THE GREAT TICKET-OF-LEAVE STRIKE
This great dispute in the iron trade of Keighley, about the year 1871,
was known as the "ticket-of-leave" strike. The "Iron Lords" of Keighley
amalgamated and practised a system of boycotting upon their workpeople.
If a workman left one firm and took up with another, the latter would
enquire of the man's late employers what were the reasons of his leaving,
&c. The reply took the form of a "Ticket," sent under cover, of course,
and practically decided the fate of the workman. Containing as this
ticket usually did particulars as to the class to which the workman in
question belonged; as to the wages he was worth, &c., the scale of
ironworkers' wages in the town got to an unbearably low ebb. The masters
held the full sway for a while; then the workpeople broke out in open
revolt against the pernicious system of their masters, and thus commenced
the great "ticket-of-leave" strike. Early in the dispute I was applied to
by the strike authorities to write and expose the unfair dealings of the
"Iron Lords" of Keighley, and on the first day of the strike I composed
several verses to go to the tune of the National Anthem. This was sung at
the first great meeting of the strikers held in the Temperance Hall. The
verses were as follow:--
Men of the iron trade,
Whose hands have England made
Greater than all!
How can you quietly stand
With the chains on your hands?
Hear you not through the land
Liberty's call?
Long have you been the slaves
Of these conniving knaves
Now's your relief.
Swear you no longer will,
Neither in shop nor mill,
Tremble for pen or quill,
Or ticket-of-leave!
Strike while the iron's hot,
And let it not be forgot
'Tis sweet liberty.
Stand like true Britons, then,
Show you are Englishmen,
Make your shouts ring again,
"We will be free!"
This is only one of the many effusions I manufactured at the request of
the Strike Committee. I wrote pamphlet after pamphlet (some sixteen pages
in length) denouncing the unfair system which the masters had put into
operation. The strikers went into the outside districts, as far as
Bradford and on to Leeds, collecting towards the strike funds. They took
with them supplies of my pamphlets and verses, which, so the men told me,
won them much sympathy, and, what was infinitely more desirable--much
money. But this system of collection to the strike funds was much abused,
as has been the case in the present coal strike--men went out begging,
ostensibly for the general strike fund, but in reality for their own
private funds. Individuals managed to possess themselves of strike
"literature," and with its aid found themselves able to rake in the
shekels more abundantly than they had been doing by their ordinary work;
and so the strike proved a sort of harvest to them. The strikers received
much support, I must say, from the publicans. In particular, one Owen
Cash the landlord of the "Devonshire Tap," provided free dinners as well
as suppers. Then "Bob" Walton and a pork butcher in Upper Green each gave
a whole pig; and there were many other gifts in kind for the out o' work
workers. Of course there were those among the strikers ever ready to take
a mean advantage of a kind action. A good many of the shopkeepers allowed
goods on credit; but many of the people to whom they extended this
privilege failed to show up again after the strike was settled. When this
settlement was arrived at, it was at the expense of the masters. At this
juncture the Strike Committee was not altogether without funds, for they
had a surplus of something like 40 pounds. There were various suggestions
made as to the disposal of this money, one of them being that it should
be handed to Bill o' th' Hoylus End for his services in the "strike
literature department." This suggestion was embodied in a motion, but the
proposer got no seconder, and thus there remained wanting a bridge over
the chasm existing between the money and myself; but the bridge is still
wanting!
THE PARISH PINDER
Perhaps a reference in my "Recollections" to William Speak (_alias_
"Bawk"), the parish pinder, will not be out of place. "Billy," as the
gentleman was ordinarily called, occupied the position of pinder for a
score of years. He was well known in the town, not merely on account of
his official duty in taking care of stray animals, but of personal
peculiarities which made him a public character. Yes; he certainly had
his eccentricities had Billy Speak. One peculiarity about him in the eyes
of the townspeople was that he was seldom, if ever, seen abroad in the
daytime; but at night he always appeared to be very busy. Of course
rumour is rumour; but some people went so far as to say when his "trade"
was slack, Billy would not object to opening a gate and allowing the
animals in the field to come out upon the highway, thus affording a nice
capture for the pinfold. It was also said that the pinder had received
many sound thrashings from farmers whom he had met at night for these
little acts of misdemeanour. In this connection I may mention that on one
occasion a goose belonging to Jerry Wells was placed in the pinfold
(which was then in Coney lane) by Billy. The walls of the pound, however,
were so low that Jerry's goose flew over them, and went away--the pinder
did not know where. Now, old Jerry Wells was a man who enjoyed a good
"lark"; and although his goose had come home, he sued Billy in the County
Court, on the 12th January, 1853, for "clappin' his gooise in'tat'
pinfowd." How the case ended I forget; but I think it would teach the too
ardent pinder a valuable lesson. Now, for a long time Billy had to go
without a uniform, but at last Barney McVay and others said it was a
shame that anyone holding an official position of this kind should not be
provided with a uniform. So that a public subscription was started, and
the pinder--to enable him the better to uphold the dignity of his
office--was presented with a uniform; and at the same time opportunity
was taken to uniform the town's crier, Jack Moore, who kept the "Dusty
Miller," at Damside. The question of suitable headgear was a momentous
and difficult one, but eventually a helmet was selected for the pinder,
with a cocked hat for the town's crier. "Bawk" did not live long to enjoy
his uniform. He died in May, 1875, and was followed to the grave by his
wife a few days afterwards.
ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK
It was in 1872 that James Leach and David Hey and myself purchased a
large shark at Hull. The shark had apparently been harpooned at sea, and
washed into the Humber. It was secured by some fishermen, and they
offered it for sale by public auction. A brother of George Swire, of
Keighley, chanced to be in Hull at the time, and hearing of the sale, he
sent word to us at Keighley about it. My friend Leach--who would be close
upon sixty years old at the time--was deputed to Hull to purchase the
shark, and he effected the bargain for 3 pounds 17s 6d. The shark was
seventeen feet in length; it was brought to Keighley by rail, and there
were many people to witness the landing of the monster. We took it to the
Burlington laithe (now used as an auction room by Mr T. S. Lister). I
painted a glowing scenic piece for the entrance to the
exhibition--picturing the shark swallowing a whole boat-load of people! I
was also put on to act as showman, and in that capacity--not in my
capacity as a private citizen--I told stories of the voracious appetite
of the shark when alive. Many blankets had been found in the shark, not
to mention a barrel or two of beer. Leach stood at the door turning a box
organ, which we had bought cheaply; and David Hey undertook to look after
the naphtha lamps, &c. Well, for a week the show went on very well, and
we had large numbers of visitors. Towards the end of the week, the fish
began to smell, so we paid Joseph Gott, taxidermist, Market-street, 5
pounds to cure the shark. In the meantime we purchased a tent and
additional naphtha lamps, and when the curing process was completed, and
we had had a box made in which to place the shark, we started on our
first expedition, going to Haworth. Our visit here was attended by a
slight misfortune. We had got the tent pitched, and a good audience in
it, when one of the naphtha lamps exploded and set fire to the canvas
top. Luckily we succeeded in extinguishing the flames before they had
done more than burn a hole in the canvas top; and the aperture was
covered with a shawl, which my friend Leach was wearing. As on the
occasion of my visit to Haworth in the garb of a monkey, with Jack
Spencer, the Haworth folk thought it a joke, and swore that the shark
"wor made o' leather." But after they had examined it, I think they were
convinced it was the real thing. We next took the show to Clayton, and
here we were unable to get lodgings, and had to sleep in the tent along
with the shark. Before daybreak we were leaving Clayton for Vicar's
Croft, Leeds. It was moonlight, and I shall never forget an incident
which happened on the way. Certainly we must have formed a very curious
spectacle. A grey galloway and cart, with Dave Hey as driver; myself on
the cart balancing the long box; and James Leach sitting with the box
organ on his back. Leach saw our shadow in the strong moonlight, and
rather astonished us by exclaiming--"There's Bill o' th' Hoylus
theear--he can wag his tongue like a lamb's tail; and Dave o' th'
Damside--he can whistle an' sing an' he's a houseful o' little barns; by
gum, I wish I wor at home wi' ahr Sarah!" The rest of the journey he
seemed to be occupied in deep thought; and when we got the tent erected
in Vicar's Croft he "broke out in open rebellion," and refused to play
the organ. "Nay," says he, "no more organ playing for me; I'm bahn ta
dissolve partnership wi' ye, an' tak t' first train ta Keighley." He
suited his words to action and returned home. Of course this rather upset
things, but Dave and I determined to go on with the business. Our visit
to Leeds brought in a few pounds. Hey then insisted on our going up in
the Lake District. I objected strongly, but had eventually to give in,
and, to make a long story short, we landed at Windermere. We did very
poor business, barely paying expenses; and such was the case when we
moved to Keswick and other places around the Lake District. We next
shifted to Morecambe, where we passed a very profitable week, and then
embarked in a fishing smack which was returning to Fleetwood. We were
overtaken by a fearful storm, and the fishermen were fully occupied in
keeping their boat right side up. Hey was down in the hold, having left
me to take care of the shark. The sea swept over the sides, and I had
great difficulty in retaining the box containing our treasure. I shouted
to Dave to come and help me, but the only answer I got was that if he was
going to be drowned he "wod dee happy." When we got to Fleetwood, some
time elapsed before we were able to land, and when we at last did set
foot on the shore, I said to myself, "No more shark showing for me." Luck
seemed to be in the way just then, for a gentleman who came in to see the
shark asked me what I would sell it for. I told him I would take 20
pounds for the whole concern--shark, tent, box organ, &c. But he said he
only wanted the shark. After much bargaining I brought the price down to
14 pounds for the lot, and he accepted this, and returned the tent, box
organ, lamps, &c., and out of these Hey and I made another sovereign. The
gentleman purchased the shark for a museum in Fleetwood. Dave o' th'
Damside and Bill o' th' Hoylus End were now rich for once in their lives,
but--I almost shrink from telling it--by the time they got to Skipton
they had spent every penny of the money, and had to walk to Keighley,
from where they had been absent about six months.