THE RIDE.
"Warn Wat o' Harden and his sons, WV them will Borthwick water ride, Warn Gaudilands and Allanhangh And Gilmansoleugh and Commonside.
Ride by the gate at Priesthaugh swire, And warn the Currors o' the Lee, As ye come down the Hermitage Slack Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinsberry."
—Ballad of James Taifer.
8.35 a.m., and from Kidder Castle, that lies within a rifle-shot of the Scots Border, the local Guide, Mr. S. Dodd, cadet of one of the "ancient groynes" of North Tynedale, touches his well-bred Border horse with his heel, and away on a good round trot speeds up the valley of the Kidder water. For a mile or so the grass track permits of a canter, but shortly, when the Guide passes East Kielder Farm on his right, and the two shepherds' houses of Scalp (wrongly spelt "Scene on the Ordnance map) and Kidder Head, a little further on, on his left, the canter must slow down into a trot, and shortly again into a walk, for now the great fella enclose the rider, the " whitelands" are heavy with much rain and snow, and soon again, as the White Kielder Burn side is ascended, miry peathags show themselves and mossy flows are encountered. Here, if a Guide knows not every foot of the way, he may be "haired," as the Borderers' phrase goes, even as Queen Mary was "haired" in the "Queen's myre " as she rode of old to see Bothwell in his castle of Hermitage across the moors from Jedburgh. Now and again in the worst places the rider may have to dismount, and, slinging the horse's bridle over his arm, pick his way through the spongy, squirt- ing moss or the broken pests. So. very friendly, horse and Guide foot it together through the swampy ground; then when the foothold grows firmer the rider will mount and push on tiwain at a trot. Up and up he wends his way past the Skelly boles, through the Blackcleugh and on into Kidder Gunscleugh, till be passes above the rocky nest where the White Kidder Burn is born and comes forth on to Girdle Fell, where he reaches the highest point of his rough ride-1,739 feet above sea level. The Girdle Stone be has passed, and now is on the watershed where the burns gather to run east and west. The ground is comparatively level here on the top of Girdle Fell,
but the travelling is not yet much better, for the black moor about is choked with water and desolation encompasses the rider, for there are no sheep nor even grouse about—save for a solitary golden plover the Guide is alone.
But now he begins to descend, and can trot along the track, called the Duke's Road, till he comes to Chattlehope- Chattlehope where the ravens breed—and Chattlehope Spout, where any "spate" brings down the far-seen waterfall. Almost opposite him to the north-east lies "Cheviot's mountain lone," with its "gryming " of snow, and all the range of Cheviot hills, like mammoths in a herd, tranquilly chewing the cud of centuries. Carter Fell, to his left, tries to block the pass into Scotland, yet without avail, for the road shows like a ribbon, lost upon the brae. Here the rider has his second horse awaiting him, for the pace and distance are too great for one only. Down, down the hope the Guide presses onward ; now he can trot as he descends by the burn. sideinto the valley of the water of Rode, which runs at a distance below him. He has reached the shepherd's house of Chattlehope, and now he canters along Cateleugh Lough. wherein are prisoned the upper water ofthe Redo, the burns of Bateinghope, of Ramahope, and Whitelee, for the use of Newcastle and Gateshead. The Guide shakes his bridle, and his horse breaks into a hand gallop as he feels the sound grass once more beneath his hoofs. Down the valley he goes swiftly —swiftly onward on the south aide of the Redo, till he meets the group beside Blakehopeburnhaugh, who are eagerly awaiting him. Chief amongst them are Jacob Robson, Master of the Border Hounds; Earl Percy, ever interested in the welfare of his county; and Mr. Howard Pease (late High Sheriff), who, as District Guide, is about to take on the despatch some farther fourteen miles to Hepple Bridge, over the river of Coquet. The time of arrival is marked on the despatch, and a few minutes later the time of departure.
