It could well have been started during the war years when he was stationed in Cumbria and Bradford whilst serving with The Pioneer Corps.
From quite an early age I was forever drawing. Even when I left school I was encouraged to attend evening classes at the Leeds School of Art under the guidance of the tutor Mr. Pope and Mr. Talbot my drawing from the life in those early days gave me an excellent start for painting in the future to follow. Little did I think I would turn to painting horse portraits and sporting scenes in later life. My fondness of animals even in those day was apparent as related to me quite recently by George Waite a fellow colleague at the time. I had forgotten the incident, but, it appears that one evening, I arrived at the Class with a huge sheet of strong paper, and asked Mr. Pope if I may be excused painting from the life model and do a tiger instead. Permission was given and the painting was done from memory after a visit to the Leeds City Museum, where there is to this day the same large, stuffed, man-eating tiger.
If the wedge had been driven, the main objective now was to carry on, and widen my scope of subject matter. At that period my painting time and excursions were limited to the weekends and whatever time I could manage during the evenings of a work-a-day week. I was employed in a humdrum sort of way on window display and general advertising for a commercial firm. This was no incentive for one whose bent was forever out in the country and a sketchbook to hand. However this job of work did not diminish my ardour - whenever possible I was away up Airedale, Wharfedale, the Washburn Valley, ever eager to put down the scenes I was beginning to love and know so well. My next painting to be hung during the following year was in The Yorkshire Artist's Exhibition at Leeds City Art Gallery - I can see it now - a rather weak attempt on "Cotmanish" lines, an architectural study of Adel Church Porch. It was well placed in the main watercolour room, but was apt to hang its head in shame amidst all the splendid work around it. But despite all this - I had been accepted in a collection of some two hundred works on display - which was something to one's credit. This painting did not sell, but is still within the family circle hanging in my brother's office in York.
Adel Church resided in South Africa for many years, taken there by Joe's brother's nephew. It is once again hanging in Yorkshire along with another dozen or so of Joe's paintings, all owned by Joe's brother's nephew's niece. Hope you could follow that connection! It was this same year that attempts at introducing horses and figures into my paintings became evident. Again the Spring Exhibition at Bradford - two entered - two accepted! But what of the hanging? - Not as good I'm afraid as the first time. The paintings (watercolours) neither were up to the previous standard of the Buckden one, which I describe later. One of them "Morning Exercise on Greenhow Hill" although it had a freshness in the landscape work was let down badly by the two horses with giraffe-like necks.
"Morning Exercise on Greenhow Hill" "although it had a freshness in the landscape work it was let down badly by the two horses with giraffe-like necks" Unsurprisingly this painting never sold and appears here care of one of my cousins (We are hoping to get a much clearer image in time).
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen NEXT TOP BOTTOM HOME To explain my early efforts and experiences in painting I have taken the opportunity through the kindness of Mr. Harry J. Scott, editor of "The Dalesman", to allow me to put down an early ambitious sketching tour, which was published in the Dalesman of May 1938 and trying here I hope to take a the reins to account my activities in a profession, which to me, has been one of the most interesting and exciting that could ever happen to anyone.
"Farm Buildings near Sedburgh" - Joe's first cover for the "Dalesman"- In this my first book I will deal chiefly with my career as an equine and landscape painter, and sincerely hope that my colleagues, tutors and students alike at the Leeds College of Art, Swarthmore Education Centre and the Leeds College of Food Technology, will bear with me in the strength of reference I have to say about them in the following chapters. Let me begin then with the sale of my first painting on a day I remember only too well. It was during late March in 1935 and I had had my first two watercolours accepted at the annual Spring Exhibition at the Cartwright Memorial Hall Bradford. Being new to exhibiting work in public, you can imagine my ignorance of all matters connected with the running of an exhibition from the Art Gallery Director's point of view. I went round the exhibition on my own, and was thrilled with all I saw. My two humble efforts neither making nor marring the room they were in - so small they were. Yet how flattering to see one of them sandwiched between an Epstein drawing and I believe a Henry Rushberry. In addition, my painting had a red spot attached in the bottom left hand corner. This proved my aforesaid ignorance, because on explaining to my father on getting home, I was under the impression my painting and others with spots attached had been specially commended for some reason or other, by the Selection Committee. It was not until a few days later, when the Director of the Gallery wrote to tell me that my painting had been sold, that I knew the meaning of the red spot - it had sold for the handsome sum of two guineas, inclusive of frame. The purchaser was a doctor, who, when he died about three years ago left somewhere in the region of £42,000. However I learnt later that he was a collector and a patron of most local artist's. The picture! - A view of Buckden done from the top of Buckden Ghyll, some time during the autumn season. Not a masterpiece by any means, but one which I must have enjoyed doing at the time. It was evident, now I had gained my initial success, I must continue - a hard struggle it was going to be. But had I not been rejected some seven times in all, before my first picture was hung? No doubt the thin end of the wedge.