112 England's oldest hunt. 



incident with the wonderful Hurworth run. To Cotcliffe Wood went 

 this fox, out at the top end to Borrowby and Kirby Sigston high road, 

 where a check took place for a quarter-of-an-hour. The hounds cast 

 themselves (as they still do), and, eventually, a,n old hound took the 

 line down the turnpike for over half-a-mile. The fox had turned left- 

 handed past Leake Church and then bore to the right past Kepwick 

 Lime Kilns to Borrowby Mill, where he pointed for Upsall. Leaving 

 the Castle on the left he went on almost to Kilvington Hall, but turning 

 short back right-handed, hounds ran into him just to the South of 

 Kilvington village. Amongst those who saw the end of what must 

 have been a great hunt, were Mr. Ralph Turton, Mr. R. B. Turton 

 (who had left his horse dead beat in a ploughed field), James Ainsley, 

 Nicholas and Dick Spink, J. T. Scurr (a great man with Squire Bell's 

 hounds), who rode a young horse, J. Harland, who joined hounds just 

 before they reached Cotcliffe, and who rode a good grey with a crooked 

 ankle, and Mr. T. Clark (Winton). Messrs. Turton took the field back 

 to Upsall and entertained them to refreshments. 



In Spink's early days the favourite hound nomenclature 

 is found in the following list : — Mountain, Minister, Charlotte, 

 Ruby, Trimbush, Countess, Truelass, Glancer, Twister, 

 Climbank, Ranger, Dido, Charmer, Congo, Barmaid, Vagrant, 

 Ringwood, Music, Brusher, Blucher, Chanter, Ragman, 

 Woodman, Bingwell, Lady, and Ruby. 



Mr. Robert Kitching followed Mr. Horsfall after his one 

 season as M.F.H. He invariably rode a grey or white 

 horse, and often wore a green coat. He was none 

 the less enthusiastic in matters venatic than his pre- 

 decessors, and was once heard to say regarding his 

 son, Robert the younger : " If nobbut oor Bob teeak 

 ez mich hodding back as he taks pressin' forward to 

 hounds, Ah s'u'd think the wolld on him." It was in 

 1889 he took hounds, at which time he was living at Swainby, 

 on a farm where Mr. George Kitching — one of the hardest 

 riders over a moorland or across country I know — now 

 resides. Here Bob reared not a few puppies, and could that 

 orchard in front of the house speak, it would tell some tales 

 of young hounds being " broken in " to sheep. Bob tied 

 them to an apple tree, and turned in an old moorland tup. 

 The young entry were so battered about that they never 

 had any desire to molest sheep afterwards. Regarding 



