Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
On page 262
‘To leeak a bad leeak’ = to leeak ill. has been changed to
‘To leeak a bad leeak’ = to look ill.
The footnotes are located at the end of the book.
The book begins with an extensive list of subscribers immediatly after
the table of contents. This has been moved to the end.
Italics are represented thus _italic_, bold thus +bold+ and
superscripts thus y^{en}.
WIT, CHARACTER, FOLKLORE
AND CUSTOMS
OF THE
NORTH RIDING OF YORKSHIRE
Oxford
HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
_Wit
Character, Folklore & Customs_
OF THE
NORTH RIDING OF YORKSHIRE
WITH
_A GLOSSARY OF OVER 4,000 WORDS AND IDIOMS
NOW IN USE_
BY
RICHARD BLAKEBOROUGH
(SOCIETY HUMORIST)
LATE HON. CURATOR OF THE R.S.S.; AUTHOR OF ‘MORE THAN A DREAM,’
‘T’ HUNT O’ YATTON BRIGG,’ THE COMEDIES ‘TOMBOY,’ ‘AUNTIE,’ ETC.
London
HENRY FROWDE
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE
AMEN CORNER, E.C.
1898
THIS WORK
IS DEDICATED TO
THE
REV. E. S. CARTER, M.A.
OF YORK
AND
J. G. WILSON, M.A.
OF DURHAM
AS A MEMENTO OF SINCERE GRATITUDE
FOR MANY ACTS OF FRIENDSHIP
SHOWN TO
THE AUTHOR
PREFACE
At one time it was thought possible for the present work to be
undertaken conjointly by the Rev. M. C. F. Morris, author of _Yorkshire
Folk-Talk_, and myself. Such collaboration, though pleasing to both,
was found to be quite impracticable. Many of my patrons and friends
having urged me to undertake the work single-handed, I have ventured to
do so. I have aimed at no higher standard than the chatty style which
I have adopted in drawing-rooms and on the platform. If friends and
critics prove but half as kind and considerate in this new venture as
they have hitherto done, I have little to fear. My main object has been
simply to place on record, in, I hope, a readable form, some of the
wit, character, customs, and folklore of the North Riding which I have
thought to be sufficiently interesting and worthy of being saved from
that long list of things forgotten.
The chapter on some characteristic sayings of both the North and East
Ridings, kindly contributed by the Rev. M. C. F. Morris, will add
greatly to the value and interest of the work. I may here mention that
he is in no way answerable for any other single sentence throughout
the work. I feel it to be my duty to make this quite clear, for, as a
humorist, I have ventured to include certain items which the reverend
gentleman most probably would have run his pen through, had either the
MS. or proof-sheets passed through his hands.
The Glossary, though far from containing all the words of our North
Riding folk-speech, is as complete as it has been possible for me to
make it.
My thanks are due to Mr. Atkinson and to Mr. Morris, whose glossaries
I have frequently consulted, and in no less a degree to my friend Dr.
Johnson of Lancaster for his MS. notes, so generously lent me.
I have done my best, and if my literary repast is not set before my
readers with the usual glitter of silver and cut glass, I would humbly
remind them that the fare has been fairly stalked and prepared with
all due care as to accuracy, and cooked and served with the best of
everything my literary kitchen possesses.
Many stories illustrative of Yorkshire character and humour are given,
mostly gathered from original sources covering a period of many years,
and in the main are true. None of them, I believe, have hitherto been
published, and very few contained in these pages have I given publicly.
The stories afford numerous examples of the idiom and dialect as spoken
in the North Riding, but mainly (as to dialect) in that of Cleveland.
The reason for specializing that district is given elsewhere.
To the scores of happy hours spent with both old and young by their own
firesides, I owe the contents of this book. Nearly all it contains they
have given me: to them I return my warmest thanks.
One other word—should a copy of this work find its way into other
lands, and be read by any of my Yorkshire colonial cousins, to them I
sincerely offer the grip of friendship. And should any of our Yorkshire
words have gained a footing on other soil, I shall be grateful for a
list of the same.
To many of my subscribers I owe a lasting debt of gratitude for that
kindness and cordiality which at once made me one of their house party
when staying with them as Society Humorist, and also for the kind
letters of encouragement they were so good as to send me in the early
stage of my work, and to one and all I now offer my most sincere thanks
for their cordial replies in answer to my circular.
