Th' Silk Wayver's Fust Bearin' Whoam to Manchester by Thomas Brierley.
From 'The Countryfied Pieces', published by W. E. Clegg, Oldham, 1894.
Thomas Brierley was from Alkrington near Middleton in north Manchester, evidently a silk weaver like his more famous (but apparently unrelated) namesake, Ben Brierley. He appears to have been writing from at least the 1860s. He dedicated 'The Countryfield Pieces' to Thomas Dickens, Esq., J.P., whom, he said, had "tried to revive the silk industry in 1870 by starting the "Silk Supply Journal," and sparing neither time nor money to see if you could get silk weavers more work". Thomas Brierley had woven his first 'cut' for Mr. Dickens, and this benefactor had sponsored earlier work published by Brierley.
The tale describes how Dick, a silk handloom weaver from the Moston area, takes his first 'cut' or 'piece' of woven cloth to his 'putter-out' in Manchester to receive payment. Dick gets into a number of improbable and amusing scrapes during what turns out to be a very long day! I'm not sure if Ben Brierley would have approved of a fellow writer painting a picture of the 'hero' as a 'yorney' or 'leather yed' (bumpkin), but the author does at least endow his character with some self-taught cultural appreciation and considerable pluck.
The story takes the form of a dialogue between Dick and his friend Bill. I feel that the tale is probably set in the first half of the nineteenth century. It is quite long and challenging but I like it for two main reasons. First, it gives a feeling for what a 'bearing whoam' (bearing home) might have been like (Sam Bamford provides some information on this topic in his autobiography). Second, it contains some lovely Lancashire dialect insights. Not all the obscure dialect words are in my Glossary, but many are.
Thomas Brierley wrote quite a lot of verse, one example of which, describing the hard times of the Lancashire Cotton Famine, can be found here and there is a charming poem in dialect about love that can be read here.
Typing dialect is not easy (Microsoft Word struggles with both the spelling and the grammar!). What follows is, so far as I can tell, a completely accurate copy of what was published. I have noted a number of apparent small errors and inconsistencies, but have let them all pass. For example it shows 'whole' for 'hole' and the same word is sometimes spelled differently. Now, read on and enjoy!
CHAPTER I
Bill: Holloa, Dick, is that thee?
Dick: Aye, that it is, un theaw's no kashun to ax, theaw met a towd that bi mi cap, for it's above two yer sin ever aw'd a new un, un this nobbu' cost fourpunce at fust.
Bill: Eh, aw’r takin’ no notis, un iv aw had o bin, aw’m noather like wimmen nor cats, aw conno’ tell whot folk an on at fust glance. But is o this tale ’at’s goin’ abeawt thee thru – aw meon o’er thi bein’ robbed when theaw went a bearin-whoam?
Dick: Whea, aw reckon it is partly whot. But let’s gang under yon tree, an aw’ll tell thee o abeawt it.
Bill: Well, aw donno’ mind havin’ an heawr or two wi’ thi’, oather under yon tree or onywheer else, for aw feel woful melancholy this mornin’, un it’s no wonder, seein’ us aw geet bagged wi’ th’ sweetheart last week.
Dick: Whea, un whatever did hoo say it wur for?
Bill: Why, the Lord in heaven knows, for aw dunnot. But aw reck’n sumdi mun a bin tellin’ her ’at aw’st lie i’ o’ at aw kun get t’ keep mi in wi’ clogs, becose aw need fourteens.
Dick: Un has hoo re’lly had t’ cheek t’ bag thee for that?
Bill: Whea, aw ko it that, omdi else may ko it what they li’kn. Theaw knows aw went a tappin’ on her eawt as usual, un aw’m shure aw stud two heawrs abeawt th’ heawse, gawmin’ un starin’ same as sumdi ut’r noan reet, afore aw geet t’ see her, un when hoo did come not an inch ut hoo’d stur fur nor t’ garden yate. So aw axt her whot ther wur to do. But shus heaw mony questions aw put to her, aw could get no gradely onsur. That made me t’ try to give her a bus, to see iv that ud set things to reets, un, Dick, iv ever theaw seed a hoss tak’ t’ boggart theaw may form sum idea o’ th’ start ’at hoo made when aw offurt to lay mi hons on her. Hoo then turned her reawnd un gin mi sich a slap i’ th’ chops as very nee drove mi yed i’ th’ middle o’ th’ next week. Un off hoo set up th’ fowt same as iv th’ dev’l ud bin ridin’ ov her bustle. But aw’r i’ noan sich a hurry to follow. Aw’r mony a bit afore aw koom reawnd, un when aw did do, aw’d thowt to ha cut mi throte wi’ a tree bawk, but aw fund it eawt th’ edge wur noan sharp enouf. So aw had to go whoam beawt committin’ suicides that neet, or else mi mind wur quite gud enouf for to do.
Dick: whea, it ud tak’ a felosiphur to read wimmen’s tricks allus. Bu iv aw’m to tell thee my opinion abeawt it, aw think it wur to mak’ thee keener.
Bill: Dus to, be gad? Iv theaw’d bin at side ov eawr heawse neaw, aw’d a shakt thee sum apples off t’ trees for sayin’ so. For aw’ll a thee to know ut aw’ve bin so unyezy ever sin’ ut t’ loaf ut should o lasted a week wur done o Tuesday neet; its shapent mi appetitie to that degree, an’ aw’ve o’erslept misel’ every mornin’ sin’ yet on. But aw’m forgettin’ misel’. Lest ha’ thi tale abeawt th’ bearin-whoam.
Dick: Well, sit thee deawn, un theaw mun promise me afore aw begin ut theau’ll never tell nobody heaw aw’r robbed, for nobody know gradely truth yet on.
Bill: O, aw’ll promise thee, an’ mi word as good as mi bond, for they’re noather on um wo’th above a boo cleawt.
Dick: Well, theaw mun know this cut ut aw went a bearin-whoam wur very nee a white un, un as aw’d never bin afore, eawr folk gin me mony a score o’ charges to say nowt to th’ putter-eawt, tho’ he’s sauciest felly ut ud ever a skin drawn o’er him. His tongue’s hanged i’ th’ middle, un it wags at booath eends. Well, afore aw set off theer oceans o’ arnts coom in for me to do. Iv th’ bellman ud bin sent reawnd thur could’nt a coom moor. An’ as aw’r tellin’ thee o’er this cut, aw’r noan so yezy i’ mi crop abeawt it; aw’d had mi nippers new sharpent, an’ cut three holes in. But then they’rn noan sich great uns – theaw couldn’t above a stickt thi foot through noan on ’em. An’ then thur some dirty picks in, an’ it did no lie so weel; but measthurs are so tedious neaw-o-days. Neaw, as aw intend givin’ thee a gradely description abeawt everythin’, aw met as weel start wi’ th’ mornin’ ut aw set off on. It wur abeawt five o’clock, an’ one o’ th’ finest mornin’s ut ever oppent its een. It wur so fine, an’ bein’ a bit ov a lover o’ natur, aw thowt aw’d go through th’ fields an’ Boggart Hole Clough. So off aw set, wi’ mi heart as leet as a led footbo’, harkenin’ to th’ brids an’ thur beautiful singin’, which aw’m sure wur sweet enough to ha’ turned a peawnd o’ brook sond into sugar, iv it ud been laid i’th reet pleck. Aw jogged on till aw geet to th’ Boggart Hole, seein’ nowt worthy o’ notice nobbut a donkey kwortin an’ an owd woman watchin’ it. Bi th’ toime ’at aw geet theer, heawever, th’ sun wur getting’ warm enough to melt a new butter jacket an’ cheese an’ bread treawsers. So aw off wi’ mi jacket an’ sat mi deawn; an’ by gum, Bill, t’ Boggart Hole’s a gradely nice place. What wi’ t’ rustlin’ o’th’ leaves, t’ wavin’ o’th’ trees, t’ ripplin’ o’th’ rindle, t’ sparklin’ o’th’ dewdrops, an’ t’ brids an’ thur excellent singin’. It wur grand that mornin’. It charmt mi so mich ’at aw darsay aw sit hauve an heawr entranst wi’ t’ beauty; an’ aw’m sure iv omdy’d sin mi they’d ha’ thowt aw’r a churn milk statue, placed theer to swallow flees, aw wur so solit. Sumdy did see mi, for i’th midst o’ mi meditashuns aw yerd th’ most inexpressibly bewitching voice co’ eawt, “Win yo’ be so good as help me wi’ mi waytur on?” “What dun yo’ say?” aw sed, gerin’ up an’ starin’ wi’ mi meawth wide oppun to th’ back ut one o’the prattiest young women ’at ever aw clapt mi two een on, forgettin’, like a foo’ us aw wur, tickleness o’th’ pleck ’at aw’r on, an’ what wi’ bein’ i’ sich a hurry an’ one thing or another, aw punst a pavin’ stone, an’ crash aw went deawn, ’t fust dash leetin’ wi’ mi face i’ soft clay, an’ tumblin’ top tails fair till aw geet to th’ bothum o’th dingle.
