Blackmore, ‘Rarstling’ in Clara Vaughan (1864)

Fictional account, but with key references made by the novelist R. D. Blackmore that drew upon real events, and real wrestlers of the period:

Volume 2, Chapter 5:

CHAPTER V.

That same evening, as I was sitting in my lonely room, yet not quite alone,–for little Sally, who always did as I bade her, was scratching and blotting her best copy-book, under my auspices,–in burst Mrs. Huxtable, without stopping to knock as usual.

“Oh Miss Clerer, what have e been and doed? Varmer’s in crule trouble. Us’ll arl have to goo to gaol to-morrow, chillers and arl.”

She was greatly flurried and out of breath, and yet seemed proud of what she had to tell. She did not require much asking, nor beat about the bush, as many women do; but told me the story shortly, and then asked me to come and hear all particulars from Tim Badcock the farm-labourer, who had seen the whole.

Tim sat by the kitchen fire with a pint of cider by him on the little round table; strong evidence that his tidings, after all, were not so very unwelcome.

“Wull, you zee, Miss,” said Tim, after getting up, and pulling his rough forelock, “you zee, Miss, the Maister coom out this arternoon, in a weist zort of a wai, as if her hadn’t had no dinner.” Here he gave a sly look at “the Missus,” who had the credit of stopping the supplies, when the farmer had been too much on the cruise.

“What odds to thee, Tim,” she replied, “what odds to thee, what thee betters has for dinner?”

“Noo fai,” said Tim, “zo long as ai gits maine, and my missus arlways has un raddy. Zo I zed to Bill, zays I, ‘Best maind what thee’s at boy, there’s a starm a coomin, zure as my name’s Timothy Badcock.’ Howsomever her didn’t tak on atarl wi we, but kitched up a shivel, and worked awai without niver a ward. ‘Twur the tap of the clave, ‘langside of the beg fuzz, where the braidle road coomth along ‘twixt that and the double hadge; and us was arl a stubbing up the bushes as plaisant as could be, to plough thiccy plat for clover, coom some rain, plase God.”

“Git on, Tim, wull e,” cried his impatient mistress, “us knows arl about that. Cas’n thee tull it no quicker?”

“Wull, Miss,” continued Tim, in no hurry whatever, “prasently us zees a girt beg chap on a zort of a brown cob, a coomin in our diraction”–Tim was proud of this word, and afraid that we should fail to appreciate it–“they was a coomin, as you might zay, in our diraction this beg chap, and anither chap langside on him. Wull, when ‘um coom’d within spaking room of us, beg chap a’ horsebarck hollers out, ‘Can ‘e tell, my men, where Jan Uxtable live?’ Avore I had taime to spake, Maister lifts hissell up, and zaith, ‘What doo ‘e want to know for, my faine feller?’ every bit the zame as ai be a tullin of it to you. ‘What’s the odds to thee,’ zays tother chap, ‘thee d’st better kape a zivil tongue in thee head. I be Tom Gundry from Carnwall.’ And with that he stood up in his starrups, as beg a feller as iver you zee, Miss. Wull, Maister knowed all about Tom Gundry and what a was a coom for, and zo did I, and the boy, and arl the country round; for Maister have gotten a turble name for rarstling; maybe, Miss, you’ve a heer’d on him in Lunnon town?”

“I have never been in London, Tim, since I was a child; and I know nothing at all about wrestling.”

“Wull, Miss, that be nayther here nor there. But there had been a dale of brag after Maister had thrown arl they Carnishers to Barnstable vair, last year, about vetching this here Tom Gundry, who wor the best man in Cornwall, to throw our Maister. Howsomever, it be time for ai to crack on a bit. ‘Ah,’ zays the man avoot, who zimth had coom to back un, ‘ah, ‘twor arl mighty faine for Uxtable to play skittles with our zecond rate men. Chappell or Ellicombe cud have doed as much as that. Rackon Jan Uxtable wud vind a different game with Tom Gundry here.’ ‘Rackon he wud,’ zaith Gundry, ‘a had better jine a burial club, if her’ve got ere a waife and vamily.'”

“Noo. Did a zay that though?” inquired Mrs. Huxtable, much excited.