In conclusion, should this work bring conviction that the Riding ought
to have a Folklore and Dialectical Society identified with itself, I
shall not have written in vain, and it would have my hearty if humble
support. No time should be lost. Bear in mind, each aged person who
passes from amongst us is another valuable volume removed from the
shelves of an ever-decreasing library. I shall be glad to receive the
names of any of my readers willing to help me in forming a North Riding
Folklore and Dialectical Society.
THE AUTHOR.
24 TRENT STREET,
STOCKTON-ON-TEES,
_September 27, 1898_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. YORKSHIRE STORIES OF WIT AND CHARACTER 1
II. WIT AND CHARACTER 17
III. WIT AND CHARACTER—_continued_ 28
IV. WIT AND CHARACTER—_continued_ 43
V. WIT AND CHARACTER—_continued_ 54
VI. CUSTOMS OF THE YEAR AND FOLKLORE 66
VII. CUSTOMS OF COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, BIRTH, AND DEATH 94
VIII. OMENS, CHARMS, RECIPES 126
IX. WITCHCRAFT 153
X. WITCHCRAFT—CONTINUED 173
XI. SOME CHARACTERISTIC YORKSHIRE SAYINGS 210
By the Rev. M. C. F. MORRIS. B.C.L., M.A., Rector
of Nunburnholme. Author of _Yorkshire Folk-Talk_.
XII. IDIOMS AND THE PECULIAR USE OF CERTAIN WORDS 222
XIII. SIMILES, PROVERBS, AND SAYINGS 238
XIV. CHILDREN’S LORE 257
XV. ODD SCRAPS OF OLD YORKSHIRE, ETC. 279
XVI. A FEW SIMPLE HINTS ON THE GRAMMAR OF THE FOLK-SPEECH 316
GLOSSARY 342
CONCLUDING REMARKS 475
THE YORKSHIRE FOLK-SPEECH IS NOT A DIALECT, BUT A LANGUAGE.
To those unacquainted with our folk-speech, the following list will
be helpful when reading. A glossary of words now in use in the North
Riding will be found at the end of the volume.
Ah = _I_.
Ah’s = (_I is_) _I am_.
Ah s’ = _I shall_.
’an = _than_.
’at = _that_, _which_, _who_.
i’ = _in_, ’iv’ before a vowel.
i’ ’t = _in it_.
i’ t’ = _in the_.
’ll = _will_.
ma = _me_.
mah = _my_.
na = _nor_, _no_, _than_.
o’ = _on_, also _of_.
ov = _of_.
’s = _is_, _has_, or _as_.
s’ = _shall_.
‘t = _it_.
t’ = _the_.
ta = _thou_ or _you_.
ti = _to_.
ti t’ = _to the_.
ti ‘t = _to it_.
till = _to_.
tiv, used before a vowel = _to_.
wa = _we_.
wi’ = _with_, as a rule ‘wiv’
before a vowel.
ya = _you_.
yer = _your_.
yah, adj., personal numeral = _one_.
yan, adj. = _one_.
ya’d = _you had_ or _you would_.
CHAPTER I
YORKSHIRE STORIES OF WIT AND CHARACTER.
‘EDDICATION an’ self-binnders is gahin ti to’n t’ wo’lld upsahd doon,’
said an honest Yorkshireman to me the other day. ‘Are things in general
really much different now from what they were, say, fifty years ago?’
I asked. To which I received this laconic reply, ‘Nowt’s t’ saam[1].’
Nothing could have been more forcible: the words meant much, and the
tone in which they were uttered meant even more.
Unfortunately this ‘tone,’ which is the very soul of the dialect, can
never be rendered in print. How poor and meaningless in the mouth of
a stranger sound the words, ‘Cu’ thi waays, honey,’ but from the lips
of a Yorkshire mother to her bairn they carry with them the sound of
tenderest love and solicitude. They ring with music, but it is music
which is only tuneful to the Yorkshire ear.
