A Wholesale Kessunin’ Dooment at Torrington by Samuel Laycock
This tale by Sam Laycock is beautifully told. It describes how a vicar at Torrington (the whereabouts of, I do not know) offered to baptise a number of un-Christened children without charge. Many of the villagers were unfamiliar with church procedures, which caused some gaffs, and afterwards everyone went and got 'jolly well drunk', and managed to mix up the babies! Now enjoy the story, and the nature of its telling! In case of difficulty with the language, try consulting the Glossary.
“Whatever is ther’ to do neaw, aw wonder,” said owd Matty Fletcher, as hoo stood wi’ her hons on her hips, starin’ i’th direction o’th’ village church, where a lot o’ folk had collected together. “Ther’s summat moor nor common, or ther’d never be o yond sturrin.”
It wur a foine frosty winter’s day when these words wur uttered: th’ sun shone splendidly upo’ th’ hillsides, makin’ ’em look as iv they’d bin weshed o’er wi’ gowd. Th’ greawnd looked so warm ’at aw believe one met ha’ baked fatcakes on it, if it hadn’t bin ’at King Frost had bin th’ neet afore, an’ spread a lot o’ cowd white stuff o’er it. Th’ sparrows wur hoppin’ abeawt fro’ twig to twig, an’ th’ little robin redbreasts poppin’ the’r yeads into th’ cottages an’ lookin’ sensible enough to ax th’ occupants to send ’em a honfull o’ crum’s eawt. Th’ cattle wur breawsin’ i’th’ meadows, an pigs gruntin’ i’ the’r cotes. Th’ poultry i’th’ farmyards wur amusin’ the’rsel’s i’ different ways; some wur eightin’, an’ others wur feightin’. Aw believe there wur a cricket or two makin’ the’r noise abeawt owd Gronny Gregory’s foyar place, but aw dunnot feel quiet certain abeawt this, so cannot speak positively. Here an’ theer met be seen a toathry flees maunderin’ abeawt, but they wurn’t hawve as wick, nor nowt near so numerous, as they are i’ owd Durty Molly’s ’atin’ heawse i’th’ middle o’ July. Ther’ met ha’ bin a few snails trailin’ abeawt i’th’ cellars, or a lot o’ grubs abeawt th’ cabbages i’th’ garden, for owt at aw know to th’ contrary; for aw didn’t feel to care so mich abeawt it as to mak’ ony inquiries. But one thing aw know, heawever, an’ that is, ’at church bells o’ Torrington wur ringin’ reet merrily that mornin’, as iv they wished to tell th’ villagers ther’ wur summat grand goin’ to com’ off.
Happenin’ to be i’th’ village at this time, aw began to inquire what ther’ wur to do. Some o’th’ owder lads ‘at wur stondin’ at a street corner said it wur th’ church bell, an’ it wur ringin’ becose it wur poncake Tuesday. Heawever, it appears ’at a week or two afore th’ toime ’at aw’m speakin’ on, th’ parson o’th’ church had bin reawnd th’ nayburhood, an’ foindin’ ’at ther’ wur a lot o’ childer ’at had never bin kessunt, he towd th’r parents ’at if they’d tak’ ’em to th’ church on a certain day he’d kessun ’em o for nowt, an’ it appears ’at this wur th’ day ’at he’d fixed on. Theere they wur, – men, women, an’ childer gathered reawnd th’ church till it looked moor loike a rushbearin’ nor a religious ceremony.
The’ wur Daff wi’ his concertina,
An’ Dorothy wi’ her choilt;
An, eh! it wur some pratty,
Altho’ a troifle spoilt.
Ther’ wur Darron Bill among ’em,
An’ th’ woife in a bran’ new geawn;
An’ choilt wi’ a spank new frock on,
Wi’ tucks in it hawve road deawn.
Well, next coom Tom-o’Mary’s
An’ th’ woife – a charmin’ pair!–
An’ they’d wi’ ’em two foine childer,
Real chucks, aw do declare!
An’ th’ next wur a chap fro’ Canrow;
Aw think they co’ him Jim;
He’s a noted breek for squintin’,
An’ th’ woife’s as good as him.
These browt three whoppin’ childer,
An’ had ’em kessunt too;
Said Jim to th’ woife at after,
“Wurn’t this a rare chep do?”
“Ah, ah, it wur,” said Betty,
“But, Jim, thee howd thi tongue;
Iv ever we mun save owt,
It mun be whoile we’r young.”
“Well, well,” said Jim to Betty,
“That’s reet enough, but come,
Let’s buy some sweets for th’ childer,
An’ then be trudgin’ whoam.”