Bill: Dit to, for shure?
Dick: Ay, that aw did, an’ lee skrawmin’ at th’ bothum like a pig ’i porritch, wishing o maks o’ things abeawt misel’, t’ leost o’ which wur ’at wind ud catch mi stroddle legs, an’ carry mi away wi’ it; while hoo stood yellin’ an’ laffin’ as hard as ever hoo could laf for her life. Yope after yope kept comin’ till, dang it, Bill, aw startud o gooin’ vext, an’ geet up, thinkin’ ow’d be off. As soon as ever hoo seed what a figure aw wur, hoo set up a yope ten times harder than before; an’ aw’r hurryin’ up th’ broo to tak’ mi poke an away wi’ mi, when a bramble cacht mi between t’ legs, an’ hurlt mi to th’ bothum agen as quick as trapstick, rentin’ mi breechus abeawt a quarthur ov a yard in at bargain. But aw didno’ lie lung that toime, for sithi, Bill, aw’r mad enouf to ha’ throttled a wasp’s nest to t’ deoth, or bitten a hoss so’dier i’ two, iv aw could a fingert him just then. Aw rusht up th’ broo agen, wi’ th’ full intenshun o’ tumblin’ booath t’ yung woman an’ her can yedlunk deawn. But when aw geet to th’ top hoo’r gone. Hoo’d ned noan o’ me t’ help her wi’ her wayter on, an’ aw could yer her laffin’ fair till aw geet through th’ wood, which theaw may be shure aw’r noan so lung i’ doin’ afthur what had happent. When aw geet very nee to Ormshaw’s (for aw dusno’ turn mi reawned afore, fea’rt hoo’d be peepin’ afthur me) aw clapt mi poke deawn an’ went into th’ dingle to wesh mi face an’ tidy misel’ up a bit, an’ aw fun ut mi breechus wur noan rent as ill as aw thowt they had bin; so aw jogg’d on, afthur tryin’ abeawt hauve an heawr which road o’ walkin’ud show mi shirt lap t’ leost. Thoose trees ’at thur is ut side Ormshaw’s wur soon past, beautiful as they are – th’ heigh road racht, wheer a amused misel’ wi’ examinin’ th’ various physiognomies uv o th’ persons ’at aw met on th’ road, an’ it’s curious what a diffrence theer is i’ folk i’ this repsect. Some had fine, ample for’heads, wi’ a blue rim reawnd. Some had square broos wi’ one corner sawn off an’ a nogur hole i’th’ middle. Some had cabbage stauk noses, twisted reawnd like a bant. Some gran like the devil’s fust cousin. Some had een like brunin’ coals wi’ sawt on. Some had as mich yure o’ thur yed as thur is grass in a six-acre meadow; while not a few smil’d enough to a charmt a cow’s husband, if it tail ud bin rubbed wi’ pickled turpentine. Aw wur busy examinin’ o sich faces as these fair till aw geet to th’ bothum o’ th’ wareheawse stairs. Then mi cut coom into mi yed. But no matter for that. Aw beawnst upstairs into th’ wareheawse, an’ wur second weaver. But sithi, Bill, yon’s thi faythur ut’s lookin’ for thee.
Bill: Ay, by go is it. Let’s creep ut back o’th’ edge.
Dick: Nawe, he happen wants thee for summat particular. Come t’ morn at noon, an’ aw’ll tell thee some moor abeawt mi fust bearin-whoam.
CHAPTER II
Dick: Well, what did thi faythur want thee for?
Bill: Why he wanted me t’ help t’ wind on one o’th’ pig’s-footed pieces ut ever wur rolled up like a catch-a-bo’.
Dick: Did he? Aw thowt he wanted thee for summat particular. But, Bill, hast yerd what Johnny at owd Flanagum Dangum’s bin doin’ this mornin’?
Bill: Nawe. What’s he bin doin’?
Dick: Why, he’s bin shavin’ his pig’s nose wi’ t’ saw. He’d getten it into his yed ’at it had gout in its tail, so aw reeckon he thowt that ud cure it iv owt wud.
Bill: Aw’d tak’ him off, for they con do no good wi’ him a whoam mich lunger, aw con yer that. But we’re losin’ toime, Dick. Aw fair wackur t’ yer some moor abeawt thi fust bearin’whoam.
Dick: Well, theaw’st have it as brief as possible. Aw left off wi’ tellin’ thee ’at aw’r second wayver. Aw think t’ chap ’at wur before me wur a Leith chap; aw dar say we’rn i’th’ wareheawse three quarthurs uv an heawr afore oather on us spoke. He kept walking abeawt, his face lookin’ as unyezy as iv he’d had it fried i’ thruble three heawrs, while aw stood peepin’ through o’th’ nicks to see whether t’ puttereawt wur comin’ or not. Ut last t’ chap broke t’ silence. He sit him deawn i’ one corner, gan a sigh as deep as t’ bothum uv a coalpit, an’ sed he’d leefer be hanged than see th’ puttereawt. “Wud yo’ for shure”? aw sed. “Ay,” he sed, “that aw wud; aw’st get th’ finest blackin’ ’at ever ony mon had i’th world.” “Win yo?” aw sed, “whea, whatever for?” He sed he’d had a misfortin’ wi’ his piece, an’ bi what a could gether fro’ his tale, his dowther’d bin weavin’ for him, an’ her chap ud coom’n one neet, an’ what wi’ his cortin’ an’ one thing or another, he’d tumbl’t slap into th’ piece an’ brocken it o across. Aw could hardly help for laffin, t’ felly towd his tale so pitiful; but when he’d done it he jumpt eawt o’th’ corner, gan another sigh, an’ kept walking up an’ deawn, but not another word ut aw could get eawt on him. Directly thur a rook moor wayvers coom an’ sit um deawn, every one on um lookin’ as solit as ‘t Leith chap, an’ sittin’ as still as a deod chap chain’d fast. Theaw met ha’ yerd nowt at o stur, even if it had bin in it stockin’ feet. When the’d sit so a whoile aw started a thinkin’ they mut a sin sum great axident what made ‘em o be so solit, an’ aw axt one o’th’ wimmen iv th’ railroad carriages hadno’ run o’er sumdy that mornin’. Hoo sed hoo’d yerd nowt abeawt it, geet up and walked to t’ tothur side o’t’ wareheawse, an’ never turnt her yed agen till t’ wareheawse dur flew oppen, an’ a voice ’at aw thowt seawnded as iv it’r lapt up i’ slaver bawlt eawt, “The first weaver.” Th’ Leith cahp then geet up an’ went inside, wi’ a face as white as bleacht choke, as mony sighs comin’ eawt ov his meath afore he could get in at th’ dur us ud a split a barrel iv they’d bin weel corkt up. As soon us he’d getten in t’ dur wur banged to agen, an’ aw yerd a tongue start a goin’ ’at seawnded us iv it ud never stop agen. Iv ever thur wur perpetual motion, aw’m shure that tongue wur it. Raddle, raddle, raddle, it kept goin’ as hard as ever it could, till o th’ words geet teed o knots, an’ for th’ heart on me aw could no’ loose ’em an’ tell owt they meant, though aw hark’nt as dree as aw could for mi loife, thinkin’ aw’d be ready agen aw had to go in. At last t’ dur wur oppent agen, an’ th’ Leith chap coom eawt an’ went deawn t’ stairs as softly as iv he’d had a blisthurin’ plaster uv either shufe heel. Th’ dur tarried oppen hauve a minnet that time, an’ aw seed th’ puttereawt ger howd o’ mi cut, oppen it, stick’d th’ yard-stick in. Then mi name wur bawlt eawt in a style ’at aw could hardly mak’ eawt. Aw jumpt up in a minnet an’ went inside. As soon as aw’d getten ut side on him he rommed t’ yard-stick slap bang o’er th’ yed in another pleck’, an’ it chopt into my yed o ut once ’at mi faythur ud set th’ hooks that mornin’ bi a treadle. “Do you see this?” he sed. “I have more work to keep your family right in the hooking than all my other weavers put together. Do you see it?” Aw never spoke to that, an’ then he went on, “Put your face to it, man, it will not bite you, it is almost six inches too long in the hooking, do you see it?” Aw sed “Ay” that time. “Ay,” he bawlt eawt afthur me, every bit as broad as aw’d sed it, an’ stared straight at me wi’ een ’at ud o melted ony ice aw’m shure as weel as t’ sun. “You come here to say ‘Ay,’ do you, to a palpable, wilful mistake like that, you blockhead. Who hooked it?” “Mi faythur,” aw sed, an’ th’ words ud no sooner getten off mi lips than his tongue started a goin’ ten toimes fasthur than it had done to th’ Leigh chap. He coed mi for everythin’ ’at he could lay his tongue to, not one havue of which aw could understond, whoile spit flew o roads eawt ov his meawth, coverin’ o’th top plait o’ mi cut an’ part o’ mi jacket. Some on it wur comin’ to’ard mi face, but aw jumpt back, for aw thowt surely t’ felly ud bin bitten wi’ a mad dog, an’ aw made bowd to ax a little owd felly ’at wur t’ bookkeeper iv he hadn’t. Iv storm wur