Preece Family Tree

ASHBURTON WRESTLING.

SIR, - As I am partial to all manner of verminry, and having too much idleness upon hand, which, like grocery, must be disposed of, or be eaten by the flies, I rode to Ashburton one day last month, to behold a Wrestling Match there held.

Wrestling is not among the diversions of aristocracy; I cannot help that; it is a manly amusement, and should be patronized. So I, neither aristocrat nor democrat, do patronize it - medio tutissimus ibis. If the description of the Ashburton Wrestling is good enough, mayhap you will give it to the public.

A large ring was formed by post, rail, and rope; at one end of which there was a booth for the benefit of the committee, and of those gemmen who would pay half-a-crown for admittance. When the preliminaries were settled, Mr. Moxey, the best of all possible criers, entered the ring; and having sounded his tintinnabulum thrice, he thus spake with a loud and clear voice :- "Gentlemen! listen whilst I read the articles - Gentlemen! these are the rules for this wrestling :- A man must throw two man fair back falls, or throw one man and hold out two others ten minutes each, to become a stander. All sham players to be turned out of the ring, and not allowed to enter it again. All disputes to be decided by the sticklers or triers. Twenty-four standers will be made. Prize, for the best man, eight sovereigns; for the second best, four sovereigns; third best, three sovereigns; for the fourth, one sovereign; and five shillings for every stander."

Mr. Moxey then put away the criership from him; and became one of the best of all possible sticklers or triers, and being joined by two others, they called for two hats. At the word, hats came pitching into the ring, like rooks upon a corn-field. Two were selected; their owners appeared, and having padded their legs, pulled off their coats, waistcoats and shirts, and put on the fustian jacket and strong shoes of war, the struggle commenced. But before I throw my man a fair back fall, I must just explain, that a trier, or stickler as he is most commonly called, is an umpire; and there are always three men of science, generally old wrestlers, chosen, who decide on the fall, and their decision is final.

There were some very good falls among the single play. The double play was the best I ever saw; twenty-four standers were made from all parts of Devonshire, with a small sprinkling of Cornishmen. In the first double play, Simon Webber, from the North of Devon, threw John Wyatt, of Worthill, in the South Hams. This was the best of wrestling; they played one hour and seventeen minutes; bets even. Then James Frost threw the huge and mighty terror of the West, John Jordon. Hynes, of Ugborough, that terrible beefeater, that fierce man at bacon, threw Hext, of Widdicombe. A very capital specimen of play was exhibited in this turn; at length, strength and hardihood overcame skill and activity.

In the second double play, James Frost let down John Jackman, a first-rate player, rahter too easily. Alas! in that fall there was an attempt at dealing; but the sticklers were not to be done: and the committee-gentlemen happened to carry some sharp brains under their white hats, and the white wands, which denoted their authority, likewise showed their purity of intention and election; the would have fair play and no smuggling. However, Jackman proved himself to not be right all over; so he was dismissed; and Frost, who (John Wyatt being hors de combat) was considered the champion of the South Hams, was allowed to play for the prize. Then Hynes threw Earle, a most excellent player, but too light and too young to contend with that mighty chine-eating Ajax of Ugborough.

In the third double play, Lavers threw Wilton, a Cornishman; and that agile player Bolt, a brother-in-law of that great wrestling champion, Abraham Cann, threw John Rogers, the hero of Modbury. The best were much in favour of Rogers. Bolt was in the primest play; and although Rogers was as quick as thought, Bolt was quicker, being well oiled. With Rogers fell the countenances of those of the South. The prize looked Northward. To Frost (no bad thing, ice in this weather!) the Southerns turned with anxiety and nervousness; he was called upon to contend with Simon Webber: he came forth as I have seen an otter, grinning a curious sort of grimace; and as he, Frost, has been much upon the water, being as how he is a Bargee, I have no doubt some old waggish dog-otter has taught him how to make faces. I never saw a man's face so like that of an otter. Webber was the hound to whom he showed his teeth. The admiring crowd was as noiseless as the grave. The heroes griped each other, and hot was the tug of war. Frost foiled Webber; Frost had Webber down upon his side; "Frost will win," shouted the heated Southerns. Alas! the wary Webber cooled their ardour; he put Frost upon his flat back, and all their hopes melted into despair. This last contest lasted fifty-three minutes.

The prize now remained between four. Bets twenty to one. It was thus decided :- Bolt threw Lavers, and Webber put Hynes, with all his beef, bacon, and pudding, upon the grassy floor. Thus the best prizes went to the North, and all the best men of the South were thrown.

The sport ended after three days' continuance, and better play the amateur never saw. There were more back falls given during the darkness of night than 'midst the glare of day :-

- sed Nox, Veneri gratissima Diva Dearum, covered them with her awning, so I cannot say how these midnight wrestlers played.

I am much amused with the characters met with at these revels. I listen to the tough old leathern-faced Moorman, the son of turf, smoke, and mist, with delight - a man slow of words, sipping his quart of cider, rather too full of wind, yet drawling forth tales of other days - "how in his time men did not wear padding - how he had seed (seen) men's shoes full of blood from kicks - how he has followed the plough, after playing hard for a pair of leather breeches, or a gold-laced hat - the next morning with his legs shaking like jelly bags - there was no selling in his days; it was not worth while - the best man was the best man." Then he swigs double swig from his quantum, and up comes the Townman, full of Joe Miller jokes; he sends a quiz at the Moorman - "Aye, aye, damme, old boy, aye, aye, how's oat's? how's bay? Can us town-fellows keep our horses on the road, aye, aye?" The Moorman slowly answers the bragging prig :- "Maister, I will find yuts (oats) and hay, if you will find money and horses; but I believe it is a scarce article with you, both money and horses, so stick to your trade." Then the Moorman finishes his pot of cider, and I finish my epistle.

Yours,
A FOX-HUNTER ROUGH AND READY.
August 24, 1826.
(Sporting Mag.)