“‘Coom now,’ my maister zaith, trying to look smarl behaind the fuzz, ‘thee must throw me, my lad, avore thee can throw Jan Uxtable. He be a better man mainly nor ai be this dai. But ai baint in no oomer for playin’ much jist now, and rackon ai should hoort any man ai kitched on.’ ‘Her that be a good un, Zam, baint it now?’ zaith Gundry to little chap, the very zame as ai be a tullin it now, ‘doth the fule s’pose ai be ratten? Ai’ve half a maind to kick un over this hadge; jist thee hold the nag!’ ‘Sober now,’ zaith varmer, and ai zeed a was gettin’ rad in the chakes, ‘God knows ai don’t feel no carl to hoort ‘e. Ai’ll gie thee wan chance more, Tom Gundry, as thee’st a coom arl this wai fram Carnwall. Can ‘e trod a path in thiccy country, zame as this here be?’ And wi’ that, a walked into the beg fuzz, twaice so haigh as this here room, and the stocks begger round nor my body, and harder nor wrought hiern. A jist stratched his two hons, raight and left, and twitched un up, wan by wan, vor ten gude lanyard, as asily as ai wud pull spring inyons. ‘Now, wull e let me lone?’ zaith he, zo zoon as a coom barck, wi his brath a little quicker by rason of the exarcise, ‘wull ‘e let me lone?’ ‘Ee’s fai, wull I,’ zaith the man avoot. ‘Hor,’ zaith Tom Gundry, who had been a[#] shopping zumwhere, ‘thee cans’t do a gude dai’s work, my man, tak that vor thee’s wages.’ And wi’ that a lets fly at Maister’s vace wi’ a light hash stick a carr’d, maning to raide off avore Maister cud coom to’s brath again. In a crack Jan Uxtable zet both his hons under the stommick of the nag, one avore the starrup and one behaind, zame as I maight to this here little tabble, and haved un, harse and man, clane over hadge into Muster Yeo’s turmot falde. Then with wan heft, a kitched up tother chap, and zent un sprarling after un, zame as if ‘twor this here stule after the tabble.”

[#] i.e. dealing commercially where the staples are liquid.

I thought poor Tim, in the excitement of his story, would have thrown table and stool over the settle to illustrate it; and if he had, Mrs. Huxtable would have forgiven him.

“‘Thar,’ zaith our Maister, as plaisant as cud be, and ai thought us shud have died of laffing, ‘thar now, if zo be the owner of thiccy falde zummons e for traspash, you zay Jan Uxtable zent e on a little arrand, to vaind a Carnisher as can do the laike to he.’ And wi’ that, a waiped his hons with a slip of vern, and tuk a little drap of zider, and full to’s wark again.”

“Wull, but Tim,” asked the farmer’s wife, to lose no part of the effect, “what zort of a hadge wor it now? Twor a little hadge maybe, no haigher nor the zettle barck.”

“Wor it though?” said Tim, “thee knows better nor that, Missus. It be the beggest hadge on arl the varm, wi’ a double row of saplin hash atap. Her maks the boundary betwixt the two parishes, and ain’t been trimmed these vaive year, ai can swear.”

“And how be the both on ’em now, Tim? A must have gone haigh enough to channge the mune.

“Wull, Miss,” said Tim, addressing me, for he had told his Mistress all the story twice, “Tom Gundry brak his collar boun, and zarve ‘un raight, for a brak Phil Dascombe’s a puppose whun a got ‘un in a trap, that taime down to Bodmin thar; and harse gat a rick of his taial; but the little chap, he vell upon his hat, and that zaved him kindly. But I heer’d down to Pewter Will’s, whur I gooed for a drap of zumthin for my waife’s stommick, ai heer’d zay there, as how Constable was a coomin to Maister this very naight, if Carnishers cud have perswadded un. But Constable zaith, zaith he, ‘Twor all along o you Garnish chaps, fust battery was mad, and fust blow gien, and wi’out you can zhow me Squaire Drake’s warrant, I wunt have nout to do wi’ it, not ai; and that be law and gospel in Davonsheer and in Cornwall.'”

“Tim,” said Mrs. Huxtable, “I’se warrant thee’s niver tould so long a spin up in thee’s laife avore. And thee’s tould it wonnerful well too; hathn’t un Miss Clerer? Zuke, here be the kay of zellar, gie Tim a half a paint more zider; and thee mai’st have a drap theesell, gall. Waipe thee mouth fust.”

“Ah,” said Tim, favouring me with a wink, in the excess of his glory, “rackon they Carnishers ‘ll know the wai off Tossil’s Barton varm next taime, wi’out no saign postesses.”[#]

[#] Every word of Tim’s story is true, except as regards the names.

Volume 2, Chapter 15:

Please Miss he wanted to larn me to write, but father say no I had got better learning than hisn, and I say he may learn Tabby Badcock if he will, but he shan’t learn me. No tino.”

How she tossed her pretty curls when she wrote this I’ll be bound. I wished that I could see her.

“Please Miss I be forced to write this when he be away, or he’d a made it all in poetry; and Tim Badcock tell me to be sure to tell you as how at the wrastling to Barnstaple fair, week after you was gone, father was so crule unkid that in playing off the ties he heaved a Cornisher up through the chandelier, and a come down with a candle stuck so fast down his throat doctor was forced to set it a-fire and blow with a pair of bellises afore he could put him to rights. Cornisher be all right again now, Tim saith, but he have a made up his mind not to wrastle no more in Devonshire.

Volume 3, Chapter 10:

Patty trotted along at my side, wondering what would come next. Her thin little lips were working, and her face was like a kaleidoscope of expressions; but whenever I glanced toward her, she cast her eyes up, with a scared weird look, as if she was watching a ghost through a skylight, and trudged still faster, and muttered, “Yes, yes, Miss Vaughan. Quite right, my good friend; not a moment to lose.”

