Chapter 6

"For to-day, when I gat out o' bed, My cleathes were all sullied sea sar, Our Peggy and all our fwoak said To Reeth Fair I sud never gang mar. But it's rake-time,(15) sea I mun away, For my partners are all gain' to wark." Sea I lowp'd up an bade him good day, An' wrowt at t' Awd Gang(16) tell 't was dark."

1. The fair held at Reeth in Swaledale on St. Bartholomew's Day, August 24. 2. Shirt. 3. Sit. 4. "Sex needles" is literally the interval of time during which a knitter would work the loops off six needles. 5. Red. 6. Pegs. 7. Sties. 8. Sticks for stirring hasty puddings. 9. Sorts. 10. Miners. 11. Bartered. 12. Ugly. 13. Mates. 14. Spent. 15. Time for the next shift. 16. A lead mine

The Christmas Party (1876)

Tom Twistleton

When cowd December's sturdy breeze In chimley-tops did grumble, Or, tearing throug'h the leafless trees, On lang dark neets did rumble, A lot o' young folks, smart an' gay, An' owds uns, free an' hearty, Agreed amang thersels at they Would have a Christmas party At hame some neet

They kicked up sich a fuss an' spreead, An' made sich preparations; They baked grand tarts an' mixed their breead Wi' spices frae all nations. To drive away baith want an' cowd It seem'd their inclination; An' t' neebours round, baith young an' owd, All gat an invitation To gang that neet.

Smart sprigs o' spruce an' ivy green Were frae the ceiling hinging, An' in their midst, conspicuous seen, The mistletoe was swinging. The lamp shone forth as clear as day, An' nowt was there neglected; An' t' happy, smiling faces say, Some company is expected To coom this neet.

An' first com Moll wi' girt lang Jack, A strapping, good-like fella; An' following closely at their back Com Bob and Isabella. With "How's yoursel?" an' "How d'ye do?" They sit down i' their places, Till t' room sae big, all through an' through, Wi' happy smiling faces Was filled that neet.

A merrier lot than this I name Ne'er met at onny party; All girt grand balls they put to shame, They were sae gay an' hearty. Here yan had made hersel quite fine, Wi' lace an' braid's assistance; An' there a girt grand crinoline, To keep t' lads at a distance, Stood out that neet.

The lads draw up to t' fire their chairs, An' merrily pass their jokes off; The lasses all slip off upstairs, To pu' their hats an' cloaks off. Befoor a glass that hings at t' side They all tak up their station, An' think within theirsels wi' pride They'll cause a girt sensation 'Mang t' lads that neet.

An' now the lusty Christmas cheer Is browt out for t' occasion; To pies an' tarts, an' beef an' beer, They git an invitation. An' some, i' tune to put it by, Play havoc on each dainty, Whal some there is, sae varra shy, Scarce let theirsels have plenty To eat that neet.

Against the host o' good things there They wage an awful battle; They're crying out, "A lile bit mair!" An' plates an' glasses rattle. Here, yan's nae time a word to pass, Thrang(1) supping an' thrang biting; There, simpering sits a girt soft lass That waits for mich inviting An' fuss that neet.

An' when this good substantial fare Has gien 'em satisfaction, They side(2) all t' chairs, an' stand i' pairs, Wi' heels i' tune for action. See-sawing, t' fiddler now begins The best that he is able; He rosins t' stick an' screws up t' pins An' jumps up on to t' table, To play that neet.

There, back an' forrad, in an' out, His elbow it gaas silting,(3) An' to an' fro, an' round about, The dancers they are lilting. Some dance wi' ease i' splendid style, Wi' tightly-fitting togs on, Whal others bump about all t' while, Like drainers wit their clogs on, Sae numb'd that neet.

An' when they've reel'd an' danc'd their fling, Their chairs all round are ranged; They tell droll tales, they laugh, they sing, An' jokes are interchanged. A merry tune t' girt kettle sings, An' t' fire is blazing breetly ; Wi' cheerful din t' owd farmhouse rings, An' hours fly ower them sweetly An' swift that neet.

T' owd women preach an' talk about Their claes being owd an' rotten, An' still being forc'd to speck an' clout,(4) It's sich a price is cotton. T' owd men sit round, wi' pipe an' glass, In earnest conversation; On t' ways an' means o' saving brass, An' t' rules an' t' laws o' t' nation, They talk that neet.

Now girt lang Jack, that lives on t' moor, Wi' cunning an' wi' caution, Is beckoning Moll to gang to t' door Wi' sly mischievous motion. Moll taks the hint, nor thinks it wrang, Her heart that way inclining; She says to t' rest she thinks she'll gang To see if t' stars are shining Out clear that neet.

Then down a field they tak a walk, An' then they wend their way back; To have a bit o' pleasant talk They shelter under t' haystack. She did not say "For shame!" not she, Though oft-times Johnny kiss'd her; She said she just would run an' see If t' other folks had missed her Frae t' room that neet.

A chap that had two watchful een, Of which they waren't thinking, When peeping round that neet, had seen Long Jack at Molly winking. Says he, "Now's t' time to have a stir, Let's just gang out an' watch her; We's have some famous fun wi' her, If we can nobbut catch her Wi' him this neet.

Then two or three, bent on a spree, Out to the door gang thungein',(5) But hauf a yard they scarce could see, It was as dark as dungeon. Jack hears their footsteps coming slow, An' frae her side he slinks off; Runs round t' house-end, jumps ower a wa', An' up ower t' knee i' t' sink-trough He splash'd that neet.

Now, ye young men, be who ye may, That's bent on fun an' sportin', Whare'er ye be, by neet or day, Remember Jack's misfortin. Though things unlook'd for on ye creep, Don't do owt in a splutter; But learn to look befoor ye leap, Lest ye in some deep gutter Stick fast some neet.

1. Busily. 2. Clear away. 3. Rising up. 4. Mend and patch. 5. Thumping.

Nelly o' Bob's

John Hartley (1839-1915)

Who is it at lives i' that cot on the lea, Joy o' my heart an' leet o' my ee? Who is that lass at's so dear unto me? Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it goes trippin' ower dew-spangled grass, Singin' so sweetly? Shoo smiles as I pass, Bonniest, rosy-cheek'd, gay-hearted lass! Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it I see i' my dreams of a neet ? Who lovingly whispers words tender an' sweet, Till I wakken to find shoo's nowheer i' t' seet? Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it at leads me so lively a donce, Yet to tawk serious ne'er gies me a chonce, An' niver replied when I begged on her once? Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it at ivery chap's hankerin' to get, Yet tosses her heead an' flies off in a pet, As mich as to say, "You've not getten me yet"? Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it could mak life a long summer's day, Whose smile would drive sorrow an' trouble away, An' mak t' hardest wark, if for her, seem like play? Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it I'll have if I've iver a wife, An' love her, her only, to th' end o' my life, An' nurse her i' sickness, an' guard her from strife? Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

Who is it at's promised, to-neet if it's fine, To meet me at t' corner o' t' mistal(1) at nine? Why, it's her at I've langed for so long to mak mine- Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.

1. Cow-Shed

Bite Bigger

John Hartley

As I hurried through t' taan to my wark, -I were lat,(1) for all t' buzzers had gooan- I happen'd to hear a remark At 'ud fotch tears thro' th' heart of a stooan.

It were rainin', an' snawin', an' cowd, An' th' flagstones were cover'd wi' muck, An' th' east wind both whistled an' howl'd, It saanded like nowt bud ill luck.

When two little lads, donn'd(2) i' rags, Baat(3) stockin's or shoes o' their feet, Com trapsin' away ower t' flags, Boath on 'em sodden'd wi' t' weet.

Th' owdest mud happen be ten, T' young un be haulf on't, no more; As I look'd on, I said to misen, "God help fowk this weather at's poor!"

T' big un samm'd(4) summat off t' graand, An' I look'd just to see what 't could be, 'T were a few wizen'd flaars he'd faand, An' they seem'd to hae fill'd him wi' glee.

An' he said, "Coom on, Billy, may be We sal find summat else by an' by; An' if not, tha mun share these wi' me, When we get to some spot wheer it's dry."

Leet-hearted, they trotted away, An' I follow'd, 'cause t' were i' my rooad; But I thowt I'd ne'er seen sich a day, It wern't fit to be aat for a tooad.

Sooin t' big un agean slipp'd away, An' samm'd summat else aat o' t' muck; An' he cried aat, "Look here, Bill, to-day Arn't we blest wi' a seet o' gooid luck?

"Here's a apple, an' t' mooast on it's saand, What's rotten I'll throw into t' street. Wern't it gooid to lig theer to be faand? Naa boath on us can have a treat."

So he wip'd it an' rubb'd it, an' then Said, "Billy, thee bite off a bit; If tha hasn't been lucky thisen, Tha sal share wi' me sich as I get."

So t' little un bate off a touch,(5) T' other's face beam'd wi' pleasure all through, An' he said, "Nay, tha hasn't taen mich, Bite agean, an' bite bigger, naa do."

I waited to hear nowt no more; Thinks I, there's a lesson for me; Tha's a heart i' thy breast, if tha'rt poor; T' world were richer wi' more sich as thee.

Two pence were all t' brass at I had, An' I meant it for ale when com nooin ; Bud I thowt, I'll go give it yond lad, He desarves it for what he's been doin'.

So I said, "Lad, here's twopence for thee, For thisen." An' they star'd like two geese; Bud he said, whol t' tear stood in his ee, "Naa, it'll just be a penny apiece."

"God bless thee! do just as tha will, An' may better days speedily come; Though clamm'd(6) an' hauf donn'd,(7) my lad, still Tha'rt a deal nearer Heaven nor(8) some."

1. Late. 2. Dressed. 3. Without. 4. Picked. 5. Small piece. 6. Starved 7. Dressed 8. Than

Rollickin' Jack

John Hartley

I know a workin' lad, His hands are hard an' rough, His cheeks are red an' braan, But I like him weel enough. His ee's as breet 's a bell, An' his curly hair is black, An' he stands six foot in his stockin' feet, An' his name is Rollickin' Jack.

At morn, if we should meet, He awlus has a smile, An' his heart is gay an' leet, When trudgin' to his toil. He whistles, or he sings, Or he stops a joke to crack; An' monny a lass at he happens to pass Looks shyly at Rollickin' Jack.

His mother's old an' gray; His father's deead an' gooan; He'll niver move away An' leave her all alooan. Choose who(1) should be his wife, Shoo'll mak a sad mistak, For he's ivery inch a mother's lad, Is this rough an' rollickin' Jack.

An' still I think sometimes Th' old woman wants a nurse; An' as for weddin' Jack, Why, there's monny a lass done worse. Of coorse it's not for me To tell him who to tak, But there's one I could name, if I could but for shame, Just the lass to suit Rollickin' Jack.

1. Whoever.

Jim's Letter

James Burnley (Born 1842)

Whats this? A letter thro'(1) Jim? God bless him! What has he to say? Here, Lizzie, my een's gettin' dim, Just read it, lass, reight straight away. Tha trem'les, Liz. What is there up? Abaat thy awn cousin tha surely can read; His ways varry oft has made bitter my cup, But theer--I forgive him--read on, niver heed

That's it--"as it leaves me at present "-- His father's expression to nowt! Go on, lass, t' beginnin's so pleasant It couldn't be mended wi' owt. What's that? He has "sent a surprise"? What is 't, lass? Go on! a new gaan, I'll be bun', Or happen a nugget o' famous girt size; Whativer it is it's t' best thing under t' sun.

Ay, lad, I dare say, "life is rough," For t' best on 't is nut varry smooth; I' England it's hilly enough, Niver name wi' them diggers uncouth. But theer, Liz, be sharp an' let's have his surprise. I'm capt(2) wheer tha's gotten that stammerin' cough, Tha reads a deal better nor that when tha tries. Good gracious! What's t' matter? Shoo's fainted reight off!

Hey! Lizzie, tha flays(3) me; coom here, An' sit wheer tha'll get some fresh air: Tha'rt lookin' so bad at I fear Tha's much war(4) nor I were aware. That's reight, lass, get tul it once more, Just read reight to t' end on 't, an' then We'll just tak a walk for a bit aat o' t' door, Whol tha feels rayther more like thisen.

What! Bless us! Aar Jim gotten wed! It is a surprise, on my word. Who is she? That's all at he's said? I wish then I niver had heard. At one time I thowt happen thee he'd admire, An' that's haa we all sud have liked it to be. Bud, sithee! What's that, Liz, at's burnin' on t' fire? It's t' ribbin Jim bowt thee! Ay, ay, lass, I see.

1. From. 2. Puzzled. 3. Frightenest. 4. Worse.

A Yorkshire Farmer's Address to a Schoolmaster

George Lancaster (Born 1846)

Good day to you, Misther skealmaisther, the evenin' is desperate fine, I thowt I wad gie ye a call aboot that young sonnie o' mine. I couldn't persuade him to come, sea I left him behont(1) me at yam,(2) Bud somehoo it's waintly(3) possess'd me to mak a skealmaisther o' Sam. He's a kind of a slack-back, ye knaw, I niver could get him to work, He scarcelins wad addle(4) his saut wiv a ploo, or a shovel, or fork. I've tried him agean an' agean, bud I finnd that he's nea use at yam, Sea me an' my missus agreed to mak a skealmaisther o' Sam. If I sends him to wark, why, he'll chunther(5) an' gie me the a awfullest leaks, He'd a deal rayther lig upo' d' sofy wi' novels an' them soort o' beaks. Sea I thowt a skealmaisther wad suit him, a lowse soort o' job, do ye see, Just to keep a few bairns oot o' mischief, as easy as easy can be. Of coorse you've to larn 'em to coont, an' to figure a bit, an' to read, An' to sharpen 'em up if they're numskulls, wiv a lalldabber(6) ower their heead, Bud it's as easy as easy, ye knaw, an' I think it wad just suit oor Sam, An' my missus, she's just o' my mind, for she says that he's nea use at yam. It was nobbut this mornin' I sent him to gan an' to harrow some land, He was boamin'(7) asleep upo' d' fauf,(8) wiva rubbishly beak iv his hand; I gav him a bunch(9) wi' my feat, an' rattled him yarmin'(10) off yam. Sea I think that I'll send him to you, you mun mak a skealmaisther o' Sam. He's a stiff an' a runty(1) young fellow, I think that' he'll grow up a whopper, He'd wallop the best lad you've got, an' I think he wad wallop him proper; Bud still he's a slack-back, ye knaw, an' seein' he's nea use at yam, I think I shall send him to you, you mun mak a skealmaisther o' Sam.

1. Behind. 2. Home. 3 Strangely. 4.Earn. 5. Grumble. 6. Cuff. 7. Trailing along. 8. Fallow. 9. Kick. 10. Whining.

The Window on the Cliff Top (1888)

W. H. Oxley

"What! Margery, still at your window In this blinding storm and sleet! Why, you can't see your hand before you, And I scarce could keep my feet.

"Why, even the coast-guards tell me That they cannot see the sand; And we know, thank God, that the cobles And yawls have got to land.

"There's five are safe at Scarbro', And one has reach'd the Tyne, And two are in the Humber, And one at Quay,(2) makes nine."

"Aye, aye, I'd needs be watchful, There's niver a soul can tell, An' happen 'twixt yan o' t' snaw-blints(3) Yan mud catch a glimpse o' t' bell.

"I reckon nowt o' t' coast-guards! What's folks like them to say? There's neer a yan amang 'em Knaws owt aboot oor bay.

"I's niver leave my winder Whiles there's folks as has to droon; An' it wadna be the first time As I've help'd ta wakken t' toon.

"I isn't good for mich noo, For my fourscore years is past; But I's niver quit my winder, As long as life sal last.

"'Twas us as seed them Frenchmen As wreck'd on Speeton sands; 'Twas me as seed that schooner As founder'd wi' all hands.

"'Twas me first spied oor cobles Reight ower t' end o' t' Brig, That time when all was droonded; I tell'd 'em by there rig.(4)

"Aye, man, I's neen sae drowsy, Don't talk o' bed to me; I's niver quit my winder, Whiles there's a moon to see.

"Don't talk to me o' coast-guards! What's them to sike as me? They hasn't got no husbands, No childer, lost i' t' sea.

"It's nobbut them at's felt it, As sees as I can see; It's them as is deead already Knaws what it is to dee.

"Ye'd niver understan' me; God knaws, as dwells above, There's hearts doon here, lives, broken, What's niver lost their love.

"But better noo ye'd leave me, I's mebbe not misen; We fisher-folks has troubles No quality can ken."

1. Thick-set. 2. Bridlington. 3. Snow-storms. 4. Dress.

Aar Maggie

Edmund Hatton

I believe aar Maggie's coortin', For shoo dresses hersen so smart, An' shoo's allus runnin' to t' window When there's ony o' t' chaps abaat: Shoo willent wear her owd shawl, Bud dons a bonnet atstead,(1) An' laps her can in her gaan As shoo goes to t' weyvin' ,shed.

Of a neet wi' snoddened(2) hair, An' cheeks like a summers cherry, An' lips fair assin'(3) for kisses, An' een so black an' so merry, Shoo taks her knittin' to t' meadows, An' sits in a shady newk, An' knits while shoo sighs an' watches Wi' a dreamy, lingerin' lewk.

Thus knittin', sighin' an' watchin', Shoo caars(4) aat on t' soft meadow grass, Listenin' to t' murmurin' brooklet, An' waitin' for t' sweethear't to pass; Shoo drops her wark i' her appron, An' glints aat on t' settin' sun, An' wonders if he goes a-courtin' When his long day's wark is done.

When shoo hears t' chap's fooitsteps comin', Shoo rises wi' modest grace; Ay, Mag, thou sly, lovin' lassie, For shame o' thy bashful face! Shoo frames(5) to be goin' home'ards, As he lilts ower t' stile, Bud when he comes anent(6) herr, Shoo gies him sich a smile.

Then he places his arm araand her, An' shoo creeps cloise to his side, An' leyns her heead on his waiscoit, An' walks wi' an air o' pride. Bud oh! you sud see her glances, An' oh! you sud hear 'em kiss, When they pairt thro' one another! If shoo isn't coortin', who is?

1. Instead. 2. Smoothed out. 3. Asking. 4. Cowers, lies. 5. Makes pretence. 6. Beside.

Parson Drew Thro' Pudsey (1st Ed) or T' First o' t' Sooart (2nd Ed)

John Hartley

From pp 135, 136, 75, 76 and 77 of second edition.

I heeard a funny tale last neet, I couldn't howd frae laughin' ; 'Twere at t' Bull's Head we chonced to meet, An' spent an haar i' chaffin'. Some sang a song, some cracked a joke, An' all seemed full o' larkin' ; An' t' raam were blue wi' bacca smoke, An' ivery ee 'd a spark in.

Long Joe at comes thro' t' Jumples Clough Were gettin' rayther mazy, An' Warkus Ned had supped enough To turn their Betty crazy, An' Bob at lives at t' Bogeggs farm, Wi' Nan thro' t' Buttress Bottom, Were treatin' her to summat warm- It's just his way. Odd drot 'em!

An' Jack o' t' Slade were theer as weel, An' Joe o' Abe's thro' Waerley, An' Lijah off o' t' Lavver Hill Were passin' th' ale raand rarely. Thro' raand an' square they seemed to meet To hear or tell a story, But t' gem o' all I heeard last neet Were one by Doad o' t' Glory.

He bet his booits at it were true, An' all seemed to believe him; Though if he lost he needn't rue, But 't wodn't done to grieve him. His uncle lived it Pudsey taan, An' practised local praichin'; An' if he 're lucky, he were baan To start a schooil for taichin'.

But he were takken vary ill, He felt his time were comin'; They say he browt it on hissel Wi' studyin' his summin. He called his wife an' neighbours in To hear his deein' sarmon, An' telled 'em if they lived i' sin Their lot 'd be a warm 'un.

Then, turnin' raand unto his wife, Said, "Mal, tha knaws, owd craytur, If I'd been blest wi' longer life I might hae left things straighter. Joe Sooithill owes me eighteen pence; I lent it him last love-feast." Says Mall, "He hasn't lost his sense, Thank God for that at least."

"An' Ben o' t' top o' t' bank, tha knows, We owe him one paand ten." "Just hark," says Mally, "theer he goes, He's ramellin' agean." "Don't tak a bit o' notice, folk; You see, poor thing, he's ravin'. It cuts me up to hear sich talk; He's spent his life i' savin'."

"An', Mally lass," he said agean, "Tak heed o' my direction, T' schooil owes me hauf a craan, I mean My share o' t' last collection. Tha'll see to that an' have what's fair, When my poor life is past." Says Mally, "Listen, I declare, He's sensible at last."

He shut his een and sank to rest, Death seldom claimed a better; They put him by, bud what were t' best, He sent 'em back a letter, To tell' em all haa he'd goan on, An' haa he gate to enter, An' gav 'em rules to act upon If iver they sud ventur.

Saint Peter stood wi' keys i' hand, Says he, "What do ye want, sir, If to go in, you understand, Unknown to me, you can't, sir. Pray what's your name? Where are ye thro'(3)? Just make your business clear?", Says he, "They call me 'Parson Drew,' I've come thro' Pudsey here."