But to return to our friend. Now, though he said ‘Nowt’s t’ saam’
in somewhat a depreciatory manner, he was fully aware of the value
of education and the utility of the various mechanical appliances
which have of late years revolutionized agricultural labour. There
is a species, shall I say of conservatism? deeply ingrafted in the
Yorkshireman’s character. It is a natural cautiousness which ever keeps
this conservatism to the forefront in everything connected with his
daily life. He does not, nor ever has, taken kindly to novelties. He
views with suspicion all things which he considers innovations, i.e.
which have a tendency to alter the general rut in which his father
travelled before him. To him the old way is good, and he is loth to
leave it. No matter whether it be temporal or spiritual, he hangs on
long and hard to the old and beaten track. _Errare est humanum_ fully
applies to the Yorkshireman; he makes mistakes, but never owing to his
having been too precipitate. He is naturally cautious and eminently
practical. ‘Ah leyke ti ken hoo tweea an’ tweea’s gahin ti mak fowr,
an’ ’at fowr penn’oth o’ stuff’s wo’th fow’pence, afoor Ah ware mah
brass on owt,’ said an old Tyke one day. This caution and practical
turn in our character, and which is carried into all things, naturally
leads those who are strangers to form the opinion that we are dull and
slow of comprehension, but to those who can read between the lines
this verdict is very speedily reversed; for should it be necessary to
_spend_ only words, ‘which costs nowt, bud deean’t want wasting foor
all that,’ then it will be readily conceded that the Yorkshireman’s
brain can grasp a question and turn on steam so as to give an answer as
quickly and as much to the point as the best of them.
It may not be couched in the politest of language; nay, most likely
it will be very plain-spoken, even to bluntness; but it will be
just what the speaker thinks, devoid of all the silken trimmings of
conventionalism.
Many of the answers given to inquisitive questioners often seem
irrelevant; they need as it were some sidelight to point the
application, and generally it is necessary one should have a
considerable knowledge of the dialect and idiom before its terseness
can be fully appreciated.
Nevertheless, when properly approached our people are communicative,
and express their opinion freely and always _ad rem_.
But once having weighed any matter over, the opinion so formed
is, as it were, engraved on a rock of adamant. Perhaps one or two
illustrations will show the different phases of character referred to
in a clearer light than pages of written explanation.
The new vicar (not a Yorkshireman) of a country parish decided that his
congregation should stand up when he and the choir processed from the
vestry. ‘Tha’ll nut deea ’t,’ said the churchwarden when the question
was mooted; ‘t’ au’d fau’k nivver did seea, an’ t’ young uns weean’t.’
The tone in which this was uttered would have been conclusive to any
Yorkshireman.
‘I think I can make them,’ said the vicar. ‘Mak ’em!’ with great
unction; ‘did ya saay mak ’em? Noo ya mebbe mud ’tice ’em—yan nivver
knaws what’ll happen—bud Ah’s mairna sartin sewer ’at ya’ll nivver mak
’em; an’ tha’ll tak a gay bit o’ ‘ticing, if Ah knaw owt.’
‘Oh, leave it to me, I’ll manage it,’ said the vicar confidently.
‘Whya noo, gan on wi’ ya; bud deean’t forgit ’at a hoss sumtahms
tumm’ls ower t’ raal ’at it’s loup’d afoor,’ was the parting advice of
the worthy churchwarden.
The following Sunday evening the vicar told his congregation that he
wished them to stand as the choir came from the vestry, but next Sunday
morning found his congregation stolidly seated as heretofore.
‘Ah tell’d ya tha wadn’t deea ’t,’ chuckled the churchwarden.
‘But they will,’ replied the vicar. ‘Bud tha weean’t,’ put in the
churchwarden; and then he added as a clincher, ‘Acoz tha’ve made up tha
mahnds aboot it, an’ ya weean’t shift ’em when yance tha’ve deean that.’
‘You wait until evening,’ said the vicar, ‘and I shall make them
stand.’ And he did. Coming to the doorway of the vestry, he gave out
the hymn, the organ commenced to play, up rose the congregation, and
out marched the choir and vicar.
‘Ah’ll watch him fra deeaing that onny mair,’ muttered one old dame
loud enough for half the church to hear.
‘Did I not say they would rise? And I’ll do that every Sunday,’ said
the vicar, as he and the warden walked home.
