Clifton’s Hunting Song - 1911

One morning in March to the Green we did go,
For Chapman to meet with his hounds on that morn,
For hunting we’d none in Cartmel fell week
So he thought he’d try for bold Reynard in Crook.

We quested about for two hours or more,
But Reynard hadn’t been there the night before,
So we crossed in haste to Bryan House’s Plant,
And struck a sharp drag and unkennelled at once.

Now these hounds flew, as man never saw,
Over Burn Aber lot to Winster did go,
Through Winster, Fox hales Reynard had no time to stay
For these hounds were bent on his brush that day.

Now we passed Hill top and Tarn side and all,
Whitbarrow den was where he was for,
The north end he clam for all he was worth
For these hounds were coming a terrible rush.

Now he ran this fell for two hours or more,
Such a hunt old hunters ne’er saw before,
Yet he tried all schemes to outwit this pack
But hunting was good on Whitbarrow top.

Now he struck out for White Scar end,
Hoping to reach a safe lying den,
Now they did view him twice the length of that scar
And bowled him over in the sight of us all.

In eighteen and eighty the last one was killed,
For thirty-one years the brush they did save,
And Clifton was there and picked them both up
And carried them back to the White Beck pub.

Here’s luck to George Chapman who hunts those hounds,
Here’s luck to old “Comrade” a favourite dog
Here’s luck to the Logan’s and long may they live,
For hunting’s a pleasure no man can resist.

Hawkshead Hunt

While staying at Hawkshead Hill Anthony and Sid
Decided to lowse in to l’Spikker wood,
The morning was wet, and the mists lay around
But everyone thought that good scent would abound.

Chorus
Tally-ho, Tally –ho! Tally –ho
Hark for’ard good hounds, tally- ho.

Above Coldwell quarry young Chanter spoke up
Being a first season hound not much more than a pup,
Then Bellman went to him and started to bay
Anthony shouted “Hark Bellman! Hark! Noo git away.”

Now Reynard was sleeping but woke with a start,
On hearing those hounds he made haste to depart,
Iron Keld, he decided, was where he would hie
For those hounds were gaining and running full cry.

On nearing t’Duck road he saw cars by the score
So he doubled back sharp as he’d met them before
And striking out fast he soon made his way
Through Spikker, past Blelham and on to Low Wray.

To t’ boathouse he went in Wray Castle bay,
He thought he might swim and escape hounds that way
But though he was tough, and had always been bold
When he dipped in his pads – it was terrible cold.

So changing his mind across t’ ploughing he went,
Hoping this way to make hounds loose his scent,
Along to Pull woods keeping close to the shore
Now leading the pack by a mile or more.

Now thinking he’d left all the pack far behind
His way to home he would quietly find,
Up through Brathay quarries to the pigsties he went
To climb up Pull Scar was his earnest intent.

Now the smell of those sties it was terrible strong
Neither hounds nor hunters care to stop long
Reynard had some sense when he ran through that spot
For hounds were half fuddled w’t smell of pig muck.

Anthony tried round til they hit off the line
Up Pull Scar and Brow fell these hounds ran him fine
Then down through the ravines by Old Holmes Head Barn
Old Reynard was running and finding it warm.

In Marshall’s drive Reynard doubled back quick
To give those hounds another li’le check
But John Benson was waiting and saw him come out
Near the top of the wood, so he gave a girt shout.

Now Reynard was worried and tiring fast,
Not knowing how long at this pace he could last
So again up Pull Scar he fled like the wind,
Hoping that refuge somewhere he might find.

Now these hounds were gaining on old Reynard’s brush
So he turned in for t’ Duck in a hell of a rush,
And down to the Brathay by t’ footbridge crossed oe’r,
Deciding he could face only one climb more!

On seeing his hounds go o’er Loughrigg top
And knowing the pace to be getting red hot,
Anthony decided into Mrs Sheps car,
Such a dangerous speed it achieved ne’er before.

