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Deficient Records - A Tale

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This truly glorious tale was written by Ben Brierley as part of the story 'Treadlepin Fold' in his series of 'Tales and Sketches of Lancashire Life', published in Manchester by Abel Heywood and Son, 56 & 58, Oldham Street, and in London by Simpkin, Marshall, & Co., Stationers' Hall Court, in 1884.

Those of us interested in family history sometimes wonder why we can’t find a record that we need, or whether the ‘Anna’ that we find is really the ‘Hannah’ we are looking for. How accurate are the records? They are official documents, so they should be right, shouldn’t they? Ben Brierley was a famous Lancashire writer; he was the son of a handloom weaver and knew both hardship and the folk he wrote about very well indeed. If the following story had not been entirely plausible, it would not have been written.

Treadlepin Fold was a fictitious settlement, perhaps located in the Failsworth area, between Manchester and Oldham, where Ben Brierley was born. The story is set about the year 1842. Our hero, ‘owd Linderinbant’^[1], is about forty-five years old. His mother has recently died, leaving him to fend for himself, a prospect that depresses him. After some serious thought he proposes marriage to his washerwoman, Nan o’ Berry^[2], a solid lady a few years his junior, known to the family for many years. Having been accepted by Nan, owd Linderinbant has to arrange to have the banns read, for which purpose he goes with his bosom friend Ned-i’th’-Ginnel^[3], to Manchester cathedral. They begin their task in the sanctuary of an alehouse opposite the church, to pluck up courage for what, to them, is an exceedingly daunting mission.

What owd Linderinbant and Ned felt about facing officialdom would have been close to truth for many people of humble origins. Now, read on!

'One Saturday afternoon, about the close of November in the year of which I write, when the fog hung densely over the black, smoky town, and asthmatical people wheezed and coughed at street corners, two individuals emerged from the doorway of the Ring o’ Bells alehouse, near the south gates of the Old Church, Manchester. One of the two appeared to hesitate about going farther than just opposite the door they had left, and he even laid hold of the palisades to prevent the other, who had now seized him by the collar, from dragging him whence he stood. The reluctant party remonstrated – struggled, and would have left the upper portion of his coat in his companion’s hand, had not the latter desisted from his purpose. Then the two stood and consulted – casting uneasy glances occasionally towards the church tower, as if that structure had something to do with their business, and looking around betimes to see if anybody was watching their proceedings. The church clock struck three – sonorously and warningly, and the scuffling at the palisades recommenced. …’

‘It was evidently a very tough, if not a very angry struggle, betwixt the two strangers, neither of whom seemed inclined to give up a point, but resolutely pulled his own way in spite of high-worded remonstrances on both sides.

“Nawe, Ned, thee goo,” entreated the reluctant party, who was no other than our friend owd Linderinbant.

“Goo thyself, thou soft foo^[4],” replied the other, whom the reader will at once recognise as Ned-i’th’-Ginnel.

The two had come down from the neighbourhood of Treadlepin Fold on an important errand, but both were equally reluctant to be the leader or spokesman in the business, which was the principal cause of their dispute opposite the Ring o’ Bells.

“It’s no use,” exclaimed owd Linderinbant, at length relinquishing his hold on the palisades, after another pulling-match; “I’d as lief t’ face Owd Nick as goo in at that dur^[5],” pointing to the vestry door across the yard. “If I’re come a–puttin th’ axins^[6] in for anybody beside myself I could ha’ maniged; but as it is…. Nawe, Ned; thee goo. Thou knows someb’dy went for thee when thou’re wed.”

“I dunno’ know what t’ say when I get theer,” replied Ned, half willing to oblige his friend, but still hesitating from considerations of his unfitness for the purpose. “As thou says, someb’dy did th’ job for me, or I should ha’ known better how t’ goo about it. But dang it, I’ll goo as how ‘tis. They’n happen no’ punce me out^[7], so gie’s howd o’ th’ brass.”

Owd Linderinbant brightened up at this, and after fumbling awhile in his provoking pockets, took out some pieces of silver and placed them in his friend’s hand; then, favouring him with some instructions of a cautious nature, bade him be “sharp back,” and he would wait for him “i’th’ alehouse.”

Ned departed abstractedly upon his errand, with perhaps as much knowledge of how to proceed about it as if he had been going on a mission to China or Timbuctoo. When he had gotten about half way across the churchyard he paused – seemed particularly struck with the inscription on an antique tombstone, a circumstance the more astonishing when we consider that he could not have read his own name if it had been placed in good “book print” before him. However, after pretending carefully to read over the long list of names that represented so much dust, and dates that eternity had swallowed up, he jerked himself away and made straight for the church vestry.

He was met at the door by one of the church officials: he might have been sexton or apparitor, or one of those nondescript individuals who glide about the aisles in a ghost-like manner, always seeming full of importance, and everlastingly employed in doing nothing…’

‘This person, as soon as he saw Ned, stepped back a few paces; then, opening an inner door, stood with it in his hand, and smiling graciously begged to know what particular business the other was about. Ned off with his hat, and slamming it under his arm, as he had been instructed to do, inquired if “th’ pa’son” was in. The official told him that the reverend and respected individual sought was not in, but pointing to another of the cloth, who stood at a desk writing, said, “Mr. So-and-So, the clerk there”, would perhaps attend to him.

