No one really knows the origins of Hound Trailing, a man drags an aniseed soaked with turpentine rag (to hold the scent to the ground) for different distances over the fell (depends on the ages of the hounds competing), and much "betting" is carried out.

When my father was a lad, the family were quite keen, keeping several hounds and goodness knows how many terriers. All this in a house besides 9 children and three adults. Money was tight in the 1930s and there was a bit of resentment amongst the older children about the hound who had to be walked (some considerable distance each day) and practice trails laid, besides being fed the "special diet" all the trail men use (each one different and particular to the owner).

One hound in particular caused much unhappiness - it was usless! Never did anything when it competed, but was kept all the same. One day my father (for some reason) missed the last bus home from Keswick (16 miles away) and was forced to walk home through the night with the hound, arriving in the early morning. "It'll have done t' hound good," said his dad!

Anyway Grasmere Sports came around and my Grandfather took the day off work to go, and run the hound ................ Would you believe it won!! at some fantastic price with the bookies. The old lad had carried out some sort of betting coup. The poor performance(s) were a part of it. Dad never knew what he did, in those days it was that kind of sport.

As a lad I went to a hound trail south of Stavely. A hound was winning by a mile, it went behind a wood and came out the other side second! Trailing has changed a lot since those days.

Hunt Suppers are still held by most if not all the fell packs as a social occasion that also raises much needed revenue. They always end up with a sing song, where the previous singer says, "I call upon ....... whoever " and up you get. Poetry is OK as well, providing its hunting related. If possible it's best not to duplicate sombody's efforts previously. I used to have major problems as a) I cannot sing, and b) only knew two songs anyway. I used to sit there in trepidation of being nominated. To my joy, I hardly ever played a starring role.

My mates were little better. On one occasion in Dodds Cafe one lad had to resort to an American popular tune which began, " A fox got up on a moonlit night and then got into the town oh, town oh" routine. It didn't bring the house down!

The best hunt suppers were at the Mayor-Making at Troutbeck, trouble was there was a lot of fighting and it subsequently went all ticket.