Chapter II: Preface (2)

The Lancashire artizan, like others in higher station who should, but do not always, set him a better example, is prone to the occasional use of an oath, generally a petty oath, to emphasize his speech. It is an objectionable habit, doubtless, even when no irreverence is intended. Curiously enough, instead of being employed to express aversion to the object to which it is applied, the expletive is often used as a term of endearment. For example, we sometimes hear the expression: "He's a clever little devil!" applied by a father in admiration of the budding intelligence of his own little boy. An anecdote will best exhibit this peculiar turn of speech.

Some time ago, I had occasion to stay at Stalybridge over night, and after dinner I left my hotel and took a turn along one of the streets leading towards the outskirts of the town. It was a fine evening and the lamps were lighted. At a short distance before me I observed three working men, as I judged by their speech and gait, dressed in their best black toggery, and with each a tall silk hat on his head. Evidently they were returning from a funeral. They were stepping leisurely along, and, as I neared them from behind, I overheard part of their conversation. One of them, as he approached a lamp post, took his hat off, and began expatiating to the others on its quality.

"Ay," he said, holding the hat at arm's length that it might catch the rays from the gas lamp overhead, "Ay, aw guv ten bob for this when it wur new!" (looking at his two friends to note if they expressed surprise and admiration), "that's mooar than ten years sin'. Ay" (stroking it with his arm and again admiringly holding it out till it twinkled in the lamp rays), "Ay, an' th' devul shines like a raven yet!"

Another incident in illustration of the same peculiarity is said to have occurred in the experience of a well-known actor, who, with his company, while starring it in the provinces, was playing for a few nights at Wigan. During the daytime Mr ---- took a turn into the country, and, feeling tired with his walk, called to rest and refresh at a way-side "Public." As he entered the hostelry he observed in the sanded drinking room to the left of the passage, two colliers sitting each with a pot of ale before him on the table. So, instead of taking the room to the right, which was the more luxurious parlour fitted for guests of his quality, he turned into that where the colliers sat conversing, hoping, as he was a student of human nature, to add something to his store of observation in that respect. He was not disappointed.

One of the men was evidently overcome with grief at some mischance that had befallen him. It turned out that he had just lost by death a favourite son of tender years to whom he had been fondly attached. The sorrowing parent leaned with his elbows on the table; and occasionally stroking his forehead with his hands, or resting his chin upon them, he would look vacantly into space and sigh deeply. His friend was endeavouring to comfort him.

"It's hard to bear, aw know, Jack; but cheer up, mon, an' ma' th' best ov a bad job."

"Ah! he wur a fine little lad wur our Jamie! It breaks mi heart to part wi' him."

"That's true enough, Jack," responded his companion. "But, what mon! he's goown and tha connot mend it! Cheer up and do th' best tha con."

"Ay, ay, aw connot mend it. That's th' misfortun on't. But he wur a rare bit of a lad wur our Jim!"

"Well, come, bear't as weel as tha con," patting his friend on the shoulder. "We's o' ha' to dee some time, keep thi heart up an' ma' th' best on't. Tha knows tha connot bring 'im back."

The other buried his face in his hands and remained silent for a time. Then, suddenly stretching himself up, he struck his hard fist on the table as he exclaimed:

"Aw tell thi what, Sam. If it wurn't for th' law, aw'd ha' th' little devul stuffed!"

* * * * *

The Rifle Volunteer movement, with its excellent motto, "Defence, not Defiance," has stood the test of time, having proved itself to be not only an ornamental but a useful and even necessary arm of defence, where, in this free country, a levy by conscription would not be tolerated. In its earlier stages, however, it encountered much opposition from many persons, who treated it with ridicule, and took every opportunity of speaking contemptuously of the "Saturday afternoon soldiers." This is well illustrated in a good story told by the late Mr John Bright. Speaking to an old fellow-townsman in Rochdale about the movement at the time of its inception, when corps were being formed throughout the country and enrolment was proceeding briskly:

"Yea," said the old Lancashire man to Mr Bright, "I always knew there wur a lot o' foo's i' this world, but I never knew how to pyke 'em out before!"

Mr Bright himself had a fund of Lancashire humour which came out at times in his speeches. He was also quick at repartee, not always without a touch of acrimony. On one occasion when he was dining with a well-known Manchester citizen the conversation turned on the subject of the growth and development of the United States.

"I should like," said his host, who is an enthusiastic admirer of the great Republic, "I should like to come back fifty years after my death to see what a fine country America has become.'"

"I believe you will be glad of any excuse to come back," was Mr Bright's wicked remark.

One of Disraeli's admirers, in speaking of him to Mr Bright, said:

"You ought to give him credit for what he has accomplished, as he is a self-made man."

"I know he is," retorted Mr Bright, "and he adores his maker."

* * * * *

In a recent number of the _Spectator_, a writer remarks that "after reading the drawn-out platitudes of some politicians, how refreshing it is to find that 'a voice' in the gallery so often puts the whole case in a nutshell, and performs for the audience and the country what the orator was unable to do."[7] The remark is much to the point. Political meetings are often the occasion of a good deal of spontaneous wit or humour on the part of the audience. A Lancashire audience excels in repartee at such gatherings, and when the speaker of the moment is himself good at the game, the encounter is provocative of mirth.

[7] "The Use and Abuse of Epigram," _Spectator_, Nov. 4th, 1899.