roof afore, it wur dreadful neaw. Iv he’d had thunner and leetnin’ in his guts he couldno’ o ronged harder than he did afthur aw’d as’d that. Aw do believe iv th’ owd felly hadna getten me eawtside he’d oather o cut mi throat wi’ t’ sithurs or beawnst a skip full o’ bobbins off mi yed. When aw’d getten eawtside agen aw did feel some queer, speshully us he’d never started o lookin’ mi cut, an’ aw wondert what the Lord in heaven he’d say when he’d fun th’ holes an’ dirty picks. Just as aw’re thinkin’ so, th’ hole wur shut for brekfust toime, an’ some fain aw wur. But brekfust toime, loike o tother toimes ’at ever coom yet ’at wur wanted to stop, flew away as fast as ever it could, an’ th’ puttereawt wur in t’ wareheawse a lung seet afore aw wanted him. Nevertheless, aw had made one thing up i’ mind whoile he wur away, ’at iv he sent for me agen, aw’d lev t’ dur part oppen an’ say nowt, shus whatever he sed to me. He hadno’ bin i’th weareheawse abuve two minnets afore t’ little chap coom an’ beckn’t on me, an’ in aw had to go agen. But it wur very slowly, aw’ll ashure thee, an’ when aw did get inside, aw kept mi distance fro’ th’ puttereawt for aw think yet ’at he’s afflicted wi’ hydorphobea bi toimes. When aw’d getten as nee to him as aw durst goo, he stood starin’ streight at me for abeawt three minnets. He then closumt howd o’ mi cut an’ oppent it as nee loike a crocadile ud oppen foine muslin as aw con think, put a led weight on, an’ started o lookin’ ’t fur edge: looked it o’er, an’ never spoke a word. He then started o lookin’ ’t nar edge. But did he look at that beawt sayin’ owt? Aw think not. He hadn’t lookt two plaits afore he started coin’ it a nasty dirty cut, sed it lee t’ wust ov ony ’at evur he seed in his loife. ’An that little member in his meawth wur just startin’ o waggin’ agen at th’ owd rate when he coom slap bang upo one o’th holes. “What’s this?” he sed as soon as ever he seed it. “I suppose you’ve had your foot through here?” Aw never onsert him. “Can’t you speak, you thick-skulled fool? He sed, raisin’ his voice. Aw sed nowt still. “Are you without tongue, you dromedary-looking creature?” he sed, raisin’ his voice still louder, an’ his een flashin’ fire. Aw’d loikt to ha’ sed “ay” once, but aw thowt iv aw did aw shud get nowt for mi cut, an’ aw knowed o eawr childer wanted new clogs, an’ theaw sees it maks things awkurd when they’re o beawt ut once, though we’r not as big a fam’ly as sum, wi thur nobbo bein’ fourteen on us. This considerashun, heawever, kept me silunt, an’ to mi surprise he turnt him reawnd to t’ cut, reddlet id deawn loike leetnin’, an’ towd me t’ goo eawtsoid, which theaw may be shure aw did raythur sharply. Aw hadno’ bin eawtsoid hauve a minnet when he coom bangin’ eawt wi’ mi cut, oppent afore o’ th’ wayvers, an’ wur showin’ um th’ hole un dirt, an’ wi’ not havin’ t’ weight on he happent t’ turn cut up rayther fur than he had done when he’r lookin’ at it. Booath o’ tother holes popt i’ t’ seet ut once, for they’rn i’ one plait. Aw conno’ tell thee heaw he lookt ut fust when he seed um. But theaw may form sum idea when aw tell thee ’at iv he’d had his skull full o’ peawdur (an’ aw question whether he has or not), an’ somb’dy set foir to ’t wi’ a match, his een couldn’t o flasht eawt breeter blazes than they did. He look fust at th’ holes an’ than me, his bally swellin’ as fast o’ t’ whoile wi’ passion as a bulloon ut’s takin’ air in. He geet to sich a mickle ’at aw started o bein’ feart he’d split up t’ middle iv it did no find vent sum road soon. At last it brasted eawt i’ meawthfuls o’ words, not teed o knots this toime, but streng’d o bands by duz’ns ut once. Aw’m shure he’d mony a cart load in his breast, they coom eawt at sich a rate, an’ but for seein’ t’ stumps ’at aw drove i’ mi shufe nose when aw should o fowten Jack , back. He’d spewed words (for aw con co’ it nowt else) for full foive minnets ut leost afore aw could catch onthin’ loik o glimpse o’ meonin’ eawt o’ owt ’at he sed. Aw did manage, heawever, at last to catch a sentence or two, just as he wur goin’ in ut dur agen. He wur tellin’ what he do at mi faythur t’ fust toime he clapt his face on him, for sendin’ a cut ’at he should ha’ to lose above th’ price o’th weavin’ by, an’ a bearer-whoam loik a moon calf ut nobody could get a word o’ sense eawt on. Bang went dur to as soon as aw’d yerd that wi’ a crash that shaked building, ut ud o shaked poles o’th earth iv they hadn’t bin weel frozen, an’ presently o wur as still as deoth agen. Ay, so still ’at theaw met o yerd a shadow walk weel enouf, an’ it wur nobbut brok’n then wi’ one o’th wimmen’s teeth chatterin’ so, hoo’r so feart. Bill, theaw’ll very naturally want to know what sort ov a chap ever he con be, to tak’ sich howd o’ folk as that. Aw’ll describe him as brief as aw con. Imagin’ a chap raythur less than t’ middle height, wi’ a honsomish face, but as white as a buryin’ sheet. A broad broo, a chin as smo’ as a stockin’ needle point; a pair o’ een ’at ud o dun for stars, they’re so breet; a gud set o’ teeth, ’at wur never shown wi’ laffin yet on; he hasn’t a leash-bant in his face for o that; an to creawn o as streight as a walking stick. Aw say, imagin’ a chap o’ this description, an’ theaw’ll have th’ picthur o’ him ’at fears o his wavers a that’ns, wi’ a blustherin swagger ’at maks him look as ridikilus as a barber tryin’ to’ shave t’ wint. An’ afthur o, Bill, he’s one o’th’ bether eend o’ putterseawt ’at thur is i’ Manchester at present, for he dus foind um gud wark, for t’ most an end, an’ he’s noan hauve as big a thief as some on um as theaw’ll yer. When th’ seawnd o’th’ dur ud deed away, we sit a toothry minnets starin’ ut one another, abeawt same as a lot o’ theeves wud ’at wur o afthur stealin’ one thing, an’ ud expected foindin’ nobody theor nobbut thursel. Whoile we’rn o’ i’ that amaze th’ hole wur oppent agen, an’ t’ next weaver sheawted on. He lookt abeawt hauve o’ duz’n o’ t’ next cuts middlin’ soon, an’ theaw never seed sich a difference i’ thi loife as tho wur between thoose ’at ud had thur cuts lookt an’ thoose ’at hadn’t. Thoose ’at hadn’t had thur cuts lookt wurn gapin’ an’ sighin’ an’ writhin’ as ill us iv they’d swallud red wot bullets, whoile thoose ’at ud had thur cut lookt, speshully t’ wimmen, wurn smilin’ an’ talking abeawt weddin’. Whot a sin it wur to live single o’ t’ days o’ thur loife, when they met be helpin’ to mak’ another geneation o’ folk; what they’d get done at i’ t’ next world when they geet theor an’ had no childer to own; heaw they’rn never fat beawt they’d a wife to cook for um, an’ keep um warm i’ bed at cowd winter’s neets; an’ finally, heaw th’ world ud be turnt upside deawn iv thur no wimmen to keep things reet, an’ show t’ fellies heaw to manage. They went on, an’ sed so mich till mi yure fair stood o’ mi yed. Aw pluck’d one eawt ut wur as stiff as a pin, an’ aw’d o’ croppen’ i’ mi tob if aw could, aw’r so queer. Aw dunnot know what they wud o sed afore they’d done, aw’m shure, if th’ measthur hadn’t sheawted o’ th’ fust weaver ’at wanted payin’, an’ put a stop to thur twang. Aw beawnst up as soon as aw yerd him, an’ went inside to see iv aw should have owt to draw. Th’ little bookkeeper started o loffin as soon as ever he seed me, reacht me o’th’ brass, missin’ a shillin’ a piece for th’ holes, an’ two shillin’ for t’ dirty picks; towd me t’ tell mi faythur t’ come for a piece t’ Friday afthur; an’ cawshunt me not to come fro’ whoam agen till aw’d larnt some manners. Aw geet howd o’th’ brass an’ slipt it i’ mi pocket as yeasy as aw should o done iv thud bin twenty peawnd moor, coom eawt an’ deawn t’ stairs, singin’ to misel’ –
D., at W., to be sure,
Has tung enouf, loik plenty moor,
For a madheawse he’d come in,
To sheawt an’ bawl an’ mak a din,
An’ feor oth’ pashunts wi’ his tung,
An stop thur meals when they did wrung.
