MARIONETTES AT INGROW—AN AMUSING STORY
By this time my appetite for “seeing the world” had got somewhat satisfied, and I stayed at home for a while. I happened to become acquainted with a man of the name of Howard, who went under the nick-name of Harlequin Dick. By trade he was a wood-carver, and a first-class hand at his job. He was a Liverpool man, and during his stay in Keighley he did wood-carving for many firms in the district. Then he was taken into tow by old James Illingworth (now deceased), who ran the Worth Valley Chair Works, at Ingrow, opposite the Worth Valley Hotel. A new stone building now occupies the place of the old structure. Now my friend Howard’s great hobby was making marionettes, and performing with them; and of these Lilliputian mummers he made a set, and then discussed ways and means for appearing with them in public. I was by him put into the trinitarian post of scenic artist, advance agent, and stage manager. It devolved upon me to draw up the advertisements. We had some capital wall posters, each figure—its capabilities, recommendations, &c.—being graphically described in rhyme; yes, it was a remarkable bill—so remarkable that parties interested in other marionette shows appropriated its contents for their own shows. When all the paraphernalia were ready, we went round to various schools in the town and neighbourhood, giving entertainments to the school children. I remember one occasion—yes; I shall never forget it—when we exhibited our show in St. John’s school-room, Ingrow. The Rev Mr Mayne was then the vicar of St. John’s, and he allowed us to have a night with the children. Well, we removed a partition in the school-room dividing the boys’ from the girls’ department, and made a sort of shake-down stage at one end of the room, and with a scene and proscenium the place looked like a pretty little theatre. There was a crowded audience for our performance, including the vicar and Mrs Mayne, the curate of St. John’s (who, by-the-way, was a coloured gentleman), Mr John Butterfield, brother of Mr H. I. Butterfield, of Cliffe Castle, and, indeed, a good many of the elite of the district. The show opened: the curtain was rung up. The first part was a representation of “The Babes in the Wood,” which went very smoothly, and appeared to suit the general taste of the spectators. Then followed a “skeleton dance,” and next we gave with the puppets an amusing harlequinade by clown, pantaloon, and butterfly. Yes, and here the real fun of the evening came in. The butterfly took a great deal of catching. Mr Howard and his good lady and myself were leaning over a rail (behind the scenes, of course) near the front of the stage, energetically working the strings of the figures, when, without any warning, the stage front gave way, and we (still energetically working the figures) were thrown right into the auditorium. Talk about tumbling head over heels! Why, words would only belittle this part of our “performance.” Suffice it to say that the wreckage just cleared the front seat, on which the Vicar and his good lady and friends were sitting.