The Dorset County Express and Agricultural Gazette.
Dorchester, Dorset, England, 1878-09-17 00:00:00

SIR GEORGE WOMBWELL AT NEWBURGH

PARE
(Front Celt:origin ra Hone, in the

When the Six Hundred rode up the North Vail
of Balaclava, and exalted the reputation of the gnash
heart at the expense of that of the English head, there
was among those who valiantly did the duty on which
they were sent by incompetent commanders a certain
Cornet of Lancers. He had not very long worn the
silver Death's head and crombone. and the motto
" heath or glory," but was approved a smart young
officer, dapper and curly withal; • brilliant horseman,
handy at vaulting in the saddle, fad across country,
and, for that matter, upon town. At the moment
when die gallant Nolen rode up to Lord Cardigan,
who was writhing under the imputation of slackness
emikw in the day, George Orby Wombwell—not yet a
baronet—was apart from his regiment, acting as extra
aide-de camp to the leader of the historic charge. He
had not advanced far up the Valley of Death before
his charger was shot under him. Quick and active,
he caught one of the riderless horses—they were
numerous already—and joining the 4th Dragoons (now
Hussars), advanced with them to the guns. Here his
newly-caught horse was killed under him, and before
he could catch another be was surrounded by some
twenty or thirty Russian Lancers, who took his sword
and pistol and made him • prisoner. Presently that
Gem mbrerr Morrie, • captain in the can,, regiment
with Wombwell, we. brought • prisoner to the spot
where he stood. Badly hurt with sabre and lance, and
streaming with blood from head to heel, Captain
Morris, unheeding his own condition, was keenly alive
to his Cornet's chance' of escape, and cried to him,
" Look out, Wombwell! Look out and catch a horse!"
The scene was now one mad confusion of galloping
horses, empty 'addles, and smoke-clouds. Of the
loose horses two or three distinctively came towards
the English uniforms worn by Morris and Wombwell.
Seizing his opportunity, the Lida. tnede mmh at the
nearest horse and vaulted into the eaddi•—"vaulted so
heartily," he confessed, " that only the carbine kept
me from going over on the other side." Taken by
surprise, the Bosnian custodians had hardly time to
start in pursuit before the shattered squadrons of
England rode back from the goal they had reached at
mecfi tremendous Md. Riding for life, Wombwell got
within sight of them before he was caught by his pur-
suers,who sheered off when they the scant but still
redoubtable array break th the smoke. Curiously
enough, he came back with t 4th Light Dragoons,
the regiment with which he charged the battery.
Nearly fifteen yeas" later Sir George Wombwell,
bavlngthen succeeded his father—a ceislwat.d dandy
of the Regency type, said to have been the only com-
panion of George IV. whom the example and com-
panionship of that great monarch did not bring to
ruin—and having moreover married Lady Julia Villiers
—eider of the present Earl of Jersey and grand-
daughter, on the one side, of the "Tragedy Queen,"
and, on the other, of that Lady Peel who 'applied Sir
Thomas Lawrence with the model for his pendant to
Rubes:us' "Chapeau de Paille"—met with another
hairbreadth scape from • wiri position, if possible,
than that of the Lfght • e. On the sth of
February, 1869, the York an Ainsty were in, as the ,
" hard" men thought, for • genuine good thing.
After • smart run it occurred to the fox to cross the
river Um not • considerable stream at ordinary
times, but then swollen by rains to a width of sixty
yards, turbid, and running at a great pace. The
field mad* haste towards the ferry opposite
Newby Hall, and men and horses crowded into the
ferry-boat, a capacious vowel worked by a obain.