“Stop a bit,” said Betty, “th’ parson hasn’t done yet, mon. Ther’s Ned-o’-Jim’s lad to do, an’ Bill-o’-Molly’s, an’ Jim-o’-Robin’s, an’ another or two besides.” Well, they wurn’t lung afore they geet this business noicely o’er, but ther’ wur some rare laughin’ o’er it aw con tell yo’. Ther’ wur one couple stood afore th’ parson ’at didn’t seem so mich accustomed to that mak’ o’ wark, for when his reverence held his honds for th’ choilt, th’ mother on’t turned it o’er to him heels first. Eh! but ther a bonny titter i’ that hole! But th’ parson took it o i’ good part. Aw thowt aw seed him laughin’ a toime or two, an’ no wonder, for some on ’em wur so very wooden. Aw could ha’ done better misel, aw know. Yo’ would ha’ laughed iv yo’d yeard th’ childer when th’ parson wur puttin’ wayter on the’r faces. They sung eawt till yo’ couldn’t yer a word ’at wur said. Heawever, they managed to get thro’ this nomony someheaw, an’ th’ clerk finished up wi’ sheawtin’ “Amen.”
Everyone wur eawt o’ that church i’ quicksticks, an’ when they’d getten noicely into th’ street they held a bit ov a ceawncil where they mun put up at. They agreed to go to th’ “Jolly Printers,” an’ have a sope o’ the’r seawr rum just to warm the’r throttles wi’, an’ they wurn’t so very lung afore some on ’em begun to be rather jolly, while other some thowt it wur toime to be trudgin’ tort whoam. Before doin’ so, heawever, they collected some brass among ’em, an’ bowt some ale, which they put in a bottle to drink on th’ road. Havin’ filled a bottle wi’ black creom, they set off eawt o’th’ village to wheer they lived, wheer they soon londed, as it wur no so far off.
When they geet theer, some on ’em wanted to go to th’ “Frozen Mop,” an’ keep th’ kessunin’ up a bit lunger, but others on ’em said ’at a mop wur no place for folk to stick the’r yeads in ’at wanted to be comfortable. Ned-o’-Jim’s said ’at they’d a besom at the’r heawse ’at he’d back ogen ony mop they could foind i’ that quarter, so that settled th’ matter at once, an’ they o agreed to go to Mary-o-Tommy’s, fro’ Tom Nook, an’ spend th’ neet eawt theer.
When they geet to owd Mary’s, they began to poo the’r brass an’ the’r bottles eawt, an’ shapin’ for havin’ a jolly good spree. One owd chap said iv they’d o be ov his moind, they’d ha’ some gradely owd fashunt drink, some ’at wouldn’t tremble i’th’ bag, but ston it greawnd. So it wur agreed on ’at they should send to th’ “Mop” for a sope o breawn steawt. Well, this coom, an’ wur soon made warm an’ gradely good, an’ directly they wur sarvin’ it reawnd, an’ th’ neet passed o’er very comfortably.
At last what wi’ drinkin’, singin’, an’ doancin’, some on ’em began to get rayther sleepy, an’ one or two on ’em wauted reet o’er i’th’ owd woman’s heawse, an’ th’ little childer wur lyin’, some i’ one corner an’ some in another. Inneaw ther’ wur one mon, ’at seemed to ha’ bin doin’ a tidy business wi’ John Barleycorn, tho’ he didn’t seem to ha’ made sich a good bargain, bethowt him he’d go whoam, an’ seein’ ’at the’r Betty wur rather flusht i’th’ face, he thowt he’d better tak’ th’ choilt wi’ him, which he did, an’ they wur soon i’bed. Th’ woife wurn’t lung afore hoo missed him, an’ concludin’ in her moind ’at he must ha’ gone whoam, hoo nips up a choilt an’ off hoo gooas; not knowin’ ’at her husband had ta’en one an’ o. Hoo geet into bed as quietly as hoo could, an’ o went on reet enough till mornin’.
When they wackened, heawever, they wur some surprised at seein’ two childer i’ bed. “Heaw’s this,” said Bill, “’at we’n getten two childer i’ bed? Who’as choilt has ta browt wi’ thee Betty?” “Whoy, aw’ve browt eawr own choilt, to be sure. Theaw must ha’ browt someb’dy’s else. But heawever, let’s see which has browt th’ reet un, an’ which has browt th’ wrong un.” So after makin’ th’ examination, Betty said, “By th’ mass, Bill, we’re booath on us wrung this toime, for they noather on ’em belong to us, aw do declare!” “Well,” said Bill, “we mun mak’ th’ best on’t, an’ say nowt abeawt it, for ther’ll be a bonny bother, ther’ will for sure! Away wi’ thi deawn th’ lone, Betty, an’ see iv theaw con yer owt o’ onybody bein’ beawt choilt, or onybody havin’ a wrung un.”
So away went Betty deawn th’ lone, but foindin’ o very quiet, hoo turned her face tort whoam ogen; but hadn’t gone fur afore hoo met another on th’ look eawt. “Well, Betty, lass, what’s to do as theaw’s sturrin’ so soon this mornin’?” “Oh, nowt,” said Betty, “nobbut aw thowt aw’d have a bit ov a walk as it’s a foine mornin’, an’ see iv o wur reet after these kessunin’s.” “Reet!” said th’ woman, “theaw’ll yer such a row i’ this lone as theaw never yeard afore, aw con tell thi.” “Well, whatever is the’r to do?” said Betty, “Do! It’ll be a country’s talk, this will. Sithee, aw wouldn’t ha’ been mixed up wi’ that lot iv aw’d known, nowe, not for summat! Theaw knows that chap ’at skens? Well, his woife lost her choilt, an’ conno foind it nowheer; they’d bin up an’ deawn o neet seechin’ it, but wheer they are neaw aw conno’ tell. Ther’s bin weary wark o’er it aw con assure thi. Well then, to mak’ things wur, somebody’s ta’en o th’ best kessunin’ things off Ponto’s choilt, an’ put it some other things on ’at aren’t hawve as good as it own. It’s bonny wark for sure, when one connot have a bit ov a kessunin’ doo, but they mun go an’ rob one another o’ the’r bits o’ clooas, an’ th’ choilt lost in th’ bargain.” “Well,” said Betty, “let’s hope ’at they’ll foind the’r choilt; as for th’ bits o’ clooas, they winno’ matter so very mich. But aw mun be goin’ an’ seein’ abeawt gerrin’ th’ childer the’r bre’kfasts ready, an’ then gerrin’ ’em off to th’ schoo’..” So they bade one another “Good mornin’,” an’ parted.
After th’ bre’kfasts wur o’er, an’ th’ husbands had getten to the’r wark, th’ women began to meet together an’ talk matters o’er. So th’ woman ’at had lost her choilt wur sent for, an’ very ill off hoo wur, yo’ may be sure. Heawever, owd Molly seemed to think o ud be made reet ogen, for hoo said ’at hoo could recollect bein’ at a kessunin’ when hoo wur young, an’ it took ’em three week’ afore they o geet the’r own childer an’ th’ clooas reeted. But th’ woman wanted to know what plan could be adopted tort foindin’ th’ choilt, for her husband swore he’d very nee kill her if it wur no’ fund when he coom whoam at neet.
So we axed th’ owd woman to put her wits to wark, an’ hoo made a proposition ’at every one ’at had had the’r childer kessunt must meet that very day at one o’clock, an’ bring the’r childer donned i’ the’r kessunin’ clooas, just as they wur th’ neet afore, an’ those ’at wurn’t theer at th’ toime must be foined a shillin’, to be spent among th’ company. So they o agreed to this. When toime for meetin’ coom they wur o middlin’ punctual except th’ woman ’at wur beawt choilt, an’ Betty. Heawever, these two coom directly after, an’ a bonny way Betty wur in. Hoo browt one o’th’ childer, an’ t’other hoo left awhoam.
Well, they began to examine these childer, an’ hadn’t bin agate long afore Ponto bawled eawt, “Thoose are my choilt’s clooas, chus heaw.” “Well, then,” said th’ owd woman, “yo’d better examine th’ choilt, an’ see iv that’s you’rs an’ o.” So they looked at it, an’ turned it o’er a toime or two, an’ it proved to be her choilt, an’ that ’at hoo had belonged to Betty. So those two geet reeted, an’ Betty off whoam wi’ hers, an’ said hoo’d be back i’ toathry minutes, which hoo wur, an’ browt t’other choilt wi’ her. Th’ woman ’at wur beawt choilt wur ceawer’t theer lamentin’ above a bit, so Betty, when hoo coom in, crommed th’ choilt deawn into a caythur they had i’th’ heaws, as iv nowt wur. Th’ women wur o gabberin’ an’ talkin’ ov a lump, an’ took no notice o’ noather Betty nor th’ choilt. So after sendin’ for a sope moor comfortin’ cordial, they supp’t reawnd, an’ had this for th’ toast, “May th’ poor woman’s choilt soon be found ogen.” Directly after this toast wur drunk (an’ it looks queer to me ’at they should drink toast, as they used to ate it when aw wur a lad an’ drink tay) – but, as aw wur sayin’, they began to get merry, an’ this helped to some extent to droive th’ woman’s sorrow away, an’ hoo seemed for a toime to forget o abeawt her choilt.