Sir William Bailey gives what he asserts is an unfailing recipe for silencing a hesitating and tiresome speaker. This is for a person in the audience to shout at the moment of one of the orator's pauses: "Thou'rt short o' bobbins!" The roar of laughter which follows this sally effectually covers the orator with ridicule, and any attempt on his part to take up the thread of his discourse is useless. The reference to "bobbins" is well understood by a Lancashire audience. The spinning frames in the cotton factories are fed from bobbins filled with roved cotton, and when these fail from any cause the machinery has to stand.

On the other hand, the worthy knight himself silenced a noisy and persistent meeting-disturber in a very effective way. Sir William, in the course of delivering a political speech was greatly annoyed by a person in front of the platform uttering noisy ejaculations with the object of interrupting the argument. As it happened, the fellow had an enormous mouth, as well as an unruly tongue and great strength of lungs. Sir William, suddenly stopping and pointing with his finger at the disturber, exclaimed: "If that man with the big mouth doesn't keep it shut, I'll jump down his throat--aw con do!" at the same time setting himself as if to take a spring. This had the desired effect and he continued his speech without further interruption. The real fun was in the final three words: "Aw con do!" The threat of jumping down the fellow's throat was not a mere idle threat; his mouth was big enough to allow of the threat being carried out.

* * * * *

At election times some of the drollest questions are put to the candidates in the "heckling" that takes place after the speech, where the audience is allowed to interrogate the aspirant for parliamentary honours. The following occurred in my own experience. A Socialist candidate was stumping a wide outlying division in North-East Lancashire, and in the course of a stirring address in the village school-room he expatiated on the heavy cost with which, as he asserted, the country was saddled in the up-keeping of royalty. Amongst other items of expenditure he enumerated the number of horses that had to be maintained for the royal use, and made a calculation of the huge quantity of oats, beans, hay and other fodder which the animals consumed every week throughout the year, with the heavy cost which these entailed, and he concluded by pathetically pointing out how many working men's families might be maintained in comfort with the money.

Questions being invited, an old farmer, who had been intently listening to the harangue, rose and said:

"Maister Chairman, aw have been very much interested wi' the speech o' th' candidate, and mooar especially wi' that part on't where he towd us abeaut th' royal horses, an' th' greyt quantity ov oats, beans and hay ut they aiten every week, an' th' heavy taxes we han to pay for th' uphowd o' thoose. But there's one thing, maister Chairman, ut he has missed out o' his speech, an' aw wish to put a question: Aw wud like if th' candidate wod now tell us heaw much they gettin every week for th' horse mook!"

Whether the question was put ironically or in sober earnest it is difficult to say, for the questioner maintained the gravity of a judge even in the midst of the roar of laughter that ensued. Probably he was quite in earnest, and considered that the "tale" was not complete until credit had been given on the other side of the account for the residual product.

During the Home-Secretaryship of the Right Hon. Sir Richard (now Lord) Cross, the mode of executing criminals was widely discussed in the newspapers, and created some considerable difference of opinion. At one of his election meetings in South-West Lancashire, a person in the audience asked leave to say a word, and convulsed the meeting by putting this question: "Aw want to know," he said, "an' aw could like to have a straight answer: is the honourable candidate in favour of a six-foot drop?"

* * * * *

A Member, representing one of the Lancashire divisions, who had for some reason or other made himself unpopular with his constituents, was seeking a renewal of their confidence at the general election. He was giving an account of his stewardship at a crowded meeting, pointing out how he had devoted his time to the interests of the division; how he had attended to his Parliamentary duties during the long session, _sitting up_ night after night recording his votes, when he was interrupted in his harangue by "A voice from the gallery":

"We'll _ma'_ thae _sit up_, devil, before we ha' done wi' thae!"

* * * * *

Another M.P., dilating on the services he had rendered to "the Borough which he had the honour to represent," asked, with a flourish of his arms towards the assembled electors and non-electors, "Now, what do you think your Member has recently been doing in London?"

"Aye! there's no telling!" was the response of an honest dame, suspiciously shaking her head as she sat near to the platform listening to the orator.

* * * * *

Barristers, as becomes their calling, are usually sharp-witted and often sharp-tongued. At the recent general election the candidates in the Eccles (Lancashire) division were Mr O. Leigh Clare, Q.C., Conservative, and Mr J. Pease Fry, Liberal. Mr Clare had finished addressing one of his meetings when an elector rose and put the following conundrum: "Mr Fry at his meeting last night stated that Mr Chamberlain was the cause of the Boer War, and Dr Quayle, one of his supporters, declared that the war might have been averted by a little careful diplomacy; will the Conservative candidate give us his opinion on the statements of these two gentlemen?"

"Yes," was Mr Leigh Clare's reply, "I shall be only too happy. In my opinion Dr Quayle should be left to Fry, and Mr Fry should be left to Quayle!" Judging by the manner in which the sally was received by the meeting, the answer was eminently satisfactory.

* * * * *

The Lancashire dialect occasionally finds its way into the British Houses of Parliament to point a moral or adorn a tale. Recently Mr Duckworth, M.P. for Middleton, told with effect the anecdote about Sam Brooks, and his advice to his brother John, on the latter being asked to stand as a City Councillor.[8]

[8] _Post_, page 94.

Lord Derby ("the Rupert of debate"), many years before, related the following story in the House, greatly to the amusement of their lordships. In the neighbourhood of Rochdale a big, hulking collier had an extremely diminutive wife, who, it was currently reported, was in the habit of thrashing her husband.

