Operation Yelsnot – Chapter II

On 27th August 2005, I attended the twenty-eight anniversary of Beca’s Race. The race is a 5 mile fell race on Preseli Mountains at Cresswell, near Fishguard, Crymych.

It is held to celebrate the Rebecca Riots which took place in this area between 1839 and 1842. These riots were a protest against the high tolls introduced on the turnpike roads. Many people disagreed with the high tolls and took the law into their own hands destroying the gates.

These gangs became known as the Rebecca gangs. They took their name form a piece in the Bible, Genesis 24:60 “And they blessed Rebekah and said unto her, Let thy seed possess the gate of those which hate them”.

Many of the men dressed up as women as a disguise as rioting was a hanging offence at that time. Some versions of this story say that these clothes were borrowed from a woman called Rebecca – hence the name Rebecca Riots.

To win the race, the leader must dress in women’s clothes and break down a gate with an axe at the finishing post.

I have to admit that it was the most enjoyable day out in Wales.

Hound Trailing dates from the 18th Century and is carried out throughout the Summer months. It is controlled by the Hound Trailing Association. Essentially it consists of races between Trail Hounds following a scent.

Trail Hounds are specially bred for the purpose, and, like other dogs, e.g. collies, that seem to have a hereditary instinct for controlling sheep, they have an instinct for following a scent at speed. There is said to be some fox hound in their lineage, but they are much bigger and more human friendly.

The Races are held over fells, mountains, valleys, bogs and woods etc. For Senior dogs, the race is 10 miles long and for juniors 5 miles. A trail is laid by two men, one at each end of the course, walking in opposite directions, dragging behind them a sack soaked in an aniseed solution. They meet in the middle and so the trail is laid. The 10 mile race takes about 40 minutes.

The competitors arrive with their hounds in boxes with wire netting fronts, in the back of their cars. There is much yelping and barking by the dogs in anticipation

At the meeting point, there is the committee and secretary, umpires and starters, a vehicle tent or truck. The bookmakers have their stands with the odds marked up as in horse racing. There is also a refreshment stall. There was no alcohol, but I am told there is at major meetings like the Annual Championships.

As the time draws near, the owners lead the hounds out on leads and the dogs go frantic with excitement. As the trail layer walks towards them, the noise reaches a crescendo. The owners slip the leads and hold the hounds by the scruff of the neck and at the word, let them go. They set off at full speed still yelping and disappear into the distance.

Then everybody congregates on vantage points armed with binoculars and soon, far away on top of a distant Fell, a flock of sheep dashes for safety, and then a line of white dots appears. In some miraculous way, the aficionados can tell which dog is which and relate the state of the race to each other. This happens several times and then the owners congregate on the finishing line, armed with a dish of food and a bowl of water.

They all start shouting their individual calls or whistles or sounds, and the dogs come hurtling in. The food is hoovered up in seconds and the water lapped up, also at speed. The bookies pay up!

There are quite a few injuries, mostly lacerations on bellies and legs caused by thorns or barbed wire, or on pads caused by hard ground or rocks or stones. These are treated on the spot and bound up. Occasionally these are bad enough to prevent the dog finishing and then a worried owner has to retrace the trail to bring him in.

Hounds start training at 6 months old and then race for years. Their diet is strictly controlled, high protein pellets and vegetable mask, sherry and raw eggs. Each owner has his own plan.

When an owner told me she gave her dog Sherry she added “And not cheap English Sherry, but proper Spanish stuff”, 1 wish I had reacted quickly and asked “Sweet or Dry?!”

Wanlockhead calls itself the “highest Village in Scotland”. It is in the North of Dumfries itself.

It is tiny, population about 150 and has a river running through it. Its only amenity is a pub.

In the 18th and 19th Centuries, it was a centre for lead mining, with occasional finds of small amounts of gold. There is a museum of mining, and a section of the mine and some miners’ cottages are still there preserved for the tourists.

