Jwosep’ Thompson leev’t lang up at Harrin’ton toon,[17]
An’ a weel to dee, throughly oald marrow was Joe,
Wid a neive like a neàf, an’ a feàce like a moon,
An’ a shap’, standin’ ūp, like a tee-tak-up-o’.
Jwosep’ Thompson hed ola’s been hearty an’ stoot,
But trūbble o’ sūm mak’s gay sarten to cūm,
An’ when threescwore an’ two he hed jūst coontit oot,
He was terrably tyl’t wid a gedderin’ thūmb.
For it feister’t an’ wark’t wid sa beàdless a stoon,
’At rist he gat nin for’t by neet nor by day;
But he rantit aboot, or he reàv’t ūp an’ doon,
Fairly greànin’ his life an’ fwokes patience away.
Ther’ wer’ pokey oald wives aboot Harrin’ton than,
An’ a varst of advice, o’ free gratis, he gat;
But he gat nèa ’mends, dudn’t pooar oāld man,
An’ he fail’t varra sair iv his leùks an’ his fat.
He seeken’t at meat,—nay, he’d bowk at a speùn!
An’ his beùrd he let growe like a Turk or a gwoat,
An’ he squeak’t iv his toak like a fiddle oot o’ teùn,
An’ like bags full o’ nowte hung his britches an’ cwoat.
But o’ things they telt him Joe triet tūll his thūmb—
Sec as cerat’, an’ yal-grūnds, an’ turmets an’ skarn,
Screàp’t taties, an’ ’bacca, an’ pooder wid rūm,
An’ reūts ’at they raik’t oot o’ t’ boddom o’ t’ tarn.
An’ fegs, an’ bog-unnion, an’ blackberry buds,
An’ carrots, an’ pūppies, an’ teàdsteùls, an’ sneels,
An’ soave meàd wid rozzle an’ meal boil’t i’ sūds,
An’ t’ fat rwoastit oot o’ beàth hag-wūrms an’ eels.
An’ strang reisty bakin, an’ boil’t cabbish skrūnt,
An’ broon seàp an’ sugger, an’ typstic, an’ tar,
An’ he keept an’ oald pūltess of o’ mak’s upon’t,[18]
Till Joe an’ his thūmb warn’t nice to cū’ nār.
It was o’ nèa use-nūt a crūmb dūd he mend!
An’ t’ parson co’ tūll him to pray an’ to read,
An’ whisper, “I say, Jwosep’! think o’ thy end”—
But he wadn’t—he thowte of a doctor asteed.
An’ tul’ t’ doctor he dreàv iv his car—thumb an’ o’—
An’ t’ doctor said, “Well, my lad—off this mūn cūm!”
An’ he haggelt an’ cot at his pultess-bleach’t po’,
Till Joe was weel shot of his mūrderin’ thumb.
T’ doctor lapt ūp his hand varra fewsome an’ reet,
An’ Joe, like a man, pait him weel for his job,
An’, creùnin’, “I’s m’appen git sūm rist to-neet,”
Joggelt heàm, pleased as Punch, wid his thumb in his fob.
An’ to t’ wife says he, “Tak’ ’t to t’ churchyard oot o’ geàt,
An’ bury ’t whoar I’ll lig mysel’ when I dee.”
An’ she went wid a trooin an’ lantern, leàt,
An’ left it i’ t’ spot whoar Joe said it mud be.
Jwosep’ to’k till his meat, for his hand mendit weel—
(He hed gud healin’ flesh, an’ fine natur’, hed Joe,)[19]
He screàp’t off his beùrd—he gev ow’r wid his squeel,
An’ was gittin’ as pūbble an’ roond as a bo’.
But jūst when he thowte o’ his trūbble was geàn,
A pain com’ ageàn, wār nor iver he’d fund,
An’ theear it keept burnin’ an’ bworin’ i’ t’ beàn
O’ t’ thumb ’at was buriet an’ coald under t’ grūnd.[20]
Jwosep’ went back to t’ doctor, an’ t’ oald wicket teul
H’ard his teàl, an’ says he, wid a snūrt an’ a gūrn,
“If thy thumb’s i’ t’ churchyard, thoo pooar priest-bodder’t feùl,
Thoo ma’ mak’ thysel’ suer while it bides it ’ill būrn.”
He laid him sūm plaisters o’ soav on his po’,
An’ gev him sūm stuff to lig on tūl’t at heàm;
But nowte putten on tul’t gev easement tūll Joe,
For t’ būrnin’ an’ bworin’ wer’ iverly t’ seàm.
An’ it keept on sa bad, he tūrn’t maffelt an’ maiz’t,
An’ sa wankle an’ wake ’at he to’k tull his bed,
Whoar, liggin’ hoaf deid, ey, an’ mair nor hoaf craiz’t,
He cūd think aboot nowte but what t’ doctor hed said.