"John," said his master to him one day, "they really say that your wife beats you. Is it true?"

"Ay, aw believe it is," drawled John, with provoking coolness.

"Ay! you believe it is!" responded the master; "what do you mean, you lout? A great thumping fellow like you, as strong as an elephant, to let a little woman like your wife thrash you?"

"Whaw," was the patient answer, "it ple-ases hur, maister, an' it does me no hurt!"

* * * * *

Lancashire humour, though hilarious, is largely unconscious. The unconsciousness resting with the originator and the hilarity with the auditory. In this respect it is allied to Irish more than to Scotch humour, the former having a rollicking and blundering quality, the latter being more subdued, pawky, and intentional. The following were not intended as humorous sallies, and, indeed, they are only humorous from the point of view of the intelligent observer or listener; that is to say, the jest's prosperity lay in the ear of him who heard it, not in the tongue of him that made it.

During the recent great strike of the Lancashire colliers, coal was scarce and dear, and those who had anything of a stock in their backyards had to keep an eye on it to prevent its being depleted by hands other than their own. One, more fortunate than his neighbours, had reason to suspect that somebody was helping himself to what wasn't his own--for the reserve of the precious fuel was evidently being tampered with. Accordingly, one night he determined to sit up in the back-kitchen and find out, if possible, whether his suspicions were justified. Shortly he heard a rustling in the coalbunk in the yard, and putting his head half out of the window, which he had left partly open, called out to the depredator:

"You're pykin' 'em out, aw see!"

"Nay, thou'rt a liar, owd mon," was the ready response, "Aw'm ta'en 'em as they come."

The thievish neighbour resented the imputation that he was "picking and choosing" instead of "playing fairation" by taking the small and the cobs together. Clearly he was not lost to _all_ sense of honour. It would hardly have been fair to be picking and choosing under the circumstances. Beggars, much less thieves, have no right to be choosers.

* * * * *

"Owd Sam," a well-known Bury character, was tired of being domiciled in the Workhouse and thought he would try and get a living outside if he could. Passing by the "Derby" he saw Mr Handley, the landlord, standing on the front steps. Seeing Owd Sam coming hobbling up the street:

"Hello!" said Handley, "You're out o' th' Workhouse again, Sam, I see!"

"Ay, maister Handley, aw am for sure, aw'm tiert o' yon shop, an' aw've been round to co' on some o' mi friends, and they've promised to buy me a donkey; but aw'm short of a cart; and, maister Handley, if yo' lend me as much as wod buy me a cart, aw'd pay yo back again as soon as ever aw could; aw want to begin sellin' sond and rubbin' stones, an' things o' that mak, just to mak' a bit ov a livin', fur aw'm gradely tiert o' yon shop."

"Well, well, Sam, but what security can you give me if I lend you the money?"

"Aw just thowt yo'd ax mi that," responded Sam, "an aw've been thinkin' abeawt it, an' aw'll tell yo what aw'll do, maister Handley, if yo'll lend mi th' bit o' brass, _thae shall ha' thi name painted up o' th' cart_."

To fully realise the ludicrous nature of Owd Sam's proposal, it should be noted that Mr Handley was a smart, dapper, well-dressed personage, a man of substance withal, who knew his importance as the landlord of the "Derby," the chief hotel in the town.

* * * * *

A tramp between Bolton and Bury accosted an old stonebreaker by the road side, and asked him how far it was to the latter place.

"There's a milestone down theer, thae con look for thi' sel'," was the reply.

"But aw connot read," pleaded the interrogator.

"Well, then, that milestone 'll just suit thee, owd lad. It has nought on it. Th' reading 's gettin' o' wesht off. Go look for thi' sel'. If thae connot read, that milestone 'll just suit thee."

* * * * *

A would-be "feighter again th' Boers" enlisted in one of the Lancashire regiments, but, before final acceptance, was sent up to undergo medical examination for fitness. Being rejected by the doctor on account of the bad state of his teeth, he expressed his disgust and astonishment by remarking: "Aw thowt as aw'd ha' to shoot th' Boers! aw didn't know as aw'd ha' to worry 'em!"

* * * * *

Socialistic ideas have not taken very deep root among the masses in Lancashire. Such ideas, indeed, were more prevalently discussed ten years ago than they are to-day. Admirable as the propagandism is in many respects, and desirable in every sense as is the amelioration of the lot of working people, there is a tendency to drifting away from the saner precepts of its earnest advocates towards the levelling notions that engage the minds of the more ignorant and unthinking of its disciples. One of these had read, or been told, that if all the wealth of England were divided equally amongst the people, the interest on each person's share would yield an income of thirty shillings a week for life. Our Lancashire Socialist friend, expatiating upon the theme to some of his working-men comrades, began to speculate how he would occupy his spare time when in the enviable position of having thirty shillings per week without working. One thing he would do; he would save something out of his allowance and make a trip by train to London at least once a year to feast his eyes on the sights of the Metropolis. One of the listeners, however, demurred to the views expressed, suggesting that the train would have to be drawn by an engine, that this would require a driver and a stoker; a guard also would be necessary to manage the train, with others to attend to his comfort on arrival at his destination. These would be as little inclined to work, possibly, as himself. This view of the matter had not struck our leveller, but it was now brought home to him. So, after ruminating for a moment, and scratching his head to assist at the solution of the difficulty, he responded: "Well, it seems that _some_ devils would ha' to work, but _aw_ wouldn't!" That chap had evidently made up his mind.