“And pray, Mrs. Shelfer, where do you suppose we are going?”

“Oh, I knows well enough “–with her eyes like corks drawn by distance–“I knowed it all the time. Yes, yes. Let me alone for that. Patty Shelfer wasn’t born yesterday. Why only Tuesday was a week–”

“If you guess right, I will tell you.”

“Why going to Charley, Miss Vaughan, to be sure. Going for Charley’s opinion. And very wise of you too; and what a most every one does; particular when he have money. But how you knowed he were there–”

“Where?”

“At the great wrestling match to be sure. And he wanted to take me; a thing he ain’t offered to do fifteen year next oyster-day. No, no, says I, with Miss Vaughan away, and most likely among them resurrectioners–”

Here she cast at me a glance, like a flash of lightning, to see if the hit had told. In a moment I understood all that I had not cared to ask about; why she trembled and shrunk from my hand, why she feared to look at me, and fixed her eyes away so. She believed that I had been burked, and that what she saw walking beside was my spirit come to claim burial. I could not stop to disprove it, any more than I could stop to laugh.

“And his grandfather were a sexton, Miss; and our Charley himself a first-rate hand at the spade.”

“Mrs. Shelfer, we are close to the place. Now, listen to what I say. It is not your husband I want, but Farmer Huxtable, whom you saw at the door. Nothing but a question of life and death would bring me among this rabble. No doubt there are many respectable men, but it is no place for a lady. The farmer himself knows that, and has never dared to ask me; though his wife and daughter, in ignorance, have. It is half-past twelve exactly; in a quarter of an hour at the utmost, I must speak to, and what is more, carry off the Devonshire competitor. Your husband is here, and on the Committee, you told me. I expect you to manage it. Go in at once and find him. Stop, here is plenty of money.”

In her supreme astonishment, she even dared to look at me. But she feared to take the money, although her eyes glistened at it, for I offered more gold than silver.

“Come back to me at once; I shall not move from here. Mind, if the farmer loses the match through me, I will pay all, and give the money for another.”

For once the little woman obeyed me, without discussion. She pushed through a canvass door into the vast marquee, or whatever it ought to be called, and was admitted readily on giving her husband’s name. I hung back, but with a sense of the urgency of my case, which turned my shame into pride. Many eyes were on me already of loungers and outsiders. In two or three minutes poor Patty came back, bringing Mr. Shelfer himself, who ever since his ducking had shown me the rose and pink of respect. He even went the length now of removing his pipe from his mouth.

“Very sorry indeed, Miss Vaughan, very sorry, you know. But we darrn’t interrupt the men now. Our lives wouldn’t be worth it, and they’d kill both the umpires and the referee too you know. Why it’s fall for fall, only think of that, Miss Vaughan, it’s fall for fall!” And the perspiration stood upon his forehead, and he wanted to run back.

“What do you mean?” In spite of my hurry, I felt deeply interested. How could I help it, loving the farmer so?

“Why, the Great Northern won the first throw by a bit of foul play, a foul stroke altogether, and no back at all, say I, and my eyes is pretty good; however, the umpires give it, and you should see John Huxtable’s face, the colour of a scythe-stone; he knew it was unfair you know. And you should see him go in again for the second fall. ‘I could ha dooed it,’ I hear him say, ‘I could ha dooed it aisy, only I wudn’t try Abraham, and I wun’t nother if can help it now.’ None of us knows what he mean, but in he go again, Miss, and three times he throw Sam Richardson clean over his shoulder, and one as fair a back as ever was in sawdust. But the umpires wouldn’t give it, till just now he turn him over straight for’ard, just the same as a sod in a spade, and they couldn’t get out of that. And now they be just in for the finishing bout, and if you want him, your only way is to come. May be, he’ll try Abraham, when he see you. Ah they’ve catched.”

A shout inside proclaimed some crisis; Mr. Shelfer, in his excitement, actually pulled me in without knowing it. Once there, I could not go back; and the scene was a grand and thrilling one.

In the centre of a roped arena, hedged by countless faces, all rigid, flushed, and straining with suspense, stood two mighty forms; the strongest men in England and perhaps in all the world. A loose sack, or jerkin, of the toughest canvass, thrown back clear of the throat, half-sleeved, and open in front, showed the bole of the pollard neck, the solid brawn of the chest, and the cords of the outstretched arm. Stout fustian breeches, belted at waist, and strapped at knee, cased their vast limbs so exactly, yet so easily, that every curve was thew, and every wrinkle sinew. Thin white stockings, flaked with sawdust and looking rather wet, rolled and stood out, like the loops of a mace, with the rampant muscles of the huge calf, and the bulge of the broad foreleg.

As the shout proclaimed, they had caught or clutched; a thing which is done with much fencing and feinting, each foining to get the best grasp. Where I went, or what happened to me, I never noticed at all, so absorbed at once I became in this rare and noble probation of glorious strength, trained skill, and emulous manhood.