Iv sich a place thur is that’s loose,
Aw hope they’n let him know, becose,
He’s just the chap for sich a shop,
His style an’ ways, for he’s a fop,
Ud make um feel afore so lung
The piercin’ sharpness ov his tung.
When aw’d getten into th’ street aw started ceawntin’ up mi arnts, an’ fun ’at aw’d nobbut seventeen, foive a piece for three wareheawses, ’an two o’er. But yer thee, Bill, yon’s church clock ’at’s strikin’ three; an’ sithi, wheer yer Sal is comin’ back fro’ buyin’ in. Hoo’s lickin’ trakul, by gum.
Bill: Ay, that hoo is ut some ov a rate. Aw’ll run whoam t’fust, an’ then iv hoo ses owt o’er me tarryin’ so lung, aw’ll tell what hoo’s bin doin’.
CHAPTER III
Dick: Well, Bill, did t’ get owt sed to thi?
Bill: Nawe. Eawr folk un gan o’er sayin’ owt to me neaw. Aw reckon they’n fun it eawt it nobbut mak’s me wur.
Dick: Aw dar say they think’n heaw they’d use’t be thirsel.
Bill: Well, they hap’n dun; but, Dick, steer on wi’ thi tale, for aw fair lung t’ yer it eawt.
Dick: Aw towd thee aw’d ceawnted seventeen arnts i’ th’ street. One o’th’ wareheawses wur noan so far off, so aw banged in directly to get mi jobs sattled theer. But this wur t’ capper ov o’th’ plecks ’at ever aw went into i’ mi’ loif. Th’ fust thing ’at aw seed when aw geet in wur a woman sobbin’ an’ cryin’ as iv her heart ud break, great big tears runnin’ deawn her cheeks at sich a rate ’at theaw met o catcht a bowl full on um directly. Aw wur just beawn t’ ax what ther t’ do, when aw yerd another woman ut ther wur i’ th’ hole start o ronging, just nee t’ same us iv somebd’y bin borin’ holes into her wi’ a sprig bit. Hoo knockt an’ banged t’ boards abeawt splendidly, an’ swore iv th’ puttereawt ud come theer, hoo’d tear th’ een eawt ov his yed. Aw do believe hoo coed him as mony rogues an’ thieves afore hoo’d done us ud o made a step-ladder to th’ moon, sides an’ o to ’t. When hoo wur comin’ eawt hoo didno’ ston’ shafflin’ ut th’ dur. Hoo up wi her boards an’ smasht it oppen wi’ a blow ’at ud o knockt a ceaw deawn iv it ud bin i’th’ same pleck, never takin’ no moor notice o’th’ mesthur than iv he bin a blast o’ wint ut wur taukin’, though he sheawted eawt mony a time he’d have her ta’en up iv hoo didn’t mind what hoo’r abeawt. Theaw may be sure aw’r raythur astonisht to see sich like wark as that, specially at a wareheawse an o. But when aw coom t’ yer what it wur for – t’ devil wur batin’ um o tuppence a yard, for nowt ut o. He’d done it by abeawt a hauve o score that mornin’, un it kept lastin’ owt shusheaw mony went in. As soon as aw knowed aw thowt aw’d go in wi’ th’ arnts, aw’d never kewar waitin’ i’ sich a thievin’ hole as that, so aw bowted inside directly. He no sooner seed me than he axt me what aw wanted. Aw showed him o’th’ tickets, an’ he fitted me beawt sayin’ a wort, lookin’ as compos’t o’th’ time us iv he’d never had nowt ut o agate. By gum! aw thowt to mysel’, this mon’s uset to it. He lookt every bit as calm as iv he’d bin steept ’i fine weather, un after he’d reacht me o ut aw wanted, he waukt up th’ wareheawse as prodigal as iv his yed ud bin compos’t uv a gowden skull wi’ silver brains in it. There’s a chap for thee, Bill, un’ t’ measthur, ut backs him in it, purtends bein’ religious, goes to th’ church every Sunday. Aw sin him misel’ sit on a platform wi’ one o’th’ most talented orators i’ England, yerd him get up an’ mak’ a speech abeawt humanity an’ bein’ kind to one another; quote Christ’s words wi’ as mich solemnity as iv he’d had a new jacket on made wi’ angels; then branch off to India an’ plead th’ cause o’th’ poor blacks to perfection, tellin’ us we owt to redouble eawr exertions for um so ut they could larn th’ plan o’ salvation, an’ have a shet ut reet hont of – aw shawm to tell who, seein’ it coom fro th’ lips as it did, for it lookt as mich like a mockery us goin’ t’ pump an’ pumpin’ sparrowbills ustid o waytur. But to return. When aw geet eawtside they’rn o in a red-wot blaze abeawt this batin’. One sed one thin’ an’ another said another. But uv o’th’ expressions ’at ever coom eawt ov omdy’s meath, they capt o. Aw had to goo eawtsoid as sharp as aw could, feart o’ laffin, f’ro ut aw’r so vext, for aw do beleev iv aw had a done aw should a get’n as nee kilt as ever omdy did yet on ut miss’d. For wimmen are like tigers, an’ t’ most on um wurn wimmen – when they once get’n fairly rous’t they’rn noan so very tedious hoo they set’n thur claws on, oather friend or foe ull do t’ eend their malice on. When aw’d get’n into th’ yard aw teed o mi shute up, for aw hadn’t had toime i’th’ wareheawse, packt it till it wur carriable, an’ then coom away, very weel satisfied i’ mi mind ut Jonathan Wild wur nothin’ for thievin’ roguery to some ut thur is agate neaw, ut’r caw’d honest gentlemen, too. Aw steert up th’ street, gapin’ an’ starin’ loik t’ most o’ country gawky’s done, fust ut one thin’ an’ then another, till aw geet to th’ next wareheawse, wheor t’ weavers o sit as content as Cupid, talking abeawt o’th’ various things ut consarns loif, sich as bringin’ childer up, an’ makin’ towffy, buildin’ heawses an’ sawin’ butter, weighin’ stew, an’ clippin’ ih’ pump, catchin’ thunner, an’ picklin’ mugs, presarvin’ shadows for asthur boas, makin’ meals o’ strife an’ rows, sawtin’ t’ porritch wi’ wimmen’s smiles, an’ a whole host o’ other things ut aw forget’n neaw. They’d talked a good deal above an heawr aw’m shure, an’ aw started o’ goin’ gradely unyezy, for nobody hawst to come eawt o’th’ hole, nor hadn’t done of o’th’ whoile. An’ it didn’t add so mich to mi comfort, aw’ll ashure thee,when aw seed a chap ut had a great big basket stonnin’ at soid on him, oppen it, tak’ eawt a piece o’ summat t’ ate, an’ start a atin’ it, tellin’ a woman at same toime ut he’r come’n prepar’t to-day. “Arto?” hoo says. “Aw’m nowt else,” he sed, “Aw’m noan beawt t’ come o bein’ clemmed to t’ deoth.” Aw went up to him, an axt him what he meont. “Why, aw meon,” he says, “ut aw browt mi dinner, baggin’, an’ supper, for they’n do nowt here till between nine an’ ten o’clock to-neet.” “The devil! they winnot?” aw sed. “But awst ceawr noan here waitin’ o that toime.” “Well, as for thee waitin’ aw know nowt abeawt that,” he sed. “What aw know is ut iv theaw gets owt fro ‘ this wareheawse theaw’ll oather have to wait here or somewheor else till t’ toime ut aw sed.” “Shall aw?” aw