Bill o'th' Hoylus End

“ Or the benks of the river while strolling wi’ friends,
That tempts me to wander at twilight so lonely,
And leave the gay feast for others to share;
But O there’s a charm, and a charm for me only,
In a sweet little cot on the Benks o’ the Aire.
p. 106How sweet and remote from all turmoil and danger,
In that cot, wi’ my Mary, I could pass the long years:
In friendship and peace lift the latch to a stranger,
And chase off the anguish o’ pale sorrow’s tears. ”

“ Old Keighley was then but a very small town,
Yet she’d twelve hundred Combers that were very well known;
Hundreds have gone over the dark flowing burn,
Whence no traveller was ever yet known to return. ”

“ Laughing Genius, a “Good night!”
Yet, stay awhile!
Ere thou tak’st thy upward flight,
Upon me smile;
Drop one feather from thy breast
On the bard, that he may rest,
Then he will be doubly bless’d,
Glorious Bacchus, god of wine!
Kings are great, but thou art just,
Night and day;
What are kings but royal dust—
Birds of prey?
Though in splendour they may be—
Menials bow, and bend the knee—
Oh, let me dwell along with thee,
Famous Bacchus, god of wine!
p. 64Sall o’t’ Bog. ”

“ With thy mantle of green, richly spangled in splendour,
At whose sight the last demon of winter doth fly?
From her home in the grass see the primrose is peeping,
While diamond dew-drops around her are spread;
She smiles thro’ her tears like an infant that’s sleeping,
And to laughter is changed as her sorrows are fled.
p. 66The landscape around is now sprinkled with flowers,
The mountains are blue in their distant array;
The wreaths of green leaves are refreshed with the showers,
Like a moth in the sunshine the lark flies away. ”

“ Unto the Church on which the angels smile.
p. 138Who would not shuffle off his worldly pleasures,
For one short hour to bring before his sight,
The pictures of the great and mighty treasures—
Our English Church, which brought the world to light.
Great Men dive deep down into wisdom’s river—
The poet, philosopher, and sage—
For wisdom’s pearls, which showeth forth for ever,
Nor waste their sweetness or grow dull with age. ”

“ I have also much pleasure in informing your gracious Majesty that His Grace the Duke of Devonshire has presented the people of Keighley with a plot of ground to be called the Devonshire Park, which will be opened on the occasion of your Majesty’s Jubilee; also that Henry Isaac Butterfield, Esquire, p. 94of bonny Cliffe Castle, has erected a noble-looking structure, to be called the Jubilee Tower, which will be opened on the day of your Majesty’s Grand Jubilee, to commemorate your Majesty’s glorious reign. ”

“ It is said that when Giles Clumps, the South-downer, first came to Keighley, the first question he asked his fellow labourer was this, “What religion be th’ master here?” “A Liberal,” was the answer; “So be I,” says Giles. “And what politics be th’ master?” ”

“ Ower maantains, dahn valleys, it’s saanding so clear;
It’s t’Turkey Mill Band wi ther sharps and ther flats,
I’ ther blue an’ green coits an’ ther red-toppin’d hats,
’Tis plain whear they’re bahn wi’ t’long paces they take,
An’ they’ll play wi’ some vengeance at Windermere Lake.
But, harken ageean! what’s comin’ this way?
More music, grand music; hey, hear how they play!
It’s t’Fife an’ Drum Band fra Throttlepoke Raw,
Wi’ as strong a big drummer as ivver yah saw,
An’ both his drum ends must be solid as stone,
Fer bi t’way ’at he thumps he macks it fair groan. ”

“ He hed one fault, an’ that wor just same as all t’other Haworth celebrities; he wod talk owd fashioned, an’ that willant dew up i’ London. Bud we hed monny a good singer beside him i’ t’neighbourhood. Nah what is thur grander ner a lot o’ local singers at Kersmas time chanting i’ t’streets; it’s ommost like bein’ i’ heaven, especially when you’re warm i’ bed. But there’s another thing at’s varry amusing abaght our local singers, when they meet together ther is some demi-semi-quavering, when ther’s sharps, flats, an’ naturals;—an’ t’best ale an’ crotchets mix’d, that’s the time fer music. ”