Round and round the ring they went, as in musical measure, holding each other at arms’ length, pacing warily and in distance, skilfully poised to throw the weight for either attack or defence. Each with his left hand clutched the jerkin of the other, between the neck and shoulder, each kept his right arm lightly bent, and the palm like a butterfly quivering. Neither dared to move his eyes from the pupils of the other; for though they were not built alike, each knew the strength of his fellow. The Northern Champion was at least three inches taller than the Son of Devon, quite as broad in the shoulders and large of limb, but not so thick-set and close-jointed, not quite so stanch in the loins and quarters. But he was longer in the reach, and made the most of that advantage. On his breast he bore the mark of a hug as hard as a bear’s; and his face, though a fine and manly one, looked rather savage and spiteful.

The farmer was smiling pleasantly, an honest but anxious smile. For the first time he had met with a man of almost his own power; and on a turn of the heel depended at least four hundred pounds, and what was more than four million to him, the fame of the county that nursed him. Above them hung the champion’s belt, not of the west or north, but of England and of the world.

Suddenly, ere I could see how they did it, they had closed in the crowning struggle. Breast to breast, and thigh to thigh, they tugged, and strained, and panted. Nothing though I knew of the matter, I saw that the North-man had won the best hold, and as his huge arms enwrapped my friend, a tremble went through my own frame. The men of the North and their backers saw it, and a loud hurrah pealed forth; deep silence ensued, and every eye was intent. Though giant arms were round him and Titan legs inlocked, never a foot he budged. John Huxtable stood like a buttress. He tried not to throw the other; placed as he was, he durst not; but he made up his mind to stand, and stand he did with a vengeance. In vain the giant jerked and twisted, levered, heaved, and laboured, till his very eyeballs strained; all the result was ropes and bunches in the wide-spread Devonshire calves, and a tightening of the clench that threatened to crush the Northern ribs. As well might a coiling snake expect to uproot an oak.

As this exertion of grand stability lasted and outlasted, shouts arose and rang alike from friend and foe, from north, and west, and east; even I could not help clapping my feeble hands. But the trial was nearly over. The assailant’s strength was ebbing; I could hear him gasp for breath under the fearful pressure. By great address he had won that hold, and made sure of victory from it, it had never failed before; but to use a Devonshire word, the farmer was too “stuggy.” Now, the latter watched his time, and his motive power waxed as the other’s waned. At length he lifted him bodily off his legs, and cast him flat on his back. A flat and perfectly level cast, as ever pancake crackled at. Thunders of applause broke forth, and scarcely could I keep quiet.

With amazement the farmer espied me as he was bowing on all sides, and amid the tumult and uproar that shook the canvass like a lark’s wing, he ran across the ring full speed. Then he stopped short, remembering his laboured and unpresentable plight, and he would have blushed, if he had not been as red as fire already. None of such nonsense for me. I called him by name, took his hand, and with all my heart congratulated.

“But, farmer, I want you immediately, on a matter of life and death.” Beany Dawe and the children came, but I only stopped to kiss Sally, and motioned them all away. “If you remember your promise to me, get ready for a journey in a moment, and run all the way to my lodgings. We must leave London, at two o’clock, to save my Uncle’s life.”

Mr. Huxtable looked astounded, and his understanding, unlike his legs, for the moment was carried away. Meanwhile up came Sally again, caught hold of my hand, and silently implored for some little notice, if only of her costume, violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red. I could only kiss her again.

“Oh do come, farmer Huxtable, do come at once, I entreat you; or I must go alone and helpless.”

“That you shan’t, my dearie, dang Jan Uxtable for a girt lout.”

“Please, sir, I am sent to tell you that the umpires gives it no fall, and you must play again.”

The man looked abased by his errand; even he knew better. In my hurry I had paid no attention to the ominous hissing and hooting around a knot of men on the benches at the end.

The farmer’s face I shall never forget; as he slowly gathered the truth, it became majestic with honest indignation. A strong man’s wrath at deceit and foul play sat upon it, like a king on his throne.

“For the chillers–” he stammered at last–“ony for the poor chiller’s sake–else I’d never stand it, danged if I wud, Miss Clara; it make a man feel like a rogue and a cheat himself.”

Then, with all the power of his mighty voice he shouted, so that every fold of the canvass shook, and every heart thrilled fearfully:

“Men of Lunnon, if men you be, no chap can have fair play with you. It be all along of your swindling bets about things you don’t know nothing of. You offered me five hunder pound, afore ever here I come, to sell my back to the Northman. A good honest man he be, and the best cross-buttock as ever I met with; but a set of rogues and cowards that’s what you be; and no sport can live with you. As for your danged belt, I wun’t have it, no tino, it wud be a disgrace to the family; it shan’t never go along side the Devonshire and Cornwall leather. But I’ll throw your man over again, and any six of you to once as plases.”

