I used to see Kenny Stuart a lot at fell races around 1982-85; well, I saw him on the start line, then saw the back of him as he rocketed up the fell and finally the back of his car on his way home as I staggered across the finishing line. He was so far ahead he had probably had a shower, collected his prize and had a craic before I completed the race. I will not go into any more detail, let’s just say he was bloody good! And as I’m about to show he can write a hunting song as well. Thanks Kenny for letting me use them.

Freedoms Choice

A figure in the fading light
Stands all alone to care
What enters in his head tonight
All seems to bring despair
His loving dog is by his side
The chilling wind still blows
A darker shade of fortune
Spells gloom to memories shore.

The stranger’s thoughts revolve on time
A greater journey known
A land where freedom did endure
The country ways his lore
A chance to hunt and glean the wild
The way of nature’s hand
Held now in urban solitude
Many miles from smell and sound.

The stranger lone his dog at heel
His thoughts return to home
A choice of freedom he must make
To walk this path of old
A man of passive thoughts must change
And stand to fight the foe
Old customs they are the best
The way the old folk told.

God bless all those that hunt the land
And those who follow the plough
The thoughts of the stranger all alone
Stand proudly with us now
The chattering classes rule this land
Self-made apostles teach
Fight for the good in country sports
Before new fashions creep

Kenny Stuart, 2001

Tune – Spancil Hill

The Dragman

Give me a day that sets my mind free
When the fells are a comfort and friend
Give me a hound driving scent on the ground
And a dragman to lay down this line.

Chorus
All the great times are past and gone
All the great times are gone
But hounds still run free on a scent that is true
Raise a glass to the dragman today

Give me the last day on a February morn

Old saddleback bathed in the sun
Hounds killed at Gate Crag and near Threlkeld Hall
Those that were there witnessed all.

So the ban became statue but found legally flawed
It was drafted by bigots, all reason ignored,
So the challenge goes on now for justice all o’er
Help support our culture of old.

I thought the end had nigh came
Some days seemed forlorn,
Huntsman and hounds where are you, I call
Bring on the old times, we can’t let them die
And we’ll cheer when the dragman goes by.

A new era dawned
In Blease intakes we called,
Barry laid hounds on the line,

So let’s sing of the dragman
He sends hounds along
Still gives us sport and his line
Here's to the hunters and hounds in pursuit
May we hunt till the end of our time.

The dragman he came to a glorious game
Hark forrad we all know the lie.

Kenny Stuart, 2007

~ ~ ~

The next song was written in 1936 by R H Lamb, the secretary of the Herdwick Sheep Breeders Assoc. Locally we know this song as Jobby.

Jobby Teasdale's Tip

(Sung to the tune of: "When the old man came home sober")

Ah nivver wull forgit;
That tip o' Jobby Teasedales,
'Twas the biggest ratch ah iver met,
That tip o' Jobby Teasdales
There was nowt bit what it couldn't jump,
And nowt at aw it darstn't dump,
And oft it catched Joe on the rump,
That tip o’ Jobby Teasdales.

Chorus
For its back was broad and burly
It was gaily big for size,
Its horns were lang and curly,
It hed a pair o' wildish eyes,
It was gitten wld’t Dash sensation,
Ant oot of a tin lugged ewe,
Its antics licked creation
’Twas the king of aw Faulds Brow.

It ratched about aw ower t’ spot,
Joe said he couldn’t guide it;
T’ policeman said he'd hev it shot
T’ priest said "Woe betide it."
It eat aw t' neighbours cabbage plants,
It chessed a flappers laal wee pants ,
It chessed a fat old lass frae France,
So Joe was forced to hide it.

Chorus

They took it yance to Hesket Show.
That tip o' Jobby Teasdales,
An reet away it hed a go
At yan o' Tommy Pearsons,
An then it dumped laal Billy Leck,
It got the big drum round its neck,
It flayed aw’t cattle inta t’ beck,
That tip o’ Jobby Teasdales.

Chorus

Noo yance at Keswick tip Fair day,
Joe tried to sell his warlick,
Bit sure e'neuf it gat away,'
And bolted reet up Keswick;
It chessed Joe Plaskett round the square,
Bob Devon shouted, "Lads beware,"
Dick Wilson said he didn't care,
A damn for Teasdale's Herdwick,

Chorus

It paralysed Tom Taylor,
It ran at Birkett Jack,
It clean knocked out Joe Naylor,
It butticked Roger Slack,
It made a great commotion,
It raised a terrible row,
An then it teuk the notion
And set off for Faulds Brow.