sed. “Well, we’n see whether aw shall or not.” An’ a started o bangin’ at th’ dur as hard as ever aw could bang. Aw thowt iv they wurn asleep aw’d wauken um. When aw’d thunged a whoile, thur a felly coom to th’ dur an’ axt me what aw’r makin’ that din theor for, ut favourt us iv it had ta’en him hauve an heawr t’ come across t’ wareheaws. “Why, aw want some shute for different weavers,” aw sed, “or else to know ut aw’m t’ ha’ noan beawt ceawerin’ waitin’ here o day.” “Go and sit you down,” he says , “And if I catch you kickiing this door in that manner agen, I’ll find you a faster shop.” “Win yo?”aw sed. “Yes, I will,” he says, an’ banged t’ dur i’ mi face wi’ sich a force ut it brasted mi nose, an’ stroke as mich foir i’ mi’ een (very nee), as ud set th’ wareheawse i’ flames. “Darn thi idle yed!” aw sed, takin’ a punce at dur ut sent it flyin’ oppen agen as quick as a thunner bowt wud a done. “Iv theaw’ll come here aw’ll mak’ thee remember this, iv my shoon ull nobbut tarry whool, theaw lazy scroyle, theaw. When he seed what he done he set up a reg’lar yope o’ loffin, an’ that, added to th’ smartin’ pain ut aw felt, vext me to sich a degree ut aw up wi one o’th’ arnts ut ud a bobbin in, an’ masht it at his yed. He ceawcht, an’ slap it went through t’ window wi’ a crash ut seawnded us iv it had broken o’th’ panes. Aw didno ston’ starin’ at it so lung after aw’d done it. Aw off wi’ me deawn t’ stairs as fast as aw could go, but as sharp as aw wur, when aw geet to th’ bottom thur hauve a dozen warpers waitin’ on me, ut carried me back agen into th’ insoid o’th’ wareheawse, spite ov o’th’ kickin’ ut aw did, an’ that wurn’t a little. As soon as thy’d get’n me in they shut dur an’ lockt it. Fotcht measter, an’ towd him a lot o’th’ biggest lies ut ever aw yerd i’ mi loif. He gan orders for a policeman t’ be fotcht instantly, an’ i’ less than five minuets thur one coom stridin’ in, hault eawt his honcuffs, an’ axt iv he wur to tak’ me to prison. T’ measter sed he reckont he wur, for aw’d coom theor an’ very nee broken t’ dur deawn, an’ sent a bobbin through th’ window, o for nowt. When aw yerd him say that, though aw’r as nee feart t’ deoth as onbody could be, aw thowt “Dang it! aw’ll no be ta’en to prison wi’ thuse mak’ o’ lies at ony rate, beawt contradictin’ um.” So aw started an’ towd t’ policeman mi tale – heaw aw’d nobbut knockt at th’ dur in a gradely way, an’ heaw t’ bookkeeper had banged it i’ mi face, an’ lofft as hard as ever he could when he seed heaw aw bled. Aw sed it wur noan sich nice behaviour, shus what they thowt’n. T’ policeman sed it’r noan reet, but heawever, aw should ha’ to pay for t’ window, which theaw may be shure aw did raythur sharply, deus’t fain t’ get off so yeazy. An’ what dost think, Bill? After they’d fear me o’ that’ns an’ get’n mi brass eawt on me for t’ window, they’d t’ face t’ want to find me shute. But aw sed nawe. “Thuse may carry shute fro here ‘ats a mind, but awst not. Iv aw’m at liberty, unlock that dur, an’ aw’ll gi’ yoa leave t’ put me oather i’ prison or onywheor else iv ever yo’ catch’n me here agen.” T’ policman lofft when he yerd what aw sed, gin um auders t’ unlock t’ dur, an’ aw coom eawt an’ deawn t’ stairs beawt thankin’ um, aw’ll ashure thee, o th’ weavers titterin’ an’ loffin’.
Bill: Ha, that wur’t road ut theaw geet thi face made sich a figure, wur it? Aw start a seein’ through this bein’ robbed neaw.
Dick: Howd thi noise wilto, an’ have a bit o’ pashunce, an’ thew’st yer o abeawt it. When aw geet into t’ street, an’ t’ feartness started o goin’ off me a bit, aw felt very uncomfortable. Mi nose kept bleedin’, tone ee wur a good bet swelled, added to which aw’r as hungry as a shark, a thing ut mak’s onybody restless at best o’ toimes. Aw meawndert abeawt a whoile i’ that state as bloody as a pig, o’th’ folk nudgin’ one another as aw went past, an’ makin’ remarks on me. At last aw coom to th’ clock face, an’ seed it wur one o’clock, so aw went t’ Duke o’ York to mi dinner, wesht it deawn wi toothry glasses ov ale, an’ it rais’t mi spirits considerably. Abeawt two o’clock aw set off agen, for aw had still two wareheawses to go to, thinkin’ i’ mi mind what a difference ther wur between t’ figure ut aw cut when aw set off i’th’ mornin’ an’ t’ figure ut aw cut neaw. I’th’ mornin’ aw’r as tidy as if aw’d bin smootht o’er wi’ a smoothin’ iron. Neaw aw’d a black ee, a bloody nose, an’ mi breeches rent abeawt a quarthur of a yard between th’ legs. Nevertheless, aw consol’t misel wi’ t’ thowts ut aw’d larnt mony o shillin’s worth o’ sense by it. Then mi thowts took another turn entirely. Aw’r measurin’ t’ thickness o’t’ dayleet an’ men’s honesty wi’ a six-inch measur’; cuttin’ slices of air an’ givin’ it to thuse ut wur shortwinded; sweepin’ away dishonesty an’ craft wi’ a long breesh, so that one lot o’ folk ud not be bether off than another; mixin’ oth’ various religions ut ther is afloat i’th’ world in a beawl, an’ givin’ um a piece o’ cheese an’ bread; catchin’ music by wholsale, an’ havin’ singin’ stockins’ knitted on it; mendin’ t’ condition o’th’ workin’ classes, not wi’ wint, same as parliament men, but wi’ havue a load o’ fleawr an’ a good fat pig. O sich like nonsense as this kept playin’ at hop-flag up o’ mi brain fair till aw geet to th’ bothum o’ t’ next wareheawse stairs, when aw unbethowt me o at wunst ut whoile nobody seed me aw’d divide mi cut brass equally into o mi pockets, so that iv omdy pickt one they’d not have it o. No sooner thowt than done, for as it happent it’r very nee o i’ shillins; that enabl’t me to have accomplisht mi task between un aw’d get’n into th’ wareheawse, wheor such cussin’ an’ swearin’ an’ stampin’ an’ rongin’ met mi ears as aw never yerd sin aw’r in long kwots afore. But yer thee, Bill, yon’s church clock strikin’ th’ owd toime agen.
Bill: Ay, by gum it is. Aw’m be goin’, or else aw’st ha’ made a poor day’s wark to-day, for aw trappt shuttle abeawt an inch an’ a hauve afore aw coom eawt t’ mi dinner.
CHAPTER IV
Dick: Well, Bill, heaw long did it tak’ thee afore theaw geet thi eends peec’t?
Bill: Why above two heawrs, an’ aw hadno’ woven above an inch afore aw did th’ very same trick agen.
Dick: Theaw lies, b’like.
Bill: Do aw? Aw wish aw did. But never mind t’ trappin’ o’th’ shuttle, Dick, crash on wi’ that famous bearin-whoam tale o’ thine.