Reynard went ower t’ golf links disturbing all t’ folk
Intent on their game but missing their stroke,
Near Lanty Scar Borran he quite lost his way
He found to run on new ground – it just didn’t pay.

So he turned back for Brathay with Anthony int’car
Which started to boil ‘fore they got very far,
But they manged to make it up Clappersgate Hill
Brathay Fell Drive where they witnessed the kill.

This hunt will remember when the years have rolled by
The route Reynard took and the smell of that’ stie,
Older and failing we’ll still plod along
With the Coniston hounds as we did in this song.

Old Anthony

Ye sing of Joe Bowman of fox hunting fame,
I sing of one here, Anthony Chapman’s his name,
Who has hunted the hare, fox and otter also
And to match this old sportsman you’ve a long way to go.

Now words may describe but his deeds they will tell
How o’f the has sounded bold Reynard’s death knell
Like thunder his loud tally-ho ringing clear
Made fox, hare or otter tremble with fear.

O’er snow covered mountain he’s travelled with speed
When his hounds with their quarry had taken the lead,
In Mardale, in Kentmere and Cartmel Fell too
At Rydal and Grasmere his hounds ever true.

Some thousands of miles he ahs tramped with his pack
With strong swinging stride o’er natures rough track
In true sporting fashion he followed his game
And the deeds of this hunter will for aye live in fame.
From Newton in Cartmel he once made a start,
And as fine a hunt followed e’er seen in this part,
Through Winster and Crosthwaite to Helsington Laithes
Where a fox in a farmyard there ended his days.

When days they are short and the nights they are long
His deeds they will oft be related in song
And though he has gone to that heaven of rest
We will cherish his memory as one of the best.

Let us drink to old Chapman the huntsman that’s gone
And the off spring he’s left us to still carry on,
For a real rousing fox chase we shall never lack,
Whilst a Chapman is hunting the Coniston pack.

Tom Lishman

Hunting Song

Twas a fine hunting day, in black berrying time,
So John Logan’s lads got up early as the stars they did shine,
They went to Red Screes intending to louse,
But the rain came on heavy and forced them to house.

Chorus
Tally –ho! Tally-ho! Tally- ho!
Hark for’ard good hounds Tally-ho.

But after a bit it again got out fair,
Anthony looked into the screes says “there’ll be a fox there!.
So their hounds they did louse, it now being fine
And was not very long before they hit off a line.

These hounds being crazy at winding their game
At first flew about being wild with the rain,
They hunted him well to some rough Brossen rock
Where we found the remains of Anthony’s game cock.

So robin went down with three terriers to see
If Reynard had stopped for a rest or just for a pee
But l’ile Vic soon began to bark and to set
And forced Reynard to turn himself out into t’ wet.

Up that fellside how Reynard did go
Being half frightened to death by the shouts tally – ho!
With Drummo, Rally and Blossom hard at his brush
He went out of the screes in a hell of a rush.
They ran him that fast – all above Hartsop Hall.
Then at Dodd Bields and in Caiston he had no time to call
For Drummer, Hotspur and Rally were singing out death
And these are the hounds that ran him the best.

Now Reynard being tired lay down in the ling,
Thinking to baffle this pack was a quite simple thing,
But that grand old bitch Cruel how her tail she did wag
As she spied him stealing away from behind a great crag.

They ran him o’er t’top and through Deepdale Head,
At Greenhow End Reynard was not far ahead,
But with a slow hunt l’le better than a drag
They ran him to ground on ‘t borran at Dove Crag.

But Reynard was not as safe as he thought
For the terriers got in, and soon drove him out,
His coat it was black, his tongue it was red,
And we thought before long we would see Reynard dead.

But he got well away, and scenting got bad,
Through by high Pike and Scandal and up by Hart Crag,
But out on the screes the storm saved his life
So we left him to go back to his family and wife.

