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FROM
VILLAGE TO TOWN:
A SERIES OF
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INTRODUCTORY.
Tue following sketches were written to fill up otherwise idle hours. They are in truth “Ran- dom Reminiscences,” some of them very ran- dom; but it is hoped that they will partiy de- scribe the Hobbledehoyism of Batley Municipal life, or the period which is best described as the period “Krom Village to
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From Village to
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Thirty years ago a master was in speech on an equality with his man; in dress little better than his servant; while in application to work the man was a long way beneath his employer. The life of an employer in those days was an extremely arduous one, whether he was a “little maker” or a prince among his fellows. In the infancy of his mastership, when sometimes the _ whole of the power he kept employed, was a solitary handloom—upstairs, and the engine was represented by his own strong arms as they pulled away at the shuttle to the merry tune of “Shall alapop, come back’—there was heavy manual labour to personally undergo. Then he would be his own warper, his own weaver, and his own salesman; then no merchant came into the town to look at ‘his stock—for then Mahomet went to the mountain—and the mountain was situate at Leeds, to which place the “little maker” wended his way on foot with the “piece” upon his shoulder, sometimes to return and go a second time the same day.
By and bye, as business increased, other hand- looms would be started in neighbours’ chambers, till, after a time, the master could find enough to do to find work for his weavers—himeself warping, his wife winding bobbins, and_ two, three, or even four men knocking off their pieces as fast as the looms would allow. Still the master did not forget his “checker” brat, still he did “oceans” of work, fully satisfied with the profit he made and accumulated, till the time when he should be able—not only to go to the wool gales in London, but to take a pair of machines in some mill, and emerge from the lesser to the greater rank of manufacturers of that day.
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At that time-bills and drafts were not in- vented for common use, and banks were a luxury — perhaps of a dangerous character. Ready money was the system adopted in all cases; and it has been for a later day and a later age to bring forth the paper money so freely dealt in at the present. “What does ta think ?” said an old native a few years ago when referring to the system of payment by bills; a man paid cash e Elland for once.” And then, in response to the query that fol- lowed, the old native went on to explain. “Tha sees a chap sent a load o’ shoddy ta Elland
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Once upon a time one of our wealthy men, seated in his London hotel, felt as if he could like his fire mending, for it had gone low. Ringing the bell, the waiter appeared, to hear the sturdy West Riding man asking him to
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Batley—no doubt to the amusement of the Bat- ley man equally with the cockney.
But to-day the master is another man alto- gether—two ‘generations. of evolution thave changed him; he is no longer his own time- keeper’, book-Keeper, yardman. ‘Now-a- days his hours are short in comparison with what his father or grandfather worked. A carriage takes him from his palatial house and leaves him at his office door; the stock has grown from one piece to sometimes a thousand. Mer- chants save him the trouble of taking his goods to the little freehold stall in the coloured cloth hall at Leeds. Merchants come daily to see what is fresh, or what
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forty years ago, you have but to look carelessly back to find that the resolution is just as strong as of old; even if it was made promptly to order. It would have been an impossibility
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Their clothes were rich, their colours not badly arranged, graceful feathers drooped from hats of the latest fashion, and overhead they each carried ivory handled umbrellas. Alas! his ideas received speedy annihilation. The dress of one of them hung low and near to the wet pavement—her friend saw the mischief about to be committed, in time to prevent it. “Sitha Betty, lift thy frock a bit heigher, ar else it’al be drabblin.”
My friend overheard the remark given in the broadest vernacular. Disgust turned his steps to the opposite side of the street, and he since then has given up his belief in the old proverb “Fine feathers make fine birds.”
It is but very few years ago that some of our gentry left their homely.double cottages, near to work, for one or other of the villas scat- tered round the town—discarding, after a severe struggle, perhaps—their twelve pound house, for one of larger dimensions; because the wite, touched with the ambition of her peers, thought they might perhaps be able to afford when they were worth the nice round sum of fifty thousand, a state of inno- cence seldom seen now, when the house is in some ranks often enough a luxury that the stomach must suffer for.
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on a Leeds or Huddersfield market day, would be a half-pound of chop, bought by himself at the butchers, and cooked as Pudsey men are said even to get theirs cooked in the kitchen of some homely “pub” in Mill Hill or Call Lane or elsewhere; and which, with bread and beer, made up a good substantial luncheon.
In those good old days, the manufacturer met his workmen in the village “public” when work was over, and midst the beer and tobacco there would be discussed the political question of that day’s moment. This was the chief relaxation— now it is different, and the business man severed from the man he employs, seeks relaxation in frequent runs to Harrogate or Scarbro’ during - the summer—while the younger end fill up their leisure in the winter by a run after hounds or a game at billiards, or a night a week at the theatre at Leeds—or all three. The spending money of the unmarried son amounts now to a deal more annually than did the household ex- penses of his father’s house and fami'y a gene- ration ago.
The “older end” are fast dying away, there are few of them left, but they cannot be forgot- ten for many years to come for the part they played in making Batley as great as it at pre- sent is m the markets of the world. When the volunteer movement was established in our midst and playing at soldiers was made a weekly pastime, these “old stagers’ looked upon the movement with a smile of contempt. “Joe, what is a lieutenant?” said a certain bank director one day to a clerk in the bank, who happened to be one of these “muffin shooiters”
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And when pupil teachers were a_ necessity, and much learning had made the “coming schoolmaster or schoolmistress” proud and “maungy,” there was the same abhorrence ex- pressed amongst these plain old people of our infancy, who believed they were calling a spade a spade, when they kept to the old dialect speech, “So-and-so is bringing his family up in a queer way!” the exclamation would be when referring to a man who turned his son or daugh- ter into teacher—and at the same time into a groove which taught them to use “clipt words.” “Ah reckon nowt o’ fowks at want ta be so for- rad an aboon ther position.” An instance of this comes to my mind now. A young woman, fresh from college, called into the kitchen of her father’s old and well-to-do employer, to see the old dame, whose familiar title was that of Aunt Mary. Along with her was an old school com- panion, the daughter of one of Batley’s most wealthy and successful manufacturers, as plain and homely in speech herself as was “Aunt Mary,” I’ve brought a lady to see you, Aunt Mary,” said the schoolmistress in embryo. “Aye a cahlady like thisen, ah expect” was the rough expression which Aunt Mary, in reply, gave to the complete discomfiture, no doubt, of the in- troducer. 3
There is, however, one thing
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more so, and the interests of the town will never be allowed to suffer if they can help it. This has been exemplified by such things as the construction of the new hospital, and in many other ways. True, they do uot care for such honours as a public life brings. As a rule they are not men anxious to prefix Councillor or Aiderman to their name; perhaps it would be better if they were to care, for the interests of a manufacturing town like this of ours necessi- tates that not only individually, but collectively, should they strive to make the one time village in detail as well as in the whole.
Yet we are proud of our gentry, even those who have not discarded, nor cannot discard, the plain home-spun speech of the district.
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—his favourite author being “Tom Treddiehoyle.” One of my duties at times used to be to act the part of “reader” while my two colleagues, one no less a personage than “Ninety-five” or “Monkey Mary” used to divide my work between them.
Now, working and reading together used often to be a difficult matter. My spinner working, myself reading, with the noise of wheels and en- gines all round made it a heavy task. Some- times Johnny would miss the point of the joke, and stop an instant to hear me repeat it. The result would be a “fell” and all ends down. At such times as these, myself being in favour, it was very hot for my colleagues, who received cuffs and blows they had never earned, but which were necessarv to let old “Johnny’s” passion have vent.
At the time of which I speak there was gener- ally one spinner in a factory, who retailed “toffee” to the mill workers; when a shop was not near we had one at Bromley’s, whose name was Gomersal; and he, poor fellow, committed suicide at the finish. He dealt in “toffee” and gave “chalk” till pay day. He also supplied “pigeon milk” to the millhands, and this recalls an old custom, which at the time was full grown, and which has since become a dwarf in compari- son, if it still lives.
When the new lad came to learn he was always sent, as often by his own spinner as by anybody else, with a penny for a pen’orth of “pigeon milk,” or “strap oil”; at odd times, to borrow “a left- handed screw key,” or “a round square.”
Gomersal, the spinner, was the man pointed out as the man to go to, at Bromley’s, in my day, and he never failed to carry out the rough
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densers in place of hand piecers; milling machines in place of the ponderous roomy stocks ; nearly automatic gigs in place of handraising tables; tentering machines in place of long old style tentering rcoms, and in plece of the out- door tenter, now only found amidst the blanket makers; power-looms in place of those
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kept good by dozens of youths, who would not allow a man to pass through the slip except on payment of toll. If no toll was forthcoming, the man in charge of the horse had two other methods, he could either jump or go back and
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Phenix
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Of course we have through it all seen many changes, one or more families have been reduced to the ranks of the workers; many others still living we have seen during the same period rise from the ranks, and though a scrawl may take the place of the signature to a cheque, yet it is a thing undreamt of for anyone amongst our chief manufacturers to have that bit of paper dis- honoured.
In short, we are a mixture not to be sneezed at, even if we are now as a community, com- posed partly of musical-voiced Yahrsiders, or one-time former lads from southern centres of agricultural importance; and some day yet, as a whole, we may speak with as much precision as the boarding school miss, or the
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into “Folds ;” and each has given unto it a num- ber. We are turning Radicals in this direction and destroying the eld rames in a way I don’t at all like. If Abe Lister had but lived he would have protested against it with all the might of his Demosthemic tongue.
This is far different from a story I once heard of a Batley schoolboy, disputing the accuracy of a map of England, because it had not Clay Fold marked
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CHAPTER II.
In my last chapter I made a brief reference to the district outside of the township on the east- ern side, and to its lovely aspect thirty years ago, when it was very slightly populated in com- parison with the present time.
Thinking over the matter has led me to be- lieve that the scant praise I gave to the scenery was an injustice, and I hasten to confess so much and make amends by a supplementary reference.
Many a time I have taken friends from a dis- tance, for a walk on through the Culvert and by the foot of Tingley Wood to Howley. Of course, after having reached there I have taken them to see the stone which marks the spot where Nevi- son, the highwayman, is said to
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gold was there to be found guarded by a “cloek- ing’ hen (and what ruin in Yorkshire ever was known which could not boast of the same legend). How the Lady Anne, of Howley, while having a morning bath in the stream, had been worried by a lion or a wolf. How Toffee Sunday was an institution of equal importance, with many such other Sundays up and down the country, and how lively we managed things on Field Kirk fair Sunday, and so on.
The usual reply which came from the intelli- gent stranger would be “Yes, I am surprised at your nice surroundings, I couldn’t have imagined you had such nice scenery about here, and so near the town too.”
Now, if the pit and factory chimneys, and the other etceteras attached to a commercial centre like ours, were only absent, we should indeed have a pleasant bit of scenery of hill and vale happily blended together; not just at Howley, but at Howden Clough and Carlinghow as well.
Kiven now-a-days the throstle sings hig even- ing songs trom the chase at Carlinghow, but avery
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But twenty or thirty years ago there were
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pastures” to get dry, and I can only
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country lanes were as plentiful as were the foot- paths.
We must now leave out the fact that the changes so far indicated are but half our story, the other half being the progress of building operations, at the same time these changes were at work. In this respect we have been “butter- ing our bread on both sides,” or perhaps “burn- ing the candle at both ends ;” for the damage did not consist of just pulling down, but rearing something different in the place.
The changes I have hinted at are still going on, even if with slower strides than we have known them. At one time it looked something like prophecy on a moderately large scale for a man to say, that some day Batley and Dewsbury would be joined together, and Bradford Road one con- tinuous street from Birstall to Dewsbury—yet we are on the eve of seeing the case arise. Thirty years ago no building existed, between the Com- pany Mill at Batley Carr, and the Knottingley Wells, nor was there a sign of one—the landscape on either hand seemed then devoted to a perpet- ual round of agricultural aspect.
And the same held good in regard to all the - other hamlets which comprised the township, and their isolation from the central one of Havercroft. Brownhill was distinct from Carlinghow in the opposite direction; the little
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others equally as many in number, equally as large in size, which are more the result of private enterprise. Indeed the modern houses of Batley are to be counted as nine out of ten.
Take New Street, Ward’s Hill, Piccadilly, Well Lane, and other off streets, in addition to a fey of the chief thoroughfares—place here and there warehouses, cottages, folds, etc., and you have the skeleton of the present town, or what the town, consisted of thirty years since.
Though I have endeavoured to be brief in the difference of aspect—the years in question have brought us, [ am afiaid the reader will have thought the description monotonous; but I can-
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Bill Gills as an, institution may be defunct— the Sunday arternoon’s feeds of ham and pickles are a thing of the past. Still the same character which clung to a Batley man then, has not for- saken him; he stili loves his hours of relaxation most when the “feeding time comes.”
I recollect once hearing a Morley man tell how he never failed to discern a Batley man on a Sunday. The man was a landlord, and in this capacity he had secured his experience.
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well—a man who thoroughly explored the great lake at Askern, and made himself familiar with its depth and length, and other et ceteras, [ shall come to Dan Wilson. Passing his foreign experiences of travel with the mere request to the
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those Mungo Parkites we have referred to; and we can hardly calculate what good a testimonial in favour of “Cockles Pills’ or “ino’s Fruit Salts,” from one or other of these “Junior’ Burnaby’s would do the proprietors of the specialities referr- ed to.
But there are other travellers we must not for- get. Take owd Mort of Wensleydale, for an ex- ample. In addition to the exploit of getting sea-sick in ercssing the beck on his road home; he became famous by showing his topographical knowledge one Christmas Eve. A few friends stood treat for him to go away with them, with- out letting him_know the destination of the party. It was dark when they reached the railway station at Leeds, and lamps by dozens hung over each and all of the passenger platforms. Gaz- ing on the scene his whole thought absorbed in the fairyland, he could only gasp, “Is this Paris
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That we keep pace with others in our love for country change and travel, there is ample proof on the sands at or the Castle Hill of
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“Aye lad, ah am.” “An arta working or laking.”
“Nay am laking,” and the squeaky voice gets weaker as he goes ox with the conversation, while he rears against a wail, and emits a hollow
cough.
“Ts it t browntitus tha hez?” the friends make inquiry.
Nay, ah think its me lungs.
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friendly societies, that a man in only one club was curable in a reasonable time; that a man in two clubs was likely to be a trailing patient ; but that for a man to fall ill who happened: to be in three clubs, there was no cure to be found. I expect he meant so long as the said man was “on” full pay,
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CHAPTER IV.
Hick Lane, yet as it always was, the chief entrance to the town, is a good broad thorough- fare, well paved and clean looking and very much different from what it was thirty years ago. It must be twice as wide now as I once knew it:and my recollection of it is far from being a good one. A tall dry stone wall lined the left hand as one went up the hill, and the field on the top of the wall was filled with ten- ters attached to Hick Well Mill then the pro- perty of the Burnley family.
Tho road was then in a similar state to many more within the township, full of deep ruts, which, when rain came on, made a puddle six or eight inches deep, through which the upward laden cart took a deal of pulling. At that time I should fancy there would not be a paved street, or even a paved yard in the town. We were behind the age, and merited the title, old “Bes- wick”—as Mr. Greenwood, the magistrate, was called—gave us of ‘mucky Batley.”
A narrow causeway ran up the right-hand side, a narrow but deep gutter on the left, no’ sewer down the middle, the gutter being the only apology for a drain. Half-way up the lane the office attached to Hick Lane Mill was built. It was a two-storeyed building with two rooms on a floor, and faced down the lane. “Tommy Lee” was the bookkeeper then.
The mill was not at that time more than three- quarters the length it at present is, and con- sisted really of three mills, built at different periods, the newest and largest being the top
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one. Since they a fourth building was attached to the top end to fill up the vacant ground, and now the whole has been re-placed by the pre- sent modern building.
At the foot of the lane, at the junction with Bradford Road, where the present warehouse and offices of Messrs. Sheard’s are, was an old shed
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One day a man called in at the little shop near the inn, which at several periods was used as a butcher’s shop, and “priced” a bit of meat. The following is the version of the colloquy, as near as I can now remember :—
“What’s this bit o’ loin o’ mutton a pund, Jerry ?”
“Sevenpence haupney ?” p
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An old discharged soldier, by the name of Riley, used to make himself useful in a variety of ways at this “public,” and at times exceeded the limits even assigned to persons who are not teetotallers.
One day the landlord offered Riley that if he (Riley) would turn up at the
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Turning back, however, up Hick Lane, passing the three “better-class” dwellings on the top of the right hand, we come to a building which then stood at the junction of Commercial and Wellington Streets—and which was used as a day and Sunday school in connection with the New Connexion of Methodists.
It was a one-storeyed building,
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from the track I had marked out at the com- mencement ot this chapter, for it recalls memor- ies of many happy days, and embraces not only life at this
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evening and fetch them in the morning. In addition to these two journeys laden with the mails as well as the private bags, he had also the whole of the letters to deliver—a walk at that time of over twenty miles, and a great contrast to the work of our letter carriers of to-day.
The route taken by him may be roughly put as follows: On Wellington Street, Purlwell, Clerk Green, Dark Lane, as far as the present schools at Purlwell; back to Clerk Green, then up to Healey, down to Cross Bank, through Car- linghow, up to White Lee, then to Upper Bat- ley, Scholecroft, Howley Beck, and Howley Farm. From Howley up to Follingworth farm and down Soothiil Lane back home. This Edwin Wilson had an impediment in his speech, and was hardly sharp, as the saying goes; but he was a most faithful servant in every respect. In fact, it was an impossibility to get a letter from his hands unless he was certain it was to the proper party he was handing it; and on more than one occasion in winter time he has been attacked on the then lonely turnpike between Batley and Batley Carr, and the assailant has been glad to escape as soon as he could, from the stout oak stick which flourished so dangerously near him. To eke out his living Edwin used to kill pigs in his spare time; he boasted much of his skill in this line, and it was a sure offence for anybody to taunt him as many did, with once trying to kill a pig by sticking it in the leg.
I believe at that time we had no stamp office in Batley, and it was a long time afterwards _ before we had a telegraph office opened in the centre of the town. Now the telephone wires are crossing every street, and what we may
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Newsome at one time practised as a printer and published a paper, which came to grief owing to mismanagement. Next door but one to Ben Chappel’s public, nearer the Town Hall, was a draper’s shop kept by Mr. Marriott.
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now. Then there were fields that side of the road _ right away to Branch Road No streets or houses or mills in those days on all this piece. A brick- yard stood over the wall just where Mr. Parring- ton has his snop, and down to the beck was one
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leavened with ladies’ tormentors, give-a differ- ent aspect to the scene. But I am afraid that I have attempted too much in this chapter. I had intended to touch on all the old buildings in both of the chief streets, but find I must leave the remainder of the subject to another time.
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taking, ignoring those who said “at Marriott ad hev were rates rizen till poor folk ad hev ta leave t? country.” Since then the wisdom of the then bold step has been fully seen, and if the Public Health Act was out of the way, I can hardly tell where I should be able to find one so much akin to an idiot, as to suggest the ad- visability of returning to the beck for our engin- eering wants, and to the wells for our, domestic needs. Billywell and its congeners with their waiting crowds from early to late evening are a defunct institution, and, like old Tom Robert’s water-barrel could never again be resuscitated.
Referring to the new railway station recalls to my memory the burning of the old one, and, young as 1 then was, it also recalls to me the plain interior and the primitive ticket window. I believe at that time, Mr. Harrison was the stationmaster, and so vividly does the recollec- tion come, that I recall also the next day’s search amongst the.
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truck. Times are changed since then, when I was purveyor, and my list of refreshments was embraced in the one werd “pop.” Of the Branch line to Birstall I can recollect the first train being run, and with the exception of seeing men working in the construction of it, that is all which I can at present remember, about the time I am speaking of. Turning to the more permanent works; the construction of the Pub- lic Hall and its use since then as a place in which the Local Board met and in which at present are held the meetings of the Town I Council, recalls an hour I spent a few months ago when I sat in one of the rooms to see and hear proceedings; when certain subscribers pre- sented Mr. John Jubb, J.P., with a life-size por- trait of himself—and which Mr.. Jubb at once presented to the town. During that meeting Mr. Jubb referred to the growth of the town, and also to his long connection with it. Nearly every position in which a gentleman can do duty to the ratepayers has been filled by Mr. Jubb, and his memory goes back to the old Commis- sioners of Highways. At that time the yearly meetings, if not all the meetings of the then local authority were held at the “Church Steps,” otherwise the “Fleece Inn,” in “Stocks Lane.” Johnny Wharton was the surveyor,
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placed in our Town Hall, is a memento of his filling the last-named position, and it is only eight years since Mr. Jubb left the ranks of the Council to make way for younger men.
Before the year 1853 the poor-houses of the separate townships comprised in the Dewsbury Union, were scattered up and down. The one for Birstall was situate in Craven Lane, Gomer- sal, the one tor Batley at the same time was at the top of Carlinghow Lane. The short rows of cottages facing one another, and known by the name of Mount Pleasant, are what once formed our local poorhouse. ‘The poorhouse for Dewsbury stood near Lodge Gates, below the church at Boothroyd, and just on the top side of the Dewsbury and Heckmondwike Road. All these poorhouses were disused I expect when the large and comfortable structure at Staincliffe was erected. The fields where the Dewsbury poorhouse stood were called the “Balk,” and it was a saying in those days, when a man went to the Poorhouse, that he was going “Ower t’? Balk.” This saying, in time, began to be only used when referring to one who was
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so, to see if after all there did not lay there the two golden coins his ambition that morning had
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Starkey’s; and now we have the spectacle of the steepest street possessing the most ware- houses of this class, and we finu that there still hang out over the causeway the old primitive cranes out of date and shape in a modern struc- ture.
Across from Mr. Parker’s residence, and only pulled down a few years ago, were some old farm buildings, with the fields filling up the gap be- tween it and Branch Road.
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shoemaker, Mr. Deighton’s shop. The rooms near Wilton Arms and over Mr. Squires’ byt- cher’s shop, the rooms over Dr. Broughton’s house, the rag warehouse opposite Box’s hvery stables, the tall building nearly opposite the George Hotel and at the foot of Ward’s Hill, and the Model Lodging House. To these may be added many more did [| wish to tire the reader any further; but, of course, in addition to these buildings, specially set apart for
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Old Mr.
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Lane side, but except on Sundays it was kept locked.
But in addition to this tombstone I have men- tioned, there was another attraction, consisting of a tombstone near the eastern window of the sacred edifice, which had on it a small brass plate. ‘Lhe tradition was, that if anyone placed their right hand on this brass plate, kept it there for five minutes, and looked up at the eastern window at the same time, that the hand would stick fast to the plate and the daring owner would be a secure prisoner. I fancy this tradi- tion was the newly-manufactured story of some bright pupil of Mr. Vincent’s, for I well recol- lect a readable inscription on it thirty years ago, when I used
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soon upon the scene, and
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one day where a horse’s strength lay. The schoolmaster’s reply was “In the bone.” ‘Ahr horse as ali strength then” was the answer of the precocious cne. It was either this horse or another of Kitson’s which was the object of an experiment in regard to food. Like many a great thinker, Kitson was of opinion that eating was a habit much carried to excess, and in this respect he was opposed to the theory held by Tom Spurr, “wire dust merchant.” Kitson tried upon his horse the effects of his theory and re- duced the horse corn bit by bit as each week went on, till it got to be alarmingly small in a general horsekeeper’s opinion. When it
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She—‘‘Hah mich brass hezta?” He—‘“Ten and six.”
She—“Nay, tak this hauf crahn and buy a reit un.”
Of Bob Nettleton I have not as much re- membrance as I have of old Kitson. I used to see him many a time with a few old hens, which by the magic of his tongue had been converted into pullets, and which he went about trying to sell in the spring time to anyone with a back yard large enough to start farming in, if keep- ing two or three hens could be called farming. I also used to gee old Bob after the hounds at Middleton Wood, in Ardsley Fall, down Thorpe Lane, and elsewhere. I was a_ lad blessed with a good action, he was a veteran of a very tough make, and what Henry of Navarre in his white plumed helmet was, at the battle of Ivry, bob Nettleton was to me and others at the “hunting of the fox or hare.”
Between the little cottage (now in existence) a little farther up than the site of the old pin- fold, there was nothing but fields all the way up the right hand side of the road to Healey, with the exception of a little ivy-covered cot which stood in the hollow where the stream then ran open to the heavens. The house stood on the ground now covered by tse Corporation depot. On the other side was no building but the “Stone Coil House,” the old toll bar, called the Round House, has since that time been brought from the Branch Road, when that road was freed from its private impost. Hereabout is Woodwell, good yet the old women say for sore eyes, and the ground just by is covered with cottage-houses, while Carper Wood has been turned into farming land; and the small
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pit which once filled up the bottom corner of the wood is filled up itself. Speaking of pits and mining, reminds me of another pit or two which stood near here. One was on the dam side at Clay Fold, at the foot of Healey Lane. The old engine-house is still in existence, but that is about all, beside the dam itself. Chaster’s at one time owned it, and old inhabitants tell me that from this pit a tramway ran into Deigh- ton Lane, where another pit belonging to the same firm was to be found, equi-distant from the George Hotel, at Healey, and the Old-Hall, at Staincliffe. This tramway ran forward down by Dewsbury Gate and Dewsbury Moor, to the river at Ravenswharf, and Batley at that time sent coals to Lancashire, a clear case of sending coals to Newcastle. Another tramway went for- ward from Deighton Lane to Gomersal, so that in tuose days we were in the export trade as well as the home trade as far as the “black diamond” went. The experiment of Chaster’s was, however, a very costly failure, and at their fall, I believe Mr. Matthew Kaye stepped in and took part, if not ali their coal-producing land. Mr. Kaye sunk a pit after that in the present yard of Mr. Walshaw’s mill at Clerk Green. Thirty years ago, it was in full working order, and the only rival to the Branch Road pit of Mr. Critchley. The shaft is still in the mill yard, and used, I believe, as a well. Before leaving this part of the subject I cannot forget to mention that a pit stood on the site of the present Post
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vious to this inn being built she kept one in Clay Fold just behind. This latter named hostelry was
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There is a famous regiment who, up to a few years ago, bore the title of the “ Havercake lads.” It was a regiment originally raised in the district of Halifax, and made itself famous on the field of battle, as well as in canteen and foraging party. Of this regiment a song was written before W. C. Bennett gave to the world his “Songs for Soldiers,” and the song referring to this regiment, the brothers Collinson sang, and sang in character. What the words were I cannot say; I have heard the refrain many a time, but I cannot even remember that, and am therefore under the necessity of telling my readers to hunt -the words up themselves, and then after finding the biggest harem-scarems they can, set them off to sing it with such addi. tional aid as can be secured from swords made of
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OHAPTER VIL.
There are very few changes made during the last thirty years which are more remarkable and interesting than those affecting our home life and social pesition. As the years come and go, we keep constantly improving our positions and our appearances for the better; though at the same time we grumble all the more at the fan- cied hardness of our lot, and the trouble which falls to us, as we make ourselves believe, in heavier shape. The better we are growing the more we grumble, and the experiences of us all will be found so. There is an old saying which puts it down as a truth, that when a man grumbles he is getting well on in.the world; and I believe greatly in the truth of the proverbial philosophy in the expression,
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Nor does it strike the working mani of to-day in the midst of all his ill-founded grumbling to cast a glance back at—what in this respect were —the good old times of thirty years ago, and compare matters from any social point now and then. Whether work hours, work rooms, houses, dress, food, or leisure, or any other matters which help to fill up the daily routine are considered, the advantages show most unmistakably in favour of the present day. Indeed, im all the matters I have named there is no similarity in the differ- ent details of the two periods; no factory act dare be or can be broken as it used! to be, nor dare the factories be neglected at all from a sani- tary point of view, while houses and the other etceteras I have referred to are equally changed, and for the better.
Picture an old
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Floors and staircase, which never knew carpet, are fully carpeted
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sence of joiner work in the interior of the house thirty years ago, when viewed in the light of to- day—there was an extra share of cleaning to be done to make the cooking and other utensils worthy ot being viewed—seeing that they could not be hidden from sight.
In the days of a generation ago, there were various articles of furniture in every house, which, as a rule, have disappeared now. There are, it is true, here and there, odd specimens of each article [ shall allude to, yet to be seen, but of course 1 am speaking of matters in general. Then there was the delph case, the drawers, or shut-up bed, the old long seating, and the bread creel in nearly every house; now, they are all gone. The delph case with its treasures of clean plates and other articles of crockery is replaced by hooks and shelves, or cupboard and drawers combined together. The drawers with their white cover, on which family Bible, hymn books, and sundry articles of crockery were placed, is replaced either by dresser, sideboard, or piano— and where the bed used to fill up the place assigned to the drawers, there is to be seen one or other of the two articles I have named—the long seating is replaced by a sofa; and the bread creel with its oaten cake laid on to dry and make into “snap-and-ruttle’ has been disbanded amongst the cottagers in our district, as has its near relative oatmeal porridge. The love for oat- bread ana porridge has disappeared nearly alto- gether; and where then one or two meals a day used to be composed of
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A few years ago I came across an old West Riding man in a Southern town. He had been away from the county of his birth for over twenty years; but his love for the home of his boyhood was as strong as ever, and my speech, tainted with the dialect, his attentive ears, and he seemed to live his young life over again. “Talk a ‘bit of your broadest,” he said, and I rushed on to answer all his queries in a plain and homely Batley twang. His delight knew no bounds, and his language changed from the classically pure to the old vernacular as we talked together. He told me that his great delight was to hear a bit of broad Yorkshire, and that the height of his present ambition was just to have a bit of soft oat- bread rolled up in treacle. “His mother used,” he went on to say, “to make him a cake for him- self hot from t’backstone,” and he used to have
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family, the income ef our household was small, hence the never-ending breakfasts and suppers, and even teas, made cf porridge and treacle, which I experienced in my first decade; an ex- perience. which left me a deadly enemy for all time to anything made of oatmeal.
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tricts, and the decay of the old white frilled caps of our grandmothers makes the oid “tally iron” a veritable rarity.
Caps and’ bonnets were what their names im- plied in those days, and were as substantial as they are flimsy now; many of our mothers wear “mob caps” now, thirty years ago they wore dark caps, which covered their heads more than their bonnets do now by a long, long way. Then our mothers wore a “Tuscan” or a “Leghorn” bonnet, the size of a coal scuttle, which could have been made into straw hats for two or three youngsters ; now a bunch of ribbons, tied by a string, appar- ently does duty for a bonnet. In the earliest period I am fixing my rambling reminiscences to, old matrons wore the large white frilled caps in the house, and placed their bonnets over them for outdoor wear. Children ran twice as long then in frocks as now. Seven was considered soon enough to put a lad in “breeches,” and the first pair in my Case were a pair of “me
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sary variety. But the Keighley makers of wringing machines gave the death-blow to this institution; as did the. making of
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seription ; and its successors are so bloodthirsty as to sap the very foundations of a
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wattering Jimmy grave to mak t’ flaars spraht, when an owd widower coom up, touked nonsense to her, an shoo belieyed his words, and he walk- ed hoam wi her. T’ next morning a young lass at shoo hed acting as a bit of a sarvant gat up
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CHAPTER VIII.
I often. wonder what the grandfathers of the present generation would think if they could come back and compare the advantages of to- day with what were known fifty years ago; and how they would stare with undisguised
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sulted Zadkiel most, who reeited old ballads best, and who knew most of the old lore of every day
life.
That such was so we have yet abundant evid- ence. It needs not more than the experience of an observant: man of forty to call back to his memory the decline of the customs of the modern dark age we have just referred to; and to re- member even the time when tradition was in some rural districts even more powerful than history, as it appeared in the then scaree news- paper press. Tradition is even a power now, though superstition, its one time companion, is laid upon its death-bed. Nor must we despise it because it is becoming ancient and a curiosity, for at one time it had to do what the newspaper of to-day does. The
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of the one time importance of tradition or super- stition, or both. I shall not, however mention anything but what I have come across myself, and in this town; and shall rely upon an im- promptu memory in what I here write. Were I to go farther afield I should but expand my subject till 1 could not treat of it in this chapter, and even 1f I were to but barely make a list of all these sayings which comprise what is usually called, the folk lore of our district, 1 should then go a deal further than it is my intention of doing.
Of course, the gabbleratch, that imaginary be- ing of our ancestor’s creation, takes a prominent place in the rural life of thirty years ago. Scores are living amongst us now who at one time had e belief in this unlucky bird, whose shrieking cry in the dead of the night, has been the fre- quent warning of some death to be expected. Owls have never been so very plentiful in this district during my memory, as to have been re- sponsible with their shriek for all these alarms ; and I am, therefore, under the necessity of saddling other night prowling birds with a share of the cause of this terror. Swallows have been known to fly at dead of night like Seth Smith “a moth hunting,” and make such a noise with their ever active mouth as would startle the timid watcher at the sick bedside. Then there are other birds, such as the fieldfare or red wing, or wild goose, which fly at night on their migratory journeys, and which of necessity keep together by their call. Any, or all of these noises, be- sides many others, have been each in their time the fatal gabbleratch or gabbleratchet. But there are even more death tokens than the cry af the gabbleratch for a dog’s howl used to have its terror, if but given during the hours devoted
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to darkness; and the crow of the cock was still as serious if given at dark. A rattling of furni- ture which did not
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would hang it in front of the child’s chest, and nearest the skin. The theory was, that as the caterpillar died, so would the cough; so that it seems that caterpillars have more ways of bring- ing luck than in being thrown backwards over a boy’s head. Another cure for whooping cough equally as ridiculous, but equally believed in, as the one I have just named, was made by passing the sickly child under the belly of.a donkey;
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contact goes, and it was but a few months ago, that passing a group of marble players bent on a game where luck takes the place of skill, I overheard the old charm of my own schoolboy days repeated, “a cross to loss, a ring to win,” just as opponent or friend were doing their share of the game. Is there yet a charm to drive the rainbow away? I fancy there will be, and also fancy it will, as of old, be composed of two crossed straws, weighted at their ends with bits of stone. But there is another tradition current amongst schoolboys; that if a wet hair is put across the palm of a boy’s hand, the smart stroke of the schoolmaster’s cane cannot be felt, and the cane will also split. And then there is yet in every day use the saying which makes a con- tract sacred and legal before the law courts; that is in a lad’s opinion, “Is grass ~reen? then no swops back wal thi mother’s a queen.” At the same time there is the proof of sincerity, “Is that wet, is that dry, cut my throat afore I die?” Of course there are the motions to accompany the words, motions that every one will recall. Schoolboy literature of a traditional kind also lingers yet, as witness the ballad of “Robbin a bobbin,” and “Richard a bobbin,” etc.
Coming, however, to the days of childhood, there is much of the old lore left. Children born on the stroke of twelve are gifted with second sight; the seventh son of a seventh son is gifted with prophecy; a child which soon possesses teeth will scon walk, for does not the saying
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Monday’s child is fair o’ face, Tuesday’s child is full o’ grace, Wednesday’s child is full 0’ woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for its living, But the child which is born on the Sabbath day, Is blithe and bonny, good and gay.
Moro than this yet about children, for :—
A dimple i’ t’chin Means a living browt in, An’ a dimple i’ t’cheek Means a living to seek.
while, should shortenin~ time come due in the month of May by all means pass it off till the month is gone by, for is it not true that “If a child is shortened i’ May, it al dwindle away.” Nor should a child have its nails cut, or see its reflection in a glass before it is twelve months old, baa luck either indiscretion; and young wives must also remember the first time a child is carried out it must be to the christen- ing, and at the first house to which it is carried it should be presented with “an egg, some salt, a coin, and a match,” or bad luck will be its por- tion. Further than that, the presents must be carried in the child’s clothes till it is back at home again. Nay, great care should be observed in this respect, for does not the present made and received, represent the wishes of the donor, that the child may have plenty to eat, plenty pleasure, plenty money, and a light to show it the way through the wicked world till death steps in the way.
These reminiscences taken at random and from memory are a sample of many more which, thirty years ago, were part of the necessary existence of our immediate ancestors; and which are yet to a great extent carried out. Of course there
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are another set of customs which have reference not just to daily life, but to our festivals and feasts. These I cannot go into in the present chapter, though they are part of some of our existence yet. One instance will show to what class I refer—it is, that if a girl enters a house the first on Christmas morning bad luck enters the house for the year, just the same luck fol- lows a boy with red hair on a similar occasion. There are also other signs mixed up with daily life For if you are going on a journey and see a pin upon the floor it is an omen of bad luck, and the best advice to act on is to turn back. A gentle- man has been committed to the grave within a week of the time I am writing, and within two miles from where I live, who was a firm believer in this omen, and there are yet in the country many people who believe that if a magpie or magpies fly across their path, that events are ruled accordingly, and as follows
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Those who wash on Monday have all the week to dry, Those who wash on Tuesday are not so much
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had in the reading of the “Coat of Arms” I have referred to.
For instance; when we refer to our Birstall friends with the expression that they ‘“cahr quiet,” we are having a rap at their expense, as we think; even though we have lost the origin of the saying, and therefore may be wrong in the quiet laugh we give along with the expression. In the spirit of ridicule we taunt
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wick as the place where they lifted “t’ bull ower
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again queried. “Oh, aye,” the Harleheatener answered this time, “ah just seen a dénkey w?’ a chair on it heead run dahn that fold.”
To go into the subject of local sayings having reference to places and districts like these I have gone out of my way to give examples of, is a study full of humour if not also instructive; and the reader who accepts the task might do worse perhaps than undertake a list of local sayings which have reference to individuals instead of places. it would be humorous perhaps
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more fully; and they are nearly as common in our every day life as ever they were within man’s memory. Indeed I may say that the matters I am taking upon myself to refer to in this chapter show few signs of decay, but seem to be nearly as full of life, as much used, and as significant as they were even thirty years ago. It is a matter for argument whether education increases the references to proverbial lore or decreases it—and the same which rules the daily use of proverbs rules the use of local sayings such as I am now referring to as comparisons.
We say “as red as a hep,” “as white as snow,” “as yolla as a
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that we “thowt it wor ali upshaw.” Then we express the depth of our surprise on some past
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laugh at ther awn folly.” Some are by nature such dull fools “that they cannot say boo to a gooise,” they cannot say “Kersmass,” that are “gooid for nowt,” that are “war nar a knife hauf-shut,” or “war nar a gooise nick’t it heead,” or “nobbut tenpence t’shilling.” If one is slow, “he’s a good un ta send for sorrow ;” if he is im- pudent, “he is five and twenty minutes too fast,” if anxious, “he is fit ta foil a crackit,” if thin and poor in stature, he is “ta ill ta thrive,” if he has over-stept the teetotaller’s mark, he has “brus- sen his elbows agean,” if a flatterer,
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Once during the Exhibition of 1851 we sent a native to the Crystal Palace who forgot his man- ners and called a spade a spade in reality. Stand- ing upon his independence at this world’s fair, perhaps because of certain sneers he might have had thrown at him, for his free and broad use of the dialect—he could not, even if he wished, dis- band—he was in an irritable mood. In one part of the exhibition there stood a massive piece of coal, the production of some Barnsley seam. It was a giant exhibit, and even to our West Riding man, used as he was to every day contact with such a mineral, the size of the
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CHAPTER X.
The present custodians of law and order are cer- tainly much better than their predecessors, and certainly more
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had volunteers to protect the country from the invader, we have, in late years seen living evi- dence of. Then, Adwalton moor, as an old battle- field, was one of the grounds on which they prac- tised from time to time. I have often heard the stories of their efficiency. How they would be armed with what was perhaps, a better-class of weapon of the “old Bess pattern; heavy and clumsy, and uncertain in aim. If we could hit a haystack at one hundred yards,” one veteran
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more intelligence than they once had, and I must give these “muffin shooiters” the credit there is in the mention of the change. Most of us can recoliect the derision which greeted our first establisament of the present volunteer force in the country—times have however altered. The one time apparent love for display has be- come a permanency, and the most illustrious martinet of the regular army would
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who have been in the Queen’s sixty, but we have one who might, but for one unlucky “richochet” havo been the wearer of the silver medal of the Queen’s. Of that “richochet” and its further his- tory, see the
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thought of the fact, but the toll-keeper did.
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“Yoh here agean, doctor ?” “Yes, John.” “Yor a deal o’ business ta neet.” “Yes, John.”
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CHAPTER XI.
Somewhere about thirty years ago, let the period be as an auctioneer sometimes puts
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was another. This latter character never had his clothes off sometimes for weeks together. He often visited Batley, neariy every day sometimes ; selling besoms, sel ing his “historic doggerel” and filling up the intervals with wiping
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“Bobby” Wooler who once turned butcher; and who one winter killed a cow, disposing of such meat as his own family could not eat. “Duke Bailey,” of Hanging
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at Osborne’s, I was one of many scholars who took an interest in the rearing o: silkworms, and this tree was called into requisition for many a summer, its leaves being used for feeding pur- poses. Then, at this hall, in those days, were old panes on the front windows scratched with the diamond of some poetic soul who lived one hundred and fifty ~ears ago. Unce I made a copy of the verses which graced one of these windows, but never expecting to appear in print, as I am doing, id not put the result of my labours in a place where I can place my hand upon them now—though I should feel glad todo so. wsefore Mr. Greenwood’s time the house and estates be- longed the Taylor family, and at the time to which I have referred the Taylors were resident here. The story which
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And kindred less rega1! do pay, Than thy acquaintance of a day; Know, what the best of men declare, That they on earth but strangers are. Nor matters it, a few years hence, How fortune did to thee dispense;
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FROM VILLAGE TO TOWN. 117 wi tha,” Mr. Senior answered “tha naws it duz.” —It was, 1 believe a predecessor of Seed’s who was called Senior, who had even a worse name than Seed as a “lather em shave em Billy Ballo.” —This Senior was really a “barbarous barber’ if - report is true. He was frequently asked by his “clients” with tears even in their eyes, if “he’d giv up,’ when he had only just begun. Senior’s reply used to be ‘Giv up now, ast shave tha this time cos ah naw it al be t’last.”
Turning back, however, to Seed and his white- hafted razor days, brings back the story of his razor being especially out of tune one day. On this day the
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clothes were on fire, a thing which the man could not imagine; when he had been persistently tell- ing his “invalid” wife “it wor for her gooid and shoo mud bear it like a man.”
It was this same
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washing lettuce for dinner “in soap and water ;” and doing such other tricks as inexperienced people at times will keep doing.
Turning from Henry Seed to barbering in gen- eral, brings me to another professor of the art who after growing grey in the work, resigned it for what 1 hope is a better paying trade. I re- fer now to the proprietor of the “Batlev News.” When Mr. Fearnsides came over from Dewsbury to cut and scrape and curl, the worthy inhabit- ants of Batley thirty years ago, he occupied a cellar dwelling, either under the shop now kept by Mr. Haigh, the bell-hanger, in Commercial Street, or next door to it. Corky Ward would be his near neighbour about that time. By and by with the perseverance and ambition, which is often shown in a Councillor anxious to be an
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ed with cottages in the town during the last three decades have arisen from his initiatory move- ment. He was one of the earliest pioneers of the lecturers amongst us in favour of such institu- tions; and has played a very prominent part in the growth of cottage property in what is now called the important Borough of Batley. Another reference I cannot even with the brief space at my disposal at allignore. It is to Victoria Park. The first park ever bestowed upon the inhabi- tants of Batley, was bestowed by Mr. Fearnsides and his friends in this park. It is true they found it in another township, and did not even ask the owner of the land for the title deeds; but I shall remember the fact while i live, that he gave us that park, and gave it publicly too. At five a.m. one morning in May or June, twenty years ago, he, Mr. John Taylor, and others, met under a tree in Soothill Wood, and bestowed that patch of
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FROM VILLAGE TO TOWN. 121 that he was a preacher as well as the other trades I have mentioned, it becomes easy for me to slip from him to preachers in general and particular, and pulpits in particular.
Mr. William Starkey still lives, the only repre- sentative of the local “Sammy. Hick” we can now boast of. At one time we had “owd Sammy Senior’ and Robert Scargill. Besides these of our own making we used to have immigrants in Squire Brooke, Will Koyds, the Birstall poet, old Joan Preston, Matthew Hargreayes, and others ; of these Rhodes is still living and preaches at times.
It is, however, only of our own men famous in this branch of life that I shall speak, and Mr. Starkey comes first. He at one time did a deal of preaching, and had his little eccentricities as well. There is a story current about him, which, though I believe it may not be correct, yet is good enough to embalm here. He was—so this. story says, planned to preach to the “white heathens” of Atherton on a Sunday morning. Now his previous experience of the hospitality of the congregation was not a good one, for not one of them
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tat sarmon when t’time comes.
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ah goa thear ah sal be invited in at t’front.” Of course the two sentences formed part of the ser- mon, and it was only the few persons the woman herself had laughingly told, who shared in the fun with the preacher and the woman as well. Per- ‘haps Sammy Senior will be best remembered by the story of his charges for sermons. A deputa- tion from a local congregation went one day to him to ask his terms for preaching an anniversary sermon. “A guinea,’ answered Sammy, as he recollected that the place was a mile or two away from home, and that he might be like a woman’s new bonnet, better thought of the heavier the price.
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lord. She knew his punctual hour of calling on the Monday morning and was on the watch for him. As scon as he appeared by the corner of the George tiotel, she would leave the door the slightest bit ajar and then getting to the far side of the house would offer up a prayer, es-- pecially mentioning her good, kind, and Chris- tian landlord; and, while she was thus making her mockery complete, Mr. Scargill would thus proceed. He would knock at the door, there would be no reply. he would then—seeing it was a bit open—push it open wide, and just as he was about to call
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Shiloh; i have been an attender at the spirit- ualistic services at Gawthorpe; and have been present at the open-air meetings of the followers of Brigham Young. Now I can admire “Bill
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CHAPTER XII.
Batley is rich in anecdotal narrative, and he who attempts to collect the old tales told during the last thirty years, will have a pleasurable task, even if it is one on a large scale. Some day we may see such an attempt made, for all that I have written in the preceding chapters has been written from memory, and at random. { have attempted no classification of my sub- ject, for its magnitude appalled me, and that is perhaps the reason why my remarks may per- haps have appeared to some of a_ dtsjomted character. I hope, however, they have been removed from monotony, by the erratic nature of their contents, and that to the younger gene- ration of natives, they may afford an interest in the perusal of them, which I have
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that time a cobbler, but he did not stick to his ‘Tast”—I expect because he could not. He wag a ready-witted being and never cut so deep with his wit as to cause offence. In fact his sayings caused the laugh to come from those who were the objects of his wit; and if ever a town could boast of a
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It was this—“Vote for Eli and Tom; Eli likes water without any gin, but Tom likes it better with a little sup in.” Abe also
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mention Fish Jim, however, in the category of authors, but my excuse must be that he was the author of some dreadful noises, and may not be so much out of place as it appears at first sight. Another Batley author was Richard Whincup, who pubiusied a volume of poems under the title of “The Deaf Warbler.” At the time this book was published Whincup lived in King Street, and was a shoemaker. His uncle was then miller at old Mr. Chas. Ward’s corn mill, of Carlinghow, and afterwards went to Mr. Wool- er’s, at Rouse Mill. I believe Whincup the poet is dead, ‘but I cannot say for certain.
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When he left Batley his successor was our
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“Av come ta seek a situation, hev you ene at liberty
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Ward, better known as ‘Jacky Ward.” He was too trusting, especially with the boys of my period, and would take a bad coin, or a farthing, or a handful of ‘‘cots an twisses,” or brass but- tons, or anything else, even rags; and give us in exchange spice or nuts or fruit. More than that, he would give us as much for a farthing as for a halt-penny: in his happy go lucky style of serving. ite was all the tradesman who wouid take farthings, and I believe he was fast with them when he had taken them, as no one would take them back but the boys who knew his peculiarities. Then there was another of his tricks, which used to lay him open to the impo- sition of the juniors of the town in that day. When halfpennies were scarce he had a habit of giving a boy in change an old washer ring, or large brass button. With this washer or button would be a promise to take either of them back at full value on a future occasion. Need I say that when Jacky had had a run upon his
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centre of the auditorium as he politely asked the
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No less true is it that we have produced amongst us beings, who have affected a superi- ority they could not substantiate by contact with their Filled with stuck-up pride, they have of course been looked upon by their neighbours with the same contempt they have themselves ‘originally given birth to. The story runs that once upon a time one of our Batley citizens went on a Cook’s eight days tour
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and heard take place between them. The time was Monday morning; the meeting place Soot- hill Lane. This was the dialogue :—
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of Batley poets. He
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tells his men ta get all t’boats ready an ta leave t’ship, for ahr Tom sezs t’captain’s as brave a man as ever he saw, an’ t’sailors did as they wor telld. “Well, t’boats, as they gat redidy, wor all upset, ahr Tom sez; an’ then t’sailors began ta cry—an’ t’captain called em cowards. In fact, ahr Tom sez it wor pitiful ta see em as t’ship wor sinking e seet o’ land, an’ as they climbed up
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It is invention and competition which have created the demand and tempted the change, and the two are
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—was a bit akin to the “prison crop” once de- scribed in a jecular fashion as made by putting a basin on the “patient’s” head, and cutting round the edges with a knife; that is, it was equally as primitive. The boy’s “crop” was made by cutting all hair off as close to the head as scissors could be made to do it, with the ex- ception of a bit in front called the topping, and the topping made a suitable “mane” to hold un- ruly youths by. Jane, fustian, and everlasting used to share with cotton-cord the honour of being worn by the youth of my earliest recol- lections ; the latter being Sunday wear, the for-. mer, daily wear for such as had passed the era of petticoats,
It is no more in one thing than another that the changes in our midst are so great.
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It would hardly dio to trust to accident now for new designs and colours as Bill Hanson, dyer at the Old Mill, once did, when the wind carry- ing the chimney with it, distributed the soot pretty freely into the open dye pans. Bill dreaded “‘t’pieces being spoiled” by the mishap, but the reverse was the case. More pieces were of the same kinu, but the customers were told by
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cellar steps as they could get; the former trying to reach the “truant” loaves with a walking stick, when an unlucky touch of the old wife’s - hand sent him on his face into the water. Getting out as quickly as he could, and blowing from his mouth the newly acquired contents, he referred to her sense of honour thus: “Nay, Bet, thart noa man.” Another old native in an encounter with his wife on one occa- sion made a similar remark; “It worrant a man trick on tha, Sally, ta pause ma when tha hed ma dahn.”’
Before
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of attention to orders, he early hit upon a novel plan, which I will
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to prove his