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Wild Lone: The Story of a Pytchley Fox
Very good condition
- GenresAnimals
268 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1947
3 people are currently reading
113 people want to read
About the author
B.B.
193 books43 followersSee also Denys Watkins-Pitchford
Denys James Watkins-Pitchford MBE was a British naturalist, children's writer, and illustrator who wrote under the pseudonym "BB" and also used D.J. Watkins-Pitchford.
Denys Watkins-Pitchford was born in Lamport, Northamptonshire on the 25th July 1905. He was the second son of the Revd. Walter Watkins-Pitchford and his wife, Edith. His elder brother, Engel, died at the age of thirteen. Denys was himself considered to be delicate as a child, and because of this was educated at home, while his younger twin, Roger, was sent away to school. He spent a great deal of time on his own, wandering through the fields, and developed a love of the outdoors, which was to influence his writing. He had a great love of the outdoors and enjoyed hunting, fishing and drawing, all these things were to influence his writing greatly. At the age of fifteen, he left home and went to study at the Northampton School of Art. He won several prizes while there, but was irked by the dry, academic approach, and longed to be able to draw from life.
While at the Northampton School of Art, Denys won a travelling scholarship to Paris. He was later to say that he could not remember how long he had spent in Paris, but Quinn suggests (p. 50) that it was probably about three months. He worked at a studio in Montparnasse, and attended drawing classes. It is unknown exactly where he studied. In the autumn of 1924, he entered the Royal College of Art in London. In 1930 he became an assistant art master at Rugby School where he remained for seventeen years. While at Rugby School he was to begin contributing regularly to the Shooting Times and start his career as an author and illustrator. He wrote under the nom de plume of '"BB"', a name based on the size of lead shot he used to shoot geese, but he maintained the use of his real name as that of the illustrator in all his books. He later illustrated books by other writers, and sold his own paintings locally.
Denys James Watkins-Pitchford MBE was a British naturalist, children's writer, and illustrator who wrote under the pseudonym "BB" and also used D.J. Watkins-Pitchford.
Denys Watkins-Pitchford was born in Lamport, Northamptonshire on the 25th July 1905. He was the second son of the Revd. Walter Watkins-Pitchford and his wife, Edith. His elder brother, Engel, died at the age of thirteen. Denys was himself considered to be delicate as a child, and because of this was educated at home, while his younger twin, Roger, was sent away to school. He spent a great deal of time on his own, wandering through the fields, and developed a love of the outdoors, which was to influence his writing. He had a great love of the outdoors and enjoyed hunting, fishing and drawing, all these things were to influence his writing greatly. At the age of fifteen, he left home and went to study at the Northampton School of Art. He won several prizes while there, but was irked by the dry, academic approach, and longed to be able to draw from life.
While at the Northampton School of Art, Denys won a travelling scholarship to Paris. He was later to say that he could not remember how long he had spent in Paris, but Quinn suggests (p. 50) that it was probably about three months. He worked at a studio in Montparnasse, and attended drawing classes. It is unknown exactly where he studied. In the autumn of 1924, he entered the Royal College of Art in London. In 1930 he became an assistant art master at Rugby School where he remained for seventeen years. While at Rugby School he was to begin contributing regularly to the Shooting Times and start his career as an author and illustrator. He wrote under the nom de plume of '"BB"', a name based on the size of lead shot he used to shoot geese, but he maintained the use of his real name as that of the illustrator in all his books. He later illustrated books by other writers, and sold his own paintings locally.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
February 12, 2025
When I was about ten, Mr Hemmings, my junior school teacher gave me this book to read as my reading book. He was a great teacher who managed to chose books he thought his pupils would like, but also challenge us and help us to learn. I loved it then and it has stayed with me even though, on re-reading I realised I remembered little of the story except unforgettable character of Rufus.
As the subtitle suggests, this is a story of a fox, told by a fox that is not anthropomorphised or sentamentalised to be fit for human consumption. There is no judgement of his behaviour or assumption of higher thought processes going on, he is a wild animal who acts instinctively and sees the world through his fox's eyes.
When I first read this as a farmer's daughter in the 80's I did not have a very high opinion of foxes after seeing the apparent wanton devastation they can wreak. This book changed my view then, and today reminds me of the wonder of the countryside. This is a depiction of a beautiful British wild animal acting purely on instinct to survive.
The writing is beautiful and the descriptions of the landscape, the night and the changing seasons are testament to the author's great experience of and love for the British countryside. There are passages that could be poems. 'The tide of spring came in again, flooding over the fields and turning them a tender green, and along the brook willow thickets were silver with silky buds'. By writing as a fox, BB really manages to capture the essence of the countryside and what it feels like to be alone in the natural world. I also enjoyed having to use a dictionary to look up some of the unfamiliar words like Yaffle, covert and pother! I live in a house that is frequently pothersome.
When I read this as a child, fox hunting was a very real thing that was thought of as a fun day out amongst the horsey countryside set. Thank goodness this horrific bloodsport is now banned and today's foxes do not have to feel the Great Fear as Rufus does so frequently in this book.
This book was published in 1938, and some things such as the old gypsy tropes and depictions of the country dwellers as sub-normal people have not aged well. I also found the descriptions of Pamela growing up rather boring. But I urge you, if you ever see this book in a second hand shop, or on an elderly relative's bookshelf to give it a try-your life will be enriched by it.