Gold Panning, made famous in the 19th Century in the “Gold Rushes” in North America, consists of trying to find gold in mud by oscillating it under water in a pan. The lighter mud is washed away and the heavier gold, if any, sinks to the bottom and is recovered. This skill has become a “sport” on a worldwide basis. I have enclosed some blurb on this.

The “Field of Play” (see picture) consists of about 10 tanks containing water about knee deep. The pans are plastic, shaped like deep dinner plates, and about 18 inches or more in diameter.

The competitors come from all over the U.K. and abroad as well. The “uniform” is a slouch hat usually covered in badges and waterproof trousers. It rained very hard, and a very strong wind blew too while I was there. But events carried on just the same as it is a pretty wet performance anyway.

Competitors are allocated one to each tank. They are handed “test tubes” containing minute flecks of gold, about 2mm in diameter and paper thin. There may be any number from five to twelve. These are carefully checked with the umpire. Each “race” has the same number for each competitor. The flecks go in the pan and mud, supplied in buckets, is added. They stand in the water in the tank and, at the word “go”, they start oscillating gently under the water. They are timed, usually 20 minutes, and at the end of that time, the amount of gold flecks recovered is counted. There is a complex system of both plus and penalty points and so the winner is the one with the highest marks. There are various heats leading to a final in each category.

The umpire called out the time as each period of 5 minutes passes. The onlookers go in for much badinage and laughter while the competitors earnestly go jiggling away. The judges, when all is over, go in for much counting, calculating and verifying before they announce the results which are received with cheers and applause.

They were a friendly lot, anxious to inform and explain, and of course were much intrigued by the Tonsley Cap.

The Museum is a very modern building, large and beautifully appointed and well worth a visit at any time.

The Horseshoe Show was about a mile away, on the site, up a track to a farm. We were conveyed there in a large trailer with seats, towed by a tractor and driven by a lady.

The site was a large barn, long and open on one side on which was a collapsible “grandstand” on wheels. A rope kept spectators at a safe distance from the scene of the action. The scene of action was a line of about 8 furnaces (presumably gas fired) up against a long wall.

We were told it takes 4 years and 2 months for a blacksmith to qualify and become a member (if he passes the examination) of the British Federation of Blacksmiths, which dates from the 14th Century and is based in London.

On the right were four furnaces, each manned by two chaps still training. Their job was to make a horseshoe of the same size and pattern as one of the four examples. There is a time limit so they work fast. One chap seems to do most of the hammering and his partner attends to the heating. There is much taking the prospective shoe, which starts life as a piece of straight metal, back and forth and measuring and shaping with occasional clouds of steam, as the shoe is plunged into water. Hammering ad infinitum goes on all the time.

On the left the competition is for qualified chaps, older and more mature and looking very powerful and this is the horseshoeing part. Two working farm horses, each with one front and one rear hoof unshod, wait for attention. Again the men work in pairs and again there is a time limit. Further the shoes have to be made from two pieces of metal which have to be welded together before they can start.

The preparation of the hoof is the part that a spectator sees most. The heating and shaping of the shoe goes on furthest away but right
in front the chap is cutting into the hoof removing lots of surplus tissue, shaping, deepening, measuring, dashing back and forth to the furnace. The process of cleaning the hoof looks very painful and cruel but it is not. The hoof consists of Kerotin (like our own nails) and the horse feels nothing and is unconcerned.

At last is it considered ready and the shoe has been made. Red hot, it is applied to the prepared hoof and clouds of smoke are raised. The horse is totally unconcerned. Again more shaping and alteration to both hoof and shoe ensue and finally the holes are made for the nails, and the shoe is hammered on.

White coated judges move through the scene, marking and observing the work. Occasionally a competitor refers to them when he encounters an unexpected problem and the judge examines and decides. The time limit for the two shoes was 70 minutes. Nobody finished on time, so everybody lost marks.

