Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Bad hare days and medieval dogs



Everyone went hunting in medieval Europe, for fun and for food, legally and illegally, and where the hunters went, so did their hounds. But what sort of dogs were they, what jobs did they do and how were they trained? For my current novel, I needed to imagine myself into a hawking expedition in 12th century Provence and my interest in dogs led me down research rabbit-holes…

Were there dogs in the 12thC anything like Blanche, Sherlock and Luca (a friend's Australian Shepherd)? 

Photos: Claire Hamlisch




The missing favourites: no labradors, no golden retrievers, no Newfoundlands. These breeds didn't reach Europe until the 19th century so the job of retrieving medieval game lay in different teeth. Neither were there any collies so Luca is out of the picture (although she always manages to be in any we take). Dogs were often referred to by their jobs rather than by breed names. The majority of a kennel consisted of running-hounds, in a pack that gave scent and chased game, looking and behaving like modern foxhounds. In addition to the running-hounds were the specialists:- 

The greyhound was the medieval knight’s all-round dog of choice: a noble dog, swift enough to take down game and sweet enough to curl up indoors with the family. Commemorated in poetry,on tombstones and in tapestries, greyhounds were prized. Training focused on the chase, with rewards (bloody meat) for catching prey. Medieval training by fewterers (houndmasters) did not scruple to use crippled birds as easy prey to encourage dogs to try for more difficult targets such as hares. Deerhounds and wolfounds were included in the category of 'greyhound'.

Nowadays, greyhounds are still prized for speed (track racing in the UK) and for hunting but have gone downmarket in social class and they are less likely to enjoy old age by the fire than in the 12thC. Traditional hunting with 'galgos' is still popular in Spain, where each summer the failures are abandoned, tortured and killed - or rescued by greyhound associations across the border in France, whose members wonder whether they are merely supporting this annual clear-out. Also by Spanish tradition, a hunting-dog's performance reflects on his master's prowess, and only a slow death to the dog can restore the human's reputation: hence the torture and death administered as punishment.




The lymer was the scenting-hound. In a kennel of 60 running-hounds there might be 5 lymers. Typically very long-eared, working on leash, either with nose to the ground or in the air, a lymer would track the quarry in silence. Training would include punishment for barking and rewards for nose-work, finding objects by smell. As with the greyhounds, the handlers would build up from easy activities (find the chopped-up liver a yard away) to more difficult ones (same liver hidden behind a tree or still inside a moving creature).

A nose with four feet, the lymer also gathered in smells via his long ears as they trailed on the ground. He didn't need to be fast as he could pick up a trail when the prey was long out of sight. 

Bloodhounds and basset hounds would have been in this category and you've figured out who my lymer is... Sherlock, my bleu de Gascogne, a Gascony Griffon, who was abandoned in summer 2013 by his hunter owner and has adapted just fine to home life. 



The spaniels - perfect bird-dogs then as now - flushed out and retrieved small game. They also had a reputation for being 'quarrelsome, noisy and easily distracted', just as likely to go off and chase  a villager's chickens as hunt the rabbits in the forest. The name came from the word for 'Spanish', their country of origin, and medieval English writers didn't hold back on racist comments comparing the spaniels' failings to those of their human countrymen.

Nevertheless these small, plucky and playful dogs were essential to the chase, and their most common liver-and-white colour stands out in images of a hunt.

The setters had a fine reputations as quiet stalkers, water-dogs who retrieved game. In medieval England, hunting-dogs of Sherlock's colour were called 'French blues', and speckled blue was seen in spaniels and setters, as today in the English Setter.



The mastiffs were the heavyweights. Wearing spiked collars, they were capable of taking down wolf, boar and bear after the greyhounds had chased the prey to the ground. Often portrayed with large testicles, mastiffs represented raw, male animality, which was allegedly aroused in the humans hunting too. 

An aprรจs-hunt party might start with the traditional innards feast for the dogs, to which the lymer had first entitlement. Then, it was quite likely to continue with a large quantity of alcohol and anecdote. If ladies were present, as they usually were in hawking expeditions, then other kinds of sport might follow. Double-entendres regarding 'losing one's hart' and 'the beauty of hare' were the language of foreplay.

Among the mastiffs were the special breeds, still wearing their spiked collars, who did not hunt but guarded flocks and herds from wolf and bear. The Tibetan Mastiff, the Anatolian Shepherd and the Great Pyrenees were all among these ancient guardians. They were guardians, not herding dogs, among whom you would still recognise the ancestors of my Blanche.

According to one book on the troubadours, there was 'a rumour that a female troubadour toured the south of France with a large white dog' and this statement sparked Song at Dawn. I couldn't shake off that image of the girl and a Great Pyrenees, who became Estela and Nici. The large white dog plays a key part in the story and he even has his own fan club.

Underlying my Troubadours Quartet is this sort of research, on every aspect of 12thC life and politics but only a tiny part will show in the books. If it's not relevant to the people and the story, it doesn't belong in my novels. That doesn't stop me lingering along the way, finding out about alaunts, brachets, and harriers, and sometimes sharing those findings here with you. Did you know that black dogs were shunned in Christendom as evil?