Then, thorough gentleman as he was, he apologized to me for his honest anger, and for having drawn all eyes upon me, as there I stood at his side.

“But never fear about the time, Miss Clara, I won’t kape you two minutes. I’ll give him Abraham’s staylace this time. They have a drove me to it, as us hasn’t a moment to spare.”

Proudly he stepped into the ring again, and again the North Country giant, looking rather ashamed, confronted him. No fencing or feinting this time; but the Devonshire wrestler, appealing thus to the public,

“Now look here, Lunnoners, wull e, and zee if this here be a back,” rushed straight at his antagonist, grappled him in some peculiar manner, seemed to get round his back, and then spun him up over his own left shoulder, in such a way that he twirled in the air and came down dead on his spine. Dead indeed he appeared to be, and a dozen surgeons came forward, in the midst of a horrible silence, and some were preparing to bleed him, when the farmer moved them aside; he knew that the poor man was only stunned by concussion of the spine. Awhile he knelt over him sadly, with the tears in his own brave eyes:

“I wudn’t have doed it, lad; indade and indade I wudn’t, ony they forced me to it; and you didn’t say nought agin them. It be all fair enough, but it do hoort so tarble. That there trick was invented by a better man nor I be, and it be karled ‘Abraham Cann’s staylace.’ I’ll show e how to do it, if ever us mates again. Now tak the belt, man, tak it–” he leaped up, and tore it down, with very little respect, “I resigns it over to you; zimth they arl wants you to have it and you be a better man nor deserves it. And I’ll never wrastle no more; Jan Uxtable’s time be over. Give us your hond, old chap. We two never mate again, unless you comes down our wai, and us han’t got a man to bate e, now I be off the play. There be dacent zider and bakkon to Tossil’s Barton Farm. Give us your hond like a man, there be no ill will atween us, for this here little skumdoover.” Perhaps he meant skirmish and manoeuvre, all in one. Sam Richardson, slowly recovering, put out his great hand, all white and clammy, and John Huxtable took it tenderly, amid such uproarious cheering, that I expected the tent on our heads. Even Shelfer’s sharp eyes had a drop of moisture in them. As for Beany Dawe, he flung to the winds all dithyrambic gravity, and chanted and danced incoherently, Cassandra and Chorus in one; while Sally Huxtable blotted all her rainbow in heavy drops.

Hundreds of pipes were smashed, even the Stoic Shelfer’s, in the rush to get at the farmer; but he parted the crowd right and left, as I might part willow-sprays, and came at once to me. Whether by his aid, or by the sympathies of the multitude, I am sure I cannot tell, but I found myself in a cab, with Sally at my side, and Mrs. Shelfer on the box, and the farmer’s face at the window.

“Twenty minutes, Miss, I’ll be there, raddy to go where you plases. It bain’t quite one o’clock yet. I must put myself dacent like, avore I can go with you, Miss; and git the money for the sake of them poor chiller, if so be they Lunnoners be honest enough to pai. Jan Uxtable never come to Lunnon town no more.”

With thousands of people hurraing, we set off full gallop for Albert Street.

A study of Clara Vaughan by the DWS

Devon Wrestling was a major part of life in rural communities across the county, and wider in Somerset too. A vivid picture of the meaning of the sport to those communities is difficult to reconstruct today, because newspaper reports do not quite capture what it meant to its practitioners. Wrestlers appear as names on an event sheet, and commentary comes from observers, often journalists, without direct experience or connection to the game. 

Luckily, there is a strong example of the culture and meaning that was featured in the novel Clara Vaughan by R. D. Blackmore. Blackmore later achieved lasting fame for another romantic novel, Lorna Doone. Clara Vaughan was his first novel, having been written in 1853 and published anonymously in 1864. Incidentally, this was the year that Abraham Cann died, and was referred to by name 3 times across the novel. 

The book itself is actually a murder mystery, set within the sprawling hills of Devon. Wrestling featured in the work to serve a number of narrative functions. Primarily, it is used to demonstrate the personal strength and power of John Huxtable, the Devon Farmer who’s home Clara stays after the death of her father. 

One of the most interesting things about the novel, from a Devon Wrestling perspective, is the inclusion of known historical personalities of the sport (Ellicombe, Dascombe, Chappell, Cann et al), as well as the use of local dialects in the descriptions of the techniques and events. This paints a vivid picture of how the practitioners themselves would describe the play. 

This isn’t the only of Blackmore’s works to feature Devon and Cornish wrestling, but in this paper we shall only look at the references to it in Clara Vaughan. 

Key characters 

1. Conrad – A sculptor, Clara’s love interest, described with “poor sick face,” “healthy brown complexion faded to an opal white,” with “beneath his eyes such dark blue rims” and “on either cheek a round red spot was burning.”
2. Clara Vaughan – The narrator, described as headstrong, passionate, and proud of her birth.
3. Edgar Vaughan – Clara’s uncle, once handsome but now ill and weakened, described as having “a dignity about him, an air of lofty birth.”
4. Giudice – Clara’s loyal bloodhound.
5. Mrs. Daldy – Described as “the queen of hypocrites” and Clara’s “arch-enemy.”
6. Fiordalisa (in Edgar’s story) – “The loveliest being that ever moved outside the gates of heaven,” with “sable clustering hair,” “nestling cheeks,” “dark-fringed lustre of her eyes,” and “gleesome arch of her laughing lips.”