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen NEXT TOP BOTTOM HOME To the uninformed Leeds is a large city in the West Riding of Yorkshire its chief industries covering a various range from Multiple Clothing and Engineering to paper bag manufacturing. In the centre of all this, (as in most cities) there is to be found some small Bohemian - like quarter in a pub, chosen by the local Artist's as a common meeting ground. One such artist, Jacob Kramer, happily still with us in Leeds frequented then, along with his colleagues, a certain bar in the city centre. It had the intriguing names of "The Turks Head", "Whitelocks First City Luncheon Bar", or more affectionately known to its patrons as just "Whitelocks". The family of Whitelocks too were excellent musicians, the late Mr. Lupton Whitelock, who acted with his younger brother Percy as joint landlords, was an expert flautist - his services as soloist taking him to many first class orchestras here and throughout the continent. This then was good reason why artist's, poets and writers met at the famous bar. The small body was supplemented too, by day and night reporters of the cities newspapers. The place itself was tucked away in a back yard just off the busy thoroughfare of Briggate. It had and still has all the appearance and flavour of Victorian days. As one enters, a hand is placed on two highly polished brass rods, which stretch across the width of door and pushed to make an entry. The door itself a work of rare commercial art of the period, coloured glass set in leaded framework, fashions a most hideous, yet fascinating design, the name Whitelocks being done in a white design.
"Whitelock's" today much as it would have been then. I had my stag do here in 1979! Inside presents us with a long, low room with a porcelain-tiled bar, heavily decorated at the front. It also had a zinc top and ran a good halfway down the length of the room. The other half of the room is divided into something like dining cubicles, each backed with mirrors bearing engraved inscriptions bordered and supported with heavy polished twisted brass rails. The seats around the cubicles and on three sides of the tables are in red plush velvet, with an occasional bent chair on the open side. Beautifully laundered tablecloths are set with shining cutlery. During the lunch hours and also in the evenings meals with "cuts off the joint" and Yorkshire Pudding are enjoyed by anyone with an appetite for good wholesome cooking.
"Jacob Kramer" self portrait and as a young man. I met jacob on a number of occasions with my father - always in a pub - and I was younger than ten. He was a huge man with a ruddy nose and ginger tweed overcoat, sometimes with a large brimmed hat casting a huge shadow across his face, a gentle man- that's how I remember him. I must mention that two of the cubicles were not as superbly furnished as the ones first mentioned - The plush work, yes! - but rather worn and a circular iron table with a marble top, took a place in the centre. It was usually at one of these two that Jacob would sit, accompanied by a fellow artist, Charles Murray. Jacob a well made six-footer and broadly built, Charles considerably smaller, each content with a glass of beer and chatting on various topics. They were joined occasionally by Joseph McCulloch (another artist), R. C, Scriven (a writer and poet) and others of that ilk and the reporters joined in - to mention two at the time W. T. Oliver and E. J. Crossley, both still on the staff of the Yorkshire Post others were from the Yorkshire Evening Post and the Yorkshire Evening News. They were a happy jovial crowd, not in the least noisy, and were to be found at these tables or standing at the bar, at most times of the day or evening - (not always the same faces mind you!) I had noticed Jacob, the first time I ever went in, and it was not long before I knew he was a portrait painter of some merit. At the time I was exhibiting my third painting with horses in the Yorkshire Artists Exhibition of 19?? It was entitled "Frost at Middleham" and showed racehorses being walked from the moor top down to be stables, each horse accompanied by a lad at its head. There was an air of frostiness in the scene, with a rather prominent glowing red sun in the gray sky (just imagine the subject a young artist will tackle!). Naturally I was anxious to have some expert criticism on this. I hesitated a long time before plucking up even the courage to speak to Jacob. However, when it had been done I enlightened him about the possibility of my becoming an artist, and would he be good enough to look at and criticise my painting in the Art Gallery. He agreed. This was the beginning of my friendship with Jacob one whose character and charm had already won him a lot of friends. He was liked wherever he went, no matter what the company. Was I to expect a pat on the back after he had seen the picture? Certainly not! Jacob, a forthright critic came out with the comments "Saw your water colour the other day - quite fair, but what is the orange doing in the sky?" But it was with his usual kindness that he encouraged me by saying I was on the right lines and one day I would achieve my ambition. It was a criticism at the right moment, I knew I would not have to be too ambitious with the subject matter. Still attending the evening classes at the