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superseded in the duties as constable by the Peelers or police, as we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:
"I'll tell yo what yo maun do, chaps."
"What maun we do? What maun we do, George?" they asked.
"Go yor ways back to th' Dragon," said George, "an' lay 'em out on th'
tables, as money on 'em as gets kilt, an' i' th' morning I'll come
down an' count 'em," and with that he crashed the window down again,
leaving the discomfited jokers to find their way back to the
bar-parlour of the Dragon as best they might.
Latterly, George did duty as a bailiff, attending auction sales,
keeping the door, and handing the drink round to the thirsty bidders.
He wore a blue coat with metal buttons, knee-breeches and brown
stockings, with a pair of clogs at least fourteen inches in length,
and a sole an inch and a half thick. He was also adorned with a blue
apron which was usually tucked round his waist, and he wore for years
an old felt hat that had scarcely a vestige of brim left.
George, when I knew him, lodged with two elderly maiden sisters, Ann
o' th' Kiln and Judie, but he kept his own room in order, and did his
own cooking. One evening George's supper was on the hob, and some
practical jokers, being on the look out, attracted his attention
outside, whilst one of them slipped in and emptied a cupful of salt
into the pot.
George, on sitting down to his evening meal, found the porridge so
over-seasoned that it was impossible to eat them. He tried again and
again, muttering to himself: "Tha'll ha' to come to 't, George! Tha'll
ha' to come to 't!" but it was of no use, he had to give them up at
last.
Determined, however, that they should not be thrown away or otherwise
wasted, he got a pudding cloth, and tying them up in this, hung them
from a hook in the ceiling of his room, and instead, thereafter, of
salting his porridge in the usual way, he cut a slice from the
over-salted compound as long as it lasted and put it in the pot, so
saving both salt and oatmeal. By frugality and self-denial George
managed to save a considerable sum of money, and was in the habit of
lending it out on security at good interest.
* * * * *
Somewhat akin to this display of frugality was the action of some of
the first co-operators in Bacup. They early followed the example of
the Rochdale Pioneers, their society being established in the year
1847. They had a good deal to learn in those early days, and made
mistakes in buying. One of the mistakes, I remember, was the purchase
of a small cargo of Dutch or American cheeses. These, when they came
to hand, proved to be so hard that a knife blade stood no chance with
them. They were more like "young grindlestones" (as one of the shopmen
expressed it) than cheeses.
What was to be done? It would never do to throw them away--that was
out of the question. A hatchet would have mauled them and spoilt their
appearance; so Abram o' Bobs, who was equal to the emergency, brought
his hand-saw one night and divided them into a number of saleable
pieces. When cut, they had the appearance of brown ivory, and were
nearly as hard. There must have been some aching teeth and jaws before
those same cheeses were finally polished off!
It is not often that Rossendale men are so taken in. Waugh in one of
his sketches remarks that the men of Rossendale are "a long way
through." That is quite true as regards many of them. For that reason
they are also a long way round, and it is not easy "coming round" one
of the pure breed.
* * * * *
I was amused with a remark made on one occasion by an old fellow best
known by the sobriquet of "Jobber Pilling's feyther." He had a
two-foot rule, and was trying to take the dimensions of a deal board
on which he was at work. The figures on his two-foot, however, were
quite illegible by reason of the blade being either soiled or worn.
Spitting on it, and giving it a rub with his coat sleeve, he looked
shrewdly at me, and remarked: "This thing wants kestnin' o'er again."
Whether he meant that the application of water would improve it, or
that the figures would do with recutting, I don't just know, but the
christening simile would be applicable either way.
By the way, we often find in Lancashire the sons and daughters having
the names of their father or mother applied to them along with their
own by way of recognition; as for example, "George o' Bob's," "Dick o'
owd Sally's," "Bill o' Jack's," and so on; but this is the only
instance I remember of the father being distinguished by a reference
to the son. Jobber Pilling, the son, was the more pronounced character
in the family, and so the elder representative of the name was known
as "Jobber Pilling's feyther."
When people are reputed to be wealthy, and especially if they make a
parade of their wealth, it is sometimes said in the vernacular that
"they fair stinken o' brass." Vulgar as is this phrase, it has the
true Chaucerean ring about it. One might almost take it to be a
quotation from the Canterbury Tales. For expressiveness and force it
cannot be surpassed.
In Rossendale, a red herring is called "a sodjer."
The stories that are told of some of the wealthier inhabitants of
Rossendale are curious and amusing. "Same as yo, Maister George," has
become a classic saying. It originated thus: The occasion was the
election of a poor-law guardian--an exciting event when political
parties, Whig and Tory, brought out their candidates, and put forth
their strength in the contest. Political feeling ran high then as now,
and guardians were elected on the colour of their politics quite
independently of their special fitness for the position.
George Hargreaves, Esquire, J.P., was the ruling Tory spirit in the
very heart of the Rossendale Valley in bygone years--a man of staunch
integrity and blameless life, and Tory to the backbone. The voters,
many of whom were dependent on him in various ways because he was a
man of property and an employer of labour, were crowding into the
school-room to record their votes, George himself marshalling his
partizans, and scanning the faces of doubtful supporters.
"Who are you voting for, Sam?" spoke out Mr Hargreaves to a sturdy
Rossendalean elbowing his way among the crowd.
"Same as yo', Maister George," answered Sam with a nod, "Same as yo',"
and "maister George" nodded back with a gratified smile. So it is
"same as yo', maister George," when the opinion of any present day
political or other weak-backed inhabitant is in question.
* * * * *
A number of stories are related of John Brooks of Sunnyside, and Sam
Brooks, the well-known Manchester banker; John and Sam were brothers.
One of the stories is too good to be lost. When the Act of
Incorporation was obtained for, and government by a municipality was
first introduced into Manchester, it is said that John Brooks was
asked to stand as a Town-Councillor or Alderman. Being doubtful as to
the expediency of taking such a step, he promised to consult his
brother Sam and be guided by his advice.
Accordingly, he spoke to Sam on the subject, informing him that he
(John) had been asked to take office as a new-fangled Town-Councillor.
What did he think of it? Would it be wise or prudent for him to comply
with the request?
"Will they pay you for it?" enquired Sammy with a quick interrogative
glance at his brother.
"O, no!" John replied, "there 'll be no pay for th' job--nothing for
it but the honour of the position."
"Humph! honour be hanged!" responded Sam, "let me gi'e thee a bit of
advice, John; whenever thae does ought for nought, do it for
thae-sell!"
On one occasion Mr Sam Brooks had advertised for a dog. Sitting in his
breakfast-room, which looked out towards the entrance gate, he saw a
rough tyke of a youth coming along the drive partly dragging, partly
holding back with a cord, a mongrel-looking brute that had been sent
in answer to the advertisement.
Mr Brooks, rising, went to the door and accosted the youth:
"What have you got there, my lad?"
"A dog that mi feyther has sent."
"Thae feyther has sent it, has he? Hum!" (The millionaire banker
walked leisurely round the animal and surveyed its points.)
"How much does thae feyther want for it, my lad?" at length he asked.
"He wants a sovereign for it." "A sovereign! That's a devil of a
price!"
"Ay," was the response, "an mi feyther says that this is a devil of a
dog!"
Doubtless Sam enjoyed the answer of the ingenuous youth, for he
relished a joke, but whether he purchased the uncommon animal at the
price asked for it is another question.
The following story by Mr George Milner[10] is another added to the
number. It is related of Mr Brooks, that on the occasion of a severe
illness, being told by his physician, at a time when money was at a
high rate of interest, that he must certainly prepare for the worst as
there was but slender hope of his recovery, he answered: "What? die!
and money at eight per cent.? Never, doctor, never!" The idea of
leaving his capital when it was more than usually remunerative was
more than he could bear.
[10] From an Article, "Table Talk" in _St Paul's (MS.) Magazine_.
* * * * *
The following is a tale in a double sense. Rossendale farmers are not,
as a rule, given to practical joking, but an anecdote will show that
sometimes, at least, they can usefully indulge in that pastime. A
certain farmer was greatly perplexed as to the reason of the sudden
illness that occurred from time to time among his beasts, and which in
each case appeared to be the result of fright. To learn the cause of
this he set a watch, when he discovered that a neighbour's dog was in
the habit of running among the cattle and worrying them. This
neighbour was one of his best customers and particularly fond of his
dog, and caution was therefore necessary in approaching him on the
subject.
The aggrieved farmer spoke to his neighbour one day, told him of his
troubles, and suggested that a cure could be effected by cutting off
the end of the dog's tail, which would, he said, be better than
killing the animal or parting with it. To this the neighbour assented,
and the culprit being secured was held in position by the farmer,
while its owner stood with uplifted hatchet, ready to descend on the
animal's tail. The signal being given, down came the hatchet, when,
lo! instead of the tail-end dropping off, the dog's head was
completely severed; the farmer exclaiming: "By gum! but thad wur a
near do!" and declared that he knew it would cure it.
* * * * *
A diminutive hunchback, being out of collar, applied for a situation.
"What can you do, my man?" asked the employer.
"Well," was the reply, "aw can dreyve a horse and cart."
"Drive a horse and cart! Why, man, the horse would tread on you."
"Would he, though?" was the ready response, "He'd ha' to get into th'
cart first!"
* * * * *
The inhabitants of the Dean Valley in Rossendale have long been
celebrated for their excellence as musicians, both vocal and
instrumental; and it is from this fact that their appellation of
"Deyghn Layrocks" has arisen. From records more than a century and a
half old, we learn that they were in the habit of meeting in each
others' houses by turns, and practising together the compositions,
sacred and secular, which our country can boast in such rich
abundance. Many pieces of their own composing bear the impress of
ability far beyond mediocrity, and deserve to be more generally known.
Some of these have, indeed, already gone abroad into the world, and
are sung in places widely apart; being admired by those who are unable
to recognise either their origin or authorship.
I have in my possession a collection in manuscript of no fewer than
fifty sacred pieces, consisting of Psalm tunes and chants, composed by
residents in the Dean Valley, and in other parts of Rossendale. Large
as is this number, I have reason to believe that it is but a
fractional part of what might be collected in the locality. Some of
the names given to the pieces are characteristic of the dry humour of
the authors--a quality which is largely possessed by many of the old
inhabitants of the Forest. Among the list we find "Happy Simeon,"
"Little Amen," "Bocking Warp," "Strong Samson," "Old Methuselah," and
"Spanking Rodger."
In handloom days, when every man's house was his workshop, it was
usual for the Deyghners to repair to each other's houses alternately
after the Sunday's service at the Chapel, and continue their practice
of music far into the small hours of the Monday morning; and, on
rising after a brief repose, the Monday was spent in a similar manner.
Very often the Tuesday also was devoted to the like purpose. But
sound, however sweet, is but sorry food for hungry stomachs, and,
consequently, during the remaining days of the week, the loom had to
be plied with unremitting vigour to supply the ever-recurring wants of
the household.
It is related of two of the "Layrocks"--father and son--that they had
been busy trying to master a difficult piece of music, one with the
violin, the other with the violoncello, but were still unable to
execute certain of the more intricate movements to their satisfaction.
They had put their instruments aside for the night, and had retired to
rest. After his "first sleep," the younger enthusiast, in ruminating
over the performance of the evening, thought that if he might only
rise and attempt the piece _then_, he should be able to manage it.
Creeping from under the bed-clothes, he awoke his father, who also
arose; and soon the two in their shirts might have been seen, through
the unscreened window, flourishing their bows at an hour when ordinary
mortals are laid unconscious in the arms of Somnus. The lonely
traveller, had there been one at that untimely hour, would surely,
like Tam o' Shanter as he passed by "Alloway's auld haunted Kirk,"
have felt his hair rising on end at the sight of two ghostly
individuals scraping music at the dead of night, and in such unwonted
attire.
* * * * *
The early Bacup Baptists used to immerse in the river Irwell at Lumb
Head. A story is related of an irreverent wag who placed a prickly
thorn at the bottom of the pool when old "Ab o' th' Yate" was
baptized. On complaining of the injuries he had sustained in the
process of immersion, Ab was consoled by being assured that it must
have been his sins that were pricking him.
* * * * *
Richard Taylor of Bacup, the Rossendale "Ale-taster," was a humorist
of the first water. His proper calling was that of a spindle maker,
hence his sobriquet of "Spindle Dick," a rare workman at his trade
when he chose, and in his soberer hours. He was a fellow of infinite
jest, not lacking in sound judgment, but with that kind of twist in
his nature that would never allow him for two minutes at a spell to
treat any subject in a serious mood. In his hands there was nothing
incongruous or far-fetched in the office of ale-taster. Its duties,
incrusted with the antiquity of centuries, came as naturally to him as
though he had been living in the time of the Heptarchy, and was to the
manner born. The incongruity was when he forsook, as he occasionally
did, his ale-tasting duties and applied himself assiduously to his
business of spindle making.
The appointment of ale-taster took place annually along with those of
the greave, moor and hedge lookers, bellman and officers for the
assize of bread at the Halmot Court of the Lord of the Honor.
In earlier days the punishment for brewing or publicly vending bad ale
was either a fine or a two hours' seat upon the cuck-stool before the
culprit's own door. The drink, if pronounced by a discriminating judge
to be _undrinkable_, being handed over to the poor folk.