* * * * *

The genuine Lancashire native is noted for his aptness in conveying the idea he wishes to express. Referring to a mild and open winter one of them remarked, speaking to a friend, "I'm a good deal older than thee, Jim, and I've known now and then for a Summer to miss, but I've never known a Winter to miss afore." Another, winding up a wrangle with a relative who possessed more of this world's goods than himself and assumed airs in consequence, said, "We are akin, yo' cannot scrat that out!"[9]

[9] Licet superbus ambules pecunia,
Fortuna non mutat genus.
_Hor. Ep. Carm. IV._

Another, quaintly and cautiously expressing his opinion as to the stage of inebriation reached by his friend, said that "He wasn't exactly drunk, but one or two o' th' glasses he'd had should ha' been left o'er till to-morrow."

* * * * *

To drop the aspirate is a common failing of half-educated Lancashire people (though this special weakness is by no means peculiar to Lancashire folk), and sometimes gives a ludicrous turn to a remark.

Speaking with a working-man friend of mine about the desirability of everyone cultivating some pursuit or hobby outside of one's daily employment: "Ah!" replied my friend, "a man with an 'obby is an 'appy man!" to which sensible expression of opinion I assented with a smile. The same person, curiously enough, would put in the aspirate where it was not required. Looking at the picture of an ancient mansion, he asked: "Is that a hold habbey?" I have even heard a fairly well-educated person speak of the "Hodes of Orrace."

Jack Smith was a well-known Blackburn character in his day. He began life as a quarryman, rose to be a quarrymaster, and became Mayor of his native town. Mr Abram, the historian of Blackburn, relates that "when in February 1869, Justice Willes came down to Blackburn to hear the petition against the return of Messrs Hornby and Fielden at the Parliamentary election in the November preceding, Mayor Smith attained the height of his grandeur and importance. On the morning of the opening of the Court, the room was thronged with counsel, solicitors, witnesses and active politicians interested in the trial on one side or the other. The Mayor, Jack Smith, took his seat on the Bench by the side of Justice Willes, who found the air of the Court rather too close for him. He was seen to say a few words in an undertone to the Mayor, who nodded assent, and rising, shouted in his heavy voice, pointing to the windows at the side of the Court: "Heigh, policemen, hoppen them winders, an' let some hair in." As he reseated himself, Jack added, chidingly, addressing the group of constables in attendance: "Do summat for yor brass!" Few of the audience could resist a laugh at the quaint idiom of the Right Worshipful, and even the Judge's severe features for a moment relaxed into a half smile.

An incident in _Punch_ has reference to the same failing. The Inspector had been visiting a school, in which a Lancashire magnate took great interest, being something of an enthusiast in the educational movement. In commenting upon the progress of the pupils in care of the schoolmistress, the Inspector, on leaving, remarked to the patron of the school:

"It strikes me that teacher of yours retains little or no grasp upon the attention of the children--not hold enough, you know--not hold enough."

"Not _hold_ enough!" exclaimed the magnate in surprise. "Lor' bless yer--if she ever sees forty again, I'll eat my 'at!"

To fully convey the humour of the incident, Charles Keene's picture (for it is one of his) should accompany the recital.

At one of the political meetings of the Eccles division, during the recent general election contest, a working man who occupied the chair, and prodigal of his _aitches_, in introducing Mr O. L. Clare, Q.C., the Conservative candidate, convulsed the audience by strenuously aspirating the two initials of the honourable candidate's name.

* * * * *

Some illiterate men, again, are fond of using or misusing big words. They are content, following the example of Mrs Malaprop, that the sound shall serve just as well as the sense. For example: you will sometimes hear an old gardener remark that the soil wouldn't be any the worse of some "manoeuvre." One that I knew used to talk of "consecrating" the footpaths. He meant concreting.

An old mechanic of my acquaintance, who is learned in the mysteries of steam raising and steam pressure, is wont to dilate on his favourite subject, and will persist in holding forth on what he describes as "Th' expression up o' th' steawm." Truly, a nice "derangement of epitaphs."

The same, speaking of Lord Roberts' generalship in outflanking the Boer armies, remarked, "Ay, he's a surprising mon, for sure, is General Roberts, an' he does it o' wi' his clever tictacs."

And again: "Aw nobbut wish he could get how'd o' owd Krooger, and send him to keep Cronje company at St Helens."

* * * * *

A confusion of ideas sometimes extends to other subjects. Another simple friend of mine, relating the treatment he had been subjected to by a ferocious tramp in a lonely neighbourhood, declared that the would-be highwayman "Clapped a pistol to mi bally, and swore he'd blow mi brains out if aw didn't hand over mi money!" Possibly the thief knew better where his brains lay than my friend did himself.

An equally ludicrous confusion of ideas is shown in the next example. Owd Pooter, the odd man who tidied up the stable yard and pottered about the garden, was troubled with a neighbour's hens getting into the meadow and treading down the young grass. So, speaking to his master one day, he said,

"Maister, I durn't know what we maun do if thoose hens are to keep comin' scratt, scrattin' i' th' meadow when they liken; we'st ha'e no grass woth mentionin."

"Put a notice up," suggested his employer.

