Tales from the Tent (16 page)

My friend Bob Dawson, an extremely dedicated follower of all of Britain’s travelling people and their ways, wrote a book on travellers’ dogs, and I now, with his permission, print a
piece from it to tell you all the things you may have wondered about them but never found out. Understandably, travelling folk keep a lot to themselves about their ways, including their dogs, but
here, through Bob’s writings, is something about a traveller’s best friend—his dog.

There are 11 officially recognised Lurchers formed by crosses with sight hounds, but such dogs are unusual with travellers because although the Greyhound gives speed, and some
sight hound blood line courage, they are very difficult to train because, so it’s said, of their lack of intelligence. My old friend Nelson—dead these many years—had the best such
cross I had ever come across, a mix of Greyhound and Wolfhound. It was hopeless with hares, but extremely effective with rabbits which hardly ever got away. The only traveller I ever knew to use a
Greyhound/Saluki cross found the dog so stubborn, refusing to chase when it should, and refusing to come back when called, that he tried to ‘train’ the dog by starving it, in the
mistaken belief that it would be more inclined to eat when very hungry. The experiment failed, and the poor dog was too weak even to concentrate and use the little intelligence it had. I felt very sorry for it, though I accept that, from a traveller point of view, it was a useless animal. Since this incident, several
travellers have told me that they like a Saluki cross because of the animal’s good looks, which seems to me a spurious reason to have a dog, but travellers accept that it does not make a good
Lurcher. (Ginge’s comment is ‘brain-dead. I wouldn’t waste a collar on one.’)

Deerhound/Greyhound crossed Lurchers are often used as show dogs, but as few travellers are into show dog breeding, I do not think it is a common animal amongst travellers, but
Deerhound/Greyhound cross with Greyhound is a little commoner, as this increases the Greyhound blood in the animal.

Amongst old-style travellers, dogs had to earn their keep, so some crosses of Lurchers were favoured in particular areas because of the lay of the land. In Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire for
instance, dogs need to be large with staying power. In the Midlands, smaller fields need smaller but faster dogs to catch rabbits—rabbits are faster than hares over short distances.

FARM DOG CROSSES

The purist sometimes claims that the only proper Lurcher is a cross between a Greyhound and a farm dog, especially a Bearded Collie, Border Collie, Rough Collie, Alsatian, Old
English Sheepdog or (historically) a Smithfield Collie, this last being a dog once used to drive cattle and sheep to and from Smithfield Market in London.

Such crossed dogs are quite frequently seen with travellers, though the Border Collie/Greyhound cross is probably the commonest and the Old English sheepdog the most unusual. Alsatian/Greyhound
Lurchers are good for deer, but not for hare, and tend to be unreliable near children. Generally, however, the farm-dog Lurcher has the advantage of being good with the kids, reliable,
hard-working, intelligent, with a good jaw and staying power. They are also easy to train, I’m told. That said, such Lurchers are less common amongst travellers than others, though
whippet/Border collie crosses are somewhat commoner. As they are easy to train, they are often good dogs for new Lurcher-people to learn on. One of the attributes Ginge looks for is a dog with a
thick coat to protect it from injury and weather. His preference is a tall Collie/cross Greyhound. He regards them as easy to train, alert, sensible and loyal.

TERRIER CROSSES

Almost every terrier breed has been crossed with Greyhounds to produce Lurchers, though the only one recognised by the official Lurcher clubs are Airedales.

Bedlingtons, Bull Terriers, Wheaten, Kerry Blues, Irish and Jack Russell’s, and such dogs often show great courage and guile, though they can be stubborn. The commonest Lurchers are
Greyhound crosses with Bedlingtons, Kerry Blues, Airedales, Staffordshire Bulls, Jack Russell’s and Irish. Ginge remains sceptical about such dogs.

BEDLINGTON/GREYHOUND CROSSES

A good Bedlington/Greyhound cross is said by many travellers to be one of the best Lurchers available—if you can get one. The difficulty is that very selective breeding by
the specialists has produced a Bedlington which is no longer as effective for work as its predecessors and, therefore, when crossed it often lacks many of the characteristics which once made it
such a superb dog. This is also Ginge’s experience.

It was once an exceptionally common dog with travellers in the North. The original was a cross with colossal stamina, able to take any game (rabbit, pheasant, hare or deer). Its thick coat gave
protection against bad weather and against thorns and barbed wire; it was a very hard worker with a good nose, but its disadvantage was that it was not a bright dog, and so needed careful training
as it did not easily think for itself. Although there are times when a dog needs to act by instinct training, it can be a disadvantage not to think for itself.

STAFFORDSHIRE/GREYHOUND CROSSES

Not a common Lurcher amongst travellers, though Welsh Romanies sometimes have one. I have never seen one at work, but am told they are courageous and have considerable stamina
but are bad tempered with other dogs and can see that as a more desirable activity than the coursing itself. Their use is almost entirely limited to rabbits.

