Harry Stephenson
The Tale of Old Meg
Harry Stephenson is joint-master and huntsman of the York & Ainsty South where he moved to for this season. He was formerly joint-master and huntsman of The Bilsdale on the high Yorkshire moors. Here he reflects on the Tale of Old Meg...
Harry Stephenson
I have been asked about superstition etc. associated with hunting. When I was Master and huntsman of The Bilsdale I heard many stories of strange happenings in the dale. The excellent book entitled “The Oldest Hunt” contains some marvellous accounts and I have used that book as a reference for the following “true story”.
Folklore and superstition was rife in Bilsdale many years ago, and to some extent still is today. Although The Bilsdale is said to be the oldest fox hunt in the country having been started by The Duke of Buckingham in 1668 solely to hunt the fox, for a period in the 1800’s they hunted hare and fox on alternate days due to the lack of foxes in the dale.
Peg Humphrey was an old woman who lived out on east moors and was said to be a witch. She was described by the locals as “an old wean” and was said to have given the Bilsdale hounds and sportsmen much trouble. Learned as she was in the black arts, it was her wont to transform herself into a hare and give the hounds many a bootless run. They always seemed to come across her when scent was at its best and not until the run, which was always a remarkable one, had been in progress for some time did it transpire that it was no natural “puss” they were running, but this old woman who’s power it was to curse and cast spells on those she felt spiteful against, or whom her “clientele” in their malice, wanted punishing.
So it is little wonder that on many days sport was spoiled, and a fear cast over those who were participating in it for fear of being cursed. Should hounds be called off? Was it Peg or a big Jack hare that could run like a fox at certain times of the year? One day they decided, Peg or not, they would not call off the hounds but would follow on come weal, come woe, to the bitter end.
George Bell was master, and Bobbie Dowson was whip, and they both firmly believed in the tale of old Peg. Isaac Johnson was on his “black gallower” and the rest of the men were on foot, as was usual on hare days.
One of the biggest hares: “as ivver gat up i’ front o’ hounds were putten up on Rowper moor”, and for four hours did she lead these hardy sportsmen over moor, hill and bog. Some of the time they had to be content with listening to the hound’s music echoing around the dale, at other times they could actually join in the chase. The sportsmen had vaguely hinted that it must be “Old Peg” but no one knew for sure. “Well, let it be so: they would go the whole hog now and see the hunt thro to the far, and if need be, bitter end."
The dark North Yorkshire moors
At last it was a matter no longer for doubt, puss was making for east moors. Be it so, they still followed, intoxicated by the sport they’d had, and no doubt feeling a little brave. On and on, at a pace faster than ever she had gone before this bewitched hare sped, with hounds screaming at her heels. At last Pegs farm yard was reached, and into the “bow” hole into the barn she raced with hounds unable to get in. The sportsmen, amazed at their own daring, followed.
The barn was fastened from the inside, and Issac Johnson and the others smashed it open, and there lying on some straw was Old Peg, panting, exhausted and trembling in every limb. “Oh”, she gasped, “I’ve been fothering an’ t’winds blown t’door to. Come in an’ hev a glass o’ yal. Ah lay yell be tired after that long run yev ‘ad”.
Winds sweep across these moors
To Bobbie she said: “Ah wadn’t hot thoo, thoo’s some yan’s lad.” To old Isaac she spoke naught, but she charmed his ale and immediately after leaving he began to feel ill. Though the doctor was called in, he could do nothing to save the old fellow, who was convinced he had been bewitched. He died shortly after, and t’others always wondered that they themselves had not been “hodden that way”.
On another occasion on the same moor, hounds were hunting a hare when it passed one of the followers so close that he could have “felled it wi’ his stick.”
“Remember poor Isaac”, the others reminded him. Hounds were very close and as the hare dodged under a gate, one hound called ‘Lady’ grabbed its leg and mauled it badly, but the hare got free and was seen to disappear thro a hole in the side of Old Pegs house.
The sportsmen entered the house and found Peg in a pitiable plight on her bed. One young man lifted his stick intending to bray Peg for her tricks, but George Bell stopped him saying he didn’t want: “onny moddering bouts”. A doctor had to be sent for to deal with a bad bite wound on Pegs leg, and ever after that day did she go lame, and never again troubled the Bilsdale Hunt.
If any readers doubt the above accounts are not 100 per cent true, they may be right. But after hunting hounds on East Moors in thick eerie fog, I have to admit I began to wonder! Strangely, with all the hares about on those moors, hounds were never tempted to hunt one!
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