The little birds I cannot see,
Excepting now and then;
For they are far beyond the sea
And left the haunts of men.
The trees are bare, and every bush
Speaks out to me so plain—
That I should be a better lad
When green leaves come again.
The fields are like a silvery lake,
The mountain tops are white,
And rear their heads majestically—
To me a great delight;
And as I gaze on Rivock End,
Across the silvery plain,
Methinks I hear a voice speak out—
“Green leaves will come again.”
Green leaves came, and green leaves went,
And they are gone once more,
And I have never kept my vow,
Which makes my heart full sore.
But I will never “dee i’ t’ shell,”
But make that vow again—
That I will be a better lad
When green leaves come again.
And should I tarry here a while
To see the smiling scene,
When nature takes her snow-white cloth
And changes it for green,
I shall be faithful to my vow
With all my might and main;
For I will be a better lad
“When green leaves come again.”
CHAPTER XXVI
OLD MUSICIANS
I now purpose briefly to refer to a few old singers whose friendship or acquaintance I enjoyed. Mr Edwin Ogden was well known in the neighbourhood as being about one of the best local singers of his day. Many townsfolk will remember Edwin, together with William Haggas, another old musician, teaching a singing-class. Ogden was a shoemaker by trade but he dabbled more in music than in wax and leather. For many years he held the position of leading chorister at St. Anne’s Roman Catholic Church. He also “gave of his talents” on frequent occasions at local concerts, and was in great favour with the public. He made as many young singers, I suppose, as Joe Turner made musicians in the instrumental sense of the word. Turner was for many years the conductor of Marriner’s Brass Band. Not a few of our present-day musicians will be able to date the commencement of their musical career from the time they took up instruction with either Ogden or Turner. The former has been removed by death, but the latter is still with us. James Greenwood was also one of the school to which Ogden and Turner belonged; and the three took great interest in the musical training of the late Mademoiselle Matilda Florella Illingworth previous to her visiting the conservatoires of music on the Continent. Mr James Wright, my father, also interested himself in Miss Illingworth, in whom at an early period of her life he detected material for the making of an accomplished vocalist. She was a frequent visitor at our house, and often have I heard her sing “Robin Adair”—my father’s favourite song. After she had been on the Continent, I heard Miss Illingworth tell how often while there she was swindled by the proprietors and managers of theatres and music-halls. In some instances she was subjected to the most cruel impositions. More than once she was robbed of all her stage properties, and in Florence she was duped out of every half-penny of the proceeds of a concert which she promoted. Other musicians of the time, I may mention, were John Dunderdale, Daniel Ackroyd, and Joe Constantine. It was in memory of these old musicians that I wrote the following verses:—
“COME, GIE US A WAG O’ THI PAW.”
Come, gie us a wag o’ thi paw, Jim Wreet,
Come, gie us a wag o’ thi paw;
Ah knew thee when thi heead wor black,
But nah it’s as white as snow;
Yet a merry Christmas to thee, Jim,
An’ all thi kith an’ kin:
An’ hopin’ tha’ll hev monny more
For t’ sake o’ owd long sin,
Jim Wreet,
For t’ sake o’ owd long sin.
It’s soa monny year ta-day, Jim Wreet,
Sin owd Joe Constantine
An’ Daniel Ackroyd, thee and me,
An’ other friends o’ thine
Went up ta sing at t’ Squire’s house
Net hawf-a-mile fra’ here;
An’ t’ Squire made us welcome
To his brown October beer,
Jim Wreet,
To his brown October beer.
An’ owd Joe Booth tha knew, Jim Wreet,
’At kept the Old King’s Arms.
Wheear all t’ church singers used ta meet,
When they hed sung their Psalms;
An’ thee an’ me amang ’em, Jim,
Sometimes hev chang’d the string,
An’ wi’ a merry chorus join’d,
We’ve made yon’ tavern ring,
Jim Wreet,
We’ve made yon’ tavern ring.