We were told that working farm horses should have two shoes, left front and right back, and then right front and left back, redone every six weeks and the cost is £100 a time.

We left before the end because we had a 70 mile journey back home.

I should add that I was amazed to see a young girl taking part in the beginners section, and she hammered as hard as the males.

FISA stands for “Federation Internationale de Societies d’Anvirons”.
The International Regulatory body of Rowing which is based in Switzerland.

The Masters Regatta is an annual Regatta held in different countries, (Last year Budapest, next year Princeton) for older male and female rowers.

Strathclyde Park, ten miles south of Glasgow, is the site of the Scottish International Rowing course, the only one in the U.K. with eight rowing lanes, and the home of SARA (Scottish Amateur Rowing Association) and the Scottish National Rowing Academy which has lecture rooms, videos, coaching area, and a P.E. gym well stocked, including a static rowing “Eight” on water, and a restaurant and cafe/bar, showers and dressing rooms.

As an active, now land rowing only, member of the Nithsdale Amateur Rowing Club, I had assisted at the World Rowing Championships held here in 1996. I therefore responded again to the call for volunteers to help run the Masters, and was appointed to the same job i.e. a member of the Information Team and a Spanish Interpreter.

The lowest age allowed to compete is 26 and the oldest 76+. Classes are arranged, A to I, in average ages of crews, the oldest being average 75 or more. All types of races, fours, eights, sculls, double sculls etc. are represented. Evidence of age e.g. Passport must be produced with entry.

Many additional tents and temporary buildings are added to the site
including an enormous tent with restaurant, a grandstand, extra showers and changing tents. In the restaurant tent, there was also a grandstand for the numerous bands which performed throughout and a sitting area inside and outside, plus dance floor, bar etc.

The number of active rowers taking part was about 3200 and their attendants coaches etc. numbered another 3000. They brought with them 2500 boats each crew also bringing their own oars and there were another 250 boats available for hire. Space had to be found for the required boat racks. The youngest competitor was aged 27 and the oldest 86, who won his sculls race. They came from 33 countries, as far afield as Russia, Japan, Australia, South Africa, and South America. Most represented a club.

The Information Team was housed in a large cabin together with the
Entries Section, the Finance Section (changing of money, fees etc.)
the Transport and Accommodation, and Entertainments Section. Our job was to receive people coming in, direct them to the right section, give them the draw in different events, the programme for the day, results and anything else. We never stopped all day and there were endless questions and requests such as a Lithuanian, with no English who wanted to find a Stud for breeding Clydesdale Horses! Another difficult one was the Italian woman, who wanted to change a Ryanair flight. Also many questions about visiting other places in Scotland. There were a very few complaints too!

The majority stayed in the hotels in Glasgow and a special bus ran every 30 minutes from 7am to 11pm stopping at various convenient points throughout the day. For those staying in the two hotels in the Park or the caravan and camping sites, there was a funny little “train” which ran round and round all day.

Strathclyde Park is situated 65 miles north of my home. I would drive up, mostly motorway M74, to arrive at 7am to open the office. There would already be people practising on the loch and the first race was at 8.30am and the last at 5.30pm They took place every 3 minutes and only became delayed the day we had a strong wind and rain. I would have breakfast when others joined me. The restaurant opened at 6am and the bar 11am to 11 pm. I would leave at 4pm.

We were given a uniform and cap and a £5 voucher for lunch. We consisted of about 5 people regularly. My Spanish was very useful to some people who were very relieved to find me! I frequently received a handshake and relieved thanks!

Watching the races, one soon discerned a pattern. The races, in all categories tended to divide into 3 groups. The first of about 3 crews, would consist of past stars of the Olympics, Boat Race or their equivalent, people who had rowed all their lives and achieved high powered success. After a gap, the second group would be club crews from more humble life long rowers. After another gap, the final group would be those who did not take rowing too seriously, had thought the whole trip would be fun and had cobbled a crew together, perhaps from different clubs, hardly done any training, and were happy to provide “the rear party”.

