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Rip John Cowan


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Sadly today we laid to rest one of the countrys top terrier men John Cowan from Cumbria, The Crematorium was standing room only and that included outside which shows the respect John had earned over the years, He will be a sad miss to his family and the terrier and hunting world will be poorer at his passing. RIP John.

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Men like mr cowan. Were born and lived in times most of the people on here can only dream of when working terriers was as normal as. Fishing when to be a huntsman was deemed in high esteem , and terrier men were. Thought of as a big part of rural community's , the cowans are still held in high esteem as the church attendance shown , mr cowan never wrote a book never shouted his terriers worth just went and bred what he thought would work for him , i think his wife judged at rydal this year terriers are in the familys blood As was hunting and the lakes I never knew mr cowan well enough to call him john some might not under stand why i call him mr cowan some wont need it explaining , the likes of the cowans bred terries for one purpose To work fox in some of the most unforgiving places in the country , they worked hard and were fed Yet in the summer months the cowans would attend the fairs and hunt shows in the lakes As much a part of the lakes as the lakes them selves , A dying breed only time will tell will there likes be seen again rip mr cowan.

 

 

Hunt with me

 

 

Come hunt with me at dawn of day ,

O'er moorland , mountain and scree ,

Follow me till the end of day ,

Then join me in harmony .

 

No greater pleasure can be found

I hope you will agree ,

Than to hunt with hounds where there's no bounds

Aye hunt till eternity .

 

With me you'll hear the ravens cry

Red stag and eagle see ,

Scenery to take your breath away ,

If you hunt with me .

 

Hark now to that glorious cry

A fox is a foot and away

Through the valley sounds the cry of hounds

Flee or you must pay

 

So onward friend and you will see

What hunting means to me

A fox and hounds and gods pure air ,

What lucky mortals we

 

Louder and nearer draws the cry ,

The hunt is nearly done

The fox will bolt his brush to save

This time the hounds have won

 

Kill him we may but this i'll say ,

He 'll always get fair play

On mountains steep or boran deep

A chance to slip away ,

 

So its homeward friend , the day is done

As evening shadows fall ,

May this first day not be the last

You'll hear the huntsmans horn

 

A drink with me before we part

A hunting song to end ,

A good day gone a new friend won

Good luck goodnight my friend

 

Written by the late. Bill crisp

Edited by gonetoearth
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Men like mr cowan. Were born and lived in times most of the people on here can only dream of when working terriers was as normal as. Fishing when to be a huntsman was deemed in high esteem , and terrier men were. Thought of as a big part of rural community's , the cowans are still held in high esteem as the church attendance shown , mr cowan never wrote a book never shouted his terriers worth just went and bred what he thought would work for him , i think his wife judged at rydal this year terriers are in the familys blood As was hunting and the lakes I never knew mr cowan well enough to call him john some might not under stand why i call him mr cowan some wont need it explaining , the likes of the cowans bred terries for one purpose To work fox in some of the most unforgiving places in the country , they worked hard and were fed Yet in the summer months the cowans would attend the fairs and hunt shows in the lakes As much a part of the lakes as the lakes them selves , A dying breed only time will tell will there likes be seen again rip mr cowan.

Hunt with me

Come hunt with me at dawn of day ,

O'er moorland , mountain and scree ,

Follow me till the end of day ,

Then join me in harmony .

No greater pleasure can be found

I hope you will agree ,

Than to hunt with hounds where there's no bounds

Aye hunt till eternity .

With me you'll hear the ravens cry

Red stag and eagle see ,

Scenery to take your breath away ,

If you hunt with me .

Hark now to that glorious cry

A fox is a foot and away

Through the valley sounds the cry of hounds

Flee or you must pay

So onward friend and you will see

What hunting means to me

A fox and hounds and gods pure air ,

What lucky mortals we

Louder and nearer draws the cry ,

The hunt is nearly done

The fox will bolt his brush to save

This time the hounds have won

Kill him we may but this i'll say ,

He 'll always get fair play

On mountains steep or boran deep

A chance to slip away ,

So its homeward friend , the day is done

As evening shadows fall ,

May this first day not be the last

You'll hear the huntsmans horn

A drink with me before we part

A hunting song to end ,

A good day gone a new friend won

Good luck goodnight my friend

Written by the late. Bill crisp

Very nice homage Gonetoearth,

 

GOD Bless Mr.Cowan,may you rest in peace and your family be blessed,craig

Edited by uru
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John's funeral, just like the man himself, was something rather special. The lady vicar was clearly very much at ease when she spoke of John's love of hunting, the terriers he had bred for over 60 years, the various marches which he and his lovely wife Jess had attended and the fundraising events which they both organised.

 

Sadly the modern day world no longer produces men of John's calibre and humility. He was a true Cumbrian gentleman in every way possible and the world is a much poorer place for his passing.

 

God bless you John.

Edited by Barrie
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