Heawever, th’ owd woman as wur th’ cheermon proposed havin’ another look reawnd to see if they could meet wi’ this lost choilt. So they o geet up to go a lookin’, but Betty managed to keep beheend a bit, an’ when they’d o getten noicley eawtside, hoo bawled eawt, “Eh, aw say, some on yo’s leavin’ yo’re choilt agen!” On yerrin’ this they o stood stock still, an’ began to stare at one another. Well, they everyone declared they’d the’r own childer wi’ ’em, an’ Betty said her’s wur awhoam. So they agreed to go back an’ see what ther; wur. Th’ woman ’at had lost her choilt said hoo’d have a look an’ see iv it wur her’s, so hoo went back i’th’ heawse, an’ theer lay afore her i’th’ caythur, “as snug as a button!” her own dearly beloved duck-a-darlin’. Hoo had howd on it i’ hawve a snifter, an’ pressed it to her bussom as if it had been missin’ a week. “Th’ choilt’s mine,” hoo said, “an’ neaw aw’m as reet as a wooden clock.”
“Well, come,” said one on ‘em, “as th’ childer an’ th’ clooas are o getten reeted, we conno do less nor send for a thimbleful o’th’ owd sort.” So they scraped up a bit o’ brass among ’em, an’ sent for some moor drink, an’ o went on as merrily as could be, an’ they’d as good a spree on th’ second day as they had o’th’ furst. One o’th’ women sung a song ’at hoo said hoo’d made afore hoo coom.
Here it is:–
One winter’s day ther’ coom this way
A parson noan beawt thowt;
An’ foindin’ some childer unkessunt i’th’ place,
He promised to do ’em for nowt.
So thinkin’ this fair, ther’ wur lots on us theer,
An’ some rare cracks o’ laughin’ we had;
For th’ blunderin’ wark ’at some on us made
Wur really past tellin’ for bad.
One felly stood theer wi’ his billycock on:
But this case wur noan one o’th’ worst,
For another, when hondin’ to th’ parson her choilt,
Hoo gan it him th’ wrung eend first!
Eh, dear! But ther’ wur some rare titterin’, too,
But th’owd parson he let ’em a-be;
He knew what a lot o’ rum covies we wur,
An’ he cared nowt abeawt it, not he!
When we’d getten ’em kessunt, we o left th’ church,
An’ had a short meetin’ i’th’ street,
Wheer we clubbed up among us a foine lump o’ brass,
An’ what do you think we did wi’t?
We sent to owd Skeawter’s at th’ four lone eends,
For a sope o’ the’r best seawr rum,
An’ as true as aw’m here, afore ten o’clock,
We’rn o on us fuddled, by gum! Well, this pleased ’em rarely, you may be sure, an’ th’ owd woman’s heawse fairly rung ogen wi’ th’ noise they made. But it wur gettin’ toime to break up, which they did very soon after, an’ they o geet safe whoam. When th’ husbands fun’ it eawt ’at they’d getten o things reet an’ square ogen, they agreed to have another jollification, an’ they kept at it till th’ clock fingers wur booath straight up. When they begun o’ shapin’ for goin’ whoam, th’ husbands declared ther’ should be no mishaps that neet, for they’d tak’ care o’th’ childer the’rsels, an’ th’ wives met follow after.
This wur done, an’ they o managed to get whoam safe an’ seawnd, wi’ the’r own clooas an’ the’r own childer. Neaw this shows ’at ther’s bin great an’ important improvements i’ kessunin’ dooments sin’ th’ owd woman wur young, when it took ’em three week’ to get the’r childer an’ the’r clooas reet ogen. Neaw, yo’ seen, it’s done i’ two days. Th’ husbands sen at th’ next kessunin’ doo they had they’ll ha’ th’ childer gradely marked wi’ big letters i’ blue an’ red, so ’at they con everyone know the’r own, an’ then ther’ll be noan o’ this mak’ o’ bother no moor, some takin’ th’ wrung childer, an’ others being laft beawt. So neaw o seems to be getten reet an’ straight ogen, but iv aw should happen to yer owt ony moor abeawt these kessunin’s aw’ll try to let yo’ know abeawt it at some other toime. “Adoo!” as poor Artemus Ward says,
Kind readers an’ hearers, adoo;
Aw dar’ say yo’re getten weel toyart
For one toime, well, so am I, too.
From ‘The Collected Writings of Samuel Laycock’, second edition, issued 1908. Published in Oldham by W. E. Clegg, in London by Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Ltd., and in Manchester by John Heywood Ltd. and Abel Heywood & Son.