‘Whya, Ah deean’t knaw saa mich aboot that. It’s nut awlus seeaf ti
ride wiv a curb an’ spurs. Ya’ll ’a’e ti tak care noo; wa deean’t tak
kindly ti being tricked, Ah can tell ya; bud wa s’ see at eftther.’
Next Sunday morning out stepped the vicar, gave out the hymn, and then
waited in the vestry until the organ and congregation were in full
swing; then, and not until then, did he and the choir march out, and to
his no little surprise he found the whole congregation lustily singing,
but seated to a man.
As an example of their plain-speaking, as well as their objection to
fall in with a new order of things, perhaps the following is fairly to
the point.
The wife of the Vicar of ——, having engaged a new maid, concluded
various instructions by saying, ‘Should any ladies call during the
afternoon, and I ring, you must bring in the small tea-tray and a
kettle of boiling water.’ The first two days passed over without a
hitch, but when the bell rang on the third afternoon, instead of
tea-tray and kettle a head was thrust through the half-open door, and
Mary said, ‘Here Ah saay, cum ootsahd; Ah want ya a minit.’ On the
hostess retiring, Mary was heard to say, ‘Noo then! is this new-fengled
gahin-on gahin ti happen ivvery daay? Baith them an’ yow owt ti knaw
’at it’s maist in_con_venient leeaving yan’s reg’lar wark ti mak tea at
this tahm o’ t’ daay. Ya’ll ’a’e ti gan back an’ saay ’at wa s’aan’t be
yabble ti mannish owt for ’em this efttherneean; Ah’s up ti t’ elbows
i’ muck.’
The Archdeacon of —— gave me the following story, which is too good to
hide its head. The bishop had been preaching a restoration sermon in
one of our villages. After the sermon his lordship and the archdeacon
overtook the village blacksmith, a well-known character. ‘Well, John,
and how have you enjoyed the sermon?’ inquired the archdeacon. ‘Whya,
nowt bud weel. Ah s’u’d think, sir’ (turning to the bishop), ‘wiv a bit
mair practis ya’ll mannish cannily. I’ t’ main what ya sed war varra
good; a larl bit ti low i’ t’ voice for me, bud ya’ll mend o’ that.
Noo, Ah yance did hear a young chap, an’ he war nobbut a young un an’
all. Ah think ’at he war iv a grosser’s shop, bud Ah’s nut sartin;
bud that’s nowt. He yance preeached i’ t’ Methody chapel, an’ theer’s
nut a wo’d of a lee aboot it, what Ah saay is trew; ya c’u’d hear him
slap t’ Bahble an’ shoot hauf t’ waay doon t’ village. Aye, ya c’u’d
stan’ ootsahd an’ smeeak ya’re pipe an’ get all t’ good fra what he war
saaying; _bud, then, he war a preeacher_.’ I can well imagine the tone
that last ‘bud, then, he war a preeacher’ would be uttered in.
The younger fry are just as open as the older folk. I remember a lady
telling me she had called at a farm-house. Evidently she had been
seen approaching. It would seem the doll and other litter of the wee
daughter had been quickly bundled out of sight, and all things, as far
as possible, put in order. For the moment the amusement of the little
one was put an end to, and this did not escape the notice of the child.
She, Yorkshire-like, formed her own opinion upon the proceeding, and
only waited for a suitable moment to very plainly express the same.
Resting her elbows on the lady’s knees, with her chubby little face in
her hands, she said, when a lull in the conversation gave her a chance
to speak, ‘Ah saay, missus, hoo pleasant it wad ’a’e been if you’d
nivver ’a’e cum’d.’
The cautiousness of the Yorkshireman is so evident in all matters,
it is so pronounced, that to give examples is almost to lay oneself
open to the charge ‘ov telling a chap summat he knaws.’ Nevertheless
I give you one, not so much because it is exactly Q.E.D., but because
it is one of the best expositions of Socialism I have ever heard. It
seems that some Socialist won one man over to his views, and this man
met a friend of his. ‘Whya, noo then,’ began the friend; ‘what tha
tell ma ’at thoo’s to’n’d ti be a Socialist, is ’t reet?’ ‘Aye, it’s
reet; an’ it’s a gran’ thing an’ all. Thoo owt ti join uz.’ ‘Owt Ah?