Dick: Aw will, as brief as possible. Aw laft off wheor that chap wur cussin’ an’ swearin’ so i’ th’ wareheawse. Aw never yerd sich terrible oaths i’ mi life as coom eawt ov his meawth, never. They fair made me shudder agen. His voice wur as leawd an’ distinct as rollin’ thunder, cryin’ eawt, “Aw’m ruint, undone, lost, blasted i’ mi prospects for ever an’ ever.’ Then aw yerd him stamp th’ floor fair wi’ th’ hopelessness o’ despair, an’ stike his broo wi’ as little mercy as iv it ud bin a stone. He’r happen quiet hauve a minnet after that, an’ then he broke eawt agen fiercer an’ moor frantic than ever. Stampin’ an roarin’, an’ aw amno quite certain whether pooin’ t’ yure off his yed or not, accusin’ sumdy, ut bi his talk wur noan so far off, wi’ havin’ conspir’t agen him o th’ days ov his loife. Blasphemy followed blasphemy, an’ imprecation wur heap’d up ov imprecation, till, iv they’d bin formt into a hill, it ud o bin one o’th most enormous hills o’ wickedness ever yet seen. Aw dunnot know whether oaths han ony o’th inflammable substance abeawt um or are us’d i’th’ pleck ut they’re sed to send folk to or not, but if they han, an’ thuse at he utter’d ud bin set ov a fire, aw’m thinkin they’d a kept sumdy warm a rare whoile. He kept gooin’ on to sich lengths, an’ sayin’ so mitch, ut aw started o wonderin’ whether it ud be prudent to do mi arnt or not. Whoile aw’r i’ that perplexity studyin’ what do do, aw yerd him say summat abeawt a fire bein’ wot enouf to roast omdy alive, an’ it choppt into mi yed o’ ut wunst ut wareheawse had happen get’n ov a fire, an’ he could find nobody t’ help him to put it eawt. Full o’ this idea, aw went rushin’ in, an’ axt wheor it started. “Wheor did what start?” he said, turnin’ him reawnd as fierce as a tiger. “Why, t’ foir,” aw sez, rayther softly, an’ feelin’ very queer. “Aw understood be what yoa said ut t’ wareheawe ud get’n ov a foir, so aw thowt aw’d help yoa t’ put it eawt.” Aw believ t’words had’nt get’n off mi lips afore he up wi’ a tin bobbin, mutterin’ summat between his lips abeawt teachin’ sich like as me for comin’ theor o makin’ a foo ov him, welled it straight at me. Aw did ceawch for it to goo o’er mi yed, but it wurn’t aimed hee enouf for that, it catcht me o’er th’ tight rump, an’ fair made me bawl eawt agen. Aw think aw never wur so hurt i’ mi life. But ther no toime for complaint. He catcht howd ov another as quick as trapstick, an’ wur bewn t’ well that at me, too. But aw made misel’ scarce, goin’ deawn t’ stairs at one stride, an’ never turnin’ mi yed till aw geet into th’ street, for aw thowt iv aw did they ud oather be another bobbin or else a brick on t’ road t’ embrace me agen, a thing ut aw didn’t relish thowts on so weel. Just as aw’r get’n into th’ main street aw met a tall, gentlemanly-lookin’ chap, ut axt me wheor aw’d bin to. Aw towd him in a few words, an’ heaw aw’d get’n sarv’t, an’ bi go, as it happen’t he’r one o’th’ young measturs. He tried hard t’ persuade me t’go back agen an’ he’d fit me. But it’r no go. Aw’d had enouf o’ that shop. Besides, aw’dstrong impressions on me ut he’d get serv’t t’ same when he geet theor, an’ if he didn’t, aw’d receive as mich civility as aw liked on, beawt exposin’ misel’ to ony moor mad fits. Full o’ this conviction, aw wended mi silent way to th’ next weareheawse, wheor aw fun three or four weavers sit as comfortable as they’d bin eatin’ ther dinner, not a care o’ ther brow. “Come,” aw thowt to misel’. “This is summat fresh. Aw’m sure this measter mun be summat different fro’ th’ tother, o’th’ weavers look’n so gradely. Aw entered into conversation wi um, an’ fun’ ut that him ut had woven theor t’shortest time ov ony among um had woven theor twelve yer, a thing ut’s very seldom t’case at ony o’th’ tother wareheawses. Ther’s never no nurry nor bustle theor, Bill. When wark’s slack i’th’ winter they stint t’weavers, that is, they mak um be so lung i’ ther cuts, so that everythin’ ull be done regularly an’ i’ order. It’s seldom ut they’n owt said to um, an’ when they han it’s in a reasonable way, not i’ that dark-coloured, black-leggin’ style ut some manufacturers think’n so essential to keep weavers reet, an’ ut mak’s one very nee imagin’ ut what they say’n bin steept i’ soot, it’s so devilish black. Nawe, nawe, ther’s noan o’ th’ mak theor; he fitted us every one off, an’ not a wrang word coom eawt ov his meawth. Aw coom deawn t’ stairs a rare seet bether satisfied i’ mi moind than aw had done fro’ t’last wareheawse, wheor that tother roarin’ fiend made th’ pleck ring so wi’ his oaths. Aw’d finisht mi arnt-goin’ neaw, so aw thowt aw’d have hauve an heawr or two o’ mi own mak, lookin’ at oth pictur shops an’ bookstalls, for it’s a thing ut aw tak’ a bit ov a fancy to.
Bill: Aw think theaw does. Aw seen thee gawm an’ stare at um mony a toime, till theaw’s favoured sumdy ut’r noan reet.
Dick: Aw know’d what theaw’d say. But be that as it may, aw trudged off, an’ whoile aw’r away aw seed th’ portrait o’ Julius Caesar an’ a ceaw-rake, Daniel Dancer an’ a marigold, Napoleon an’ a pair o’ pincers, Robespierre an’ his axe, Mirabeau an’ a piece o’ glass. Ha! an’ hoo else does think aw seed th’ pictur’ on, lookin’ as funny as a bull i’ knee breeches?
Bill: Aw’ve no loike aim aw’m shure, aw dunnot know these chaps same as theaw does.
Dick: Why, Sir Isaac Newton, measurin’ heaw far th’ planets wurn off one another wi’ his two-foot. An’ at next shop higher up aw seed shap ov a chap makin’ experiments i’ geology wi’ a rollin’ pin; another seechin’ perpetual motion in a woman’s meawth. Theor he had her wi’ her meawth wide oppen, cheont to th’ wall, while at th’ yed o’th’ heawse ther a chap roll’t up doin’ o sorts o’ wimmen’s wark. Aw’ve no cashun t’ tell thee heaw hoo ronged; theaw may yesily gex, for ther’s nowt i’th’ world vexes a woman wur than doin ‘ her wark for her. Aw’r just turnin’ away fro’ that window, thinkin’ aw’d lookt o o’er , when what the hangmunt should aw see i’ one corner, but th’ pictur’ o’ true love.
Bill: Did to? Well, an whatever wur it loike?
Dick: Why, it’s no use tellin’ what it wur like as lung as aw con tell thee what it wur. It’s shap ov an owd felly ninety-five yer owd, wi’ a yed as grey as a mosscrop, kneelin’ him deawn on a red-wot dryin’ iron, to convince a young woman he could noather sleep neet nor day for thinkin’ abeawt her.
Bill: Ther’s o mak’s, if ony’ll do. But if aw’r kesnin’ thaat pictur’ aw should caw it “Love in a Blaze.”
Dick: Well when aw’d lookt at that shop toothry minnets aw thowt aw’d just go an’ look at another shop ut aw seed across th’ road, an’ then aw’d drop it, as it wur getting’ to’rd dark, an’ at that pleck aw seed shap ov Archimedes stonnin up o’th’ shadow ov his hat creawn, tryin’ t’raise th’ earth wi’ that famours invention ov his. Galileo an’ Copernicus sit i’th’ cleawds wi’ ther spectacles on, lookin’ whether th’ earth went reawnd th’ sun or th’ sun went reawnd th’ earth; owd Euclid demonstratin’ transverse axis of a porrito pie, bakt in a fryin’ pon; Kepler in his second law o’ motion, tryin’ whether a shadow ud kneel it deawn when th’ substance wur stondin’ up or not, iv he rubbed it knees wi butter; Lord Napier ceawert makin’ th’ logarithms o’ numbers, fro’ one to ten theawsand, wi a hommer an’ a chisel; Jacquard makin’ a fresh pathern to be woven wi’ that machine ut he invented, it wur to be pickt wi’ alligar an’ sops; Handel sittin’ in a rockin’ chair, teachin’ a pig heaw to play a peeanno; Raphael paintin’ th’ portrait of his wife on a flesh bo, an’ then eatin’ it, he loikt her so weel; Columbus steerin’ loike blazes across th’ Atlantic to find th’ island o’ porridge; Stevenson makin’ churn milk screws to put his locomotive engine together wi. An’ last of o aw seed Moscow ov a fire, an’ abeawt thirty owd wimmen carryin a thimbleful o’ wayter apiece to put it eawt wi’. When aw’d look’t at that till aw’r satisfied, aw went across th’ road o getting’ twopennurth o’ cheese an’ bread, for aw felt rayther hungry. Aw geet it weighed, put mi hont i’ mi pocket to pay for it, an’ to mi surproise aw fun it full o’ emptiness. Aw felt rayther queer at that, tried another, that wur th’ same. Aw started o’ oppenin’ mi een rayther wider at that, tried a third, wi’ no better success. Then aw begun o’ tremblin’ o o’er loike an aspenleaf, great drops o’ sweat runnin’ deawn mi face as fast as rain. Ah, Bill, theaw may loff, but it wur no loffin matter for me. Aw stood o’ that’ns so long, an’ dursn’t put mi hont i’ mi pocket agen, that missis axt me what ther wur t’do. Aw never onsurt her, but tried t’fourth, that wur empty too. Aw tried th’ fifth in a hurry, that wur empty too. Aw tried th’ sixth, that wur empty too. Th’ shop started a whizzin’ reawnd then. Aw tried seventh, an iv that had bin empty too aw should o’ gone in a fit. Th’ rascally thieves, as they wurn, had nobbut left one pocket eawt o’th’ seven untoucht. It made me so queer ut aw donnot know whether ever aw paid for th’ cheese an’ t’bread or not, for aw never fun misel’ till two chaps collart howd on me at soide ov a fine shop, an’ towd me they’d tak’ me t’ prison iv aw didn’t pay for that window ut aw’d just brokken wi’ th’ corner o’ mi boards. Aw axt um what they wanted, an’ they said hauve o creawn. Aw gin it um beawt ony bother, an’ coom off loike one in a dream, thinkin’ o’ so mony things ut wonst, ut they’rn loike a lot o’ folk thrutchin’ t’get eawt ov a chapel dur, they’rn o fast of a rook. One minnet aw’r wishin’ a ghost ud run away wi’ me as aw’r goin’ whoam, cloas an’ o. Then aw’r thinkin’ abeawt runnin’ mi country, but aw’r fast wheor aw must go to beawt brass; an’ betoimes aw fancied aw’d howd o’th chap bi th’ throat ut ud pickt mi pocket, an’ mi fingers tingled agen wi’ thowts on’t.
Bill: An’ has no loike aim wheor noan on um wur pickt?