College of Art and trying to cope with a job of work in a display studio was my lot. I found this work became more wearisome day by day. I had to travel by train almost to Bradford each day of the week, including Saturdays. This did not make matters any better when I got to work, after a mile's walk every morning from the station at Rawdon down the hill to the Display Studio. I was still longing for a free hand and to be able to paint what pleased me and not for anyone else to interfere. Interference in a display studio of a large factory can be most annoying, and although I had plenty of free scope with my own ideas, I was constantly being frustrated with one and another of the bosses and directors of the firm. Time was getting short I knew, before I would eventually take the risk of leaving and starting on my own - But what? I wasn't capable of setting up a studio and waiting for patrons to come along - besides having nowhere for a studio, apart from the kitchen at home. What a plight to be in - with not a penny saved. One morning in August the inevitable happened after a disagreement with the works manager, I, in rather an impetuous moment, gave in my notice, collected my cards, and that was that! My father, annoyed by my actions at the time, soon forgave me, and in fact was all in favour of my future plans.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen NEXT TOP BOTTOM HOME I was soon to find that having a regular job with a wage at the weekend was far better than trying to make headway on one's own. Luckily I was blessed with good parents, who by now, were beginning to realise that I was happier on my own - I was little trouble at home,
Joe's sketch of
his family's size works drawing and painting on a small table under the kitchen window. Most fine days saw me in the country, or in some back street of Leeds busy with sketchbook and watercolours.
One of Joe's paintings of a "Back yard in Leeds" Circa 1939 Auctioned by Dee-Atkinson-Harrison in 2002 The canal side from Leeds Bridge to Bingley in the west or to Swillington Bridge in the East gave ample opportunities for sketching, which I was only too eager to accept. Kirkstall Abbey and Temple Newsam were also favourite haunts of mine - in fact, I was so busy drawing during the summer months that the sketches and watercolour paintings were mounting up in my portfolio at a terrific rate. You will notice that I have not yet mentioned oil painting - maybe I did not give it any thought at all until late1938.
Whilst going on my sketching outings, I occasionally called in at Whitelocks and perhaps showed my efforts to Jacob - this was not often - but I remember on one occasion I was recommended to go round and see the Art Editor of the Yorkshire Post and take my sketch books with me. I fought shy at first but thinking it over one evening, I decided I would go the first thing next morning. I was in luck. The Art Editor of the Yorkshire Post could not use my work in the Daily Edition, but gave me space of three columns by 6" deep each Saturday in the Weekly Edition. Now this proved just to my liking, as I was given a free hand to draw in black and white any subject with a Yorkshire accent. It was good pay too, supplemented with a plain line drawing each week for the children's painting competition. This small contract proved to be my salvation, as you will soon read. What a grand feeling to think that with an occasional sale of a water colour and the Yorkshire Post drawings every week - I was in a much easier and more peaceful state of mind. It gave me new life. Written notes were going down at the back of my sketchbooks, fifty to the dozen, of places I would visit and draw for the newspaper. I had a good opportunity given the first week - Polo on the Stray at Harrogate. I went over with my sketchbook and started in earnest. On the three days I went there the weather was glorious. This occasion too, proved beyond all doubt that horses were to play a big part in my future work. The first three sketches I did were suitable material for the weekend edition. In the meantime I thought it would be a good idea if I took my easel and water colours to do some sketching in colour. It turned out to be an excellent idea because, apart from being rather conspicuous working at an easel it brought spectators and enquirers. Painting studies in watercolour on dove grey paper has always been my favourite medium. It was whilst I was thus engaged on some studies of Polo ponies that my first enquiry came. A tall slim man in Polo kit, without hat, watched me for a few minutes - then he spoke "Do you do this professionally?" he asked. For once in my life I was full of confidence and I replied without hesitation "Oh yes!" "Will you paint two Polo ponies for me?" - This was too much! I faltered a little and then said I would. Then came the real purler "What would be your fee?" he asked. Now for the life of me I couldn't have told him - I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. However I managed to say "Well, two ponies similar to the ones I am now painting but larger would be 2 guineas each. He accepted my offer and told me where the ponies were to be found for sketching in some local Hotel stables. On departing he said "Contact me at the Royal when they are ready!" and thrust his card into my hand as he walked away. I stared in bewilderment at the name in the centre of the ivory card - Lord Barnby. I was soon aroused out of my stupor when a familiar voice hailed me - It was another "Whitelockian", John Muscroft, staff photographer of the Yorkshire Post. Incidentally Muscroft was one of the finest photographers of racehorse portraiture in the country. He came across and wanted a picture of me in action at the easel painting a Polo pony.