It is only in a district like Rossendale, that such an interesting
relic of the olden time could have survived. Regularly as the month
of October came round, Dick put in an appearance at the Halmot Court
and was reinstated in his office with due formality. A memorial
presented by him to the Court Leet contains some touches of dry humour
highly characteristic of the man. In this he says:
"From a natural bashfulness, and being unaccustomed to public
speaking, which my friends tell me is a very fortunate circumstance, I
am induced to lay my claim in writing before your honourable Court.
"The appointment which I hold is a very ancient one, dating, as you
are aware, from the time of the good King Alfred, when the Court Leet
appointed their head-borough, tithing-men, burs-holder and ale-taster;
which appointments were again regulated in the time of Edward III.;
and through neglect this important office to a beer-imbibing
population ought not to be suffered to fall into disrepute or
oblivion.
"In Rossendale there are countless numbers of practical followers of
the school to which that illustrious Dutchman, Mynheer Van Dunck,
belonged, and while they imbibe less brandy, they make up for it in
beer. For some Rossendale men, indeed, beer is meat, drink, washing
and lodging: and do away with the office of ale-taster, an inferior
quality of the beverage may be sold, and the consequent waste of
tissue among the working classes would be something awful to
contemplate. Your honourable Court, then, cannot but perceive the vast
importance of my office.
"At the time when Rossendale was in reality a forest, and a squirrel
could jump from one tree to another from Sharneyford to Rawtenstall
without touching the ground, the office of ale-taster was no doubt a
sinecure; but with the growth of population and the spread of
intelligence in Rossendale there has been a proportionate increase of
licensed public-houses and beer-shops, which has created a
corresponding amount of responsibility in my duties.
"For three years I have upheld the dignity of your honourable Court as
ale-taster without emolument, stipend, fee or perquisite of any kind.
I have even been dragged before a subordinate Court and fined five
shillings and costs whilst fulfilling the duties of my office. My
great service should receive some slight acknowledgment at your hands,
and thus would be secured the upright discharge of those duties you
expect me to fulfil; and my imperial gill measure, which I carry along
with me as my baton of office, should bear the seal of your
honourable Court.
"The quality of the beer retailed at the Rossendale public-houses is
generally good, and calculated to prevent the deterioration of tissue,
and I do not detect any signs of adulteration. The only complaint I
have to make is of the quality of the ales sold at Newchurch during
the week in which 'Kirk Fair,' is held; they are not then up to the
mark in point of strength and flavour; but this is a speciality, and
it is the only speciality that I feel bound to comment upon, excepting
that which immediately concerns your obedient servant, Richard Taylor,
Ale-taster for that part of Her Majesty's dominions known as
Rossendale."
On a later occasion Mr Taylor sent in his resignation to the Halmot
Court as follows:
"Gentlemen, I respectfully, but firmly, tender my resignation as the
ale-taster of the Forest, an office which I have held for seven years
without any salary or fee of any description. During that period I
have done my duty both to his grace the Duke of Buccleuch (Lord of the
Honor of Clitheroe in which is the Forest of Rossendale) and to the
inhabitants generally. From feelings of humanity I refrain from
suggesting anyone as my successor, for unless he possesses an iron
constitution, if he does his duty to the appointment, he will either
be a dead man before the next Court day, or he will have to retire
with a shattered constitution."
The Court, however, declined to entertain Mr Taylor's petition, and
reappointed him to the office he had so long filled with so much
credit to himself (though with very questionable benefit) and to the
advantage of the many thirsty souls within his jurisdiction.
The reference to "Kirk Fair," and to the quality of the ale sold there
on those occasions will be appreciated by those who know the district.
For three successive days the streets of the village are thronged with
a surging mass of people on pleasure bent. As many of these come long
distances in the heat of summer, with their parched throats and high
spirits, they are naturally less critical of the quality of their
drink than at ordinary times; and the publicans, with what amount of
truth beyond the declaration of the official ale-taster, I am not
prepared to vouch, were suspected of taking advantage of the
circumstances to thin down and lengthen out their ales.
When in discharge of the functions of his curious calling of
ale-taster, Dick carried in his coat pocket a pewter gill measure of
his own fashioning, of peculiar old-world shape, with a turned
ebony-wood handle in the form of a cross that projected straight from
the middle of the side. This symbol of his office was secured by a
leathern thong about half a yard in length, one end being round the
handle, the other through a button-hole in his coat. After a day's
official work he might occasionally be seen, with unsteady gait,
wending his way up the lane to his domicile on the hillside, with the
gill measure dangling below his knee.