What is ’t ’at ya’re efter?’ ‘Whya, thoo knaws it’s lyke this; ther’s
a lot o’ fau’k living i’ gert hooses, an’ tha’re eating an’ drinking
all t’ daay lang an’ guzzling t’ neet thruff, sum on ’em, an’ it’s
gahin ti be stopped. Ivverything’s gahin ti be shared up, an’ all on
uz get what’s wer awn; neeabody nowt na mair ’an onnybody else, dizn’t
ta see,’ ‘Whya, nut fur sartin.’ said his friend. ‘Diz ta meean ’at
thoo’ll share up an’ all?’ ‘Aye, ivverybody will.’ ‘What, is’t gahin ti
be a soart o’ brotherly luv’? Ivverybody wi’ nowt neea mair na onnybody
else.’ ‘Aye, that’s it; brotherly luv’. Ivverybody all t’ seeam,
neeabody nowt neea different neeawaays ti neeabody i’ neea road.’ ‘It
soonds grand; bud diz ta meean ti saay if thoo ’ed tweea hosses an’
Ah ’edn’t a hoss ’at thoo’d gi’e ma yan?’ ‘Iv a minit Ah wad. If Ah’d
tweea an’ thoo ’edn’t yan Ah s’u’d gi’e tha yan leyke all that,’ said
he, slapping his friend on the back. ‘Aye, an’ if ta ’ed tweea coos,
an’ Ah wanted a coo, wad ta gi’e uz a coo?’ ‘Just t’ seeam. If thoo
’edn’t a coo, an’ Ah ’ed tweea, Ah s’u’d tell tha ti tak yan awaay wi
tha. Noo thoo understands what wa’re efter.’ ‘An’ if thoo’d tweea pigs,
an’ Ah ’edn’t a pig, an’ Ah ass’d tha fur a pig, wad ta gi’e ma yan?’
‘Naay noo,’ said the Socialist; ‘thoo’s cumin’ teea clooase hand noo;
thoo knaws ’at Ah ’ev tweea pigs.’
Possibly not a little surprised was the angler who, when fishing in one
of the small streams of the upper reaches of the Ure, said jokingly to
an old chap who had been watching his vain attempts to land several
fish, ‘I think I need a hanger on; what do you say?’ The old chap had
been thoroughly disgusted with the way in which the fish had been
played. It was no case for joking; it was a downright sin for such a
man to be allowed to fish. So the answer, as may be expected, was more
to the point than polite. ‘What thoo wants,’ said the old chap with a
grunt of disgust, ‘is nut a hinger on, bud a flinger oot. If it’s fish
’at thoo’s efter, thoo’ll ’a’e ti lig t’ rod doon an’ set ti wark wi t’
net; thoo mebbins mud ’a’e t’ luck ti catch yan o’ them ’at thoo’s hauf
killed. Thoo’s naa fisher; thoo’s nowt bud a spoil watter, that’s what
thoo is.’ Thus relieving himself, Old Willie walked away.
One of my sketches, given at a Primrose League meeting, gave great
offence to the coachman of a noble lord. Entertainers, by the way, do
not hold any social position in the eyes of such. Some time afterwards
I was asked to go as entertaining guest on his lordship’s son’s
attaining his majority. A day or two before my arrival my host asked
his coachman if he had not been to the entertainment which I had given.
‘Aye,’ said the old chap, ‘bud I wadn’t gan agaan. He’s up ti nowt,
isn’t yon youth; he’ll nivver git on. He’s gitten impedence foor owt,
he spares nowt na neeabody, he taks sarvants an’ t’ quality off all
alike; Ah reckon nowt on him at all.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said his master.
‘Whya, Ah’s seear ya’ve gitten neea call ti be, he’s nut wo’th it.
Ya mun excuse me, my lord, bud what mud ya be sorry foor?’ ‘Well,
because he is coming here.’ ‘Cumin’ here!’ said the coachman, amazed;
‘what ivver foor?’ ‘To entertain my guests.’ ‘What! deea ya meean
when t’ young lord cums at age?’ he asked, his amazement increasing.
‘Yes,’ said his lordship, greatly amused. ‘Oha! an’ wheer will ya put
him up? ’coz Ah can tell ya ’at t’ sarvants weean’t want ti ’ev him
amangst them, tha neeawaays setten up wiv him.’ ‘But he won’t be with
the servants.’ ‘Then wheer will he be?’ ‘With us, of course.’ ‘Deea
ya meean ti saay ’at he’ll dine wi’ yow an’ t’ quality?’ asked the
old chap, fairly amazed now. ‘Certainly.’ For a moment the old fellow
hesitated; he was bewildered by such a piece of folly. And then he
spoke his mind. ‘Well!’ he gasped, ‘ya mun excuse me, my lord, bud
Ah think ’at yer gahin ti mak a varra common do on ’t.’ Nice for me,
wasn’t it?
However boorish and brusque strangers may dub us, it is admitted on all
hands that the Yorkshireman is fairly ’cute: he always has an eye to
the main chance. And although others who are glibber of tongue may to a
certain extent fairly ’mazzle’ him with their verbosity, yet any such
may certainly claim to having done the ’hat trick’ if in the end they
manage to outwit the Tyke. ‘He ommaist ’wildered ma wiv his slather,
bud Ah pairted wi’ nowt,’ said an old man who had been tackled by a
book agent.
‘Did ta bet owt at t’ races?’ asked one Tyke of another. ‘Neea, Ah
didn’t. It war leyke this, thoo knaws. T’ chaps ’at Ah seed stanning
o’ t’ top o’ steeals an’ sitting unner gert um’erellas all seeam’d ti
’ev gawd rings an’ cheeans on, an’ tha war varra weel dhriss’d an’
all, whahl monny ov ’em ’at war ’livering ther brass up war oot at t’
teeas an’ doon at t’ heels. Seea Ah sed tiv mysen, “T’ steeal an’ t’
um’erella chaps leeak ez if tha war ’evving t’ best o’ t’ bargain all
t’ waay thruff,’ an’ seea neean on ’em gat onny o’ mah brass. Dizn’t ta
think ’at Ah war i’ t’ reet on ’t?”
Cautiousness and ’cuteness is fairly well set forth in the following
story. Old Jobson wished to gain some legal information, ‘bud he didn’t
want ti pay owt for ’t.’ Meeting the legal light one day, he began,
‘Ah saay, if Ah wor ti ax ya summat aboot summat, s’u’d Ah ’a’e ti pay
summat? It’s aboot yon pathwaay o’ mahn ’at Ah want ti knaw summat.’
‘Certainly; I don’t give advice free,’ replied the lawyer. ‘Whya then,
Ah weean’t ax ya nowt; things may bahd ez they are, whahl yow want a
larl piece o’ knowledge fra me, an’ then wa’ll see if wa caan’t mak a
swap on’t. Nowther t’ field na t’ path’ll shift,’ said Jobson as he
walked away. And so matters rested for some months, in fact until the
lawyer’s horse (a very valuable one) was suddenly taken ill. Jobson was
at once sent for, he being an expert in all horse ailments. The old
farmer, after a careful examination of his patient, declared he knew
what was amiss and what was needed to effect a cure. ‘Then I will send
my man for what you need at once,’ said the owner.
‘Aye, bud wait a bit; deean’t ya aim ’at tahm’s cum’d when wa s’all
’a’e ti swap wer knowledge?’ said the farmer, with a twinkle in his
eye. The solicitor burst out laughing; he saw the joke and admitted the
validity of the claim. The old chap saved the horse, and the pathway
was satisfactorily arranged.
The Yorkshireman always sees that he gets value for his money, at least
he always tries to do so.