The photograph was taken and appeared in the next morning's edition. Publicity of this nature if not overdone too frequently, can be a boon to an artist. This appearance of the photograph certainly was noticed by quite a few people. The first one to mention seeing it was the groom who held Lord Barnby's ponies for me when I went to sketch them. Shortly afterwards whilst sketching at the easel along came my second prospective patron - this time a most charming lady, I should say in her early thirties. She too, mentioned the photograph and informed me also that the pony I was sketching in the photograph belonged to her. This time I had on the easel a series of Polo players in action. My new onlooker was so impressed that she asked me, nay ordered me, to do a similar sheet of the Ladies match, which was to be held later in the day. I agreed. This time no price was fixed as we exchanged visiting cards. The good lady told me to send on the painting to be address on her card. I glanced at the card which read Lady Margaret Drummond-Hey and the address was in the bottom corner. Thanking each other with a handshake, she left. I should have mentioned that Lady Margaret was a keen Polo player and was ultimately featured in the page of sketches. Quite a few commissions came my way. Some I have forgotten. The ones I do remember were of a hunter mare and foal for Mrs. T. L. Paisley and a painting for Harrogate Corporation of Polo on the Stray. Two other ponies were also painted at Fulwith Brow for Colonel Fairfax-Lucy, who (when paying me a little more than what I had quoted) advised me in future to double my fees. Needless to say that went into operation with the next commission. When the Polo Week had finished and my four commissions had been executed it was my lot to keep up a reputation as an illustrator. I found it interesting work and by now I had gained a good deal of self-confidence, which I think is essential for an artist working from an easel. After the first Polo drawing was produced, the second subject for the following week was soon to hand - Woodhouse Feast. One of the two of Joe's sketches for Woodhouse Feast which we can find
I went along with my sketchbook to Woodhouse Moor, on which the Feast was held. A Feast of this nature, I must note, is a traditional custom and consists of a fairground with round-abouts, swings, coconut shies and other amusement stalls. The subject I chose on arrival was just at the main entrance from the road and showed Corrigan's roundabout of motor scooters. Immediately behind was the helter-skelter tower and flanked on either side of the roundabout were hoop-la stalls. Only a few moments after starting my sketch I was noticed by Jim Corrigan himself. He immediately came across and looked over my shoulder. Without further ado he asked me if he could buy the sketch from me. I told him it was only a slight note to be enlarged upon for reproduction purposes, but I could do him one suitable for framing. He was pleased with the price I quoted for such a job and said he would be staying a week before moving on, that is if I could finish and deliver the sketch in at time. The drawing was published and the one I did for Mr. Corrigan I put in a suitable mount and delivered it to him on the Friday. I was given a most hearty welcome at his caravan door. He invited me inside to meet his wife and his daughter Cora. After scrutinising the sketch and showing his proposal I was invited to join them in an evening meal. I left about 10 p.m. It was a luxurious caravan such as a wealthy fairground owner would specialise in after all it is a permanent home and money wisely spent on such a vehicle would be a good investment. Many were the subjects I did for the "Weekly Post", including the erection of the Queens Hotel in City Square, sketched from the roof of the railway station. A ploughing match in full operation at Adel, cub hunting with the Bramham Moor and other hunting scenes with the York and Ainsty, Leeds City Market, Otley Market Place, dog shows at Harrogate and one or two country houses. All made good material for my pencil.
Some of Joe's drawings were reproduced in The Yorkshire Observer's "Weekly Post"
This is the end of Chapter
It was whilst working on the "Weekly Post" that a chance opportunity arose, which was to alter the whole aspect of my future. One, which would give me a better knowledge about horses, hounds and foxhunting and to supply more valuable experience, in many ways, in addition to lots of introductions to new friends. The occurrence happened quite suddenly one Friday afternoon when I submitted my weekly drawing to the Art Editor. I went into the reporter's room with my portfolio, which was full of all kinds of drawings and watercolours. Placing them on the table I said to the few reporters present (more in fun than anything) "Take your pick, any sketch ten shillings". A tall, well built young man with fair hair, whom I had never met before, got up from his seat and made his way to the table. He handled the drawings most carefully, placing each one alongside the portfolio as he inspected them. "Are these really yours?" he asked. I said they were and that most of them had been done during the early summer. "Surely you were not serious about the price specified - some of these are most charming - I would like one or two", he said, putting on one side I noticed, the ones with horses. He offered me a cigarette, lit up himself and with a half-shut eye - held one of the drawings at arms length. This he put down slowly and did the same with another two. He paused for a moment, still drawing at his cigarette and then asked me to step into the corridor with him.