As the subtitle suggests, this is a story of a fox, told by a fox that is not anthropomorphised or sentamentalised to be fit for human consumption. There is no judgement of his behaviour or assumption of higher thought processes going on, he is a wild animal who acts instinctively and sees the world through his fox's eyes.
When I first read this as a farmer's daughter in the 80's I did not have a very high opinion of foxes after seeing the apparent wanton devastation they can wreak. This book changed my view then, and today reminds me of the wonder of the countryside. This is a depiction of a beautiful British wild animal acting purely on instinct to survive.
The writing is beautiful and the descriptions of the landscape, the night and the changing seasons are testament to the author's great experience of and love for the British countryside. There are passages that could be poems. 'The tide of spring came in again, flooding over the fields and turning them a tender green, and along the brook willow thickets were silver with silky buds'. By writing as a fox, BB really manages to capture the essence of the countryside and what it feels like to be alone in the natural world. I also enjoyed having to use a dictionary to look up some of the unfamiliar words like Yaffle, covert and pother! I live in a house that is frequently pothersome.
When I read this as a child, fox hunting was a very real thing that was thought of as a fun day out amongst the horsey countryside set. Thank goodness this horrific bloodsport is now banned and today's foxes do not have to feel the Great Fear as Rufus does so frequently in this book.
This book was published in 1938, and some things such as the old gypsy tropes and depictions of the country dwellers as sub-normal people have not aged well. I also found the descriptions of Pamela growing up rather boring. But I urge you, if you ever see this book in a second hand shop, or on an elderly relative's bookshelf to give it a try-your life will be enriched by it.
February 12, 2025
Wild Lone has a beautiful, evocative ending that perfectly complements the lyrical prose woven throughout. I thought I knew how things would turn out for Rufus the fox as he returned to the earth of his birth, but the final line coaxed a smile I hadn’t anticipated. Seldom has nature been so vividly captured in fiction.
While one could quibble about certain biological inaccuracies (like Rufus raising his hackles when frightened), occasional spelling and grammar errors, or the absence of a traditional story structure, these details feel insignificant. The narrative may not follow the conventional A-to-B-to-C progression often expected today, but this only adds to its unique charm.
Ultimately, I was completely transported by the novel’s poetic, immersive world. It’s a wonderful escape and an excellent novel—highly recommended.
While one could quibble about certain biological inaccuracies (like Rufus raising his hackles when frightened), occasional spelling and grammar errors, or the absence of a traditional story structure, these details feel insignificant. The narrative may not follow the conventional A-to-B-to-C progression often expected today, but this only adds to its unique charm.
Ultimately, I was completely transported by the novel’s poetic, immersive world. It’s a wonderful escape and an excellent novel—highly recommended.
October 9, 2022
Wild Lone is one of those little gems that makes an exploration of the more obscure corners of xenofiction all the more rewarding. Written on the eve of the Second World War, the novel follows the life of a young fox named Rufus—and while it does stick to the conventions of the genre in this regard, it does so quite capably, painting a beautiful picture of the idyllic pre-industrial English landscape and its wild inhabitants. Managing to convey the growing detachment between man and both his environment and some more tranquil time, now receding into the haze of memory, the fact that the novel was published in 1938, on the cusp of the most devastating conflict humanity has ever seen, makes it all the more tragically prescient, but also imbues it with a sense of graceful innocence. [8/10]
January 10, 2015
A real classic read. How all stories should be, gripping until the end.
July 6, 2018
What a wonderful find, true nature writing at its best. B B really understands nature. This is the sort of book you can read alone or read it to your children. Would highly recommend it.
May 28, 2025
This book feels much like reading a nature documentary that mostly follows one animal, the red fox Rufus, throughout the first few years of his life. The animals do not talk, or go on grand quests, or really do anything outside of living their lives as real animals might, yet still feel personable and cheeky; it is hard to avoid feeling invested in Rufus’ life story.
My favourite aspect is the poetic quality of the prose which makes reading it a joy and infuses something as slow as the passing of the seasons with energy and excitement.
“March was here, shouting March, the Merry Monarch of the Months. He set the fir trees tossing with boisterous glee, and made ash poles rock until they shrieked for mercy under his rude and merry jests. He brushed and garnished the woodlands and the fields, and made them ready for the fresh harvest as he had done for a million years.”
It’s a real shame that this seems to be out of print now, but I was able to get a second hand copy of the 1951 edition for £10 on AbeBooks. I’d strongly recommend it to anyone interested in foxes, nature, or animal xenofiction in general.
My favourite aspect is the poetic quality of the prose which makes reading it a joy and infuses something as slow as the passing of the seasons with energy and excitement.
“March was here, shouting March, the Merry Monarch of the Months. He set the fir trees tossing with boisterous glee, and made ash poles rock until they shrieked for mercy under his rude and merry jests. He brushed and garnished the woodlands and the fields, and made them ready for the fresh harvest as he had done for a million years.”
It’s a real shame that this seems to be out of print now, but I was able to get a second hand copy of the 1951 edition for £10 on AbeBooks. I’d strongly recommend it to anyone interested in foxes, nature, or animal xenofiction in general.
May 5, 2022
Lovely book
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews