Adventures and Recollections - Bill o'th' Hoylus End

Скачать книгу

a sword made o’ wood,

       Actin’ Dick Turpin or bold Robin Hood—

       T’warst little imp ’at there is i’t’ whole street:

       O! he’s a shocker is young Billy Wreet!

      Playin’ a whistle or drummin’ a can,

       Seein’ how far wi’ his fingers can span:

       Breakin’ a window wi’ throwin’ a stone,

       Then ligs it on Tommy, or Charley, or Jone;

       Mockin’ a weaver when swingin’ his spooils,

       Chief-engineer of a train made o’ stooils;

       Last out o’ bed, an’ last in at neet—

       O! he’s a imp is that young Billy Wreet!

      Ridin’ a pony wi’ a rope round its neck,

       Tryin’ to cross a ford or a beck,

       Lettin’ off rockets or swingin’ a gate,

       Walkin’ on t’riggin’ on t’top of a slate;

       Out a birds’ nestin’ an’ climbin’ up trees,

       Rivin’ his jacket an’ burstin’ his knees;

       An’ a body can’t leave ought safe out o’t’ neet,

       But what it’s in danger o’ daft Willie Wreet!

      Breakin’ down hedges, an’ climbin’ up trees,

       Scalin’ the rocks on his hands an’ his knees,

       Huntin’, or skatin’, or flying a kite,

       An’ seein’ how much he can take at a bite;

       Plaguin’ a donkey, an’ makin’ it kick,

       Prickin’ its belly wi’t’ end of a stick;

       An’ you who are livin’, you’ll yet live to see’t,

       That something will happen that scamp Billy Wreet!

       Table of Contents

      About this time the country was in a state of great turbulency on account of the Plug Drawing and the Chartist Riots. Soldiers were stationed at Keighley, where the late Captain Ferrand had a troop of yeoman cavalry under his charge. One day, I recollect, the Keighley soldiers had a rare outing. This is just how it came about. An old inhabitant, with the baptismal name, James Mitchell, but the locally-accepted name, Jim o’th’ Kiers, saw what appeared to him to be the “inimy” on Lees Moor. “Nah,” thought Jimmy, “we’re in for’t if we doan’t mind;” and he straightway went down to Keighley and raised the alarm. It was Sunday, and the soldiers, as luck had it, happened to be on a Church parade. Captain Ferrand at once gave the command—like any dutiful general would do—“To arms!” “To arms!” The soldiers thereupon proceeded to the indicated scene of action; I saw the noble warriors gallop past our house “in arms and eager for the fray.” But upon reaching the spot marked out by Jim o’th’ Kiers, the soldiers were somewhat puzzled and “sore amazed” to find no enemy—that is to say, nothing to mean aught. Jimmy couldn’t understand it: he rubbed his eyes to see if he was awake, but rubbing made “not a bit of difference.” The nearest thing which they could even twist or twine into “the inimy” was a poor old man with a pair of “arm-oil” crutches. Jimmy having been severely questioned as to the sincerity of his motive in “hevin’ t’sowgers aht,” the poor old fellow whom they had fallen upon came in for a turn; but the only explanation he could give was that they had been holding a Ranters’ camp-meeting, and that he, not being able to get away as rapidly as he could have wished had been left behind. Now they did make a fool of Jim o’th’ Kiers, they did that, and the soldiers were jeered and scoffed at a good deal by the crowd. I, a little, wandering, curiosity-seeking specimen of humanity, was among the latter, and I trow I had as much fun out of the affair as was good for me.

       Table of Contents

      Soon after this skirmishing—you will have to excuse the absence of any dates, I didn’t bethink me to keep a diary—my parents removed from Hoylus-end, and went to live at a farm called Wheat-head, in Fell-lane, now known as the Workhouse Farm.

       Table of Contents

      My stay at Wheat-head Farm, which lasted about ten years, was to me a very interesting one. I cannot refrain from making a passing allusion to my acquaintance with a character who created quite a sensation at the time. This “character” was no other than “Old Three Laps”—an individual who at his baptism was known as William Sharp. This singularly eccentric specimen of humanity lived at Whorl’s Farm, and, as it will be generally known took to his bed through being “blighted” in love. He kept to his bed for about forty years. During the period he was “bed-fast,” I often used to go and peep through the window at this freak of nature—for I can scarcely call it anything else. Then, while I was a lad, we had such a thing as a hermit in Holme (House) Wood. The name of this hermit I used to be told was “Lucky Luke.” For a score of years did “Luke” live in Holme Wood. I remember my mother giving the old man his breakfast when he used to call at our house. His personal appearance frightened me very much. He wore the whole of his beard, which was of iron-grey colour and reached down to his waist. His garb was composed of rags, tied to his body by the free use of rope. He once told my mother that he had more than once changed clothes with a scarecrow. Sometimes this queer person would never be seen by mortal man for months together, unless it were that I disturbed his solitude occasionally; but then, of course, I was only a boy. “Luke” had a bad name amongst us lads. I know people couldn’t fairly make out where he lived; he was wonderfully “lucky,” and no doubt he had a comfortable lair somewhere among the rocks and caves. Still the fact remains that farmers often found occasion to complain of pillaging being carried on by night in their gardens and turnip fields. This seems indisputable proof that “Luke” was a vegetarian—maybe, such a one as the Keighley Vegetarian Society might be glad to get hold of! Old Job Senior was not a vegetarian; he went in for a higher art—music. It used to be the boast of the Rombald’s Moor hermit that he had been a splendid singer in his day—could sing in any voice. Job frequently came as far as Keighley and tried to earn “a’ honest penny” by singing in the streets. His legs were encased in straw and ropes, and although at times I own I’m rather backward incoming forward, I hasten to say that Job’s “outer man and appendages” charmed more people than his singing did. But, then, “it’s all in a life-time.”

       Table of Contents

      During my sojourn at Wheat-head Farm I took a fancy to trying my “prentice hand” at writing poetry. I got a little encouragement in this at home. My father held singing classes, and gentlemen from the neighbourhood used to meet at our house to have their “lessons.” I remember that the present Mr. Lund, of Malsis Hall, was one of my father’s principal pupils. Some very good “talent” was turned out in the way of glee parties particularly, and just before Christmas my father used to be very busy training singers for carolling. I often wrote a little doggerel-rhyme to please those who came to the classes. One of my earliest efforts was a few verses anent my first pair of britches, which I, in common, I suppose, with other juveniles, regarded with a great amount of pleasure and pride. I must apologise for introducing three verses of the piece I wrote and styled

Скачать книгу