“MY FIRST PAIR O’ BRITCHES”
Aw remember the days o’ mi bell-button jacket,
Wi’ its little lappels hangin’ dahn ower mi waist;
And mi grand bellosed cap—noan nicer, I’ll back it—
Fer her et hed bowt it wor noan without taste;
Fer shoo wor mi mother, an’ I wor her darlin’,
And offen sho vowed it, an’ stroked dahn mi’ hair;
An’ sho tuke me ta see her relations i’ Harden,
I’t’ first pair o’ britches ’at ivver aw ware.
Aw remember the time when Aunt Betty an’ Alice
Sent fer me up ta lewk at mi clooas,
An’ aw walked up as prahd as a Frenchman fra Calais,
Wi’ mi tassel at side, i’ mi jacket a rose,
Aw sooin saw mi uncles, both Johnny and Willy,
They both gav’ me pennies an’ off aw did steer;
But aw heeard ’em say this, “He’s a fine lad is Billy,
I’t’ first pair o’ britches ’at ivver he ware.”
Aw remember one Sabbath, an’t’ sun it wor shinin’,
Aw went wi mi father ta Hainworth ta sing,
An’t’ stage wor hung raand wi’ green cotton linin’,
An’t’ childer i’ white made t’village ta ring.
We went to old Mecheck’s that day to wur drinkin’,
Tho’ poor ther were plenty, an’ summat ta spare;
Says Mecheck, “That lad, Jim, is just thee awm thinkin’,
I’t’ first pair o’ britches ’at ivver tha ware.”
CHAPTER II.
A ROMANTIC AND NOMADIC YOUTH
Anything that bordered on the romantic and nomadic style of life had an especial fascination for me. Many a time and oft have I bestridden horses that had been peacefully pasturing, and ridden them bare-back around the fields, in a kind of Buffalo Bill style, you know. I got “nabbed” occasionally, and then I was candidly told that if I continued “ta dew sich a dangerous thing ony more, ah sud be sewer to catch it.”
DIVERS PRANKS
Of course I had divers other pranks, as all boys have—albeit to the anxiety and sorrow of many up-grown, and, therefore, unsympathising persons. “Tolling” doors was another favourite occupation of mine. Modern-time boys have not generally the same opportunities for “tolling” as boys had in my time. Our folks provided an everlasting amount of apparatus for me to carry on my “professional duties,” and that unknowingly. My mother was a heald knitter, and there was always plenty of band throwing about. One night’s “tolling” I remember with particular liveliness. I thought what a “champ” thing it would be to have a “lark” with “Jim o’ Old Jack’s”—an eccentric old man who lived by himself in an old thatched dwelling in our locality. I had no sooner turned the thought over in my mind than I resolved to “have a go” at the old chap. Poor old Jim went out to his work during the day-time, returning home at night. So I took advantage of his absence by hammering a stout nail into the cross-piece over the doorway. When night approached, and Jim returned to his homestead—poor old fellow! it makes me long to ask his forgiveness as I recount this incident—I hooked a fairish-sized stone, by means of a piece of string, to the nail which I had placed over the doorway. Near the stone I next fastened a longer length of string, and then I ensconced myself on the opposite side of the road. It so happened that the house stood on one side of a narrow lane, the opposite side of which was on a much higher level than the roof of the house, and, besides, faced by a wall. This suited me to a T. All serene! Having allowed Jim nice time to get comfortably sat down to his evening meal, I gently pulled the string, with the result that there was a gentle tapping at the door. Jim naturally answered my knock, and he seemed rather put about to find that his ears had evidently deceived him. So he slammed the door to and went inside—I guessed to resume his seat at the tea table. Then I “tolled” again and once more Jim came out. He must have felt a little “nasty” when he found that no one wanted him at the door.