Ned sauntered in, and fixing himself at the end of the desk, stood staring at the clerk, with one hand deeply inserted in his trousers pocket, and with the other clutching tightly his hat, as if determined to hold it in its position at all hazards.

“Well, what is it?” inquired the clerk, surveying our friend with a keen look.
Ned drew his hand from his pocket, and brushing away a few drops of cold perspiration which hung about his eyebrows, said –
“I’m come’n a-formerin a weddin.”
The clerk looked at Ned again, and smiled as if he fancied he could detect a little of the wag in the other’s countenance.
“Will you please to name your business again?” said he.
“I’m come’n a formerin a weddin,” Ned repeated, thinking the other a fool for his not understanding plain English.
“Formering a wedding! Oh, I see,” replied the clerk; “you mean putting up the banns.”
Ned did not think he had anything to do with bands, and expressed himself as much.
“Well, well,” said the official, almost laughing outright, “I understand you. What is your name?”
“Whorr?” ejaculated Ned, leaning over the desk.
“What is your name?” repeated the other.
“Have I summat t’ do with it?” said Ned.
“Why,” said the clerk, puzzled, “isn’t it you that is to be married?”
“Nawe,” replied our friend, grinning. “I’ve bin done for mony a year, an’ now I’m come’n a-getting someb’dy else i’th’ hobble.”
“Well,” resumed the clerk, a little testily, “what is the bridegroom’s name?”
Ned stared and hesitated.
“Oh, I see,” he said at length. “It’s owd …. ” He would have added Linderinbant, only a sudden recollection reminded him that such was not the real name of the party whom he represented. So he stood scratching his head as though he expected to find the forgotten name with his nails.
“Come, what is it?” repeated the clerk, rather impatiently.
“I’m d….d if I know,” stammered Ned, forgetful of everything in the confusion of the moment.
“Hush, hush, my man!” entreated the clerk, astonished and somewhat scared at the seeming audacity of our friend. “Don’t you know where you are?”
“I dunno’ know owd Linderinbant’s name,” replied Ned, unconscious of the breach he had made. “Let me see. His father wur owd Jone o’ Sim’s^[8] lad, an’ his name wur ‘Reet.’”
“Reet?” said the clerk. “Perhaps you mean Wright?”
“Ay, if yo’n a mind. Oather ‘ll do.”
“Well, then, I shall say Wright. What is his Christian name?”
“Stop a bit,” said Ned. “He’r a choance choilt.”
“A what?” inquired the clerk, quite puzzled.
“A choance choilt,” repeated the other. “He’r born afore he should ha’ bin^[9].”
“Oh, I see,” said the clerk, at length comprehending the other’s meaning. “In that case he takes his mother’s name? What was his mother’s name?”
“Smith, I think,” replied Ned, hesitatingly.
“Smith, you think. But are you sure?”
“Well,” said Ned, “I ha’ no book print for it; but if yo’n tak a honest mon’s word, yo’ may say Smith.”
“Very well,” and the clerk wrote Smith. “What is his Christian name?” You did not tell me, I think.”
Ned stared, and bit his lip. At length, guessing at the clerk’s meaning, he said - “Dun yo’ meean his fust name?”
“Yes.”
“Jammie,” replied Ned.
“Don’t you think it is James?”
Ned blushed, and gave a laconic affirmative.
“Well, where is his residence?”
“Whorr?”
“Where does he live?”
“I’ Treadlepin Fowt,” said Ned, “next dur to owd Sam o’ Jack’s.”
The clerk wrote.
“What trade does your friend follow?”
“He’s a wayver^[10].”
“That will do,” and the clerk wrote again.
Ned, understanding that his business was completed, turned to go, but was interrupted by the clerk’s calling out, “Stay a moment – I’ve not done with you yet.”
“What the d…l does he want moore?” muttered Ned to himself.
“What is the bride’s name?”
“Nan o’ Berry,” shouted Ned, and he grinned.
“Oh, you seem to recollect somebody’s name at last.” And the clerk wrote, Ann Berry.
“Is she a spinster?”
“A what?”
“Is she a spinster?”
“Nawe, hoo’s a wesherwoman^[11].”
“That isn’t what I mean,” said the clerk; “has she been married before?”
“Nawe, nor nowt like it.”
The clerk laughed as he added spinster to the entry.
“Has she a father and mother?”
“Nawe,” said Ned; "hoo had once; but her mother deed, an’ her feyther geet kilt wi’ a

hoss tumbling ont’ him^[12].”
“Does she live in the same place?”
“Ay, they dunno’ live above a stone’s-throw fro’ one another.”
“What trade does she follow?”
“Hoo weshes^[13] for her livin, as I towd yo’ afore.”
The register was duly entered.
“Four-and-sixpence,” said the clerk, handing Ned a paper containing instructions to be observed by the parties concerned. “Take care you do not lose that.”

Ned took the paper, and after folding it to about the dimensions of a sixpence^[14], put it in his tobacco-box, which he crammed into an inner pocket of his waistcoat; then inserting his finger and thumb into another pocket drew forth a half-crown, a shilling, and two sixpences, the exact amount intrusted to him by owd Liderinbant for the completion of his errand^[15]. The clerk thanked him as he took up the cash, and bowing, with a smile intimated to our friend that he might make his exit as soon as possible.’