“ Aw remember wun Sabbath, an’ t’sun it wor shining,
Aw went wi’ mi father ta Hainworth ta sing;
An’ t’stage wur hung raand wi’ bottle-green lining;
And childer i’ white made t’ village ta ring.
We went ta owd Meshach’s that day ta wur drinkin’,
Though poor, tha wur plenty, an’ summat ta spare;
Says Meshach, “That lad, Jim, is just thee, aw’m thinking,
It furst Pair o’ Briches at ivver tha ware.”
Now them wur the days o’ grim boggards and witches,
When Will-o’-the-wisp cud be seen in the swamp,
But nah are the days o’ cheating fer riches,
An’ a poor honest man is classed wi’ a scamp. ”

“ Jim wod hev his lip in; but he’s a rare chorus singer, there’s nowt abaght that; for, my word, t’strangers did praise him aboon a bit, an’ weel he desarved it, fer he gap’d like a young throstle, wal t’foak wor fair charm’d, an’ ’specially t’Germans an’ t’niggers ’at wor on deck, fer they’d nivver heeard onny chorus-singin’ afoar they heeard Jim strike up—
We’re joyously sailin’ ower the lake,
Bound fer t’opposite shore;
An’ which o’ yu’s fooil enuff ta believe
We sall nivver see land onny more. ”

“ They try to be t’best and t’quickest,
The smiles o’ their master to gain.
p. 150And now from her ten hours’ labour,
Back to her cottage shoo shogs;
Aw hear by the tramping an’ singing,
’Tis the factory girl in her clogs.
And at night when shoo’s folded i’ slumber,
Shoo’s dreaming o’ noises and drawls:
Of all human toil under-rated,
’Tis our poor little factory girl’s.
Haworth Sharpness.
Says a wag to a porter i’ Haworth one day,
“Yahr not ower sharp ye drones o’t’railway,
For fra Keighley to Haworth I’ve been oft enough,
But nivver a hawpenny I’ve paid ye begoff.” ”

“ For tho’ she be silent, the harder she’s press’d;
A small bit o’ help to the little she earns,
God blesses the giver to fatherless bairns.
’Neath the green grassy mounds i’ yon little church-yard
An over-wrought genius there finds his reward ”

“ We’d walk aght in t’morning when t’young sun wor shining,
When t’birds hed awakened, an’ t’lark soar’d i’ t’air,
An’ I’d watch its last beam, on my Mary reclining,
From ahr dear little cot on the Benks o’ the Aire.
Then we’d talk o’ the past, when our loves wor forbidden,
When fortune wor adverse, an’ friends wod deny,
How ahr hearts wor still true, tho’ the favours wor hidden
Fra the charm of ahr life, the mild stare of ahr eye.
An’ when age sall hev temper’d ahr warm glow o’ feelin’
Ahr loves should endure, an’ still wod we share ”

“ Poetic fire;
And far beyond the human ken
He strung the lyre.
And well old Scotland may be proud
To hear her Burns proclaimed aloud,
For to her sons the world hath bowed
Through Burns’s name—
All races of the world are proud
Of Burns’s fame.
p. 98Trip to Malsis Hall.
The day wor fine, the sun did shine,
No signs o’ rain to fall,
When t’North Beck hands, i’ jovial bands,
Did visit Malsis Hall.
Up by the hill o’ North Beck Mill,
Both owd an’ young did meet;
To march I trow, i’ two-by-two,
Procession dahn the street.
An’ Marriner’s Band, wi’ music grand,
Struck up wi’ all ther might ”

