The Hurworth Country. 



A monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie, 



An out-rider, that loved venerie : 



A manly man, to ben an abbot able. 



Ful many a deinte horse had he in stable : 



And when he rode, men might his bridel here, 



Gyngle in a whistling wind as clere, 



And eke as loude as doth the chapell belle. 



Greihounds he hadde as swift as fowel in flight : 

 Of pricking and of hunting for the hare 

 Was all his lust, for no cost would he spare. 



If you would persue the subject of hunting and hawking 

 archbishops, bishops, priests and monks, I would refer you to 

 a most interesting chapter in Mr. Cuthbert Bradley's Hunting 

 from Shire to Shire. I shall have more to say regarding 

 Arncliffe later and would just add that it is almost unstoppable, 

 possessing as it does a thousand and one earths amongst huge 

 crags and boulders. Foxes, when they do break away, 

 frequently go out at the top, and, as this means either a gallop 

 over the rough moor to Raindriff (out of Hurworth boundaries) 

 or to Slapestones, Arnim Green or Black Hambleton, they are 

 allowed to go their way in peace till some unfortunate day when 

 the Bilsdale come across them sunning themselves in the 

 heather. 



These big greyhound foxes take a lot more catching than 

 the half-tame, hand-reared, ignorant-of-locality animals one 

 occasionally finds in the low country (I am not referring 

 specially to the Hurworth in this respect). 



The Hurworth is a " clay country," more so even than the 



Cleveland, where they have an ancient couplet : 



Cleveland in the Clay ! 



Bringeth in two souls and beareth one away. 



Once Mr. Alec Park was asked the nature of the Hurworth 

 soil and he described it as " Chanelly-clay," to the amusement 

 of those who heard the description. Originally the country 