Joe's favourite cigarettes - Three Castles Once outside he gently shut the door to be out of earshot of the other reporters. He then said, "Will you accept £10 for the three drawings I have picked out?" I was wondering whether I heard aright! However I accepted his generous offer. I'll see you in a few minutes." he said making his way to the adjoining office. On returning to the reporters room I encountered my friend Edward Crossley and explained to him that the tall young man who had been looking through my portfolio had offered me a really good price for three drawings - I finished with some remark that if he did buy them he must be "crackers". Eddie grinned broadly and replied "Nay Joe! You're the one who's "crackers". Don't you know who he is?" I confessed I did not and was then informed the young man was David Astor. Explanations followed that David had come to the "Yorkshire Post" to increase his knowledge on newspaper work and had been given a reporters job for a start. When David collected his drawings he asked if he might come to see my other sporting work at home. He came one evening and was impressed with most of the hunting subjects which I had to show. When he was about to leave he inquired about my joining him in a series of Yorkshire Professional Huntsman biographies and would I do the black and white drawings. I accepted. The articles were to be published each week in "The Yorkshire Post" and we were to interview the huntsmen in the meantime. Our first article was on Charles Littleworth out at the York and Ainsty kennels near Acomb. We set off one glorious sunny morning, there was a keen nip in the air and the atmosphere was clear and bright. It was not long before we were at the kennels and shaking hands with Charlie (description here from scrapbook). David made various notes in his interview and shortly afterwards we were shown round the kennels. They were quite old and the walls of the yards and the hound quarters were newly whitewashed which made excellent backgrounds for hound painting. Many were the hounds brought out that day for me to sketch. Finally we decided on a hound from the pack to be used in the article. When this was done Charlie invited us into his parlour where I made various notes and sketches of his face as he talked to David. It was late in the afternoon when we took our leave, and with a hearty and most sincere "Come again!" from Charles we came away feeling as though we had known him for years.
Joe's ink sketch of Kennels In the week that passed I remember early one morning going out to a cub hunting meet of the Bramham Moor at Ingham's Whin. I obtained many working drawings, and was lucky to get a really good impression of Lord Bingley, the master, as he halted for a while in the "ride". Another interesting subject at any meet is the terrier man. The one out this morning had two really good workers. They were crossbred Sealyhams. The following weekend saw my drawing of the meet published in the "Weekly Post". More visits and interviews were planned to follow up the first article and in the meantime I had been painting and sketching to keep up with my exhibiting at the Art Galleries. The Bradford Spring Exhibition in 1937 showed a portrait sketch of "Golden Miller", Miss Dorothy Padgett's champion chaser. This was done I think when he made an appearance at Catterick Races. My 1938 acceptance was a painting of Richmond from the Green and from this year to 1942 I was only able to get one out of two paintings in the exhibition.
Joe's painting of Richmond dated 1937 One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen NEXT TOP BOTTOM HOME Nothing could be more interesting and down to earth than hunting with a trencher led pack of hounds. There are few of these hunts now functioning, where the hounds are boarded out and fed at different farms and other homes of keen followers. One such hunt, the Bilsdale, is reported to be the oldest in the country, dating as far back as 1668 when George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, was the master. To enjoy to the full an outing with these hounds is to be an early riser, and on such a morning we were privileged to escort the Huntsman Mr. Will Ainsley on the best day I have ever spent with the hounds. Will kept the Sun Inn and Old Spout House near Chopgate in Bilsdale, the two inns, (the Spout House now derelict) are situated on high ground, just south west of the North Yorkshire Moors. Chopgate is bound on either side with some of the best views in Yorkshire, amidst high sheep grazing land, moorland and deeply wooded ravines victor. Easterside Hill is a landmark and was often introduced into my paintings whilst working in that area. We stayed overnight at the "Sun" and it was quite dark when we roused from our beds sometime about 6 a.m. After a most hearty breakfast of home-cured ham and eggs David and I trudged over the fields to the farm of Mr. Garbutt, (the whipper-in) where I was provided with a well built and sturdy looking fell pony. David had had his grey hunter sent over from the Cleveland Hunt, where it was usually stabled. I thought that the pony would not take my weight of 13 stones odd, but it was rather surprising up to what weight a pony of this breed can carry. Will had already arrived on his old Galloway mare and had brought three hounds with him. These were supplemented with two other hounds from Mr. Garbutt and in a few moments we were all mounted and making our way to collect more at the next farm.
