Farming and Foxhunting

CHAPTER I

FAMILY ORIGIN

BORN in the year 1873 I cannot say whether my forebears were of direct agricultural stock. There appears to be little information handed down as to the pedigree of Charles Whatley, the paternal grandfather of the present generation of the family; he originated from somewhere in south-west Wilts—it has been rumoured it was on Lord Bath’s Estate—but what occupation he or his people carried on, history, so far as I have information, does not relate.

He appears to have migrated to Shaftesbury and taken service as an apprentice to one Horder, a wool-stapler. I have an idea he was not looked upon as one of the world’s workers; it may be instinct that prompted him to make the best of the going whilst it was good, for he eventually married his master’s daughter, the result being a family of nine, of which my father was one, Samuel Horder Whatley.

I very well remember my grandmother, the daughter of Mr. Horder, the wool-stapler of Shaftesbury—a fine old lady. She, I rather imagine, was the source from which came my father’s strong characteristics and robust nature. My grandmother too must have been quickened by instinct in some way, for she selected a very useful member of her large family to carry on the surname of Horder.

Before I proceed to outline a few features of my father’s life, let me digress for a moment and clear up the relationship of the present-day Horder family and myself. The three Swindon brothers, Edward, Arthur and Tom (the present Lord Horder), are sons of my grandmother’s brother. He evidently was the younger son of the Shaftesbury wool-stapler, thus the relationship between my family and the Horder brothers is second cousins.

My father related that he left home at an early age with a pound in his pocket. His early life appears to have been spent in south Wilts as farm manager. He numbered among his employers Messrs. Self, Carpenter and Parham, all farmers of some standing. I believe it was whilst he was managing for Mr. Joseph Carpenter of Burcombe that he married my mother, Elizabeth Fry, daughter of the butcher in High Street, Wilton. Records appear to relate that I was born at Burcombe on the 21st day of August, 1873, whilst barley cart was in progress. I am not quite clear whether it was from here that my father went into Hampshire, or whether it was from Chaulk. I do know that Messrs. Rawlence & Squarey, Land Agents of Salisbury, sent him into Hampshire in the year 1876 to manage a series of farms for Lord Portal of Laverstock. When he left this post in 1883, I have an idea that he was managing about six to eight farms. What is certain is that about this date on the Portal Estate farm after farm came into the Landlords’ hands owing to troubles brewing up in the farming world after the disastrous year of 1879. Salaries in those days were not of the high order, £200 per annum was somewhere about the income that my father received for his labours, plus a little he could turn over on his horse sales, amounting to £50 a year according to his account.

I can seem to see him always in the saddle tiring three horses a day, directing operations on this series of farms. What a change has appeared in the farmers’ life to-day! Most of this work is now done from a motor-car.

It must have been in the early ’eighties that I can well remember spending the day at Overton station unpacking self-delivery reapers, purchased from Brewer of Wilton, and sending them off one by one to the various farms. This new venture into the world of machinery was the talk and excitement of the neighbourhood.

In 1883 the family came back into Wiltshire, when my father started farming on his own account at Badbury and, in spite of his acquired great knowledge of arable land, started a small dairy in conjunction with his arable crops. Here I think we strike the root of his successful start. How often do we see this beginning with a few cows lead on to a larger life and a bigger income. Then, again, is it not the old dairy cow which in a last resource carries the declining family? Much as we may dislike the old varmint for demanding so much labour and attention, she has at least above all animals been a saving feature in farming pursuits during the last half-century. Even the medical profession now admits that the dairy cow must play a big part in the health of the rising generation. We will take off our hats to the dairy cow, and leave it at that.

Up to the time of his death in 1909 my father led a very active life, and it must be admitted a successful one as far as farmers’ incomes were common at the end of the nineteenth century. He had a large family of eleven all fairly well schooled. Perhaps some of it might have been better; it may, or may not, have given better results. To leave us each a thousand pounds when the Great Call came, was not a bad effort in those days.

It might be charged against him that he was to some extent of a driving nature. Well, who is not when Nature has furnished him with a forceful character? Strong men are generally impatient with the weaker man’s slower movements. I well remember him on one occasion during harvest. Three of us began building a rick, the only other man present enquired where the other men were coming from. What, he replied, more men why, I am always as good as two men. He really was.

He would stand and take the sheaves in from the man unloading and hand them to me, and, at the same time, give me instruction how to make the rick. There was never a sheaf put in a wrong place, his argument being that once put a sheaf in the right place, no further replacing should be necessary. How true this is and yet how little do farm men practise it. Unfortunately they never count the loss of energy by indifferent observation—to their loss be it said.

My father was not a great sportsman: that is by way of hunting and shooting. His only recreation was coursing. Coursing parties at Badbury were a feature in my early days.

There was generally a young horse to be ridden, not always without fear and nerves. I remember a certain gentleman, arriving with a young horse not very well schooled over fences—in any case he was not putting up a very good show—and my father demanded, Here, you get down and let my son Charles get up, he will show you how to do it, with son Charles shaking with fear and trembling at the suggestion. However, it had to be done. I think most horsemen will agree these awkward jobs are best done with no spectators.

