MRS. BROWN AND THE GERMAN BAND
Oh, I don’t think as I ever did ’ave sich a ’ead-ache as that arter we’d been to ’Ampton Court, as I do believe a-settin’ on the grass ’ad struck to me, and cold weal and ’am pie and cowcumber is wittles as along with lobster salad and red currant tart you did ought to be cautious ’ow you takes, and not ’urry thro’ it with all that confusion, and you don’t know what you are a-takin’. And young ’Awkins as were attentive to me kep’ a-fillin’ up my plate and glass every time as I turned my ’ead away a minit, as ’ave know’d ’im from a child, and what with the confusion at the train a-gettin’ back, I were that dizzy as I got into the wrong cab, as thro’ a mistake drove me werry near to Nottin’-’ill afore I could make the stupid feller understand as I wanted South Lambeth, and then to stand me out as I said Bayswater.
It was past one in the mornin’ when I got ’ome, and ’ad to knock Brown up, as were that savage, and all his own fault thro’ not a-lookin’ arter me at the Waterloo Station, thro’ ’avin’ got out at Wauxall, as is certingly nearest, thro’ bein’ not five minits from our door, yet ’ow was I to know as we’d got parted a-gettin’ into the train, and me that dead beat as to fall asleep the werry moment as I were in the train, and never opened my eyes till the man come for the ticket, and a nice trouble I ’ad to find mine and every one in the carriage a-goin’ on at me as is their larkin’ ways of a Sunday night.
Well, as I said afore never did I ’ave sich a ’eadache, as were downright splittin’, and openin’ and a-shettin’ jest like water-works. I ’adn’t took no dinner, so was a-thinkin’ as I’d ’ave a early cup of tea, and was a-settin’ quiet in my front parlour with the blinds drawed down, a-thinkin’ as I might get a nap and be fresh for my tea.
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR.
How would it be if they changed instruments?
I’d put my feet up on the sofy, as isn’t a thing as I do one time in a thousand, and was a-droppin’ off, when of all the ’owlin’, gruntin’ and squeakin’ noises as ever you ’eard it broke out in our street. I says, “they must be lunatics broke loose, a-makin’ free with them hinstruments, as wouldn’t never make that noise left to theirselves or used proper.”
I gets up and goes to the winder, and I see about four of them German boys a-playin’ away on trombones, like mad, and one on ’em a-tryin’ our gate.
So I knocks at the winder, and shakes my ’ead at ’im, he opens the gate and comes in up to the winder as I opens, and says, “Go along. I don’t want no more of your noise.”
He goes on with ’is gibberish rubbish, and I only says to ’im, “Get out!” and shets down the winder.
Well, them young waggerbones kep’ on a-blowin’ and ’owlin’, like any one in tortures till I couldn’t stand it no longer, so I opens the winder ag’in, and ’olds up a jug of water, as the gal ’ad brought me up for the plants, a-making believe to throw it over ’em, when one of them ’Opwoods as lives next door, comes out and tells ’em to go on playin’ and give ’em money.
The row as they kicked up, then, a-blowin’ right at me with them big ’orns of theirn did so aggravate me that I took and chucked all the water slap among ’em, and if one of them young wretches didn’t pick up a big stone and shiver a pane of glass in my front parlour in a jiffey.
CULTURE FOR THE MILLION; or, SOCIETY AS IT MAY BE.
New Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud’s. (The right man in the right place.) Don’t be afraid, you little goose! it’s only wax-work! Why, I recollect when people like that were allowed to go loose about the streets!
I couldn’t stand that, so ketches up the fust thing as come to, and as proved to be the ’arth broom as ’angs with the kittle ’older, and out of the ’ouse I rushes.
Well, them boys took to their ’eels, when they see me comin’ out of the door, and run a little way, and then stopped and picked up stones and sent a reg’lar wolley at me.
I ducked my ’ead in course, as they all went over right into old ’Opwood’s Green-’ouse, as he jest ’ad put up ag’in ’is parlour.
I never ’eard sich a crash, nor yet sich a roar as old ’Opwood give like demented lions, and out he come on the doorstep, jest as them boys sent a second wolley of stones, and one ketched ’im slap in the mouth, and down he went like a dead un, and them young scoundrels was off like the dust afore the wind as the sayin’ is.
If all them ’Opwoods didn’t come out on the doorstep, and give me their Billinsgate, for the old feller’s got two reg’lar brimstones of daughters, besides ’is old wife as is a reg’lar old dragon of Wantage.
They all yells at me “’ow dare you set them boys on to destroy our property.”
I says, “Me set the boys on? I was a-drivin’ them away with their beastly noise a-distractin’ any one, as you’ve been encouragin’.”
“They was playin’ beautiful,” says one of them Miss ’Opwoods, “my favourite Waltz.”
I says, “So I should think jest the music fit for you to dance to,” for she’s forty-five, and got a ’ump back, and as ugly as she’s wicious.
NOTHING LIKE ADVERTISING YOURSELF.
“Oh, you old cat,” she says to me, a-gnashin’ ’er teeth, “’ow I should like to tear your old wig off.”
I says, “No doubt, for I’m sure you wants one bad enough.”
“Come in Julia,” says the old mother. “Don’t talk to that low old woman.”
“Yes,” I says, “Go in Julia, and ’elp your ma skin the cat.”
Down the steps come the old woman, and says, “You audacious falsehood; I’ll punish you.”
I’d got to my gate by that time. So I says to ’er, “Stand off you wile filthy old wretch, don’t dare cross my doorstep!” and ’olds up the ’arth broom at ’er.
Her two daughters, a-seein’ me threatenin’ ’er come up, and says, “Ma, dear, come in.”
“Yes,” I says, “Ma dear, do, or else the police may come by, and you may get give in charge ag’in as you was the week afore last,” for the old man ’ad been ’ad up for cruelty to animals twice.
They was all a-goin’ to fly out when a bobby come round the corner, and as soon as they see ’im, they made faces at me, and was a-goin’ off.
I says, “Oh, pray don’t ’urry, here is the police.”
I says to the perliceman, “’Ave you ’ad any one up lately hereabouts for cruelty to animals”; and in they goes and bangs their doors; and well they might, for that wicked old wretch had been destroyin’ of cats brutally, and they’d fined ’im for it; and I do believe as the old woman did use to skin cats, for she wore a fur tippet in the winter as was cats’ skins all over.
But law, ’ow singler things do come ’ome to parties sometimes, to be sure; for it wasn’t but the next Sunday evenin’ arter, as I were alone in the ’ouse, and went out in the front jest to look at some stocks as Brown ’ad planted the night afore, when I thought as I ’eard groans from next door, as is ’Opwood’s.
SKETCH FROM A STUDY WINDOW.
I listens, and says to myself, “That’s some one in pain or I’m a Dutchman.” So I goes closer to their wall and ’ears them groans and smells burnin’.
So knowin’ as somethink were wrong I ’urries to their door and knocks, but no one a-comin’, I says, “They’re all gone out,” and was a-goin’ away, for I didn’t ’ear no more groans, but I smelt the burnin’; so I says, “No doubt I shall only get insults for my pains, but I’ll try and go in and see what’s amiss.” So I makes my way round to their back door, as were only on the latch, and in I goes, and the smell of burnin’ was downright sickenin’; I goes straight into the front kitchen, and there was old ’Opwood a-layin’ in the fender a-roastin’ as ’ad fell out of ’is chair in a fit.
I ’auls ’im up, and never did see sich a sight as one side of ’is face and all ’is neck and shoulder. The boy jest then come round with the eight o’clock beer, so I ’ollers to ’im to run for a doctor, and I got ’old ’Opwood some’ow into ’is chair, as was quite insensible.
As luck would ’ave it, the doctor jest round the corner were at ’ome, and come at once, and we got the old man’s burns dressed, as I considers there’s nothink finer than whitin’, as the doctor agreed to.
If you’d seen that old Mother ’Opwood’s face and ’er daughters, when they come in jest on ten and found me a-lookin’ arter that old man, as we’d got up on to a sofy in the front parlour.
She begun to scream and holler at fust, and then said as I’d been and done it.
I wasn’t the least put out with ’er, but only says to ’er daughters, “Keep ’er quiet”; which they did by draggin’ on ’er up-stairs, where they kep’ ’er, and I must say, as they spoke werry ’andsome to me, as stopped along with the old man till jest on twelve.
I didn’t think as the old man would ’ave lived thro’ it, but he did, and ’ad his senses back, and able for to talk by the end of the week, and told us as he remembered a-pitchin’ forard ag’in the bars a-tryin’ to get a light for ’is pipe.
He never will be the same man as he were, but it’s been a lesson to ’im and to them, too, not to leave him alone, nor yet to be that insultin’ to a neighbour as they have been to me, a-doin’ everythink to annoy me, and turnin’ me into every redicule as the ’uman ’art can think on.
But they’ll never encourage them orgins and bands as they did use to, and ’ave them inside their gardin’ to play when I’d sent them away, and no doubt we should get on better for the future to come, but I’m glad as we’re a-goin’ to move away, and all as I wants is to part friends, for as to livin’ friendly next door to them I never could.
Fun, 1868.