"Put a notice up!" responded Pooter, looking as wise as a barn owl. "Eh! maister, if aw _did_ put a notice up there isn't one hen in a hundred as could read it!"

Another hen story is worth relating. A poultry farmer calling on a grocer one day was told by the latter that he must be prepared to give him more than fourteen eggs for a shilling. "The grocers have had a meeting," said his customer, "and they have come to the conclusion that there must be at least sixteen eggs for a shilling." The poultry farmer listened but said nothing. Next time he called he counted out his eggs--sixteen for a shilling--but they were all very small--pullet eggs in fact.

"Hello! what does this mean? How comes it that your eggs are so small?" asked the grocer.

"Well, yo see," was the reply, "th' hens have had a meetin' and they have coom to th' conclusion that they connot lay ony bigger than thur at sixteen for a shillin!" Evidently the shrewd farmer had profited by the knowledge that the animal creation, as Æsop has taught us, can hold converse and come to as sensible decisions as their betters.

The same owd Pooter, already mentioned, being much out of sorts, consulted the doctor on his state of health, who, after hearing his story and making the necessary examination of the patient, recommended him to eat plentifully of _animal food_. Pooter, looking somewhat askance, said he would do his best to follow the doctor's advice, but he feared his "grinders wur noan o' th' best for food o' that mak." "Try it for a week," said the doctor, "and then call and see me again." At the expiration of a week Pooter repeated the visit. "Have you done what I recommended?" asked the physician. "Aw've done mi best," replied Pooter, "aw have for sure, an' as lung as aw stuck to th' oats an' beans, aw geet on meterley; but aw wur gradely lickt when aw coom to th' choppins!" Pooter's idea of "animal food" was the horse's diet of oats, beans and choppings.

* * * * *

Among the ridiculous stories that are told, are the three following, which are more imaginative than true in their details. The fact of their invention, however, is a proof that the author possessed a considerable share of happy humour. The old fellow who went to _see_ "Elijah," the Oratorio of that name, on being asked if he had seen the prophet, replied: "Yea, aw did." "Well, what was he like?" "Wha, he stood theer at th' back o' th' crowd up o' th' platform, an' he kept rubbin a stick across his bally, an' he groant, and groant--yo could yer 'im all o'er th' place!" He took the double-bass 'cello-player to be Elijah.

* * * * *

The Wardens of the church at Belmont determined to move the structure a few yards to make room for a gravel path, so, laying their coats on the ground to mark the exact distance, they went round to the opposite side and pushed with all their might. Whilst they were thus engaged a thief stole the coats. Coming back again to observe the effect of their exertions, and being unable to find their stolen garments, "Devilskins!" they exclaimed, "we have pushed too far!"

* * * * *

Mother, to her hopeful son standing at the door one night:

"Come in an' shut th' door, John, what ar't doin' theer?"

"Aw'm lookin' at th' moon."

"Lookin' at th' moon! Come in aw tell thae, an' let th' moon alone."

"Who's touching th' moon?"

* * * * *

The Municipal Authorities of a Lancashire town, in laying out a public park which had been presented by a wealthy citizen, added to its other attractions a large ornamental lake, formed by damming up a stream that ran through the grounds. One of the park committee, in the course of a speech extolling the beauty of the lake, suggested that they might put a gondola upon it. Another of his confreres on the Council, thinking that a swan or other aquatic fowl was meant, responded: "What's th' use o' having only one gondola? let's ha' two and then they con breed."

As likely as not this was a stroke of wit rather than a blunder.

* * * * *

In Lancashire, as is well known, there are hosts of what are popularly designated "Co-op. Mills"--cotton factories worked on the joint stock principle--and many of the mill-hands hold shares, more or less. The manager of one of these one day encountered a mill-hand "larking" on the stairs instead of attending to his work, and giving him a kick behind ordered him off to his room. The culprit turned round, and, rubbing the affected part, faced the manager with the expostulation, half comic, half serious: "Keep thi foot to thi sel' and mind what tha'rt doing; dos't know 'at aw'm one o' thy maisters?"

He held a five-pound share or two in the concern.

A praiseworthy devotion to their employer's interests is a marked feature in many of our Lancashire working-men; and this devotion is all the more valuable when accompanied with intelligent observation and the quality of saying the right thing at the right moment. My next story exemplifies this in a striking degree.

Jim Shackleton, better known by the nickname of "Jamie-go-deeper," was a sturdy Lancashire ganger, honest and shrewd as they make 'em, a hard and steady worker--faithful and staunch and true to his employers. In his younger days Jim had wielded the pick and spade and trundled the wheel-barrow, but at the time of which I speak he was the boss or ganger over a regiment of navvies. He used to speak of puddle and clay and earthwork as though he loved them.

Jim was employed on the Manchester Ship Canal when it was in course of construction--down below Latchford Locks. The Company, as is well known, had in several places to trench on private property, which had to be purchased from the owners either by agreement or on arbitration terms, and some of the owners, not over-scrupulous, valued their lands at fabulous sums, on account, as was asserted, of their prospective value, as being favourably situated for building purposes, or because, as was alleged, of the valuable minerals in the ground. One such claim was being contested and there were the usual arbitrators, umpire and counsel, with a host of expert valuers on each side. The owner in this instance claimed that there was a valuable seam of coal underneath, and he had set men to make borings on the pretence of finding it.