The village orchestral society were rehearsing for a public performance
which was to be given the following week. The squire and a musical
friend had just dropped in towards its conclusion. The friend, speaking
at the conclusion with the conductor, said, ‘You have a remarkably good
band; you only lack one slight addition to make it one of the best for
the size of your village I have ever listened to. Will you allow me to
suggest that you get a horn? you lack only that.’ ‘Oha, an’ what’s a
horn?’ inquired the conductor. Having had the matter fully explained,
he asked what a horn could be bought for. But the gentleman pointed out
there was hardly time to procure a horn and teach a man how to play it
before the entertainment came off. ‘Whya then,’ asked the conductor,
‘deea yer knaw a chap ’at c’u’d cum an’ play t’ horn foor uz, an’ what
wad he cum foor?’ ‘I know a first-class player, and I think he would
come for five pounds.’ ‘Fahve pund!’ gasped the conductor. ‘Whya, Ah
c’u’d git a whoale band foor that!’ ‘Never mind the money, John,’ said
the squire; ‘I’ll see about that.’ ‘Oha, whya, if it’s gahin ti be
leyke that, let’s ’a’e t’ chap wi’ t’ horn.’ And so the matter was
settled. On the night of the performance the man with the horn put
in an appearance, and all went well for about ten minutes, when the
conductor stopped the band, and turning to the horn-player, he said,
‘Noo then, thee wi’ t’ horn, thoo isn’t playing.’ ‘No,’ said he; ‘I
have forty-five bars rest here.’ Whereupon the conductor electrified
every one by saying, ‘Mebbe thoo thinks seea, bud leeaks ta here, wa’ve
paid thee fahve pund foor t’ neet an’ thoo’ll ’a’e ti puff all t’ waay
thruff.’
Scores of stories could be given illustrating the aptitude our
country-people exhibit in extricating themselves when placed in an
awkward corner.
The dear old lady who was my study for Mrs. Waddleton asked me to paint
her a picture—‘seea ez Ah s’all ’a’e summat ti leeak at ’at ya’ve deean
yersel when ya’ve geean,’ said she. I readily promised to do so, and in
due course sent her a little snow scene.
A few days afterwards she saw me passing. ‘Noo then,’ she shouted, ‘cum
in wi’ ya. Ah’ve gitten ’t heng’d up, an’, mah wo’d, bud it leeaks
grand, dizn’t it?’ ‘I am glad you like it,’ said I, as I gazed at my
work of art nestling amongst coloured grasses and peacock feathers;
‘and very nicely you have arranged everything. But perhaps it would
be better if you hung it the right way up.’ Her face was a picture.
The dear old soul felt that she had blundered; she was fearful lest I
should feel hurt.
But her native wit saved her. ‘Wrang sahd up, is ’t? Aa, bud, Ah saay,
ya mun be a clivver penter seea ez ti pent a picter ’at leeaks reet
onny road up.’ Then, after a moment’s consideration, she added, ‘But
mebbies Ah’d best to’n ’t t’other road roond; sum fau’k mud think ’at
yan didn’t knaw t’ reet end ov a picter if yan let it bahd ez ’tis.’
Sir C—— and Mr. W——, a solicitor, once overtook Abe Braithwaite, a
well-known character in Bedale, on the way to the meet. ‘Good morning,’
said Sir C——; ‘shall we have a find, Abe?’ ‘Nut i’ yon cover; bud Ah
cud gi’e ya a wrinkle.’ ‘Well, let’s have it,’ said Sir C——. ‘Whya,
deean’t weeast mich tahm yonder, bud gan ti t’ far cover, an’ ya’ll
finnd yan theer, hard eneeaf.’ ‘All right, Abe, I’ll bear in mind what
you say,’ said Sir C—— as the two rode off. ‘Ah saay,’ shouted Abe
after the retreating horsemen, ‘if ya’d ass’d advice frev him ’at’s wi’
ya he’d wanted six an’ eightpence, bud Ah nivver charge nowt na mair
’an a bob mysen.’ And he got it.
A story just strikes me which illustrates several points already
mentioned. A young fellow who was supposed to be learning land agency
bought a horse at an adjacent fair, and was most systematically
swindled. The said horse was being looked over by one of the village
Tykes. Now for many reasons the fellow did not wish to offend the
purchaser, but it was really impossible to say one thing in its favour.
‘Well, Tom, what is the verdict?’ asked the embryo agent. And then
came the answer, which was worthy of a Grecian lawyer: ‘Whya noo,
that gertly depends. Ya weean’t ’a’e bowt it owther ti show or hunt,
noo ’a’e ya?’ ‘Oh no, just to knock about on.’ ‘Oha, whya then, ’t’ll
deea grandly ti knock aboot on,’ said Tom. ‘All the same you think
they’ve swindled me, now don’t you?’ ‘Whya it’s mebbins mair ’an Ah’d
’a’e gi’en for ’t mysen, but ’t’ll deea grandly ti knock aboot on.’