I have included this watercolour sketch of Col. W. H. Wharton Due to the custom and hunting instinct most of the hounds collected, were usually waiting for us at the end of each farm lane, but should they not be there Will gave a hearty blow on his battered copper hunting horn and the hounds hearing this would come bounding towards us. This procedure went on for about an hour and when all the hounds were assembled our progress was made to the venue of the hunt, high upon the moors towards Westerdale. The hunt was due to meet at 10.30 a.m. and already quite a number of followers were there, mostly on foot. About eight or nine people were mounted, some on nondescript ponies, whilst others rode on well-groomed hunters. A few cars were parked at intervals on the rocky moorland road, whereas the more expensive cars and horseboxes had to remain on the permanent tarmac road over to the right.
I have included this watercolour painting What a contrast the scene struck, when one compares the fashionable hunts of the shires and provinces - none of your cult-aways and business only plain ratcatcher and moorland mufti. Scarlet was not in evidence apart from the faded mulberry coloured jackets of the huntsman and whipper-in and the "field" though lacking in colour made an interesting subject for painting. Having only pencil and sketchbook with me, the notes I made were quite brief, as I am best able to do my sketching when following on foot. However it was my intention to enjoy the hunt which was to follow. Will made his cast in some thick high bracken - he whipped the hounds in well and with his musical voice encouraged his darlings to feather and weave like something magic. It wasn't long before a young hound spoke - she lifted her voice and head in a throaty appeal. But Will was not having any - he was too experienced to be misled by a member of the young entry and to show his disapproval and authority - whacked the thong of his crop above the disdainful offender. Only when "Bluebell" started to whimper did Will get excited. Yes! There it was! A low murmuring at first from the veteran hound, gradually growing louder and being taken up by the other hounds in chorus. In a few seconds a large hill fox was viewed away. It darted from the far end of the bracken scrub about two hundred yards away. I have always been working in sighting a fox in most of my hunts. This one was no exception. I had a marvelous view before he was lost in the brown colour of the moorland fern and heather. Often I think foxhounds are stupid and slow before they even realise the fox has actually got into his run. But once they hit the line then I always forgive them. Soon they were away swinging over to our left and down the sloping hillside to the wooded hollow. Our fox had evidently made his way there, but now the hounds were beginning to skirt round the edge of the first wood and were making their way uphill on the other side. What a cracking pace they were going too! We paused for a moment to view the hounds. Being mostly white, they were easily picked out running smoothly against the dark bracken. It was a marvelous sight and what music they were making - "You can't tune that on the wireless!" was an appropriate expression once of a well known Yorkshire Huntsman. Very soon I was lagging behind, I am not a strong rider at any time and as far as being a "goer" I leave that to the more ardent foxhunter. My contentment was to breathe in the fresh air and to admire the colour of the morning. It could not have been better. The late autumn tints were accentuated by a warm sun in a clear blue sky. Most of these excellent mornings usually find an artist without paint-box or even paper on which to paint. However my method of making quick pencil sketches along with a few written notes on colour, enabled me to put down two views. By now the hounds were out of sight over the brow of the hill and the field were on the horizon, David's grey standing out in almost pure white, as did another hunter of the same colour. The foot followers had made a detour with an upwards trend to obtain a grandstand view over into the other dale where hounds were running.
