Bygone Berkshire

The best place we can select for our visit will be Wokingham. It is a comfort to know that there at least the baiting will not be on Good Friday. St. Thomas's Day, Dec. 21st, has been the day there set apart for many generations for the sacrifice of bulls by dog-torture. And there the sport enjoys an endowment and so flourishes wonderfully, outdoing in the fame of its bull-baiting all other towns and parishes in the county of Berks. The endowment arose in this way. One, George Staverton, a lover of the sport, having himself, it is said, been gored by a bull, charged his estate with £6 a year to provide a bull for baiting. Whether he meant it as a revenge on the whole bull race for his injuries, or, as the expression of a good-natured wish, that others should enjoy the sport from which he had himself received so much pleasure, we are left to guess. But this we know, that the bequest increased in value, and soon was sufficient to buy two bulls at least every year; and in 1815, which is the year to which we are going to take our readers back to witness the Wokingham bull-baiting, anyone strolling through the streets of the town, any day of the year, would have had abundant evidence that the sport was held in great estimation by the inhabitants. At many a cottage door was to be seen a specimen of the true British bull-dog. Sometimes the animal had a silver collar, betokening past victories won over the bull. All were sleek, and evidently objects of much care and interest, often of much more than were bestowed on the children of the house.

The 21st of December, 1815, was a cold, damp, dull day. Two hours before noon, a young fellow drove out of Reading with a companion to see the Wokingham bull-baiting. As they drew near the town, the road became crowded with carriages and pedestrians hurrying in the same direction.[9 - This description is taken from "The Reminiscences of an Octogenarian," published in The Reading Observer. He describes a visit made by himself when a youth, to Wokingham, under the guidance of an elder companion, to see the bull-baiting. Other particulars have been derived from information given to the writer of this article by those, most of them now dead, who were spectators of the sports.] Arrived at the Market Place, the younger man found a place in a window overlooking the scene, while the elder, a tall fellow, evidently a habituè of the bull-ring, joined the crowd outside. The spectators filled every window, and in some cases had seated themselves on the roofs of the houses. Carriages, filled with occupants, were drawn up in front of the shops, and all available standing room on the footpaths and roadway was filled by visitors, towns-people, and parishioners. A cry arises "room for the Alderman and Burgesses." The Corporation of Wokingham dates from Saxon times, and the chief-magistrate was still called "the Alderman," the town having refused steadily for eight centuries to adopt the new-fangled Norman title of "Mayor." The remaining members of the Corporation were "burgesses." Here they come, first pushing a way through the crowd, two "ale-tasters" with wands of office surmounted by the acorn, the Corporation crest; then two sergeants of the mace, the mace-bearer, the alderman, burgesses, town clerk, and others. The alderman takes his seat with his friends in the large window of the old "Red Lion Inn," and gives the signal that the sport is to begin. Shouts are heard and a commotion is evident in a corner of the crowd. Here he comes, the first bull, led by a dozen strong men, a rope round his horns and a chain fifteen feet long, into the middle of the market place, where the end of the chain is fastened to a strong staple in a post level with the ground. Away go his keepers. In a moment the bull has cleared a ring for the coming contest. With head down and tail erect, he sweeps round at the full extent of his chain, and is all alone in the centre of a circle thirty feet in diameter.

"A lane! a lane!" and quickly the crowd has given way to form a narrow passage, at the end of which we see a man holding a dog between his knees. It is the first dog to be set on; his owner cries, "Set on!" and the dog loosed tears down the lane, through hoops held at regular intervals, right at the face of the bull, who has heard his yelp, and is waiting for him. The dog goes for the bull's nose; the animal keeps him off by always presenting a horn to his advance. We notice he does not prod at the dog, but tries to sweep the horn along the ground under the dog's belly. The dog, quite conscious of the meaning of these tactics, is never for a moment still, but dancing to and fro, tries to get through the bull's guard. It seems for a while that this game of attack and defence might go on for the whole day. But suddenly the bull has managed to get his horn beneath the dog, and up he goes into the air, some twenty or thirty feet high. "Catch the dog, quick. He'll be done for if he touches ground." And see our friend from Reading holding out a pair of long arms, and down comes the dog, bespattering, as he falls into them, the man's face and clothes with blood and mud. When the day is over, many, who came out in holiday clothes, will return home sorry spectacles from dog-catching, covered with filth, and with torn and disordered clothes.