Now my mother was of a totally different character. Her strength lay in her moral qualities. She would have us all properly schooled, that is according to the resources available for the purpose. I sometimes hesitate to think what might have happened to a family of eleven had she not insisted on this side of life being carefully attended to. After all, a mother’s good influence in this direction is worth more than father’s cash.

I look back and picture my mother having a hard life bringing up this large family. Was it any wonder that her nerves were a little ragged in later life? One might well ask how did a nervous system carry through such a programme with credit and always a smile?

CHAPTER II

SCHOOL AND EARLY DAYS

LIVING in modern times with all the attractions that quick speed can give us, I sometimes fancy we are very prone to think that school and learning ends at the age of 15 or 16, instead of at three-score years and ten. Having this thought in my mind I will touch very lightly on early schooldays. They were, after all, of a very normal and limited character, and therefore will be of very little interest except to a few.

Studies were started in Hampshire by attending a day-school at the village of Overton, a distance of three to four miles. For two years my eldest sister and I took this journey daily in a pony and tub. Occasionally I did the journey by myself and this necessitated the pony being ridden, a job which was not altogether to my liking, for the old pony very well knew that she could pop me off just when she liked, particularly on the way out; coming home nothing ever happened. Those who ride horses will very well know why this is so. I would explain it like this. When you ride a horse away from his stable, he has his eye on you and is watching your every movement. When he is coming home he has his eye, or perhaps his thoughts, on the stable and seldom bothers much about you. Well, these two years’ schooling at Overton brought to an end the family’s migration into Hampshire.

On getting back into Wiltshire the family finances would seem to have been swallowed up in a hungry farm. In any case there would appear to be very little to spend on education and therefore no alternative was forthcoming but the village school at Chiseldon. There is nothing very derogatory in this. One does at least get a good grounding in the three R’s. Mr. Stanier, the schoolmaster, was a fine old chap, and I look back to those years in the ’eighties with pride and think that some of us were fortunate to have a good foundation laid by a man of such high character and good reputation.

Well, the time came when I must wind up schooldays by finishing off with a couple of years at Swindon High School in the days of Samuel Snell. Sammy had the reputation of pushing on the smart and forward boys, and for this I can very well vouch. On reflection I can seem to see such boys as Tom Horder, Williamson (later a pillar of the Church), and then Potter major and Potter minor, all destined for good posts in later life.

There were quite a few of us farmer boys, sons of the soil, but as far as I can remember we were all in the back row. When the old man took on a class during a morning, I can see him now, putting a question on the blackboard. Here, Wiseman, (it may very well have been Whatley), what’s the answer? Ah, not a bit of good, the old man would say, Horder, you can tell us, and a smile of satisfaction came over the old man’s face, when, of course, the correct answer was forthcoming from the Lord to be. And then there was another renowned man at Snell’s during my short stay—E. B. Maton—who afterwards filled the farming world with amazement at the beginning of this century, but I cannot think that he derived much farming information from Snell’s school at Swindon. I remember that he was there as a junior master and left, I believe, after me, to start his farming career. I have often wondered how he came to do it, and can only conclude that he had a most amazing faculty to pick out his farm managers—men who knew more than he did himself. But whatever it was, the fact remains that he was in his day a most successful farmer by general consent.

By the early part of 1889 my schooling days came to an end and the very important question was put, Are you going to be a farmer or have you an idea of something else? As far as I can remember the question did not long remain in doubt and a farmer it was to be. Where is the farmer who has sons (I was never so fortunate) who can resist the temptation to have one around him when he leaves school just to relieve the tension? Has he not been looking forward to it for years? Is he not then provided with some cheap labour at cost price, besides someone to get up in the early mornings to give the orders for the day?

I well remember climbing up the step-ladder of the garden-wall in Hampshire at the age of 9 years and giving the carter the order to carry on as he was yesterday. One of my jobs on leaving school was to take charge of the threshing tackle. I rather liked the work of driving the engine, it certainly did not require so much expenditure of muscle as some jobs; besides, it did excite the mechanical faculties, and that was useful knowledge to get even on a farm in those days.

Shall I ever forget that in February 1888 I was taking a hand at lambing, or rather giving the shepherd a hand! It came on to snow pretty early in the day and fell for hours, great drifts came sweeping off the Downs and filled up the pen, and what a time we had digging out the lambs, and what a job we had to keep them alive. The old shepherd’s hut was wellnigh full by morning, and was I not glad when morning came, for the wind howled through the cracks of the old van with a vengeance. What a winter! The frost and snow held on until late into March, and what trouble we had with sore mouths in the lambs and bad teats with the ewes. However, these troubles came to an end, as they generally do, but they live green in the memory.

I cannot think that the late Rev. Pitt, Rector of Liddington, ever forgot the day (February 14), for he was taken over to Chiseldon in a dung-cart to conduct a marriage service. No other vehicle could surmount the drifts of snow. I am not just clear in my memory whether he did actually pick up the