Jim, who was employed, as I have said, by the Canal Company, had been subpoenaed by the owner of the land in question with a view of making him declare that he had seen this boring for coal going on in a field which he had to cross daily in going to and coming from his lodgings in the neighbourhood. Counsel is questioning Jim after being sworn:

"Your name is James Shackleton?"

"For onything aw know it is," replied Jim.

"And you are employed as a ganger on this section of the Canal?"

"Aw believe aw am."

"And you lodge over here?" pointing to a group of cottages shown on a map of the particular locality.

"Aw do," answered Jim.

"And you cross this field" (again pointing to the map) "daily--two or three times a day--going to and coming from your work?"

"Yea," was Jim's reply.

"And in going and coming you have, of course, seen men engaged in boring for coal?"

"Noa aw haven't," said Jim in reply, shaking his head.

"You have not seen men boring for coal in this particular field?" (again pointing out the place on the map).

"Noa!" said Jim, stolidly.

"And yet you live here, and pass and repass this field several times a day!"

"Yea aw do."

"And you actually tell me that you have never seen workmen boring for coal in this field?"

"Aw do," said Jim.

"Now, on your oath, be careful--have you not seen men engaged in making borings in this field?"

"Oh! ay," replied Jim, "Aw've seed 'em boring."

Counsel smiled triumphantly, stretched himself up, and looked round the Court and towards the umpire with a self-satisfied air.

"You _have_ seen them boring for coal, then?"

"Noa," responded Jim with an imperturbable face.

Counsel fumed. "You have not seen them boring for coal!" (shaking his finger at Jim).

"Noa, not for coal. Aw _have_ seen 'em boring."

"Then what the d----l _were_ they boring for?"

"They wur boring for compensation!"

That was sufficient. Jim had landed his salmon, and there was a shout of laughter in the Court as the discomfited counsel resumed his seat. Jim was troubled with no more questions. His last answer put the value of the land on its true basis. Humour is a wonderful lever in aiding the accomplishment of one's purpose. If Jim had bluntly expressed his opinion at the outset that this was a case of attempted imposition, the opinion would only have been taken for what it was worth, and the result might have been very different. The imperturbable way in which he led the learned counsel up to the climax, which, when reached, rendered further argument superfluous, was of the drollest.

* * * * *

The Lancashire man abroad does not lose his individuality. He is not great as a philosopher, and therefore has a wholesome contempt of foreigners. The world is not _his_ parish as it might be if peopled by his own kith and kin. This insular prejudice against the foreigner on the part of our working men is exemplified by a circumstance which occurred in my own experience.

When I was engaged in certain engineering work in Brazil, I got out from Lancashire three skilled men to carry out a contract that I had in hand. They had been in that country a few weeks, when I asked one of them how he liked the place.

"Oh, tidy well," replied he, "it wouldn't be a bad place at all if there weren't so many d----d foreigners about!"

Not for a moment recognising the fact that it was _he_ who was the foreigner, and not the natives whom he affected to despise: a trait in our character which I fear is not confined to the lower classes, whether in Lancashire or elsewhere, in England.

* * * * *

The ludicrous situation in which Ben Brierley was one day placed was related to me by Ben himself. One Saturday afternoon Ben was passing along Piccadilly (Manchester) on the Infirmary side, and seeing an old woman with a basket of fine oranges before her--three for twopence--Ben selected three for which he tendered a shilling, having no smaller coin. The old orange-vendor was unable to change it, but, unwilling to lose a customer, she whipped up the shilling, saying: "Howd on a bit, maister, and tent my basket while I goo get change." Before Ben could expostulate--and, indeed, before he could realise the position--she was off to seek change for the shilling. For full five minutes Ben had to stand guard behind the basket. If he had not done so, its contents would quickly have been purloined by some of the mischievous lads always hanging about the Infirmary flags. Ben declared that during the interval, which seemed an age, he never before felt so ridiculous and queer. The street was thronged with foot passengers, but fortunately none seemed to recognise "Ab o' th' Yate," though several stared hard at the respectable-looking orange-vendor.

* * * * *

In the _Cornhill Magazine_ (for Feb. 1899) the following examples are given of the "Humours of School Inspection."

"A pupil teacher in a Lancashire school was asked to describe the way in which he had spent his Easter holidays. This was the answer: 'At Easter I and a companion went to Knot Mill Fair. We did not take much account of the show except for the marionettes and wild beasts. But we much preferred the latter, _in cages_, for we were thus enabled to study the works of God, without the danger of being torn in pieces!'" "Here," says the writer, "the Lancashire shrewdness is finely illustrated."

And here, from the same source, is an instance of the total annihilation of a smart young Inspector by some intelligent infants in another Lancashire school. H.M.I. was examining the six-year-olds in object lessons before the Vicar and his lively daughter, thus:--

_H.M.I._ What is this made of (producing a penny)?

_Children._ Copper.

_H.M.I._ No, children, you are mistaken; it is made of bronze, which is a mixture of tin and copper. Now, what is it made of?

_Children._ Bronze.

_H.M.I._ And this? (showing a sixpence).

_Children._ Silver.

_H.M.I._ Quite right; and this? (fumbling for a half-sovereign, but on failing to find it, rashly flourishing his seal ring in their faces).

_Children_ (to the infinite amusement of the Vicar's daughter). Brass!

_H.M.I._ My dear children, no! It's gold. Look more closely at it, now--yes, you may hand it round. Now what use do you think I have for this ring?