“ All nature wor wearin’ her mantle o’ green;
The birds wor all singin’ i’ owd Cockle Wood,
As if by their notes they all understood,
As weel as the people who com wi’ a smile,
To see the procession march off i’ grand style.
“Owd Rowland,” the bell wi’ his gert iron tongue,
Proclaim’d to the people both owd an’ young,
’Twor high time to rise for each moment wor dear
As t’train wod be startin’ fer Lake Windermere;
An’ Rowland, the bell, didn’t toll, sir, i’ vain,
For hunderds wur ready ta start for the train. ”

“ I’ landin’ at Ambleside, Joe o’ Raygill’s bethowt him he’d hev a glass o’ ale, an’ bethegs he’d t’misfortun p. 82to leave three gert curnberry pasties i’ t’hotel, an’ didn’t bethink him wal he’d getten on ta t’top of a big hill, but when he bethowt him, my word, he did bounce dahn that hill ta some tune. When he gat back, t’missis hed geen ’em to Jonas o’ Sall’s, an’ behold they wor luking fer one another up hills an’ dahn valleys, Joe axin’ ivverybody he met if they’d seen owt of his three pasties, an’ Jonas axin’ fer t’owner on ’em. ”

“ John Barleycorn has been my medical adviser, and when I begin to review the fifty years of your most illustrious reign, from my birth, I feel grateful indeed, for great and mighty men and nations have risen and fallen ”

“ Wor t’ lass o’ Newsholme Dean.
p. 27The lady gay may heed tha not,
An’ passing by may sneer;
The upstart squire’s dowters laugh,
When thou, my love, art near;
But if all ther shinin’ soverins
War wared o’ sattens green,
They mightn’t be as handsome then
As t’ Lass o’ Newsholme Dean.
When yellow autumn’s lustre shines,
An’ hangs her golden ear,
An’ nature’s voice fra every bush
Is singing sweet and clear,
’Neath some white thorn to song unknown,
To mortal never seen,
’Tis there with thee I fain wad be,
Mi Lass o’ Newsholme Dean. ”

“ Tho’ years hev rolled ower sin thy village I left,
An’ o’ frends an’ relations I now am bereft.
Yet thy hills they are pleasant, tho’ rocky an’ bare;
Thy dowters are handsome, thy sons they are rare;
When I walk thro’ thy dells, by the clear running streams,
I think o’ my boyhood an’ innocent dreams.
No care o’ this life then troubled my breast,
I wor like a young bird new fligged fra its nest;
Wi’ my dear little mates did I frolic and play,
Wal life’s sweetest moments wor flying away. ”

“ Mann sed all wor reight nah, an’ they mud start as sooin as they liked, for ivverybody wor i’ t’train at wor bahn, but owd Pally Pickles an’ Matty o’ Maude’s; an’ their Sally cudn’t go becos they had a mustard plaister to put on to their Roger’s chest; he’d strain’d his lungs wi’ eitin’ cahcumbers. Beside, owd Pally cudn’t go either, becos shoo’d nobody to wait on t’owd fella at wor laid up i’ t’merly grubs; an’ ivverybody wor so taen on abaght Will Scott not going, for, as owd Betty sed, what wod they do if ther legs gat asleep an’ no galvanic battery to shack em reight ageean? ”

“ A form raase up before,
An’ sed “What does ta want, tha knave,
Shackin’ t’ Wicket Door?”
He gav me then ta understand,
If I hedant come to pray,
At t’grace o’ God an’ t’breead o’ life,
Wor all they gav away.
It’s fearful nice fer folk ta talk
Abaat ther breead o’ life,
An’ specially when they’ve plenty,
Fer t’childer an’ ther wife.
Bud I set off ageean at t’run,
Fer I weel understood,
If I gat owt fra that thear clahn,
It woddant do ma good.
I’ travellin’ on I thowt I heeard,
As I went nearer t’tahn,
A thaasand voices i’ mi ears,
Sayin’ “John, whear are ta bahn?” ”

“ Now do not imagine for a moment that Giles Clumps is the p. 129only “So be I” in Keighley, for the whole town is full of “So be I’s,” and it is a well-known fact that if six long yellow chimneys were to turn blue to-morrow, there wouldn’t be a Liberal in six hours in the city of “So be I’s,” with the exception of the old veteran Squire Leach. ”