At this juncture they were joined by the village ostler, one who was
never over-nice in his remarks. ‘Now, Jack, what do you think of my
bargain?’ ‘What div Ah think on ’t? Whya, Ah wadn’t be seen takking it
ti t’kennels’ (i. e. taking it to feed the dogs); and then, thinking
he had been a little too severe, he added, ‘Bud Ah’ll tell ya what,
’t’ll deea foor yer ti larn what a hoss s’u’d be, foor it’s getten
neean o’ t’ points ’at a hoss owt ti ’ev, an’ ommaist ivvery yan ’at it
s’u’dn’t; ’t’ll deea foor yer ti study ’t up.’
The Tyke has a habit of answering you in a kind of metaphor, which, as
before remarked, is almost unintelligible unless something of dialect
and idiom has been mastered. As a case in point, I remember after the
last general election saying to an old fellow, ‘Now, John! what do you
think of this complete change in the country?’ Now, John did not know
which side I favoured, neither did he wish me to learn for which party
he had voted, and, further, he was determined not to say anything which
would either give offence to me or expose his own hand. The question
for a moment was a difficult one to answer, but the answer came pat
enough: ‘Whya, Parliment’s varra mich leyke t’ land—ya mun chaange t’
crops noos an’ agaan, or it’s ti neea good. Ah s’ ‘a’e ti be gahin noo;
good daay ti ya.’ He had answered me, fully answered me. He had let
nothing escape him. I was none the wiser as to what his own opinions
were, and I might just as well have saved myself the trouble of asking.
The inspectors of our Board schools can recount many true and curious
anecdotes of our country scholars; but it should be borne in mind by
the department that, although the Yorkshire country-people and their
bairns are bilingual, it is only their mother tongue and ordinary
English which up to the present they have mastered. The southern twang,
pronunciation, and slang is to them as a mystic rune. North-country
men, if you please, to examine North-country boys and girls. Very
often the questions, as put by South-country inspectors, might just as
well be asked in Sanskrit, and very naturally they remain unanswered,
whilst the class is voted as hopeless dunces, when the fault really
lies at the door of the questioner. At one school in Wensleydale a
South-country inspector, when examining a class on the Bible, put this
question, ‘Neow tell me something abeout Mouses.’ ‘Cats kill ’em,’ was
the prompt reply. Another one said to a promising standard in mental
arithmetic, ‘Three packets of pins at a penny each, five hanks of tape
penny each, nine reels of thread penny each, five boxes of hair-pins
penny each, and six ounces of worsted at three halfpence per ounce.
How much does the parcel come to? Quick!’ But the speed with which the
question had been asked, the twang, and the unfamiliar sound of many
of the words, left the standard almost in absolute ignorance of the
question. One thing, and of only one thing, were they clear upon—that
they were being asked something about _thread_, _worsted_, and
_hair-pins_. But as the inspector uttered that ‘Quick!’ he fixed his
eyes on one lad, and the effect of that glance was mesmeric. The lad
immediately answered, ‘Pleease, sur, wa ar’n’t lasses.’
But it is not the South-country man alone who receives unlooked for
answers from the practical bairns of our dales. After a somewhat
lengthy and highflown picture-painting on faith, the teacher, wishing
to see if the children had grasped her foolish poetical outburst,
said to one of the boys, whose mother, by the way, was a widow and
desperately poor, ‘Now, Tommy, if I were to say to you, “There will be
a rich plum pudding for your dinner,” and you believed me, what would
that be?’ ‘It ’ud be a gert tak in, for wa nivver ’a’e nowt na better
’an a suet dumpling at oor hoos,’ was the unexpected reply.
Again, an inspector asked one of the boys in Bilsdale, or rather
commenced to ask, a question in mental arithmetic: said he, ‘If you
had in your hand five apples, two oranges, and three pears, and I was
to take—-— ’ But he got no further; the practical bairn stopped him by
saying, ‘Pleease, sur, Ah c’u’dn’t ho’d ’em all i’ yah han’.’
To conclude this chapter, just one more example. Said an inspector to
a little girl, ‘If I knitted twelve stitches in a minute, how many
stitches should I have on my needle at the end of five minutes?’ ‘Ya
wadn’t a’e neean, ’coz ya deean’t knit stitches; ya’re nut gahin ti
catch me i’ that waay.’ He ought to have said ’loops.’