_Little Girl._ Please, Sir, to be married with. (Vicar's daughter convulsed in the corner.)

_H.M.I._ No, no! _Men_ don't wear wedding rings. But when your father seals a letter what does he do it with?

_Little boy_ (briskly). Please, sir, a brass farden.

Another good school story is told by the late Rev. Robert Lamb, already quoted.

This was also a school examination, and the particular topic the Apostles' Creed. I may venture to repeat the story without being charged with irreverence, considering that it is told by a clergyman. The boys in the class had evidently been drilled in the subject for some days previously, and each of them had his own special portion to repeat as his turn came.

"By whom was He conceived?" the Examiner asked from the book.

"He was conceived by the Holy Ghost," was the ready answer.

"Of whom was He born?" was the question to the next boy.

"He was born of the Virgin Mary," responded the youth boldly.

"Under whom did He suffer?" was the question addressed to the third in order.

"He was crucified, dead and buried," said the boy in a whining, hesitating tone, as if conscious that all was not right.

"No, no! _Under_ whom did He suffer? _By_ whom was he crucified?"

The lad repeated the same words in the same drawling tone. The question was put a third time, and the same answer returned; when one of the class, more intelligent than the rest, stepped forward, and, after a twitch of his frontal lock, and an awkward scrape of the foot, said, in a tone half supplicatory, half explanatory:

"Please, Sir, Pontius Pilate has getten th' ma-sles!" Meaning, of course, that the boy who had been crammed to give the answer to that particular question was laid up at home of the measles.

An exacting critic of the story might be ready to object and say that it was within the right of the Examiner to put his questions to the boys in an "order promiscuous." Well, I can only answer that he didn't; besides, it is not the proper thing to spoil a good story by captious criticism.

* * * * *

In the earlier days of gas-lighting an old fellow in a Lancashire town had the new light introduced into his house. It gave great satisfaction at first, but later the light began to be troublesome by bobbing up and down, and at times flickering out. Unable to remedy the defect he sought the gas office and angrily lodged his complaint with the manager. The latter promised to send a man to have the lights put in order.

"Yo can do as yo liken," replied the complainant, "but after yon box (alluding to the gas meter) is empty, we'll ha' no mooar!"

* * * * *

As an example of ready wit, we have the story of Dicky Lobscouse, a well-known Leyland character, who was brought up before the "Bench" for being found drunk and incapable. After hearing the officer's statement, and the culprit having nothing to say for himself, the Chairman of the Bench pronounced the sentence usual in such cases--"Five shillings and costs, or a week in Preston gaol."

"Thank yo, yor worship," said Lobscouse, pulling his front hair lock and then holding out his hand, "aw'll tak' th' five shillin an' costs."

* * * * *

The factory Doffers of Lancashire are noted for their love of frolic and mischief. For the information of readers it may be explained that the Doffers (the "Devil's Own," as they are sometimes called) are lads employed in the throstle room of the cotton factory. Their work consists in removing the full bobbins of yarn from the spinning frame--hence the name "Doffer," _i.e._ to doff or divest--and supplying their places with empty bobbins to receive the yarn as it is spun. This they accomplish with a dexterity that beats conjuring. For a stranger visiting a cotton mill there is no greater treat than to see the Doffers at work.

When the process of doffing is being performed the machine is stopped, so, to stimulate the boys to greater rapidity at their work and thus increase the productiveness of the machinery, they are allowed to spend the intervals between the several doffings in exercise out of doors, or in any other way they choose, always provided they do not go beyond ear-shot of the "throstle jobber," who is a kind of "bo's'n" in this department of the mill, and who summonses them with a whistle to their work as often as they are required. The quicker their duties are performed, the more time they have to themselves, hence the amount of leisure and liberty the lads enjoy.

It has been suggested that the Doffers are the missing link desiderated by Darwin; and, judged by their mischievous pranks, one might almost be led to conclude that such is the fact, for they are equally dexterous at mischief as at work. Their working dexterity is, for the nonce, carried into their play.

I was an eye-witness of a practical joke played by a band of Doffers upon an unsuspecting carter. He had got a cart-load of coals which he was leisurely conveying to their destination along one of the bye-streets; and having occasion to call at a house on the way, he left his horse and cart standing by the road side. A swarm of Doffers from a neighbouring factory espied the situation, laid their heads together for a moment or two, and then came running stealthily up to the cart, undid all the gears save what barely supported the cart from dropping so long as the horse remained fairly quiet. Having completed their arrangements they as quietly retired, and took their stand at a cautious distance behind the gable-end of a house, whence in safety they could reconnoitre the enemy. It was an enjoyable picture to me who was in the secret, and for very mischief kept it, to see half a score of little, greasy, grinning faces peeping from past the house end, expectation beaming from every wicked eye.

The unwitting carter at length reappeared, and, giving a brisk crack of his whip, had scarce got the "awe woy" from his lips, when Dobbin, laying his shoulders to his work, ran forward with an involuntary trot for ten or fifteen yards, whilst the cart shafts came with sudden shock to the ground, and a row of cobs that had barricaded the smaller coal flew shuttering over the cart head into the street. Fortunately no damage resulted--the shafts by a miracle stood the shock.

