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REMINISCENCES OF WORSTHORNE. 
Cock fighting and bull baiting were carried on here until a 
very recent date. I have a keen remembrance of the last bull 
bait that took place. The bull belonged to Jim Anson, and was 
chained to a stake near the present church gates. The game 
consisted of tying the bull with a tether of some fifteen yards in 
length to a strong stake driven into the ground. All being ready, 
a bull dog was loosed on the infuriated animal. As soon as the 
dog pinned the bull by the nose, its master had to seize it by one 
of the forelegs, and if the twain could manage to hold firm for 
three minutes the dog was declared the victor, if not, vice versa. 
On this occasion old Nick O’ Ellis’s, with his dog “ Crib,’ was 
declared the victor. The brutal game of cock fighting generally 
took place at the bottom of the moor during the middle of the 
last century. ‘‘ Mains” were fought on Sundays. This savage 
practice was much followed by men of the higher circles of 
society as well as those of the lower degree. Up to 1830, these 
battles were very frequent, and a number of local gentry attended. 
The game was often delayed until the arrival of old Jimmy 
Roberts, cotton manufacturer, of Burnley, who came riding on 
a bay pony. He was born in 1779, and died in 18380. 
THE FIGHTING COCKS AT MERECLOUGH. 
The cockpit was on the Green, facing the old hostelry. A 
celebrated battle was fought here for a great stake between 
Ormerod’s Butterfly, and Towneley’s Cesar. During the fight 
Cesar knocked Butterfly down, and the bystanders thought it 
was all over with the latter. Ormerod, of Ormerod House, the 
owner of the bird, thought the same, and hurriedly left the field, 
but he had not gone far before he heard a great shout, which 
induced him to return. During his absence Butterfly had risen 
again and killed Cesar on the spot. In commemoration of this 
event the inn was named the Fighting Cocks, and that name it 
bears to this day. On the sign was the following verse :— 
For heaps of gold and silver we do fight ; 
Death comes at every blow if it hits right, 
Towneley’s great Cesar doth bleeding lie; 
Killed by Ormerod’s gallant Butterfly. 
HALSTEAD COTE. 
_ On the eastern verge of the farm at High Halstead, and. 
opposite the bank of the great reservoir in Swindean valley, in a 
section of a fence wall, are a number of stones whose well 
developed form show evident signs of the masons’ handiwork. 
They extend some 12 or 14 yards in length. They are the only 
remains of an old one-story cottage which remained standing up 
to about a century ago. It went by the name of “ Halstead’s 
Cot,” and the place where it stood still retains the old title of 