“ But, that worn’t all t’mistak at wor made; fer Bill Rollins bethowt him at he’d lost summat, but cudn’t tell fer his life what it wor. He groped his pockets, luk’d into his carpet beg, an’ studied fer aboon an haar; at last he pick’d it aght ’at it wor their Peg ’at he’d lost somewheer up on t’mahntens.
Well, as I wor tellin’ yu, we’d promenaded t’ gigantic hills an’ beautiful valleys, intermix’d wi’ ower-hingin’ peaks an’ romantic watter-falls which form part o’ t’grand Lake scenery of ahr English Switzerland to the delight of ivvery one o’ t’excursionists. ”

“ T’West Riding o’ Yorkshire is famed for different branches i’ t’fine art line, bud t’music aw think licks t’lump, especially abaght Haworth an’ Keighley. Nah Haworth wunce hed a famous singer; he wor considered one o’ t’best i’ Yorkshire in his time. ”

“ How steady an’ easy t’owd world’s wheels wod go,
If t’folk wod be honest an’ try to keep so;
An’ at steead o’ bein’ hasty at ivvery whim,
Let us inquire before we condemn.
A man may do wrong an’ scarce be to blame,
Or a woman be bad i’ nowt bud her name ”

“ Johnson of old, failing patrons, he trusts that his work will, in the midst of his numerous competitors, locally and generally, be thought worthy of the attention of the various classes of the public. ”

“ The procession moves off in a double quick pace,
An’ all seem delightful—a smile on ther face,
As the music strikes up wi’ owd “Robin a Dair,”
Toan hauf o’ t’wimmen scarce knaw what they ail;
To see the bands marching it wod yah delight,
So ably conducted by owd Jimmy Wright.
p. 76The weivers led on by Miss Hob an’ Miss Hall,
Each dress’d i’ ther jackets, new turban, an’ fall,
An’ if you’d o’ seen ’em you’d o’ thowt they wor fine,
Wi’ ther nice parasols an’ ther gert crinoline;
But as they wor marchin’ foaks sed at Miss Hob,
Wor t’nicest and smartest young woman i’ t’job. ”

“ Like some fast steed wi’ all its speed,
All seem’d as they wor flyin’;
To escape the rain, an’ catch the train,
Both owd and young wor tryin’.
p. 103One Mat o’ Wills, abaght Crosshills,
He heeard a fearful hummin’,
He said ta t’wife, “Upon mi life,
Aw think the French are comin’!
Tha knaws reight weel ’at we’ve heeard tell
O’ sich strange things afore,
So lass luke quick an’ cut thi stick,
An’ I will bolt the door.”
Like drahnded rats they pass owd Mat’s,
An’ ran dahn to the station ”

“ Fer miles wheer all wor white afoar,
Wor nah a bottle-green.
Then com a woman donn’d i’ white,
A mantle gert shoo wore;
A nicer lukin’, smarter form
I nivver saw afoar.
Her featers did resemble wun
O’ that kind-hearted lot,
’At’s ivver ready to relieve
The poor man in his cot.
Benevolence wor strongly mark’d
Upon her noble heead;
An’ on her bruhst ye might ha’ read,
“Who dees fer want o’ breead?”
In fact, a kinder-hearted soul
Owd Yorkshire cuddant boast;
An’ who wod feel the least alarmed
Ta talk ta sitch a ghoast? ”

“ So let us inquire before we condemn.
We are certain o’ one thing an’ that isn’t two,
If we do nothing wrong we’ve nothing to rue;
Yet many a bright eye may be full to the brim,
So let us inquire before we condemn.
Then speak not so harshly—withdraw that rash word,
’Tis wrong to condemn till the story is heard;
If it worrant for summat sho might be a gem,
So let us inquire before we condemn.
p. 137English Church History.
Most respectfully dedicated to the Rev. F. D. CREMER, St. ANDREW’S, Keighley, Oct. 25th, 1889. ”