Newsletter – November 2026

Dear Irish Terrier Friends

Much as I love living near the sea, the last storm was really no joke – when storm Boelo hit us it was really quite alarming. Marybel of course, very wisely stayed firmly indoors and tucked herself behind the front door when I opened it. It was quite a frightening blast and I was only too anxious to tuck myself in with Marybel behind the door.

Sick to death as we were of the heat, I’m now missing it already and long to sit outside with a parasol over my head and my toes in the sun.

I think she is one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever head – full of love and care and loves being on my bed – she waits with sweet patience in the morning until I put my hand out and say “Good Morning my darling” and she’s there in a flash!

Marybel never ceases to be great entertainment for everyone who comes to call and she sits at the gate with her head in the bars – we have a 5 bar farm gate. I don’t have a lawn, only the farm grass which has been here for hundreds of years – as recent as my children’s childhoods, the grass here was grazed by sheep and their lambs.

Every year, I long for 2 little lambs to graze on it but everyone assures me that to fall in love with a lamb and then have to part with her, is almost like losing a puppy so I am being cautious about that one!

My one piece of magic in the garden is that my dear little climber is in her third blooming and covers these glorious little pale pink roses – she’s a remarkable plant. When I heard Monty Don was asked, after the Chelsea Flower Show, to name his favourite plant, taking out his handkerchief, he said, dabbing his eyes, that it was always Cecile Brunner and I couldn’t agree more – but the blue Plumbago is a close second.

Marybel loves being in the garden when there’s digging and planting to watch and interfere – the one thing that leaves anyone who’s gardening in peace, is when her friends come to the gate and she stands on her hind legs, pushing her head through the bars. She continues to amuse us all and I don’t think I’ve ever know such a jolly, amusing dear little dog. (I say ‘little’ but I do fear she’s beginning to look more like a rather plump teddy bear than the sleek slim lined Terrier – we’re all supposed to be able to feel their ribs, but Miss MB says “Bother that, I like my nosh!”)
Our lovely pet shop here, owned by the same family for years and years, suggested that she should be put on a dry diet plus sachets – all labelled for Seniors and as one of my Granddaughters says “Marybel you’re an old pensioner now!” And we all say “A very merry one!”

Our puppy in the Close Phoebe, calls at the gate and has a great raceabout. They are still looking after her foot which has a wound that has never properly healed – her people worry about it but she’s not remotely worried about herself and Marybel is very fond of her and is a positive saint when the play gets too rough.

I sometimes think that what has kept me spellbound all my life about Irish Terriers (and it’s been a long life!) is their incredible charm – they can charm the birds off the trees and I find that very endearing. Our original Irish Terrier belonged to any brother Ronald and I was left with our beloved English Terrier called Mr Chips who played with the kittens and was great friends with their mother.

I feel they’ve become less complex as I’ve grown up with them, but have never wavered in my delight and the joy they have given me and I’m talking about 90 years!

MaryB’s so dearly loved dog walker has a baby who has won all our hearts of course! She pinches my fingers and already has a tight grip and I’m waiting to see her have her first ride on a pony.

Now, with the approach of Remembrance Sunday, we will be at the Animal War Memorial on Friday 6th November to give a salute to the Irish Terriers – they were wonderful dogs in the trenches. Their trainers would say “You can teach an Irish Terrier anything provided he / she wants to do it!” Their war record was wonderful whether on guard, patrolling at night or guarding the stores of ammunition and of course, their superb trick of playing football with the soldiers.

There’s a story of a wonderful dog called Prince who watched his owner Private Brown march away from Hammersmith with his regiment, they were going to the Somme. Prince escaped London and several days later found a troop transport ship at Southampton, he jumped on board. Amazingly Prince located Private Brown, meeting up in the trenches, Prince became the regiment mascot. They both got home safely together. What a dog, what a breed!

There was another wartime Irish Terrier, a bitch called Meg – she killed so many rats in the trenches that her jaws became locked and she learnt to suck through a straw until the muscles in her face finally relaxed.

I was a wartime child and we lost two so dearly loved uncles in the war and it’s very easy to make me cry about young men being killed, so often fighting in useless wars. It always seems to me so piteous that the first World War helped no one and so soon afterwards, the 2nd World War came upon us. Where have all the flowers gone? – we never learn do we?

This is the piece we’re reading at the War Memorial . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Special love and pride in our beautiful dogs.