The Barnstaple Fair incident

A significant wrestling event is described in Sally Huxtable’s letter:

“Father was so crule unkid that in playing off the ties he heaved a Cornisher up through the chandelier, and a come down with a candle stuck so fast down his throat doctor was forced to set it a-fire and blow with a pair of bellises afore he could put him to rights. Cornisher be all right again now, Tim saith, but he have a made up his mind not to wrastle no more in Devonshire.”

This humorous but telling anecdote reveals:

1. Formal wrestling competitions occurred at regional fairs
2. “Playing off the ties” is to throw using the ropes across the jacket
3. The rivalry between Devon and Cornwall wrestlers was significant
4. Huxtable’s extraordinary strength was legendary in the region

Tom Gundry from Cornwall

The most detailed wrestling account comes in Chapter V of Volume II, where Tim Badcock relates the confrontation between Farmer Huxtable and Tom Gundry, the champion wrestler from Cornwall:

“There had been a dale of brag after Maister had thrown arl they Carnishers to Barnstable vair, last year, about vetching this here Tom Gundry, who wor the best man in Cornwall, to throw our Maister.”

This establishes that:

1. Wrestling had a formal competitive circuit
2. Local champions would challenge each other across county lines
3. Huxtable had previously defeated multiple Cornish wrestlers

The confrontation itself shows wrestling’s cultural significance:

“‘Rackon Jan Uxtable wud vind a different game with Tom Gundry here.’ ‘Rackon he wud,’ zaith Gundry, ‘a had better jine a burial club, if her’ve got ere a waife and vamily.'”

Rather than engage in a formal wrestling match, Huxtable demonstrates his superior strength by uprooting furze bushes and then tossing both Gundry and his horse over a hedge when challenged.

Regional Wrestling styles

The text alludes to differences between Devonshire and Cornish wrestling styles. When Tom Gundry confronts Huxtable, one of his companions mentions:

“Ah, ‘twor arl mighty faine for Uxtable to play skittles with our zecond rate men. Chappell or Ellicombe cud have doed as much as that.”

This suggests there were well-known wrestling champions from each region (Gundry was a Cornish wrestler, Chappell and Ellicombe being Devon wrestlers) and that they considered Huxtable’s victories against lesser Cornish wrestlers unimpressive.

Wrestling as Social Identity

Wrestling clearly forms a significant part of local identity and pride:

1. When Farmer Huxtable is depressed about Clara leaving, his wife says, “Varmer’s in crule trouble,” and he immediately goes to confront Tom Gundry – suggesting wrestling as an emotional outlet
2. The incident is retold with great pride by Tim Badcock and becomes a cherished story in the community
3. When Farmer Huxtable mentions potential French invaders, he immediately thinks of his “big ash-stick” – suggesting his identity as a fighter/wrestler would be his response to any threat

Wrestling terminology

The text contains several wrestling-specific terms:

1. “Rarstling” – Devonshire dialect for wrestling
2. “Throw” – the basic win condition in wrestling
3. “Playing off the ties” – to throw using the ropes at the front of the jacket
4. “Forehip” – a specific wrestling move or hold (mentioned as a threat when Huxtable says he’ll show someone “what a forehip mean pretty smart”)

Social Context of Wrestling

The novel portrays wrestling as:

1. A respectable rural pursuit for farmers and working men
2. An activity that crossed class boundaries (the gentry would attend matches)
3. A source of local identity and pride
4. A test of masculinity and strength
5. Something that involved significant wagering and reputation

This expanded analysis shows that wrestling in Victorian rural England was not merely a casual pastime but a culturally significant activity with its own customs, terminology, competitive structure, and regional rivalries. R.D. Blackmore presents it as an authentic element of rural Devon life and uses wrestling prowess as a character-defining trait for Farmer Huxtable, reinforcing his role as a powerful, good-hearted protector figure in Clara’s life.

Farmer Huxtable’s Challenge to the Cornish Wrestler

In Sally Huxtable’s letter to Clara, she mentions her father’s continued interest in wrestling competitions:

“Father say, ‘I’ll go to Bodmin town next week,’ say father, ‘and show them Cornishers a trick of Abraham Cann. Since honest Abraham took the sprain, he left it all to me, though God knows, and thank him for the same, I never want it yet. I should like to see the Cornisher as could stand my grip.’ And then father pull both his hands out of his pockets. Mother say he wear them out he do spraddle both his thumbs so.”

This reference to Abraham Cann is significant – he was a famous real-life Devon wrestler of the early 19th century, indicating Blackmore’s attention to historical accuracy in depicting regional wrestling traditions.