Winner of the Global Ebooks Award for Best Historical Fiction, Song at Dawn will be on promotion from 7th-12th April at 99c/99p so now is a good time to discover the 12thC ready for the 3rd book Plaint for Provence on November 1st. The book trailer starts with the image of a 12thC citadel right beside where I now live. Inspiration out the window!




amazon link
Do you love dogs too? If you review any of my books you can add your dog to my Readers' Dogs Hall of Fame. Just drop me a line with a link to your review, a photo and a brief description of your dog.  

Further Reading
Thanks to Robyn Young (writer of outstanding historical fiction) for recommending The Art of Medieval Hunting - John Cummings. 

Another good source is Medieval Hunting - Richard Almond 


Tuesday, April 15, 2014

What do you write about anyway?


Fellow writer Joan Fallon asked me to write about ... how I write. I checked out her blog and found a really interesting interview with a writer I thought I knew, J.G.Harlond. I say 'thought I knew' because the interview revealed aspects of Jane and her work that are new to me. So these are some of the blog posts that will have to wait, while I keep my promise to Joan Fallon; I'm not (yet) blogging about

- my new adopted dog, Sherlock, a 'lost' hunting dog who spent 8 months in a shelter. My plumber (a passionate 'chasseur' himself) agreed with me that odds-on Sherlock is crap at hunting and was dumped in August as a clean-out before the new hunting season. In honour of Lou, we adopted a dog no-one else would want (according to the shelter workers).
Sherlock

- or my beekeeping course. Some readers of 'How Blue is my Valley' have been asking me what's new here in Dieulefit, since I wrote the autobiography about our first year living in France. Answer; we did manage to buy the orchard complete with an occupied bee-hive. I've now had three all-day hands-on lessons in beekeeping so I can look after them. I wish someone had told me that the moment you put on a beekeeping suit your nose runs, your hair falls in your eyes, and if you focus on the bees all round you to find one inside your mesh visor, you have to hope that she is calmer than you are. (And of course it is 'she' because all the workers are female). I got away with it that time but went right out and bought the full astronaut suit.

Antique Provencal beekeeping veils

For those readers who want to know more about my life in Dieulefit, the May issue of the magazine Living France printed an amazing 5 page feature, using my photos. It is always a little scary to read about yourself and learn something new (like 'what not to say in interview'!) but the journalist, Stephanie Sheldrake, was very kind to me and I didn't once think of Rita Skeeter...

This is the start...



Among the questions not asked in Living France are the three Joan wanted me to answer, so here goes.

What am I working on?
I've paused in writing the third 'Troubadours' novel (after 20,000 words, which is about a fifth of one of my medieval novels) because I was asked by Jean-Daniel Belfond of Archipel Press to translate 'The Last Love of Edith Piaf' by Christie Laume, from French to English. If something exciting comes my way, I say 'Yes!' and this is the true story of the relationship between a star at the height of her fame and a talented, beautiful man twenty years her junior, told by his sister. Forget the stereotypes about toyboys. I will certainly be saying more about this book on my blog!

The Last Love of Edith Piaf
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I won't bore you with mentioning each of my works! If I just take my medieval novels, they are drawn from research in the original French and Occitan, as well as English, so I think the European historical background is unusual and, I hope, accurate, although I also hope it's the story that hooks readers.

How does your writing process work?
I'm a morning writer and a 3am thinker. I write for two or three hours at a stretch, using a laptop, and often outdoors. I always stop at a point where I know what comes next and - touch wood - never get writer's block. I do 'play' my novel in my head at 3am when I can't sleep and I watch what the characters are doing, hear what they're saying, sometimes from future scenes, sometimes revisiting ones already written that have something wrong or missing. I sometimes think that writing is a form of licensed schizophrenia. 'I hear voices'.

Translating, which I enjoy very much, is very different from writing and I can pick up the thread and translate for half an hour at any time of day.

Three blogs you'd recommend?

Check out 

the entertaining blog of a writer with an interesting background

Paul Trembling


I began making up stories before I could write, and that became a habit that I never got out of.  Over the years I’ve gained weight, lost hair, been a seaman, a stores man, a petrol pump attendant, a janitor, a missionary, and an Admin. Assistant.  Now I’m a CSI, a husband, a father, and a dog owner  - but I am still, and always have been, a story teller!

a funny blog by a writer of zany comic fantasy

M.T. McGuire


humorous fantasy author. The books are quite funny too. MTM is 44 years old but still checks inside unfamiliar wardrobes for a gateway to Narnia. None yet. Boring huh?


and then someone who represents all those writers who blog about what they love, for readers who share that love; bloggers who write so well, whether they see themselves as writers or not. Sometimes we 'writers' are in danger of writing only about writing... instead of writing about bees, dogs, French singers or... Yorkshire, with beautiful photographs taken by blogger

Paula Connelly in Nothing but Footprints



The aim of my blog is to share all the things I enjoy as I walk round the British countryside, including scenery, photography, history and nature. This includes reviews of gear bought by myself and my husband, and places we visit, along with different articles on all kinds of walking related topics. As the old saying goes, I'll take nothing but photos and leave nothing but footprints.