We hunters returned to the Kirkstone Top Inn,
And partook of good bread and cheese and hot gin,
So now I will finish my li’le hunting song
Or some folk will think it is far ower long,

Robin Logan M.F.H

Coniston Foxhounds

A famous pack this Coniston
And free alike to all
The peasant in his cottage
Or the Squire in his hall
Support them as best you can
Be it large or be it small
Put your hand in your pocket
And buy a ticket for this ball.

Our huntsman Tony Chapman
Is lanky, lean and tall
He has summat to contend with
To try to please us all,
But when they’re hunting foxes
He’s always full of pluck
He often perseveres
When others would give up.
We’ve a good man named George Robinson,
A stalwart of renown
Who says he’ll hunt if paid or not
And a good man underground
His summer occupation
By a hunter of some fame
Her native heath is Grasmere
And Titteringdale by name.

The farmers are our main support
Without them we should fail
To bring a hound up in these days
Expense and care entail
And we’ve hunt balls and subscribers
Give the latter both their due
But with no hounds to hunt with
It would be a poor do.

Some say they’re going to stop us
Cruelty is their plea
With guns and traps to rattle
Among the crag and scree,
Foxes, they will listen
And to each other say
“They have done away with foxhounds
So at peace we now can stay”

It may be, or may not be
We none of us can say
But I like an honest sportsman
Whose motto is “fair play”
And should a member of this hunt
Take a gun to join pursuit
I hope it goes off t’wrong end
And blows the bugger up.

Robin Logan M.F.H

Squire Logan – Sawrey Hunt

It’s of a grand fox hunt I’d like you to hear,
It happened on a Saturday, the first in the year,
The meet being on a Saturday, the morning being fine
Squire Logan and Anthony arrived about nine.

Chorus
Tally-ho, Tally-ho, Tally-ho
Hark for’ard good hounds, Tally-ho.

Then away for Blind House and Heald around,
Across Langheight plantin’ that’s all smittle ground
High over yon wall old Drummer cried out
“I think that bold Reynard’s been strolling about”
Then a drag they did cross and away they did go
With Racket and Ranger and Rachel also
Their music so sweetly did echo all round
But the scent got so bad they soon changed their ground.

Then the huntsman agreed for to cross o’er the dell
To try for a fox around Iron Keld
So eagerly these hunters all crossed o’er
With Enoch and Quiller, Tom Walker you know.

Then away for t’ Outgate they next did steer
Two young ladies, keen hunters were there,
Their names I’ll not mention in case I get wrong
Tom Cloudsdale, Tom Preston young Geldart among.

Then up the plantation they fairly did hie
With Tom Clark, and Jack Coward, Bill Barker beside
Then Anthony tried here and he tried all around
But not til Pull Scar bold Reynard was found.

Then a crack of his whip when Anthony did spie,
That fox stealing away, his tricks for to try
“Get down some of you hunters, get them ligged on”
“We’ll make him remember though its close upon one”.

Then Reynard turned round and he had a rare peep,
High up in yon crag he’d had many a grand sleep
If that be Harry and his tally- ho
Four times I have beaten him and that you all know.

Then Snape and Jo Milligan, down they did tear,
They laid those brave hounds onto his brush gaily near,
They rallied them one, and they rallied them all,
John Logan’s view halloas and away they did go.

Then through the green coppice out over Park Fell,
And down the tongue intake their music did swell,
To high Park over Little Holme Fell
Down by Hodge Close quarries they ran him right well.

Then through t’g’rt intake by Parker fell man,
Law’s how they did rattle bold Reynard along,
To t’long Crag level out by Red Dell Head,
And over the Hause to Wetherlam.

Then for the great Carrs he next did steer,
He knew that his end it was drawing near,
For Hell Ghyll pike he did repair
But down in Greenburn they rolled him o’er.

Now that fox it being dead, and that hunt being o’er
These hunters re-traced their steps once more
To t’lile Langdale jerry they now did steer
To have bread and cheese and a pint of good beer.

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