Wrestling as Emotional Release

Sally Huxtable makes an astute observation about her father’s psychological connection to wrestling:

“It seems a curious thing, Miss Clara dear, father never get vexed or weist like, but what he want to wrestle, and other times he never think of it, unless it be to fair or revel time.”

This indicates how deeply wrestling was embedded in the emotional lives of rural men – serving as both a competitive outlet and a form of emotional release when agitated.

Timothy Badcock as Wrestling Partner

The text shows how wrestling was integrated into daily farm life, with Timothy Badcock serving as both farmhand and wrestling partner:

“Father were that upset he stamp out of the house a trying hard to whistle, and he couldn’t see no one there to let it off on but Timothy Badcock, and he were a little saucy, so he toss Tim up on the linhay roof and his legs come through the thatch, and father was forced to ease him out with the pitchfork. Tim was stiff a bit in the evening, and serve him right say mother, for laughing so at the Cornishers; but father give him some neatsfoot oil and cider, and we knew us couldn’t hurt him because he be double-jointed.”

This casual, almost playful application of wrestling techniques in daily farm life shows how the skills and physical prowess developed through wrestling permeated other aspects of rural existence.

Volume I

Book I

Chapter I: Clara Vaughan introduces herself at age ten, describing her happy life with her loving parents. She recalls an ominous meeting with a doctor who examined her for possible mental issues but found her healthy.

Chapter II: On the night of December 30, 1842, Clara’s father is murdered in his bed. The killer stabs him through the heart. Clara’s mother is found in shock beside him. A mysterious lock of black hair is found in her mother’s hand.

Chapter III: The investigation produces few clues except footprints outside the house marked with a rectangular cross in the sole and a rumor about a stranger seen nearby.

Chapter IV: Clara’s half-uncle Edgar Vaughan becomes her guardian. Clara grows increasingly suspicious of him and believes he committed the murder.

Chapter V-IX: Clara discovers a dagger in a pond on the estate and becomes convinced it’s the murder weapon. She confronts Edgar Vaughan with it, but collapses. Her mother dies, and Clara is increasingly isolated with her guardian.

Chapter X-XVI: Mrs. Daldy and her son Clement arrive. Clara dislikes them both, especially when Mrs. Daldy suggests Clara marry Clement. Clara discovers that Edgar is the actual owner of the estate due to a legal technicality. When she learns this, she and her nurse Ann Maples leave for a small cottage in Devonshire owned by her mother.

Book II

Chapter I-III: Clara settles in Devonshire at Tossil’s Barton Farm with the Huxtable family. Here we meet Farmer John Huxtable, his wife, and daughter Sally.

Chapter IV: Clara describes Farmer Huxtable’s physical prowess and his reputation for wrestling. Though no direct references to historical wrestlers are made yet, the groundwork is laid for later wrestling references.

Chapter V: This chapter contains the first significant wrestling section with historical references. Tim Badcock relates how Farmer Huxtable confronted Tom Gundry, a champion Cornish wrestler. He mentions:

• “There had been a dale of brag after Maister had thrown arl they Carnishers to Barnstable vair, last year”
• “Chappell or Ellicombe cud have doed as much as that” – First reference to real wrestlers Chappell and Ellicombe
• “Tom Gundry brak his collar boun, and zarve ‘un raight, for a brak Phil Dascombe’s a puppose whun a got ‘un in a trap, that taime down to Bodmin thar” – Reference to Phil Dascombe

Chapter VI-VII: Clara receives from Beany Dawe a magical talisman called a “gordit,” supposedly the heart of a fairy. She becomes increasingly independent.

Chapter VIII-XIV: Clara moves to London and rents rooms from Mrs. Shelfer. She starts earning money by selling drawings and meets Isola Ross and her brother Conrad.

Chapter XV-XVIII: Clara investigates a gang of conspirators who may include her father’s murderer. She is injured during this investigation and loses her sight temporarily. She is nursed by Isola, and befriends Giudice, Conrad’s dog.

Volume II

Chapter I-XIII: Clara recovers her sight. She continues her friendship with Isola and Conrad while also pursuing her investigation. She receives a letter from Sally Huxtable that contains wrestling references:

• “Father say, ‘I’ll go to Bodmin town next week and show them Cornishers a trick of Abraham Cann. Since honest Abraham took the sprain, he left it all to me'” – Reference to Abraham Cann. The passage implies that John Huxtable is the successor to Cann
• “At the wrastling to Barnstaple fair, week after you was gone, father was so cruel unkind that in playing off the ties he heaved a Cornisher up through the chandelier”

Chapter XIV-XVIII: Clara receives news that her uncle Edgar is dying. She returns to Vaughan Park and discovers Mrs. Daldy is trying to gain control of the estate. Clara outsmarts her and takes charge of her uncle’s care.

