Walla Crag

Twas early one morning at the break of the day
Jim Dalton, the huntsman, he hastened away
To Walla Crag where he uncoupled his hounds
The woods and the valleys did music resound.

Chorus:
Tally-ho! Hark away! Tally-ho! Hark away!
Tally-ho! Tally-ho! Hark away!

Along Barrowside and through Ashness Ghyll
Our huntsman he halloed both loud and shrill
Near Watendlath he came where the thief he did lay
Bold Reynard broke cover to show some good play.

And past the High Seat right away he did go
But the hounds quickly followed on after also
And straight to Armboth his course he did take
And there had a view of the famed Thirlmere Lake.

From Armboth to Raven Crag a course he did steer
Along the rough scree facing Thirlmere
Where our gallant hounds did him hotly pursue
Resolving to make his old coat drip with dew.

Past Smeathwaite to Worm Crag he tried all his power
To baffle those hounds as he’d oft done before
But down Williams Gill he was soon forced to fly
By the whole pack of hounds coming in at full cry.

Through the valley of Naddle away he did go
Where he was received with a loud tally-ho
Which seemed over near for Reynard to like
So he passed by Scott How and clumb Causeway Pike.

Through the Great Wood o’er the mosses along Bleaberry Fell side
He thought to make Gate Crag and there for to hide
But the hounds hard oppressed him, and sore gainst his will
He was forced to turn off and to cross Southwaite Gill.

To the strong bield in the Benn he next made his retreat
Still thinking both hunters and hounds to defeat
But Pitcher and Banter put in at his face
Gave him notice to quit or die in disgrace.

Now Reynard soon found he’d not chance for dispute
As the odds were against him he coldly turned out
He skewed his old brush and he looked very sore
At that famous fox bield which he never saw more.

To the top of the Benn right away he did go
But the hounds still resolved to give him his deathblow
Comely, Charmer and Stormer, they forward did hie
And swore with a vengeance bold Reynard must die.

Though jaded, he seemed quite unwilling to yield
So they forced him again to return to the field
And through Naddle Bottoms his course he did steer
With the cry of the hounds most uncomfortably near.

He crossed the High Rigg, but his limbs seem to fail
With Miller, fine hound, running close to his tail
When a score of good hounds laid him in at full cry
Miller seized him and made his old jacket to fly.

Here’s health to Squire Crozier who at Reddings doth dwell
Success to his foxhounds! None can them excel,
They are sure to kill if Reynard keeps above ground
And you can’t find their equal in all England round.

Orthwaite Fells

Ye gallant hunters of the chase come listen to me I pray
I’ll sing you of a foxhunt we had the other day
On the 21st February nineteen hundred and one
Jim Dalton and his gallant hounds to Orthwaite Fells did come.

You’ve heard of mighty foxhunts in the days of Peel gone by
How from Brayton unto Skiddaw fox and hounds did quickly fly
But this it is the grandest ever known on Britain’s Isle
We roused our fox on Cockup Sands and killed him near Carlisle.

When Dalton loosed his beauties on that February morn
He made the hills and valleys ring with whip and voice and horn
Then what a glorious chorus from his dogs they rent the skies
Proclaiming Reynard’s presence and they vowed that he must die.

There was Record, Ringwood, Rattler, all true unto the game
There was Careless, Jingler, Dally, three bitches of great fame
There was Lively, Lonely and Stranger that hound with voice so true
You could not find their equal if you searched the whole world through.

Now Reynard looked around him and gravely shook his head
"I fear those hounds mean business, I must be gone," he said
"Farewell, Farewell," bold Reynard cried to mountain, field and flood,
"These hounds of bold Blencathra vow this day they’ll shed my blood."

Now right away for Braefell Pike, these hounds they drove fast
Down by the Shirlston watter o’er Ellerbeck also
O’er Snowhill top without a stop, bold Reynard quickly sped
Through Bolton Park to Percy Hill he never turned his head.

Then down by the Red Dial the fox and hounds did quickly fly
Gave him no time to tarry til Hindmoor Park was passed on high
By Rossthwaite into Westward side and then to Crofton Hall
Where he tried to get into the Park but couldn’t scale the wall.

Now Reynard being baffled, he began to think that he might die
But he gamely struggled onward til Halton it drew nigh
Then onto Little Bampton where Record, gallant hound
He ran into the gamest fox that ever trod the ground.

Now sportsmen fill your glasses let the bottle take it’s round
And each will drink a bumper to fox and gallant hound
And then to Squire Crozier our Master game and free
We’ll drink a flowing bumper and we’ll cheer it three times three.

Blencathra Foxhounds At Wythburn

The morning was charming all nature looked gay
Come rise all you hunters and let us away
For to meet with Jim Dalton and his gallant hounds
There’s no truer sportsman ever crossed English ground.

Chorus:
Tally-ho, Tally-ho, Tally-ho
Hark forrard good hounds, Tally-ho.

The meet was at West Head and it was just about nine
With hounds looking fit and the morning being fine
We went through be’t Birk Cragg and out by Dob Ghyll
And into Harrop plantings but all was quite still.

When we got to t' Rough Intake, they struck a fine drag
And how these spotted li’le beauties their tales they did wag
When out of the heather bold Reynard did spring
The cry of these hounds made the whole valley ring.

Reet up the old peat road away he did go
Jim Dalton the huntsman did cry Tally-ho
Hark, Hark unto Welcome, he loudly did cry
This day or never bold Reynard must die.

Straight away for t’ Nab craggs, sly foxy he went
To baffle these hounds it was his intent
But Trueman and Clasher were well to the front
When Danny Thwaites said he’d never seen sic a hunt.

Then reet up Green Coombe away he did steer
With Mountain and Miller not far in the rear
There was Druid and Damsel and Dauntless so true
With the rest of the pack coming on in full view.

Then straight out by Cat Ghyll he next tried his route
And down in through Wythings he twisted about
Then through be t’ old sheep folds across Greenup beck
They were running this fox without even a check.

Frank Porter said to Reynard as he passed by
“Thy time is now short unless thou canst fly
They are the Blencathra Foxhounds that is on thy track
And Jim seldom returns without a fox on his back”.

Away down Plaskett Intakes he plodded along
But that noted old Rainbow was running him strong
He laid down in t' beck just aboon Stonethwaite
And that is the place where this fox met his fate.

You’ll all ken Joe Plaskett that hunter so keen
And to many a foxhunt in Borrowdale he’s been
He was there that day and lucky was he
For in the presence of Joseph bold Reynard did dee.

Joe invited the hunters to something to eat
So we went to t’ Stonethwaite where we had a grand treat
We’d roast beef and taties, rice pudding and pie
This song is quite true so I’ll not tell a lie.

We said to each other we mustn’t stay long
For the days are so short and the neet’s are too long
We’ve ta gang ta t’ West Head before it gits dark
So we climbed Borrowdale Knotts just as fresh as the lark.

We went out by Cod Barrow and in by Tarn Cragg
Where we thought Danny Thwaite was beginning to fag
But he bucked up again and this time he did say
“We’ve he’d a grand hunt but it seems a long way”.

We lan’t at West Head it was close upon three
And Isaac and Mrs were just having tea
They said, “ You’ve done weel to git that old fox
It will be the old Devil that went with them ducks”.

We put hounds in t' stable, we’d lant them all back
For it’s main thing in hunting’s to look after t’ pack
There is one thing I ask you don’t let your spirits lack
But I hope you’ll support this gallant fell pack.

Jim Dalton hunted the Blencathra from 1894 to 1930