Atalanta (1895)
Excerpt referring to Wrestling, in discussion about ‘Author’s counties’, in ‘Atalanta’: Volume 8 (1895)
….
Another of Mr Blackmore’s novels is set partly in Devon it is that of ‘Clara Vaughan’ one of his earliest if not his earliest work. It is not equal to his later novels and yet contains in it scenes of great power. In this tale he has an account of a wrestling or as it is locally called a wrastling match.
Wrestling in Devon and Cornwall is a sport of the past and many of the terms used in it are now unintelligible. But of old it was the county game and most villages had their “play fields”, places were the young met to wrestle. An old tanner now dead told me how that when he was a boy every summer evening the youths were wont to assemble in the play field which was strewn with bark there to exercise themselves in wrestling matches In addition there were grand matches at fairs and a silver belt which was retained by the champion.
This silver belt was for many years held by a lusty fellow who lived at the lodge to my own grounds but that was before I was born
The There was one throw which was a very danger ous one to give it was called Shewing the white mare and it consisted in flinging the opponent over the shoulder so that he fell on his back result was not unlikely to be a broken spine That death ensued after some of these matches is con stantly affirmed I have given in Songs of the West a ballad relative to such a match which I got from the old tanner above mentioned The aged man told me that in his day ladies and gentle men made a point of going to the play field to watch the wrestling just as now they attend cricket matches
The ballad in question runs thus
I sing of champions bold
That wrestled, not for gold
And all the cry was Will Trefrey!
That he should win the day,
So Will Trefry, huzzah!
The ladies clap their hands and cry,
‘Trefry, Trefry, Huzzah!’
Then up sprang little Jan
A lad scarce grown a man
He said “Trefry, I wot I’ll try
A hitch with thee this day”
So little Jan, huzzah!
The ladies clap their hands and cry
“O little Jan huzzah!:
They wrestled on the ground
His match Trefry had found
And back he bore in struggle sore
He felt his force give way
So little Jan, huzzah!
This some did say but others Nay Trefry Trefry Huzzah
Then, with a desperate toss,
Will showed the flying hoss (horse),
And little Jan fell on the tan,
And never more he spake
O little Jan alack!
The ladies say “O woe’s the day
O little Jan alack!”
“Now little Jan I ween
That day had married been:
Had he not died a gentle bride
That day he home had led.
Then many a tear was shed,
The ladies sigh, the ladies cry,
……little Jan is dead”
Here and there in Mr Blackmore’s Devonshire stories comes out his innate ineradicable love for apples. A Devonshire boy will break over a barbed wire fence for apples and a Devonshire man break into a cellar through bolts and bars after cider. With a local legend relative to cider I will conclude.
Once upon a time the brewers of Exeter found it impossible to make a living with ale so strong was the craving for cider. So they made a compact with the Evil One that he should send a frost to cut the apple blossoms in May in consideration for which favour they undertook to adulterate their beer. Now there falls a frost very frequently on the 19th 20th and 21st of May and this is termed St Frankom mass. St Frankom is an euphemism for the unmentionable. Now whensoever such a frost comes and cuts the apple blossoms then for sure cartain say the Devonians….