Chapter XII: Contains extensive wrestling descriptions of a match featuring Farmer Huxtable. Includes:

• “That there trick was invented by a better man nor I be, and it be karled ‘Abraham Cann’s staylace.'” – Another reference to Abraham Cann and his technique
• Description of the Northern Champion versus “the Son of Devon” (Huxtable)
• Detailed accounts of wrestling techniques, audience reactions, and the cultural significance of the match

Volume II

Book IV, Chapter I

Clara describes her uncle recovering from illness. She visits her parents’ graves and reflects on her life. She encounters Lily (Isola) in the churchyard and they have a conversation about Clara’s feelings toward Isola’s family. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter II

Clara describes her deep anxiety about leaving her uncle and her suspicion of Mrs. Daldy. She recounts finding a secret passage in the house and discovering Mrs. Daldy stealing documents from her uncle’s bureau. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter III

Clara confronts Mrs. Daldy and recovers the stolen papers. She discusses the future with her uncle, who is planning to transfer his estate to her. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter IV

Clara travels to London with Annie Franks. She sends a message to Balaam and Balak to meet her and visits Conrad’s lodgings but finds he has gone to Paris. She meets with Isola, who reveals her guardian has thrown her out after telling her she is illegitimate. Clara recognizes Isola as her uncle’s daughter, Lily. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter V

Clara learns that her uncle has died. She comforts Lily and they visit his body together. Conrad arrives, and Clara begins to understand the mistaken identity that caused their earlier conflict. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter VI

Clara reads her uncle’s letter explaining his wishes to be buried in Corsica beside his wife. Clara, Conrad, and Lily travel to Corsica to fulfill this request and establish Lily’s claims to her inheritance. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter VII

Clara receives a letter from Sally Huxtable mentioning a coming wrestling match in London. She also receives a letter from Balaam and Balak indicating they have found the man she’s been seeking. No wrestling references beyond the mention of the upcoming match.

Book IV, Chapter VIII

Clara goes to confront Lepardo Della Croce. She is captured by him and imprisoned in his laboratory. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book IV, Chapter IX

Clara escapes from her prison by burning through the door. She rushes to catch a train to save her uncle, whom she believes is in danger from Lepardo. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Volume III

Book V, Chapter I

Clara begins her own narrative again after her uncle’s story. She reflects on her experiences and describes her discovery of the secret entrance used by the murderer. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book V, Chapter II

Clara recounts a letter from Sally Huxtable detailing Farmer Huxtable’s upcoming wrestling match in London. Clara and Mrs. Shelfer observe Farmer Huxtable, Sally, Jack, and Beany Dawe in London where they have an encounter with a young shoe-shine boy. No direct wrestling references beyond the mention of the upcoming match.

Book V, Chapter III

Clara urgently needs to find Farmer Huxtable to enlist his help against Lepardo. She heads to the wrestling venue in London. This chapter contains the extensive wrestling scene between John Huxtable and Sam Richardson.

Wrestling References:

• This is where John Huxtable uses “Abraham Cann’s staylace” technique: “That there trick was invented by a better man nor I be, and it be karled ‘Abraham Cann’s staylace.'” (Vol III, Chapter XII)
• The “cross-buttock” technique is mentioned: “A good honest man he be, and the best cross-buttock as ever I met with” (Vol III, Chapter XII)
• No mentions of Dascombe or Chappel appear in this chapter or anywhere else in the text.

Book V, Chapter IV

Clara and Farmer Huxtable travel to Vaughan St. Mary. They encounter Lepardo, who attempts to shoot them. Giudice (Clara’s dog) attacks Lepardo, and they both fall into the lake. Conrad arrives and tends to the wounded Farmer Huxtable. No wrestling references in this chapter.

Book V, Chapter V

The conclusion of the novel describes the aftermath. Farmer Huxtable recovers from his injuries. Clara and Conrad marry, as do Lily and Peter Green. Mrs. Shelfer and her husband come to live at the estate. Balaam and Balak open a pub called the “Posse-Comitatus.” No wrestling references in this chapter.

Summary of Wrestling References

1. Abraham Cann: Referenced multiple times as a revered figure in Devon wrestling whose techniques are still used by Farmer Huxtable. The “staylace” move is specifically named after him. Mentioned in Volume II (Sally’s letter) and Volume III, Chapter XII.
2. Phil Dascombe: Mentioned in Volume II, Chapter V as a wrestler who was deliberately injured by Tom Gundry in a match at Bodmin.
3. Chappell and Ellicombe: Referenced together in Volume II, Chapter V as notable Cornish wrestlers who could supposedly have defeated Huxtable’s second-tier opponents.
4. Tom Gundry: While his historical status is less clear, he’s presented as “the best man in Cornwall” and features in an extended anecdote about wrestling Huxtable.

The most concentrated wrestling references appear in Volume II, Chapter V (the confrontation with Tom Gundry) and Volume III, Chapter XII (the formal wrestling match). The letter from Sally Huxtable in Volume II also contains significant wrestling content, including the reference to Abraham Cann’s techniques.