The course was 1,000 metres instead of the usual 2,000. On the last day the races were confined to mixed, men and women, crews. was left with admiration for the superb organisation, the commitment of the rowers, and their immense height, of men, well over 6 ft, except the Japanese, and the women nearly 6 feet.

Dog Sports Scotland is the organisation that runs this event. Originating from the Husky Dog teams used in Northern Canada which function as normal transport, but also in sporting events, it seems that racing goes on in many parts of the world using three wheeler buggies where snow is not available.

The buggies are like tricycles, with two rear wheels and one front. Brakes work on the back wheels, and the front wheel is used for steering with handlebars. The driver stands on a slat.

The dogs are mainly huskies but, surprisingly, ordinary dogs also participate, and with equal enthusiasm. The enthusiasm of the dogs is the most outstanding feature.

While waiting, they are mostly placid with occasional barks. But once they are hitched up, there is a cacophony of barking and yowling and straining to get away. They are restrained by helpers but as soon as the starter gives the “Go” and restrainers release them, they tear off like rockets with much barking.

The event I attended had a course of 3.5 miles. It consists of an uneven muddy track, which winds about, up and down, through the forest. The buggies sometimes overturn on the bends. Teams can be of six, four, three and even two dogs.

Teams are let go singly, at intervals. Results depend on times of starting and arrival at the finish. When they arrive back, they seem to be still going flat out. But when they stop, there is little barking, but much panting with tongues hanging out.

There are shouts of words of command, but I am told it is nigh impossible to stop them in the middle of the course, except by locking the brakes. Even then it takes time for the intention to sink in.

The whole scene is one of many vans, with dogs in their compartments, or tied up outside. The drivers’ waterproof clothes are usually covered in mud. The incessant barking and yowling has to be heard to be believed. My pictures have captions and I have enclosed a newspaper cutting which refers to an event last March, which I attended, but forgot to take the camera.

The participants come from all parts of the country. Some from far away, or even from other countries. There is camaraderie between them and much discussion goes on about dogs, courses or kit. It is a world of its own.

Up Helly Aa is a traditional Shetland Festival of Viking origin that has gone through many changes over the years, but now consists essentially of a torchlight parade and the burning of a boat.

Going there in a 36 seater twin airscrew plane is a far cry from a Boeing 737. It to &12 hours from Glasgow (stopping at Inverness and Kirkwall) and a lot of the time, I was looking out of the window to make sure the propellers were still going round!

On the day before the festival, I attended a short lecture and walking tour of the town to learn the route and discover the best place to watch the parade. The lecturer described the gift of Orkney and Shetland to the Scots King in the 15th Century as dowry for the Viking Princess who married King James III as the “greatest disaster in Shetland history”. Nevertheless DNA testing of today’s Shetlanders shows that 96°0 of them are of Viking descent.

During the year the boat builders lovingly construct a 30ft Viking long-boat. It is beautifully made, painted and varnished. Also the torch makers make over a thousand 6/8ft long torches.

The proclamation by the Guizer Jarl (pronounced Guy Zer Yaroll) the day before heralds the occasion. The day itself,(which, like all our days there, was bright and sunny with a clear blue sky) was started with the Guizer Jarl, who is the elected leader for the year, accompanied by about 100 Guizers, attired in Viking Clothes and wearing helmets, bringing the boat which is mounted on a wagon and attended by the Pipe Ban to the British Legion. A crowd assembles and the boat is escorted by these 100 Guizers armed with fearsome huge axes and shouting war cries in unison. The boat is wheeled by underlings and the brass band plays them down to the port where it is left on show for the day.

At 7 p.m. we joined the crowd by a wall which we could lean on, observe the parade which passed that point twice, and look over the wall to the boat-burning place about 50 yards away. Far away you can hear the music and then a gun goes off, torches are lit and the street lights go out. You Can now make out hundreds of lights up a hill from us. Don they come with the brass band playing and it is quite a sight.