Another dog is now ready. His fate is more speedily determined than that of his predecessor. The bull, almost immediately, sends him flying into the air, so high that he falls on the roof of the Town Hall, and in coming down is impaled on some spikes.

This is a grand stroke by which the present bull has outdone all former bulls that have been fastened to that chain and stake for many a year. And while the poor dog is writhing and whining piteously, the crowd applauds vociferously. In one of the smaller carriages, two school boys occupy the back seat. These boys are now standing up, wildly clapping their hands and hurrahing, while the dog on the roof still writhes and cries out in its agony. One of those boys will live to be a farmer in Wokingham, and be well known for his love of animals. More than seventy years after the event he will often tell of this, his only visit to the bull-baiting, and express his wonder by what strange contagion he could have caught the spirit of that cruel crowd, and witnessed, with delirious delight, animal torture, which on any other day of his life would have brought tears to his eyes.[10 - The particulars of this scene were given to the writer by the farmer who had been one of the boys in the chaise.]

And now a third dog is set on. Whether the bull is tired or demoralized by the applause he has just received we cannot tell; but certain it is that number three almost at once-succeeds in fastening his teeth in the cartilage of the bull's nose. "A pin! a pin!" "The dog has pinned the bull!" and the animal tosses its head up and down in a frenzy of wrath and terror, trying to shake off the dog. But he might as well try to shake off his own horns. A story is told of a man who made a bet, and won it, that he would cut off each of his dogs legs in succession without his letting go, when once he had got his teeth in the bull.

The owner of the present dog with the assistance of other men forces the dog's mouth open with a stick, and so gets him away, but not without tearing the bull's nose and leaving a portion of the cartilage in the dog's mouth. A note is taken of the owner's name that his dog's success may be rewarded in due time at the distribution of prizes.

Three or four more dogs are set on in turn, and the short winter afternoon is already half over. People begin to clamour for the second bull. But they are not destined to part with the first without a little more excitement. Some young men growing bold by familiarity with the scene, take an opportunity of tossing the loose chain over the animal's back. This makes him start forward with great impetuosity, and in doing so he tears the staple out of the post to which the chain is fastened. "The Bull is loose!" Away scampers the crowd in every direction. A woman who had been selling apples and cakes out of a large basket is upset in her flight, and her wares are scattered. Several others fall over her prostrate form, but before further mischief is done, the animal is again secured. A single tree grows in the middle of the market-place. In the boughs a number of small boys, early in the day, had taken up their position, and there witnessed all the fun. Not knowing how else to secure the bull while the staple in the post is undergoing repair, the men pass the chain round this tree. The bull, finding itself thus robbed of a liberty which just now had seemed to offer a prospect of escape from his tormentors, frantic with rage and terror, makes wild rushes forward, jerking and swaying the tree to the great alarm of the urchins in the boughs. The crowd enjoying their fright, cry out to increase it, "the tree is coming down." This is too much for the boys' courage, down they come like apples in a gale of wind, some on the bull's back, some in the slush and mud. The whole crowd except a few anxious parents, is convulsed with laughter. Luckily the boys are got out of the way of the bull, who seems fairly puzzled at this new form of attack, and no one is seriously hurt.[11 - The description of this scene is taken partly from an old picture, and partly from the narrative of an eye-witness.]

It is now determined to dismiss the bull to the neighbouring slaughter-house. The poor creature is led away, covered with blood, and foam, and sweat, a very picture of distress and exhaustion, and of the madness that comes of fear, rage, and pain.

The second bull is coming out fresh and strong, and good to keep up the sport for another hour or two. But we have seen enough, and may well return to Reading with our young friend who has been looking on from the window. The light is already failing. It is damp and chill, and will be dark before he reaches home. It is well, too, to escape the rough horse-play which grows rougher as the day closes. Already there have been several fights among the dog-owners and others, and before the night is over there will be many more, and not impossibly lives may be lost. Even the lives of women were not always safe after the passions of men had been roused by these scenes of cruelty, sustained by a free flow of the drink, which makes men "full of quarrel and offence." Witness the Parish Registers, where we find the entry, "Martha May, aged 55, (who was hurt by fighters after Bull-baiting) was buried Dec. 31st 1808." Poor Martha May! she must have been badly hurt, and only lived six days, as we reckon, (allowing four days for the interval between her death and burial), after her last bull-baiting on St. Thomas's Day in Wokingham Market Place in 1808.

