
during a whole evening’s amusement at the public-house amounted to a sum
not exceeding a shilling; perchance at the club they might have been
tempted to squander away at least half their week’s earnings.