Many of the working-classes in Lancashire, especially in
out-of-the-way villages, take pride in the style of their funerals. On
such occasions it is usual to have a "spread" in the shape of a "thick
tay" on returning to the house after the "burying," when the relations
and friends assemble and talk over the virtues of the dear departed.
To omit such a provision is looked upon as a neglect of duty not to be
passed over without comment. A ham, boiled whole, and served cold
along with the tea, is the favourite "thickening" on those occasions.
One matron was much scandalized that her next door neighbour had made
no further provision for the funeral guests than a "sawp o' lemonade"
and a few sweet cakes.
"Aw 've laid mi husband an' three childer i' th' churchyard," remarked
this censor of her neighbour's conduct, "an', thank the Lord, aw
buried 'em o' wi' 'am!"
My next story must not be taken as fairly exemplifying the Lancashire
female character, which, indeed is usually of a very different
complexion. It is, however, related as a fact that a poor old fellow
as he lay dying, and who, in an interval of reviving consciousness,
detected the smell of certain savoury viands that were being prepared,
managed in his weakness to say to his better-half who was busy near
the fireplace:
"Aw think aw could like a taste o' that yo've gettin i' th' pot,
Betty."
"Eh! give o'er talkin' that way, Jone," was the response, "thae cannot
ha' noan o' this; it's th' _'am_, mon, as aw'm gettin ready for th'
buryin!"
* * * * *
There is sarcastic humour in the remark made by one to his friend who
had just buried his uncle, the latter when alive having been something
of a rip:
"I've known worse men, John, than your uncle."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear you speak so well of my uncle," was the response
of the other, with just a touch of surprise in his look.
"Ay," continued the first speaker, "I've known worse men than your
uncle, John, but not so d----d many!"
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.