View source for George Snaith – The Master – carves his place in history

By Brian Tilley

Last updated 5 February 2009

Elishaw Farm at Otterburn has been the subject of much publicity in recent weeks.

First it was, then it wasn’t, going to be a rehabilitation centre for alcoholics.

Mass hysteria swept the Rede Valley when the scheme was first mooted, with outrageous visions being conjured up of wild-eyed down-and-outs staggering across the Otterburn Army ranges, risking their lives for a drink.

It was also said that smooth and shifty drug dealers would congregate at the lonesome junction of the A68 and A696 to ply their heinous trade.

With tongue firmly in cheek, one councillor nudged the boundaries of bad taste by suggesting that the Rede Valley had more than its share of drinkers, without importing them from Tyneside.

But one of the more bizarre reasons put forward as to why the scheme should be refused was because of Elishaw’s place in history.

For it was once the home of The Master – quite simply the finest stick dresser who ever drew breath.

[[Snaith, George|George Snaith]] was a farmer and shepherd by trade, but an artist by inclination, who turned a working tool into a thing of such beauty it was eagerly sought after by prime ministers and sovereigns.

A shepherd’s crook is an extension of his limbs, used for hooking the legs or horns of sheep, braying collies and predators alike, for emphasising points and for leaning on (at) the mart.

It also came in handy for balance when ranging across tussocks and hollows of the moors, as well as negotiating roaring burns.

It was shepherds from north of the Border who instigated the practice of decorating their sticks, usually with a thistle to denote their Scottish roots.

This was in part to help identify an individual stick from the inevitable forest at the bar after a successful day at the mart.

George Snaith and a shepherd from Coquetdale, Ned Henderson, are credited with expanding on this when they each produced a stick with a brown trout on the handle, for a show at Thropton.

No agricultural show is complete now without a rack of sticks, carved and whittled with infinite patience in well-lit workshops with the benefit of electric heat guns, modern materials and acrylic paints and dyes.

Old George made his sticks in a shed at Elishaw, with no electricity, the only light coming from a paraffin lamp, the heat from which was used to bend the tup’s horn which may have been boiling in a pan of water for several hours.

The vibrant colours he used could not be found on any Dulux colour chart; he made them himself from the nuts, berries and heathers which grew in such profusion on the moors.

There were no fancy tools either; most of the carving was done with a knife he had made himself.

He had a wonderful eye for detail, and if he wanted to reproduce the subtle colours of a brown trout, he didn’t trust to memory or picture books.

He would go down to the burn and catch one, so he could reproduce the colours and match the pattern of spots exactly.

Birch was his favourite wood, but he also used holly, yew and blackthorn.

George was a founder member and president of the Border Stick Dressers’ Association, set up in 1951 by a group of shepherds in the College Valley, with the Duke of Northumberland as patron.

He dominated the stick dressing classes at all the shows in the area so totally that he eventually stopped entering, and only sent sticks for exhibition.

Like many of his ilk, George combined outward gruffness with a romantic soul.

Jock Tully, from Bellingham, was a neighbour of George’s for three years, who remembers him as “a big strong chap” who was very knowledgeable and well read.

However, he was not one to go with the flow, and insisted on doing things his own way.

Jock remembers: “When everyone was using Clydesdale horses, he would only use Suffolk Punches.

“He used to get tremendous crops of hay, but did not bale it; it used to go into pikes.

“And at harvest time, he and his brother Tom were using an old reaper long after everyone else. Then they used to gather the sheaves by hand, and thresh the corn in their own gin-gang at Elishaw.”

Second only to George Snaith in the pantheon of stick dressers is Norman Tulip, of Embleton – and it was George who taught him all he knew.

Legend has it that Norman came across the moors to Elishaw specially to seek out George, and learn some of the tricks of the trade.

The story goes that when he knocked on the door, it was opened only six inches, and a voice from within asked brusquely what he wanted,

When Norman explained, he was told to go away and come back with some sticks he had made.

A few months later, Norman was back laden with sticks – but again the door was opened the same six inches.

Norman produced his sticks, and a hand reached out to take them – before the door was slammed in his face.

Nonplussed Norman was left outside for what seemed forever, but the door was finally opened to reveal The Master.

He acknowledged that Norman had talent, and agreed to teach him all he knew – on one condition.

That was that he never sold one of the sticks. And it was an agreement which Norman always stuck to, even when times were hard and the money would have been welcome.

Like George’s before him, Norman’s sticks were regarded as works of art, and among those presented with them were the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Prince and Princess of Wales on their marriage, and the Queen Mother.

Some have it that George’s stick collection is on display at Alnwick Castle, but that is not so; they remain with family members in the Coquet Valley.

The romantic side of George’s nature came across late in life, when he took it upon himself to design a series of sticks, each based on a line of Alfred Lord Tennyson’s epic poem The Brook.

He did not quite make it, with 17 lines left to go when he died in 1962. But by then he had already completed 31 sticks which were the epitome of the carver’s art and a fitting testimony to one of Tynedale’s best but least known craftsmen.