As they pass us, the first 900 are Guizers in Viking clothes, organised in squads, each with its own Jarl. Different kinds of helmets denote different ranks. The flaming torches give out some heat. They are followed by the squads in various kinds of joke clothes, e.g. chickens, cavemen, angels and devils etc. also carrying torches. Only the occasional woman is on parade.

Eventually the boat is brought to the burning place in the field and all (about 1500 or more) surround it. The band plays the Viking song which they sing lustily, knowing the words, like the Welsh crowd in Cardiff. The singing stops, a signal is given, and they advance in an orderly manner and throw their torches into the boat. The band keeps playing and we watched it burn almost to extinction. A firework display then took place.

At 9 p.m. the night’s festivities start. Round the town there are about 15 “Halls”. Our Hotel is one. These are visited throughout the night by the squads, who perform their little acts. No booze is supplied in the Hall, but you can take your own which we did. After their little act, the members have a right to ask any woman spectator to dance. The dances are Scottish, Eightsome Reels, Strip the Willow etc. Then another squad appears and so it goes on throughout the night. We lasted till 12 midnight.

Their stamina is terrific. The squads move from place to place in minibuses and have their drinks in them. Our band played from 9 p.m. to 9 a.m. The Guizer Jarl squad visits each hall once. We were told that at 6 a.m. there were still 150 spectators left and 5 squads yet to arrive in our “hall”.

The next day is dead! Everything is closed and nothing much moves. But that night the Guizers have an all night dance which many people attend!

There are many rules and regulations governing the entire evening too tedious to repeat here and aimed at the timetable and the swift reaction to any misbehaviour.

It was a wonderful sight. We were fortunate with the weather. We enjoyed being there – a thing we have been meaning to do for years.

My morning started early with a weird dream – an acute concern that I had arrived at the above event not only without my Tonsley colours but also without the all-important whisky bottle! There was some unexplained confusion in this dream with another, for me, weird event, albeit not, I assure you, of a sporting nature – my wholly unexpected and even more disconcerting nightmare of the previous weekend when, attending a conference in Denmark, I had been unexpectedly required to share a double bed with my overloud snoring brother-in-law Brian, the common thread being lack of sleep!

So it was that Celia and I set off rather tired for Worcestershire and to renew my acquaintance with not just one heroic little Austin A35, but with over 100 gleaming versions of this triumphant forerunner of the Peugeot 205GTI! On arrival we were greeted by boy scouts who, we thought, were collecting the admission charge when they asked us for a donation. Having nothing less than a £10 note between us we asked if they had any change to which the immediate response was “No”! As a former boy scout myself I did not begrudge them the tenner, at least not until we had parked the beamer and walked towards the gate to be confronted by a nonchalant youngster reclining on a hay bale asking whether we had paid our entrance fee and who then demanded another £2.

That paid we arrived in the arena in time to see “The engine blow” – a competition to see who would guess the length of time an engine would run without either oil or water – the answer was 16 minutes 11 seconds by which time there was a considerable amount of smoke emerging from the car. We missed the Blindfold Driving Event but there was no evidence of any life threatening injuries having resulted from this. It reminded me of the occasion when I rallied my A35 on the Yorkshire Moors and the competitors one by one went through a dust storm blinding them and leading to a multiple prang, unbeknown to my successor in title!

On then to the results of the main competitions and the granting of awards for the various classes, for which there appeared to be countless trophies awarded.

Celia – a very sensible person, used to weirdness in minor forms – found it very weird. The people exhibiting their cars were definitely weird – you can see one of them crouching beside his car to the right of the photo in which I am sitting in his car and from the list of entrance you will see one competitor was driving an A30 registered in the Netherlands (50-UH-ig), it certainly being weird to come all that way to attend the event (happily proving the event’s compliance with rule 16). It was also extremely weird to destroy a perfectly good Maestro (happily however not a classic A35) in the engine blow.