There remains one other point on which information is needed. The dogs were evidently highly trained. Knowing quite well what was expected of them, eager as grey-hounds with the quarry in view to escape from the master's hand, and to fly through the hoops at the bull's nose. Where and how did they get their training? There are still old inhabitants in Wokingham who can answer this question by word of mouth. For weeks before the baiting, on every moonlight night, it was common practice for a party of men with three or four dogs to visit some field or park, and there driving an ox, which they had before noted as suitable for their purpose, into a corner of the field, set on their dogs in order, according to the received rules of baiting. In the morning the owner would be furious at finding his best ox in a pitiable condition, and useless for the market for months to come. But so general was the interest in bull-baiting that he got no more pity than the farmer's wife, whose ducks are all killed by a fox, gets now from her neighbours.

Looking back on bull-baiting and similar sports, that were contemporaneous with it, and comparing them with the scenes of violence that formed popular entertainments in the generations that went before, and with the sports and games of our own day, the conclusion cannot be escaped that the world's history shews a well-marked line at progress in the gentler virtues, and the growth of sympathy between man and his fellow, and between man and the animals around him, that tends to brand cruelty wherever found as a vice.

It is the duty of every one to do what he can to further this progress to quicken this growth, and to practise and encourage only those amusements which seem suitable for the development of the best side in the character of the people.

THE END

notes

1

So say the Chroniclers; but modern investigators seem to think that the city did not fall a prey to fire and sword, but died a lingering death by the slow process of gradual decay.

2

Harl. 6395, Plut. xlix, g.

3

Mr. Coates says that the Society of Guild Merchants of Reading was undoubtedly very ancient, existing before the foundation of the Abbey, and claiming a charter or grant of privileges from Edward the Confessor.

This is proved by a statement made by the Mayor and commonalty in time of Richard II., before the king's justices of peace at Reading, in opposition to some of the claims of the Abbot, with whom the authorities of the town were always quarrelling.

4

1545 – By Statute 37 Henry VIII., An Act for dissolution of colleges, it was recited that divers colleges, free chapels, chantries, hospitals, fraternities, brotherhoods, guilds, and stipendary priests, "having perpetuity for ever," had misapplied the possessions thereof in various ways; and it was then enacted that all the same be dissolved and the proceeds applied for supporting the king's expenses in wars, etc., and for the maintenance of the crown, etc.

The advisers of Edward VI. promptly availed themselves of this as a pretext for plunder.

5

Drew lots.

6

This was the case until quite recently; but towards the end of 1893, the late Mr. Hutchinson Browne, of Moor Close, Binfield, caused the words, "Here Pope Sung," to be once more cut in the bark of a tree growing on the site as Pope's wood. And underneath them he affixed a brass plate inscribed with the following elegant copy of verses in Latin and English, which I was fortunate in obtaining for him from the pen of the Rev. Charles Stanwell, Vicar of Ipsden, Oxon: —

"Angliacis resonare modis qui suasit Homerum
Hic cecinit laudes, Vindelisora, tuas;
Hinc Silvae nomen vates dedit; arboris olim
Inciso testis cortice truncus evat.
Silva diu periit, sed nomen et umbra supersunt.
Umbra viri circum, nomen ubique volat."

"He to our Lyre who wooed great Homer's strain,
Here sang the praise of Windsor's sylvan reign;
Hence gained the wood a poet's name; of old
The attesting trunk, inscribed, the story told.
The wood hath perished, but surviving still
His shade these haunts, his name the world doth fill." – C.W. P.

7

Mrs. Blount and her two daughters were on the point of quitting Mapledurham in consequence of the marriage of her son, Michael Blount, in 1715.

8

Erasmus, the reformer, speaks of 'many herds' of bears which he saw being trained for baiting when he was in England in the reign of Henry VIII.

9

This description is taken from "The Reminiscences of an Octogenarian," published in The Reading Observer. He describes a visit made by himself when a youth, to Wokingham, under the guidance of an elder companion, to see the bull-baiting. Other particulars have been derived from information given to the writer of this article by those, most of them now dead, who were spectators of the sports.

10

The particulars of this scene were given to the writer by the farmer who had been one of the boys in the chaise.

11

The description of this scene is taken partly from an old picture, and partly from the narrative of an eye-witness.