ODDS AND SODS

Only eight other crosses are recognised as Lurchers—Foxhound, Beagle, Golden Retriever, Spaniel, Setter, Rottweiler, Doberman and Labrador. Perhaps it’s a little
unjust to put all other Lurchers into this category but, in my experience, there are very few to be found other than those listed above. I have seen Greyhound/Labrador crosses, which appear to be
intelligent dogs, and once a Greyhound/Setter Lurcher, but I have no idea how these dogs performed. I have also heard of Rottweiler crosses which purport to take an elephant (well, a slight
exaggeration here) but the experts tell me that with the Rottweiler’s nature, such Lurchers would be unlikely to be much good. Similarly, I am told that Lurcher/Lurcher progeny are often
pretty useless. Ginge says that there is a lot of waste with such dogs, and good ones are hard to find.

So now, friends, when you hear stories of travellers who allow dogs to roam wild and also of tales about sheep killing, then you will know that the owners of these pets have
not prepared their background with enough responsibility.

Thanks to Bob for that insight into the travelling man’s favourite dogs, which now leads me into this next tale. Another one of Mac’s.

15

THE LAST WOLF

M
idway between the Highland villages of Brora and Helmsdale there stands a stone. Inscribed on it are these words:

This commemorates the tale of how the said hunter went into Glen Loth with two youngsters, one his son, the other a herds boy. In a rocky mountain gully around the burn of Sledale they came upon
a narrow fissure in the rocks. The laddies squeezed down and found a small cavern and in among the debris of bones and feathers there were six wee wolf cubs. Polson instructed the boys to kill the
cubs. Now, when she heard her cubs screaming, the tormented mother, not seeing the concealed hunter, tried to rescue her young. Polson dived forward, and holding her by the long bushy tail, was
able to stab her to death. In those days Polson was considered a hero, today he would have been marched into a court of law and prosecuted for animal cruelty.

Here then is Mac’s tale of a wolf.

It was when the twentieth century was at its start that a young travelling couple found themselves in the valley of the Tweed. Many miles of cart road without stopping had left
them footsore and belly-weary. She was in labour with a first-born, and desperately needed a birth-bed.

Rachel bit hard upon her bottom lip; her pains were more powerful now than earlier and still they had not found a place to stop for the night. ‘God help me, Jimmy, but if I don’t lie
down somewhere this baby will drop out onto the hard road.’

Her much-suffering husband had tried all day to find a suitable spot, but whenever he pulled the horse off the road a landowner appeared at the roadside and threatened him, each more menacing
than the one before.

The last man came brandishing a hunting rifle. Jimmy practically begged on bended knee. ‘My wife is near her time: surely you can find it in your heart to allow us this small corner of a
field?’ But nothing doing. So it was with great reluctance that Rachel and Jimmy found their journey’s end in the depth of a thick forest. The forest of Glentress. ‘I know these
woods,’ he told his wife, ‘I remember coming here several times with my father’s family when I was a boy. We’ll be safe now, I know we will.’ Soon the tent was erected
and Rachel lay on her birth-bed of soft fern and green mosses.

As the first streaks of early dawn sunshine crept over the skyline a tiny cry filled the forest. Those weary travellers now had a son; their first born. Jimmy drew water from the burn and set
light to a few sticks, then boiled a brew for his exhausted wife. Rachel was hungry, but the previous day’s long arduous walk had left her so tired she could hardly lift her head. So after a
gentle wash she and her new-born snuggled up inside the rounded canvas tent and both slept away the morning, while her man set off into the comforting shelter of the thick trees to find food.

It was peaceful at the small campsite and Jimmy knew his wife and child would be safe from harm. No need to concern himself about landowners, because they seldom ventured deeper than the
perimeter dykes, usually sending foresters in to check instead. Jimmy knew the old man who patrolled this place and had gone with his father and gamed with him several times. ‘No,
they’ll be safe,’ he convinced himself. After a few hours and two rabbits later he set off back to their temporary abode. A good distance from home a terrible scream, that sent dozens
of wood pigeons fleeing skyward, had Jimmy, heart beating faster than a hare’s, leaping burn and bush to his family’s side. Soon, breathless and panting he was at Rachel’s bed.
She and the baby, thank God, were unharmed, but something had frightened her. ‘So help me, I’ll swing for the beast that put this fear intae ye, Rachel,’ he cried, convinced that
some so-called gentleman had found the tiny campsite in the clearing.

‘It was no man, my husband, an’ I wish tae all that is sacred that it was. No, it was a hound! One as big as any I have ever set eyes on. It had the eyes of a devil, and Lord roast
me if I lie tae ye, husband, but it wanted the baby, I swear, it was our child it wanted.’ Poor Rachel, she cradled her child so tightly Jimmy though she might smother him.

‘Give me the bairn, Rachel, I’ll check him to see there’s no marks on him.’ Jimmy didn’t wish to seem unconcerned, but a hound—well, relief spread through
him; his wife must have been dreaming. However, Rachel knew that no fever or fright could make her imagine things. She had seen something and had no wish to spend another minute in that forest
because of it.