The Old Pytchley Hall
This poem, published in Baily’s in 1896, is not just timely (with Christmas and the New Year), but it links directly to contemporary subjects in two of our articles below: James Barclay’s “Sporting Tour“ and “Remembering the Curre on Boxing Day.” It’s a wistful poem, beginning with the mystery of whence this wonderful hound named Dimple. The mystery is resolved at the end, but no hope of ever seeing her like again is imagined. Why? Because she comes from Wales, and the type of hound anointed as stylish and desirable by the elite English foxhunting establishment of the time would never even consider a different way.
However, the very fact that this poem was written demonstrates that some foxhunters of the time, indeed even the superlative Pytchley huntsman, Young Will Goodall,* yearned for something better. But change in the form of a direct challenge to the establishment wasn’t to come until the twentieth century, and even then the process was painful for all concerned. So, here’s what can be considered a poetic prelude to both the Modern English foxhound and the American-English Crossbred foxhound of today.
The Pytchley Hounds are running hard across the Badby Vale;
They fly like swallows on the wing, altho’ it blows a gale.
’Twould make an old man young, I swear, to see so brave a sight,
As scarlet flashes past, and gleams the Pytchley collar white.**
Beware, beware the double! Be careful HOW you ride —
A ditch upon the takeoff, and on the farther side.
The chestnut has it in his stride, and, jumping short, comes down,
But, quick as thought, the grey kicks back, and lands like thistledown.
But, see! The pack are scattered; for, baffled by the stain
Left by the herded cattle, they seek the line in vain.
Hark! There’s a distant holloa, and down the highway there
That sandy bitch has got it — she’s right again, I’ll swear.
Fast fly the golden minutes, yet all throughout the run
The Sandy bitch cuts out the work, and shows them all the fun;
She’s there from find to finish, she leads from first to last,
Until the ‘Who-whoop!’ ; the gallop’s done and past.
And now all ask in vain what hound it was that did so well;
Both whips are questioned, but don’t know, , or, IF they do, won’t tell.
“Where did she com from? What’s her name? Come, Goodall, won’t you say?’
‘It’s Dimple,’ Goodall says at last, and, turning, rides away.
‘His Reverence’*** has his hound book out, and breathes an inward prayer
His eyes may not be going amiss, for Dimple is not there.
And others wait and hang about, expecting soon he’ll show
Them Dimple’s sire and Dimple’s dam, but find he doesn’t know.
Perhaps she hails from ‘grassy Quorn,’ or Meynell’s staunchest strain,
Mingled with blood from Belvoir sire, runs sparkling through each vein?
From Grafton, or from Warwickshire, or Beaufort’s further bounds
Perhaps she’s come; or Brocklesby, Cottesmore, or Selby Lowndes,
Day after day, ’tis just the same; Dimple is always there;
In wind or sunshine, sleet or hail, on plough or grassland fair,
She leads them all. Farmers and squires and lords and ladies gay
Vainly enquire whence she came; but Goodall still won’t say.
Till Christmas time has passed away, with all its gladsome cheer,
And midnight bells with joyous chime have hailed another year;
And with the New Year’s wishes fair, sportsmen each other greet,
And some few idly wonder Dimple is not at the meet.
’Tis then we learn her pedigree, and what her dam and sire;
From Wales, Lort Phillips sent her down to fair Northamptonshire.
He sent her here to test her nose, her courage, and her speed,
And seek comparison with hounds of the famed Pytchley breed.
No more her melody we’ll hear, no more she’ll lead the pack
Until they break from scent to view, for Dimple has gone back.
Dimple — Llangibby Danger sire; her dam from Taunton Vale —
No more will be our pilot over Pytchley hill and dale.
Posted December 28, 2014
* Young Will Goodall, beloved huntsman of the Pytchley for thirty years, was the son of Will Goodall, famed huntsman of the Belvoir, immortalized by Lord Henry Bentinck by his publication of Goodall’s Practice.
** The Pytchley white collar was originally worn to protect the coat from the powdered wig!
*** ‘His Reverence,’ the Rev. Cecil Legard, Rector of Cottesbrook, edited the Foxhound Kennel Studbook.