Then, with me proudly wearing my Tonsley colours, we found a version of a black A35 most like the one that I had all those years ago rallied through the Lake District, Snowdonia and the Yorkshire moors: 160 KPK. One of the most exciting moments was to sit behind the wheel of 422 MMP. While the A35 was the only car in which my 6 foot six brother could sit wearing his top hat, this one had its driver’s seat raised to accommodate its rather small but proud owner and I nearly did myself an injury getting between the seat and the steering wheel! The only disappointment was not to find the celebrated TLF 538 amongst the specimens present – but the blame for that has to be laid at the door of my fellow competitor, ex Judge Bruce Snr who, having picked up a bargain for a mere £50, failed to preserve it for posterity, making the spurious excuse that he had not realised that it had been involved in renowned rallies and that it was somehow weird that it should have two Teachers whisky bottles inserted in its floor to keep the car waterproof. Thus, without in any way my wishing to pre-judge your honourable decision on the Tonsley day of reckoning, little did he know that he would one day come to regret that his attributing the description “weird” to my notorious and deeply loved velocipede would earn me the Tonsley trophy and deprive him of that, the greatest of accolades!

Tonight was one of satisfaction – envisaged because our Race Night was to come of age in its 21st annual event, but unenvisaged on account of the presence of one of my competitors – erstwhile Judge Bruce Junior – but without his Tonsley Colours! My delight was all the more intense when his indiscreet wife revealed that he had contemplated bringing the aforementioned headwear, only to make an error of judgement in taking the decision to leave it at home – clear reason if ever it was needed for his relegation to the status “erstwhile Judge Bruce Junior”! Under your particularly sensible rules this left the field clear for me to take the Trophy on the night which was to include the weirdest of all sporting events! Hence the grump futtock expression recorded below.

Other satisfaction and pleasure was to be had when he took the bribe of a reward (the nature of which, to spare his blushes, I will refrain from disclosing) to accompany me, for him in an unknown direction, but for the purpose of undertaking some important photography. Thus it was that I led him at 9pm to tag along at the back of a queue of 24 two-legged runners in the highly unusual and weirdest of races which was then about to take place on the Wimbledon Greyhound Stadium track.

After the difficulties that had been caused by one of your honourable judges not long after his appointment to that noble position, by his over exciting the greyhounds, when he ran in the first Greyhound Human Race as leader of the 2004 Santa Cruisers (forerunners of the team pictured here in 2005), to avoid similar disruption it was necessary for this year’s greyhound impersonators to be led onto the track without any danger of being seen by any of the four-legged variety and closely bunched around the 6 foot 6 hare that was making a guest appearance for this special night, when he was more usually to be found in an Olympic Eight.

So it was that six teams of 4 idiosyncratically named human greyhounds emerged onto the track closely followed by two Yelsnot competitors, but alas only one being properly attired!

Was it sabotage brought on by sheer irritability, at his misguided decision to leave his Colours at home, that caused former Judge Bruce Junior to press the button that turned the digital camera off, rather than take a photograph, that left me without a photograph of the runners and hare in transit, or was the cause the shame that had beset him that his own flesh and blood resident two-legged barely human greyhound failed to bring the baton in first?

Excitement reached fever pitch throughout the stadium as the Olympic human hare gathered pace and an assortment of barely human whippets gave chase. £1,500 had been staked on the outcome of this weirdest moment.

In a little over a minute and a half it was all over; the hare lived up to its Olympian tradition, closely followed by “Pie & Chips Twice” who can be seen here on the podium, otherwise strictly reserved for the real greyhound fraternity, having received their trophies from your competitor, to add to the weirdness of the occasion proudly sporting his Tonsley Colours.

When this year’s judges return to their more accustomed and befitting positions as competitors next year they, being four in number, would be ideally suited to challenge the field in their full Tonsley Colours to take the 2006 trophy as the “Tonsley Turbos”! See you there on 24th November 2006.