So far from Kielder Castle to Blakehopeburnhaugh —some thirteenmilea, through some of the roughest country in England —the time has been one hour twenty-five minutes, but this for a far worse country than William of Deloraine rode over, and one, indeed, quite hopeless for a stranger. The District Guide is now in his saddle, and away goes his mare at full gallop, for she is thoroughbred, and won the Border Point-to-Point four years ago. Often in places is the ground soft, and the mare, treading delicately like A.gag, glides over the "rashes" and the moss as a skilled skater over thin ice. Two miles over the " whitelands," then the Newcastle-Jedburgh road is crossed, and the Guide now heads straight for the Bellahield Burn. Down across, then up a very steep wet brae climbs the mare undaunted, the surf of her sweat white upon the reins. Now she has won the top of the brae, and of her own accord breaks into a canter, leaving on the right the new Artillery Camp of Birdhopeoraig (wrongly styled by the War Office "Ad Fines"), with its shining sheds, then down the slack at a gallop to the Sills Burn that flows below the Heal Crags—immemorial meet of the Border Hounds. Up and through the great rocks the mare finds her way —the rider crouched upon her neck so as to relieve the strain on her hind-quarters. The top is reached, two stone walls are jumped in her stride, a gate in a wire fence must be opened; then down a mile-long slope of the brae the gallant mare gallops free as a greyhound—her neck clear of the rein— dashes through the Durtrees Burn, over a post and rails, and so on up the long, tiring ascent opposite. This, perhaps, is her hardest task of alL Accomplished, she breathes afresh, then sweeps like a curlew down the long slack to the Otter- burn, crosses it, canters up the fellside, and there is pulled up gently—her heaving flanks, white-flecked neck, and rubied nostrils showing the pace at which she has come—thirty-six minutes for some eight miles across a rough, uneven, and soaking country. Here the District Guide mounts another mare—strong, capable, of Irish extraction—and is off again, crosses the Monks' Burn, gains the ridge, and, after jumping a stone wall, gallops down the good grasslands to the Coquet water, where, by Hepple Bridge, a Guide of the Rothbury Division comes swiftly to meet him. Distance from Blake- hopeburnhaugh, fourteen and a half miles. Time from Blakehopeburnhaugh to Hepple Bridge, sixty-two minutes. The times of arrival and departure are noted on the despatch.
Then Mr. P. Fenwieke-Clennell is off on his capable hunter, well known with the Coquetdale Hounds, of which pack 1118 father, the Squire of Harbottle, was sometime- Master.
His route lies by the shining river of Cloquet, and swiftly the Rothbury Division Guide sets off on his mission. Down by the winding water he canters, by Bickerton and Tosson, under the shadow of the great Simonside Hills gleaming in purple of rocks and madder of heather ; onward he goes at a good round trot over Lordinshaws, the Garlies, and the water of Coquet, keeping to unfrequented tracks, by-roads, and short cuts, till he comes up at the back of Swar/and woods, and finds at the gates Hr. J. J. Pawson, the well-known fox- hunter, awaiting bins with his local Guides of the Alnwick Division. Distance from Hepple Bridge to Swarland, fourteen and a half miles. Time, one hour, eighteen minutes.
Off at a tilt the District Guide, with his three followers, goes, and by Hazen and Guyzance and Bank House, across Warkworth Moor, through the ford over Coquet below Morwick, the little squadron takes its way, and up the hill, and so at a canter to Warkworth Castle, where Earl Percy, the timekeeper, has only just arrived in the nick of time in the motor to meet them. Distance from Swarland to Wark- worth, seven miles. Time, forty-two minutes. Total time for total ride of, say, fifty miles athwart Northumberland, four hours, twenty-seven minutes; this, too, in the wettest March on record.
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The historic sense is touched at sight of these Northumbrian Guides now taking their lunch in the tapestried chamber of Warkworth Castle with Earl Percy as their host, for this is that same Warkworth where Percy " Hotspur " prepared for Shrewsbury Fight.
A NORTHUMBRIAN GUIDE OF THE CORPS OF GUIDES AND DESPATCH BEA_RERS.
[We are delighted to note that the Surrey Guides, whose formation was described in our columns about two years ago, and whose first "Guides' Ride" took place in the autumn of 1912, have such capable competitors in the Northumberland Guides. Now that the South and North have set the example let us hope that East and West will follow. Where are the Guides of Devon and Cornwall, Somerset and Dorset, Norfolk and Suffolk, Essex and Cambridge P—ED. Spectator.]
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