Some mistake was made with the chain, and the boat
was loaded with eleven men and thirteen horses, just
twice as many as it could safely carry. It is barely
possible that the overladen boat might have reached
the opposite bank of the Ur* in gaiety had not the late
Sir Charles Slingsby's favourite hunter, Old Sailfish,
become suddenly irritable, and lashed out at Sir
George Wombwell's home. The latter returned the
kick with Interest; whereupon Old Saltfish jumped or
fell overboard, carrying him rider with him. It is
probable that the bridle of Old &Blab, twisted round
his arm, dragged him into the water. Be this as it
may, the danger of the M.F.H. caused an awkward
and thoughtless rush towards the side of the boat from
which he disappeared; the overladen craft capsized,
and horses and men were mingled in a wild struggle
for life underneath the boat. Sir Charles Sliagsby,
who was clear of the boat and an excellent swimmer,
made for the shore, but, either from the intense cold
of the water or • kick from • horse, sank before he
could reach the bank; while Old Sailfish, the proxi-
mate cause of the diameter, after swimming in vain
after his master, escaped with his life. With Sir
Charles perished Mr. Edward Lloyd, Mr. Edmund
Robinson, the kennel huntsman, and the two gardeners
at Newby Hall. Out of the wild chaos of kicking
horses and drowning men rose Mr. Clare Vyner, who
at ono, climbed on to the bottom of the overturned
ferry-boat. A moment later Sir George Wombwell,
who "swims like • done," was flung up against the
boat-side in an almost !senseless coalition. He had,
however, strength enough left to grasp one of the iron
rings used either for working the chain or tethering
cattle, and was at once seized by Mr. Vyner and
hauled on to the bottom of the boat, blinded and
choked with mud and slime, and having cleared his
throat expressed his gratitude at his escape in his
usual hearty off-hand manner. For three seasons
after the accident at Newby Ferry Sir George Womb-
well hunted the York and Ainsty, and has left a
brilliant record of a reign during which neither slack.
nese nor short days were heard of. Beliec of these
hard-riding days are plentiful at Newburgh Park.
From odd corners peep the vizard of Reynard, his
brush supplies a whisk, his pada the handles cf paper-
knives duly inscribed with the date of each run.
Newburgh itself is • marvel of antiquity, many parts
of it dating from the Plantagenets, and it possesses
the inestimable charm of show° which has been added
to often, but
fish-pond in front, over which may be described the
jagged outline of the Hambleton Hills, reveals the
quality of the original possessors—the monks of the
neighbouring abbey of Bylanda, to which Newburgh
served as a species of outwork. Either this great pond
or one of those away in the rear of the house was
extant at the time when Domesday Book was compiled,
and there is little doubt that the monks of Newburgh
fared well "on Fridays when they faded." Al we
trot round the pond to the low-brewed thirteenth.
century porch we find—standing on an emerald circle
of greensward, a lithe active man, the beau ideal of a
hussar, clad in • suit of the Brougham tartan reduced
to microscopic proportions, booted and spurred, and
swishing his right leg with his whip after cross-
country fashion. As our wheels crash over the gravel
he welcomes us in a voice with a right cherry ring in
It. Onthelawnslopingtothegroa&pondLadyJulia
Wombwell and some of her children are playing lawn
tennis. On the broad bosom of the pond other olive-
branches' are navigating • wide-beamed punt, and
capturing a voracious perch or two by the way.
Careering over the lawn are numerous dogs, every
member of the family owning at least one. Sir George
Wombwell', own pet is • mongrel of ex
breed, who apparently has not quite madettiPaahilinarS mind
whether to be a Scotch terrier, a retriever, or a poodle,
and in the mean while combines the sagacity of all
three. " Jack," exclaims his master, in his inspiriting
voice, invaluable in battlefield or in the chase.—" Jack
is the cleverest dog in the world. He knows his way
about London as well as I do. Never gives any
trouble, and will make himself at home anywhere. I
have another London treasure la my stables which you
have never seen, as I only use it for fetching Kneed
front the station i4wet weedier. It is a
_genuine
London four-wheeled cab, • molar 'growler,' the
most useful vehicle I have got the one I like best,
for it reminds me of London." These words sound
curiously from the lips of a country gentleman of
country gentlemen, whom time is occupied in draining,
clearing, and getting land under cultivation • whose
pride is in him well-grown hedges, solid, pointed, and
pyramidal; and who has inca-eased the holdings of his
cottages with • view to improving the condition of the
labourers on his estate. '• A man with three acres of
land can keep • cow," he remarks to us; "and • man
who keeps a cow la doing well in the world. I wand
good men hem and I think mine is the way to get
them."