Dick: No moor than t’day ut aw’m t’ dee, except it wur at thoose picthur shops, for aw recollect ther wur a good deal o’ thrutchin theor.
Bill: What made thee tell yoar folk ut theaw’r robbed wi three chaps as theaw’r comin’ whoam?
Dick: Aw’ll tell thee when mi tale’s finisht, iv theaw’ll nobbut howd thi noise. Aw kept havin’ o sorts o’ crazy fancies o th’ road as aw’r goin’ whoam, till aw geet to Newton New Inn, an’ aw forgett’n tell thee ut mi fayther had bowt some plants i’ Mossen ut aw wur to caw for as aw coom back. Aw stood studyin’ a bit whether t’ go for um or not, for it wur gettin’ darkish, an’ aw didn’t know whether aw could foind th’ heawse or not. But wi noan wantin’ to get whoam in sich a hurry, as theaw’rt shure aw shouldn’t, an thinkin’ ut plants ud happen get me off better, aw started off up Mossen lone, an’ fun th’ heawse after sperrin’ mi road abeawt a score o’ toimes. Th’ chap wur noan a whoam at fust when aw geet in, but he coom in abeawt hauve an heawr, an’ fun um me; an’ by th’ toime aw geet eawt agen it wur gettin’ very dark. That made me t’ be i’ sich a hurry till aw lost mi road. Theor aw kept ramblin’ abeawt o’th’ fields an’ t’ lones, an’ couldn’t find misel’ for mi loife. At last aw coom to a heawse wheor ther some folk talkin’, an’ aw could see bi th’ window ther a good blazin foire, so aw resolved t’ goo in an’ ax th’ road to th’ Barnes Green, for aw’d ’livered up o thowts o’ goin’ through th’ Boggart Hole, it wur so awful dark. When aw geet insoide aw fun it’r a jerry shop. Ther abeawt a dozen folk i’th reawm; two or three on um sit reawnd a good blazin’ fire, two i’ either nook, an’ three or four up ov a form ut th’ soide o’th’ lobby dur, t’road ut aw’d coom in. T’missis wur busy oddin’ abeawt doin’various things, an’ when aw’d bin in a bit aw sheawted on her to bring me a pint o’ ale, an’ axt her if hoo’d be so good as tell me th’ next road to th’ Barnes Green, for aw’d gett’n lost. Hoo browt me th’ ale, an’ towd me as weel as hoo could’ but aw’ll not trouble thee, Bill, wi’ tellin’ thee heaw aw wur to turn to mi reet at this farm heawse, cross over to mi left at tother farm heawse. Suffice it to say ut aw fun eawt bi her tale ut aw’r gett’n very nee two mile wrank. Nevertheless, aw thowt aw’d enjoy mi pint ov ale, shus what coom. When aw’d supped toothry toimes an’ compose’t misel’ a bit aw started o lookin’ reawnd t’reawm moor closely, an’ observin’ t’ folk ut wur in it. It wur very toidy lookin’, an’ loike t’most o’ reawms belongin’ to jerry shops, missin’ ther a pot-shelf o’er th’ pleck ut aw sit, wi’ a stew mug on, an’ toothry things i’th’ crockery way. On th’ arthstone ther a lad ut favourt belongin’ to th’ heawse makin’ o sorts o’ foirworks. Bi th’ side on him ther three fellies wi’ navies cloas on, ut went eawt when aw’d supped abeawt th’ hauve o’ mi ale. Th’ lad geet up then an’ sit fair i’th’ middle o’th’arthstone. I’ one corner ther two talking abeawt ther scholarship. One on um had no mean opinion ov hissel’, for aw yerd him say to tother ut when he went to th’ skoo he could tell heaw mony farthins ther wur in a peawnd o’ cheese loike winkin’. “Theaw meons in a sovereign.” toher sed. “Well,” he says, “it’r tone o’th’ two; aw know it wur summut ut wur yallow.” I’ tother corner ther two ut wur evidently shopkeepers, for tone wur tellin’ tother heaw to clap on to his good customers so ut they’d pay for his bad uns. On to th’ form wheor aw wur ther th’ missis stondin’ up, puttin’ an’ arrangin’ t’pots on t’shelf, an owd felly wi’ his foot beawnd up, an’ two or three moor ut favourt as if they’d bin eawt fuddlin’ toothry days, for they’rn gett’n very forrudish. In a bit ther one on um geet up to goo eawt, an’ bein’ rayther tipsy he didno tak’ so mitch notice wheor he set his feet. Clomp one ov his clogs let upo’ th’ owd felly’s sore fute, an’ he set up sich a yell as nowt nobbut a pig wi’ a scrapper in it throat could o’ done, stampin’ th’ chap i’th’ breast an’ drove up agen th’ lad ut wur makin’ foirworks, an’ knockt him i’th’ foire. When th’ missis seed flash o’th’ peawder hoo set up a screom twice as hard as th’ owd felly had done, tumbled deawn pot-shelf on to us, stew mug donnin’ on to mi bare yed (for mi cap wur on t’ table just loike a hat, an’ drownin’ o’th’ noise in a minnet, for mi yed sunk up to th’ neck i’ summut ut wur soft an’ clammy. Aw put mi tung eawt, an’ tasted on it, it wur treacle ut stew mug wur full on. Theor aw stood wi’ mi een full, mi nose holes full, mi ear holes full, an’ it runnin’ deawn booath mi back an’ mi breast. Aw should o bin smothered direc’ly iv aw hadn’t gett’n stew mug off. Aw never wur i’ sich a pickle i’ o mi life afore, never. Mi yed felt ten peawnd, my yure wur so full o’ treacle. When aw’d gett’n it away fro’ mi een an’ ear holes as weel as aw could, so as aw could yer a bit, sich a noise saluted mi ears as ne’er grated so on mi nerves sin aw’r born. Th’ dog wur barkin’, an’ t’ cat wur spittin’, t’missis wur cryin’ eawt,”Eh, mi son! eh, mi son! do tell me whether theaw’rt deod or aloive?” “Well, mother,” he says, “aw’m deod,” an hoo fair stampt agen wi’ agony when he towd her that. Th’ chaps i’ tone corner wur grumblin’ an’ cursin’, an’ tone o’th’ chaps i’th tother corner wor bell’in’ un skrykin, an’ wonderin’ whatever his woife an’ seven childer must do neaw he’d gett’n his yed blown off. Whoile th’ owd felly wi’ th’ sore fute prayed as fervently as ever theaw yerd owt i’ thi loif, ut if he could nobbut get eawt o’ this scrape beawt bein’ hanged he’d never fly in a passion agen. Dunnot interrupt me, Bill, for aw see theaw’rt loffin. What added moor to t’confusion, t’reawn wur as dark as pitch, for th’ peawder had blown boath t’foire an t’candle eawt. Just when o th’ uproar wur at worst, th’ londlort coom rushin’ i’t’ reawm in his shirt, wi’ a candle in his hont, his face as well lapped up as if he’d bin coddlin ‘it. He’d gone to bed wi’ th’ toothwarch, but it cured him when he seed us. “Good G—whatever has thur bin to do?” he sed, starin’ wi’ his een abeawt as woide as saucers, fust at his woife, who wur squeezin’ her son so close to her ut hoo favourt smotherin’ him; an’ then at th’ fellies, mony a one o’ which lee sprawlin’ alunk on t’floor, wi’ ther yeds brocken through th’ tally-iron fo’in an’ what not. When he’d stoodn till he’r weary, expectin’ an onswer, but getting’ nowt nobbut groans an’ lamentations fro’ that side, he turned him reawnd to wheor aw stood, at side o’th’ dur though he’d never seen me when he’r comin’ in. “Eh! the d----!” he said as soon as ever he clapped his een on me, takin’ hissel up ‘tchimney as soon as he’d said it. But aw sheawted eawt he’d no ’cashun t’be feart o’ me, aw’r nobbut flesh an’ blood wi’ mi yed dipped i’ tracle. This somewhat reassured him, for he coom a step or two back agen, an’ peept under t’chimeny jamb at me. It took him a bit, heawever, for he’d get’n very near th’ hauve road up th’ chimney afore aw could tell him, an’ aw’d to tell him toimes an’ toimes agen, an’ one o’th’ tother fellies, too, afore we could get him gradely deawn. At last, heawever, we did manish wi’ a good deol o’ coaxin’, an’ as mich tremblin’ as ud o made me split wi’ loffin at ony other toime, but aw’d no ’cashun neaw. Aw’r the loffablest mortal i’ o’th’ hole, the devil hissel’ couldn’t o looked blacker than aw did, wi’ that sticky lithin’ reawnd mi yed an’ face. T’chap geet howd o’th’ leet as soon as he could, for he’d ta’en care t’tak’ that up chimney wi’ him, though aw wondered mony a toime heaw it wur ut id did not go eawt, he went at sich a rate, an’ went o lookin’ at th’ lad; but he’r noan hauve so ill brunt as we lipp’nt on. He ailed no mitch o’ nowt, missin’ he’d gett’n t’yure sweeled off his yed. That chap ut skryked an’ made sich a noise o’er his woife an’ seven childer hadn’t a scratch on him, nowt