He triet nūt to speak on’t—He knew ’twasn’t reet,
But it ola’s beàd by him—his uppermor’ thowte;
An’ he yammer’t at t’ wife tull she went back at neet
To dig ūp t’ oald thūmb, an’ brong’t heàm iv a cloot.
They laid it i’ t’ gardin, an’ hoo ’t com’ aboot
Nowder t’ mistress nor t’ parson cūd under-cum-stand,
But sarten it was, fray that varra time oot,
Sairy Jwosep’ was bodder’t na mair wid his hand.
But Jwosep’ was niver ageàn his oald sel’.
An’ a questi’n com’ ūp still whativer he tried,
“If a thùmb i’ t’ churchyard was sa bad, whoa cūd tell
What a corp’ pùtten in’t o’togidder mūd bide!”
This he maddel’t aboot ebben endways away—
As lang as he breath’t it was ola’s his drone;
An’ t’ wife hed na peace till he gat her to say
He sud lig by his-sel’ iv a field o’ the’r oan.
An’ Joe tiet her up till her wūrd iv his will,
For theear suer aneuf when he dee’t it was fūnd
’At he’d left o’ tull hūr, no’but if she’d fulfil
His craze ageàn liggin’ i’ consecrate grūnd.
An’ Joe hed his way, for a square roughish steàn[21]
By t’ dike, i’ t’ Sco’-lonnin’, at this varra day,
Tell’s whoar Jwosep’ Thompson ligs whyet an’ leàn—
Keep us weel fray sec doctors as Jwosep’s, I pray!
An’ keep us, I pray, fray o’ wild wicket toak,
Bringan’ bodder an’ fashment tull oald an’ tull yūng.
Jwosep’ Thompson wad ristit wid Christian fwoke,
If t’ doctor he went tull hed hodden his tūng!
[17] Harrington Town, the ancient village about half a mile inland,
is so called in distinction from Harrington Harbour, the small
sea-port, which is modern. The heiress of the family which took its
name and title from Harrington was mother of the Lord Bonville and
Harrington, brother-in-law to the king-making Earl of Warwick. The
manor was forfeited by the attainder of Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk,
great-grandson of the said Lord Bonville, and father of Lady Jane Grey,
and given by the Queen (Mary), to the Curwens of Workington, who still
hold it.
[18] Should this compendium of topical applications seem at all
overcharged, I would state that it consists of well known popular
remedies, mostly of _some_ use, and falls far short, whether in
variety, extravagance, or repulsiveness of the multifarious nostra
recommended by amateurs of the healing art in Cumberland and the
adjacent counties. The “poultice of o’ maks” is not, as its name seems
to imply, a compound, but a simple substance, which it is unnecessary
to indicate more distinctly than to mention that it was generally
turned to when pleasanter applications had failed. I have frequently
heard old people extol its virtues as a promoter of suppuration, but
I trust its use may now be classed with the “many precious rites and
customs of our rural forefathers,” which, as Wordsworth has said, “are
gone or stealing from us.“
[19] This alludes to the popular belief, not altogether unfounded, that
readiness in healing is connected with an easy disposition.
[20] A delusion common enough after amputation.
[21] The stone stood—I believe stands—behind the hedge which on the
western side fences the lane called Scaw-lonning, near High Harrington.
When I last saw it—many years ago—the subjoined inscription was quite
distinct upon it—plainer, indeed, than any of similar date in the
churchyard:—
”JOSEPH THOMPSON may here be found
Who would not lie in consecrated ground
Died May 13th 1745
Aged 63 when he was alive”
With the traditional account of the circumstances that caused this
fancy of Joseph Thompson’s, the details given in the rhyme coincide as
closely as my recollection of a tale heard in boyhood enables me to
make them.
Since the first appearance of this, however, another version of the
matter has been reported to me by old friends near the spot—but
inasmuch as it does not account so perfectly as the old story for
Joseph’s objection to ALL consecrated ground, I feel bound to abide
by my first choice. The, to me, new story tells that Joseph Thompson
annoyed the clerk in the church so seriously by repeating the responses
in a voice that quite drowned his, that at length the said functionary
exclaimed during service—“Is thoo t’ clark, or is I t’ clark? If thoo’s
t’ clark, cūm up hèar, an’ I’ll cūm doon thèar!“—and, on Joseph’s
paying no attention to his appeal, supplemented it by assaulting him.
The clergyman taking his clerk’s side in the quarrel, Joseph Thompson
declared he would never come near the church again, dead or alive, and
kept his word.
I take leave to think that my version is the better, whichever may be
the truer tale. I have further been told that the stone formerly stood
in the centre of the field—and on the land coming into the possession
of Mr. John Christian Curwen, the farmer waited upon that distinguished
agriculturist to obtain permission to remove it to the hedge-side, and
to plough the field. When he was told the history of the monument, and
its inscription was recited to him, Mr. Curwen exclaimed, _more suo_,
”_Would not lie in consecrated ground!_ Then, plough him up! D—— him,
plough him up!”