I have included this pencil drawing This position would be a good one for me too so I wheeled my pony round and followed in that direction. The pony was standing up to my weight quite well and I was thankful to have the opportunity to be carried by such a sure footed animal and in easy comfort - I could just feel the movements of his shoulders as he seemed to glide along. Only the sound of the swish and crunch of trodden dry heather under the hounds hoofs could be heard as we made our way onwards. Arriving at the top to where the foot followers were making for I found I was in luck. Fox and hounds had veered round and were almost coming back in my direction - What an excellent view of the hunt I had now! The fox could not be seen due to his colour merging into the background, but the white hounds stood out and were running well, almost in single file with noses deep down. Will too was much nearer his pack and the whole scene was one to thrill any foxhunter. The members of the hunt rode along quite steadily two hundred yards or so behind their huntsman. Whether my presence headed the fox, or else he had other ideas was hard to tell. Whatever his intention, hounds suddenly turned, wheeling round to the right in a huge curve. They were evidently right on his tail and keen for blood! The end was imminent. Leading hounds pulled up quickly in their tracks, as others following seemed to collide on top. It was a real melee! Yes it looked as though the fox had been nipped and would now be smothered and dead under the weight of the pack. Only seconds later did the huntsman arrive, dominant and whipping away his hounds from the body of the fox. He stooped down and with his sheath knife cut away the mask and threw the remains of the carcass to the hounds. It had been a brisk run of just under 45 minutes. I made my way slowly down the slope and joined David and the rest. David remarked that I had missed a lot in not following more quickly, but little did he know that I had had the best view of anyone. I had lacked the enjoyment of the run, yes, but what a fund of material I had seen to help me in future paintings. The remainder of the day was spent in following the hunt. Hounds were encouraged and lifted a few times, but a further scent or find was not forthcoming. It was most chilly as the day and light drew in and when Will called off the hounds and "blew them home" on the horn, the first stars were beginning to twinkle. Hacking home was pleasant enough as we just jogged steadily along into the darkness down the rocky country lanes. By now most of the hounds would be loping wearily home to their respective farms. It is most astonishing how they do this and never get lost. It is also put on record that they have been known to hunt on their own on the homeward journey and carried on until almost midnight. I was pleased to see the lights of our farm, as I was saddle-sore and my limbs were numb. I dismounted and patted my pony heartily, for the excellent service he had given. Mr. Garbutt's boy led him away to the stable for the night. After seeing David's Grey boxed up and away, we trudged alongside Will on his mare back to Spout House. After a hot bath what a meal followed. Only a good Yorkshire housewife could have put on such a fare, Roast Duck with all the accessories, lemon pie, cheese and biscuits. We repaired to the bar for the remainder of the evening chatting to the locals, mostly on the day's sport. It was a tired artist who "bedded down" sometime about 11 p.m.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen NEXT TOP BOTTOM HOME A quick glance at the map, shows Glaisdale and its environs tucked away in a northern part of Yorkshire. Not unlike its neighbours, such as Bilsdale, Farndale and Rosedale it is made up chiefly of rough pasture and moorland. Glaisdale itself is a quiet little village and apart from its' hunt with hounds kenneled nearby, nothing seems to happen. Admittedly it is more busy at the weekend with the visitation of motorists and hikers, but the work-a-day week is as peaceful as in medieval times. One fine morning during October I was invited to hunt with this hardy pack "The Glaisdale Harriers". Like the Bilsdale hunt already mentioned, the hounds hunt over similar country. At the time I hunted with them Mr. R. Brown was master and Jim Winspeare, the Kennel Huntsman. It was truly a farmer's hunt and keenly supported by both mounted and foot followers. The Meet was held at the Duke of Wellington, Darley-in-Cleveland. Mr. Herb, a big broad shouldered man, with a slight stoop, was dressed in a black jacket, rust red riding breeches, fawn cloth leggings and a neat hard bowler hat. He was mounted on a typical Yorkshire Cob, well up to his weight: bay in colour with a doctored tail and sporting a bridle, minus noseband. Jim in a faded scarlet hunting jacket was on a rough coated Galloway which had a long mane and unplucked tail. Raincoats in the case of each rider were rolled and strapped over the cantal of the saddles. Other mounted followers were typical of the many seen in Yorkshire and all favoured the black rat-catcher rig-out. About thirty mounted followers were out. On foot those assembled outside the inn were numerous. I found it convenient this time to be out on foot myself and had in my raincoat pockets a box of watercolours and small flask of water, it being my intention to do some colour work. When the hounds moved off they made their way up on the moor tops and moved over into Westerdale. Luckily I was offered a lift in a car and arrived at a good vantage point, which would enable a good view of the Dale from top to bottom. It was whilst waiting to see the hounds put to work that I was introduced to a few stalwarts of the hunt, David was present at the time and we were soon at ease with Tom Boyes, a horse dealer and farmer of sorts from Middleton-in-Cleveland. What a character he was - a popular mounted follower clad in tweeds and jodhpurs with a hard hat - his horse was the typical "bit o' blood" and would have graced any point-to-point meeting. He was accompanied by a Mr. Fred Middleton and he too was of the same ilk as Tom. Continually wise cracking and joking with everyone present - a remark Tom continually kept repeating throughout the day. I shall never forget. It was in reference to the hunted hare and was "It won't be long before we have his gizzard in 't' pot!" Meaning of course the hare pie supper, which was to follow in the other country inn at Danby. He also made the day more enjoyable by his encouraging calls to hounds. This may sound out of place in any other part than the Glaisdale district but such was the cooperation between huntsman and follower - no doubt Tom would have made a good whipper-in. Friend Middleton although the quieter of the two, certainly added flavour to anything Tom said. They were inseparable and even in the lull of the hunts quiet moments these two kept things going in their light hearted way. Major J. Fairfax-Blakeborough, the well-known author and sporting correspondent was out, I think too, a Mrs. Lund, on a beautiful grey mare. Tom's son Lewis was present on another spirited looking bay, he being just as quiet as his father was noisy!
Mr. E. Watson was also in evidence on a really good hunter. Others I have forgotten, but in all it was a most homely field and although David and I were strangers within their midst, we were made to feel quite at home. Apart from an excellent day's hunt, much in the same pattern as the Bilsdale, I could not comment on the sport. My main objective was to paint and paint I did. Casting my memory backwards I remember doing three water colour landscapes - all within five hundred yards of each other. No hounds all riders were introduced in these sketches, but ultimately one sketch was used on a larger painting, showing hounds in full cry, being quickly followed by Jim Winspeare. Three kills were recorded that day - all in Westerdale. I was fortunate enough to be near the last one and saw a good run with the hounds coming towards me. Now the hunt was over came the highlight of the whole show. The Hare Supper! Although my memory for pub names is extremely good may I be forgiven in not recollecting this one at Danby - I remember the place quite well, an old building with red pantiled roof and it was situated at one end of Danby Green. And what a crowd assembled at 5.30 p.m.! All who had hunted that day plus visitors from nearby and all the locals! Drinks before supper and a chat about the day's sport set off the proceedings. Afterwards the supper crowned with three huge hare pies and two veg. The company sat down in relays and it wasn't long before "gizzard in 't' pot" disappeared entirely by this ravenous human pack. Once retired to the bar parlour, amusement and hilarity ran riot for the rest of the evening. Needless to say Tom and his friend were the main actors. It is good occasionally (Mark you I say occasionally) to be in the company of a hard hunting, hard riding, hard drinking crowd. Drinks were flowing like wine, the room thick with tobacco smoke and everyone talking and shouting for all they were worth. Tom soon had the proceedings well organized, when with a full double whiskey glass in hand (not accounting for whiskey already consumed) he blew a long last on the hunting horn. It was a ringing "whoop-whoop" which almost cracked the eardrum. Then rather unsteadily with liquor spilling from his glass, coaxed everyone into singing "John Peel". He sang the verses and all joined lustily in the course. Many good local songs followed including the immortal Blaydon Races. Luckily Major Fairfax-Blakeborough has cherished most of these songs and words in his manuscripts of folklore. I tried to sketch a few of the scenes centred around Tom and Fred Middleton, but pencil sketching on such an evening was an impossibility. Already I was feeling "fizzy" myself and must admit entering into the choral activities with gusto. So things went on in this happy roaring turmoil until it was time for me to leave about 11 p.m. I was glad of the walk over to Middleton where I was staying; feeling much refreshed by the cold nip in the night air. We heard later that the proceedings carried on into the early hours of the morning. One can just imagine the sun awakening to spread his comforting warm rays over the peaceful scene of Danby - Nothing ever happens here did I say? - Or does it?
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen NEXT TOP BOTTOM HOME Tommy Boyes soon got to know why we were in the Glaisdale and Cleveland area. "If it be a hunter I was after, painting" then I must do his "Huia" with Lewis up in the saddle. This was just the opportunity David and I had been looking for. After a short conversation with Tom it was decided that "Huia" would be portrayed on canvas set against a background of the Cleveland Point-to-point course. What an occasion for him to announce to all his friends and the world that "Huia" was "loving 'is likeness tae'n - grandest 'oss ''in 't Cleveland 'unt" Ay 'by Mr Appleyard fra' Leeds! As though Leeds was some grand Utopian city. All this, was in Tom's sincere and honest world, as most can imagine - to have a golden opportunity from the blue to have a live artist, paint his favourite steed. I don't think he talked of anything else for weeks. In the meantime what of poor Mrs B. - so quiet, efficient to the last degree, smiling quietly whilst her husband joked and bantered away. Although with her husband's fondness for horses, her chief admiration was for the family terrier "Bandage". I could not even attempt to explain why he was so named. He was a border terrier and a firm favourite with Mrs Boyes. Forever within calling distance, be it in the house or in the yard.
I told you Joe kept good records.
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