nobbut a basket ud fown on him. Ther wur one or two on um had bits o’ nicks i’ ther yeds, but they wurn’t o’ mich consequence. Aw soon fun it eawt i’th’ whole ther a deol moor feartness an’ soot sturrin’ than owt else, so aw axt one o’th’ fellies to go wi’ me to th’ pump an’ pump o mi yed a whoile to see if it fotch ony o’th’ treacle eawt. He did abeawt a quarther ov an heawr at it, an’ aw washed mi as weel as ever aw could after, an’ tidied misel up. Aw then went into th’ heawse for mi poke an’ boards an’ cap, for aw wanted sadly t’be goin’ to’rd whoam. Th’ heawse wur soided up a bit when aw geet in agen, an’ aw coom off an’ left one or two on um makin’ rare game o’er mi treacle hat, an’ that chap havin’ his yed blown oft. Aw moiled on at a stunnin’ rate for toothry fields at fust when aw geet eawt, for aw recollected every turn ut londlady had towd me on as weel as owt. Various lones wur gone through at th’ same rate, till aw coom to one, a very narrow un, ut wur thickly studded wi’ trees ov either side. It favoured made o’ purpose for deeds o’ darkness. Aw’d happen getten twenty yard deawn it, when three men catch howd o’ me, deawn wi’ mi on to th’floor, an’ swore if aw didno’ give um o mi cut brass they’d tak mi loife. Aw hesitated, till one on um poo’d his knife eawt an’ wur puttin’ it to’rd mi throat. That quickened me, heawever. Aw towd um if they’d let me ger up aw’d give um every hawpenny aw had on me. They leet me ger up wi that promise, an’ aw gan um mi brass, what bit aw had left, for t’knife wur never ta’en away fro’ mi throat till aw had done. Aw took as mitch notice on um as ever aw could whoile they’rn doin’ it, an’ seed they’rn t’same chaps ut went eawt o’ that aleheawse. They’rn lettin’ mi goo when aw’d gin it um, till that chap ut ud drawn his knife towd um t’stick to me till he’d stricken a leet an’ ceawnted heaw mitch tho wur, addin’ ut cuts used comin’ to somewheor near two peawnd, an if tho wurnt abeawt that sum aw must never see dayleet agen. By go! aw fair wakkert when aw yerd that. Nobbut imagine, Bill, a chap beant lose his life o bekose he hasn’t enough brass t’be robbed on. Aw thowt it wur hee toime t’be lookin’ abeawt an’ see if ther no way of escape. Neaw they’d nobbut howd o’ mi poke, wi’ bein’ so eager to watch him ceawnt mi brass, an’ aw’d nowt at o in it nobbut mi boards, for what bit o’th shute aw’d gett’n wur i’mi jacket pocket. He’d stricken a leet, wur just agate o’ ceawntin’ it, when aw’ slipped fro’ under mi poke, an’ away aw went deawn th’ lone pell mell. Aw soon geet stopped at that, heawever, for ther some moor on um waitin’ on me at botham, chance aw should o gone another road. They bawlt eawt for um t’stop me, in a voice loike thunner, but aw hadn’t sense t’let um. When aw yerd um comin’ aw beawnced o’er th’ doitch into th’ fields, an’ ran for mi life, as sayin’ is – tumblin’ deawn doitches an’ o’er hillocks, tearin’ through brambles an’ rushin’ through pitsteads, moilin o’er ploughed fields an’ through dingles, an’ not unfrequently leetin’ clatter-a-lunk in a puddle hole. Nevertheless, aw kept on through thick an’ thin wickthorn an’ withy, copse an’ grove, bog an’ fen, marsh an’ swamp, th’ voices an’ th’ oaths o mi pursuers gradually goin’ fainter an’ fainter, till at last they deed away entirely; an’ as everythin’ comes to an end i’ toime, so at last aw stopped runnin’, but not before aw’d lost mi cap, an mi breeches an’ jacket wurn o i’ ribbins, mi honds an’ face scratched to pieces an’ full o’ thorns; an’ even that wur preferable to havin’ mi throat cut, if aw had gett’n robbed of o mi cut brass. Aw jogged on o’er th’ fields to’rds whoam as fast as t’ darkness o’ t’neet an’ mi want o’ puff ud let me, till aw geet i’th’ seet of a lantern or summut ut favoured one, an’ strange to say aw dunnot know ut aw felt so very weel pleost at seein’ it, though aw did put on extra speed to catch it, thinkin’ if aw couldn’t have company aw could happen get towd wheor aw wur. But id didno’ matter heaw fast aw went this leet keep bein’ t’ same disatnce afore me. Aw tried runnin’, but it ran too; it must do, for aw never geet no nar it, shus heaw fast aw went. Then aw tried stoppin’, it kept bein’ t’same distance, not an inch it stirred whoile aw’r still. Aw tried sheawtin’ th’ next – o’th’ onsur aw geet wur fro’ th’ moanin’ wint i’th’ trees. Aw went forrud then, an’ thowt aw’d harken whether it had ony feet or not. O wur as still as deoth i’ that respect. Ceawcht to watch which road it walked, but it had no legs ut aw could see on, still it kept movin’ as aw did as naturally as owt. After these attempts to foind eawt what it wur, an’ aw failed, aw started o’ goin’ feart. Aw could feel mi yure begin t’ston upo’ mi yed, an’ mi blood freeze i’ mi veins, an irresistible tremor seize mi whole frame, whoile t’darkness o’t’ neet, an’ t’loneliness o’th’ pleck darted through mi brains wi’ fearful distinctness. Heaw long aw stood o that’ns, transfixed wi’ icy horror, aw dunnot know, but a bigger blast o’ wint nor common rous’d me eawt on’t at last, an’ aw turned back, thinkin’ aw’d go sideway o’ this leet when aw’d gett’n abeawt a field off. But what wur mi astonishment when aw seed it followed me as naturally when aw went back as it went before me when aw walked forrud. That made me fearter an’ fearter. But it wur no toime for goin’ i’ fits. Courage started o risin’ fro’ despair. Aw seed it wur hee toime to resolve upon some expedient ut ud extricate misel’ fro’ mi present position if possible. Skrikin’ murder aw didn’t like thowts on. Goin’ back wur no use. Theorfore aw set off resolutely forrud, determined to keep mi een as wide oppen as possible, an’ trust to Providence. Aw went on a whoile o that’ns, it sailin’ through o’th’ gapstids as nice as a button, an me followin’, till at last it led me – wheeor does think, Bill?
Bill: Aw connot tell, aw’m sure.
Dick: Slap up to th’ neck in a regular deep pit. Aw should o bin o’er th’ yed in a minnet if aw hadn’t had presence o’ moind to turn me reawnd an’ catch howd o’ some brash ut growd at side, an’ drag misel’ eawt by it.
Bill: Wheor wur t’leet then?
Dick: Why, to tell thee t’truth, aw never lookt. But aw darsay if aw had o’ done it’r ceawered at tother side t’pit grinnin’ an loffin’, for it wur auvish enouf for owt. Aw’d had enouf o’ it tricks.
Bill: It’r a wonder an’ a hauve theaw’r noan drowned.
Dick: It’r nowt else. But it’s an owd sayin’ ut nobody dees afore ther toime’s com’, an’ aw believe ther is some truth in it, though t’job on’t is folk dunnot loike believin’ toim’s com’ when it really is; that’s what maks ther be so mitch useless brass spent i’ doct’rin’. But to mi tale. When aw’d gett’n eawt aw went as far sideway o’th pit as ever aw could; an’ as luck ud hav it, t’ neet started o’ clearin’ up a bit, an’ t’moon risin’, that enabl’t me to find misel’ just at side o’th’ White Moss, an’ aw’r noan so lung afore aw’r a whoam after that.
Bill: Well, an’ whatever did yo’r folk say to thee?
Dick: Why, aw geet off a deuced seet better than aw expected. Wi’ it bein’ so late, they never lippent but aw should be walkin’ i’th’ heawse every minnet beawt yed. Aw wur better than that. An’ neaw, Bill, aw’ll tell thee heaw it wur ut aw never towd nobody o’er getting’ mi pockets pickt. Theaw knows what wark aw’ve had to mak to get t’goo wi’ yon woman o’ mine, an’ heaw ill her parents are agen me.
Bill: Aw think aw do.
Dick: Well, theaw sees it ud just o’ done for um t’jaw her o’er, an’ tell her heaw slow aw wur. So as thoose three chaps had robbed me, aw thowt aw met as weel say the’d ta’en it o, for they would have done shus heaw mitch aw’d had. Yer thee, Bill, what the dule toim’s yon?
Bill: Four o’clock.
Dick: Eh, we’s boath get turnt eawt o’th’ dur ut same day us mi tale’s finished.
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