With good old-faMioned courtesy our host Dees us
bestowed in our chamber at the end of a long gallery
hung with portrait" of the houses of Wombwell and
Fanconberg. From our window we look over • trim
garden rich with flowers, and remarkable for great
cones of scarlet geraniums. We are here in the oldest
part of Newburgh. The wainscoted walls are of
enormous thickness, affording spaces for messes and
cotters in the windows. Bating occasional repair and
general furbishing' upon the occasion of Rognr:saits,
such as those of Jaime L and the of
Wales, Newburgh is but little changed since Ring
Henry VIII gave it to Antony Balmy's, the founder
of the Fauoonberg family, with its punning motto,
8014114 a belie mass. Antony Belaarse earned his
estate, not by leaking on while the /Ling spoiled the
sneaks, but taking an active pert in the cosandadon
for the visitation and abolitica of monasteries, and
received for • small rum of money the estates and
house of Newburgh, bating the lead upon the roof,
reserved by • special clause for his Majesty's use.
Not only did the Belasyses know bow to acquire
estates, but also how to keep them, for Newburgh
and its broad scree came undiminished to the
Wombwel.6, who hail from Barnsley, on the marriage
of the grfather of the present incumbent with the
Minas of Fauconberg. The portrait of this lady, •
magnificent full-length by °dash 'rough, hangs in the
drawing-room, and since the works of that pointer
have become the fashion, has been yearned for by
connoisseurs and collectors, an anicodrot instance of
whose contempt for the oonveationalites of life was
once given at Newburgh itaelL An indeed, friend
of the owner staying there on • visit was fascinated by
the portrait of Lady Anna Wombwell, and after some
hesitation coolly offered a thousand for it, adding, 'lf
you will throw In the little Rommey in the next room
I will write you a cheque for fifteen hundred." Sir
"Jaarge" is the hat man in the world to be dl.-
concerted; but this time the quickwittesl and quick-
limbed man, who slipped between the fingers of the
Russians and managed to put his hand on a ring of
the Newby ferry-bat, remained for an instant, la
Tallemant dee Qbaux has it, tont rifferni Quickly
recovering his breath be observed, "We are not very
pecunious in this part ef Yorkshire, but we have not
yet come to selling our grandmothers."
The "little Romney" which it was suggested should
be "thrown in" is • delicious half-length of the
beautiful Elisabeth Magee (the mother of the pre-
sent Lord Lucian), whose star, invests Newburgh
with a halo of romance. The garden-walk, up and
down which she lowed day after day in the year.
before her death, Is still pointed Ont, and the traAsion
of her great loveliness preserved. 'Her ghost walks
of courser we ask irreverently, knowing that men
will endure jokes about their gereat-aunta "I am
sorry to say it doesn't," remarks her grandnephew.
" blast happy to oblige, I sin sure, with anything we
have got; but I am sorry to say we are short of •
family ghost. Most oniardonable omiaidon ;
eoppoee, by one's ancestors being too respectable."
We condole with our host, who suddenly slam his
butcher boot with his whip, and cries ' have
better than a ghort—a grave—in the hens" and up-
stairs. But we dine at eight to-night. Try not to
logs your way; everybody does in this old house."
And he is gone, and we are staring at Lady Balmy,*
of Brancepeth Cadle, with her ox-eyes and pouting
upe, " depicted hi air Peter Lely. They never .muM
have honied that stately Juno in the garret of New.
bag* Who b, thus, the Nowt el the mambo
MO