The amazement of the victim of the trick may be imagined but scarcely described. He gazed with open mouth at the catastrophe, and his fingers naturally found their way to his cranium, which he scratched in perplexity. The knot of jubilant faces at the street corner in the distance soon supplied the key to his difficulty. The truth flashed upon his mind. "Devilskins!" he muttered, and seizing one of the biggest cobs he could grasp in his hand, he let fly at vacancy; for before you might say "Jack Robinson," the mischievous elves had vanished with a war-whoop, and ere the missile had reached the ground, were probably knee deep in their next adventurous exploit.

* * * * *

In the Rossendale district, with which I was acquainted for many years, I knew some of the quaint old inhabitants, long since passed away, whose remarks, as well as their reminiscences recounted to me, interested and amused me, and some of which I have tried to recall.

Bull baiting was formerly a common sport in Rossendale as in other parts of the country. A stake was fixed in the centre of the baiting ground, to which the bull was tethered by a rope, when its canine tormentors were let loose upon it amidst the yelling of a brutalised mob. I once, curiously enough, in my own experience, met with an example of the actual memory of the pastime having survived to a recent date. An old Rossendale man one day attended a camp-meeting held in a field at Sharneyford some distance away, and on afterwards inquiring if he got to the meeting in time, "Yea," was the reply, "I geet theer just as they wur teein' th' bull to th' stake." Meaning that the preacher was just about opening the services. Rossendale was by no means singular in its relish for the degrading practice. The late John Harland, in his introduction to the "Manchester Court Leet Records," recounts the fact that in Manchester in former times, amongst the heaviest fines, or, as they were called, "amercements," on the butchers, were those for selling bull beef, the bull not having been previously baited to make the flesh tender enough for human food! A significant commentary this on the morals and civilisation of our forefathers.

To the introduction of water and steampower machinery in the earlier part of the century, there were no stronger or more bitter opponents than the Rossendale folks. In the early days, in many of the larger houses were hand machines for the carding, spinning and weaving of wool, whilst nearly every one of the smaller houses had its hand-loom. When the factory system began to be introduced into the district, and water-power was employed in turning the machinery, the strong prejudices of the inhabitants found vent in a form of prayer which, in seasons of drought, ran thus:

"The Lord send rain to till the ground, but not to turn the engines round."

The woollen carding engines are here referred to, these being put in motion by the water-wheel.

But times of extreme drought in Rossendale are not of frequent occurrence. The hills bring down the rain, and in the "Barley times," as the famine times at the beginning of the century were called, the people had a saying that there was "plenty of porridge wayter in Rossendale, if there was only the meal to put into it."

* * * * *

Hareholme Mill in the Rossendale valley was one of the first mills, as well as the most important mill, in the district. It belonged to a Quaker firm, and was built at the end of last century. The chimney of the mill, which was erected at a later date, is a curiosity. It resembles a champagne bottle, with its broad base quickly gathered in near the centre, and tapering to the summit. The cap or coping of the structure is an exact copy of a Quaker's broad-brimmed hat, without doubt intended by the humourist of a builder to exemplify the religious tenets of the members of the firm. The Ram which surmounts the belfry, typical of the woollen manufacture, was executed by an ingenious workman named John Nuttall, and bears an admirable likeness to the original. An architect from a neighbouring town, criticising it freely and trying to display his superior taste, expressed an opinion that the model of the Ram as designed was all very well done excepting the horns. Whereupon Nuttall naively replied that whatever the merits of the body of the animal, the horns were just as God had made them. As a matter of fact they were an actual pair of ram's horns that he had used.

* * * * *

The power-loom breaking riots of 1826 were another exemplification of the bitter feelings evoked by the application of steampower to the turning of machinery. The rioters in Rossendale made havoc with the new-fangled looms, which, they believed, would ruin their trade as hand-loom weavers and take the bread out of their mouths. Their mode of procedure on attacking a mill was to place a guard outside, then the ringleaders entered; first they cut out the warps and destroyed the reeds and healds, and then with a few well aimed blows they demolished the looms. On the cry being raised: "Th' soldiers are coming!" one old fellow cried out: "Never mind, lads, we met as weel be shot by th' soldiers as clemmed by th' maisters!"

I have mentioned this circumstance by way of introducing "Long George," the constable of Bacup during those disturbed times, an eccentric character whom I knew well. George stood six feet two inches in his stockings, hence the prefix, "Long" to his name. It was but little that George and his myrmidons could do to prevent the mischief, and so, with the instinctive sagacity of the "watch," they wisely kept aloof from the scenes of outrage and spoliation.

Long George was a familiar figure in Bacup for many years after being superseded in the duties as constable by the Peelers or police, as we now have them.

At the beginning of his time, when he was village constable, he lived in Lane Head Lane. On one wintry night, cold and stormy, the snow drifting heavily, a night when folks could scarcely keep their nightcaps from being blown off, some young fellows determined they would play a trick on George. So they waited until they knew he had got well into bed, and then they went up to his house in the Lane and thundered at the door.

George got up, put his head out of the window, and saw two or three snow-covered figures down below.

"Whatever dun yo want, chaps, at this time o' neet?" he called out.

"George, yo're wanted down at th' Dragon yonder, first thing!" One of them shouted back in reply:

"What's th' matter theer?" asked George.

"There's about twenty on 'em yonder feighting o' of a rook, an' if thae doesn't look sharp and come down and sunder 'em, they'll be one hauve on 'em kilt!"

But George was not to be caught as easily as they imagined; he saw through the trick that was attempted to be played on him, and, ruminating for a moment, answered: