Floating by me seems
My childhood, in this childishness of mine:
I care not—'tis a glimpse of "Auld lang syne."
The inhabitants of different Lancashire towns and villages have often some generic epithet attached to them, supposed to be expressive of their character; as, for the inhabitants of Oldham and Bolton, "Owdham Rough Yeds," and "Bowton Trotters;" and the people of Smallbridge are known throughout the vale by the name of "Smo'bridge Cossacks." Within the last twenty years, the inhabitants of the village have increased in number, and improved in education and manners. Before that time the place was notable for its rugged people; even in a district generally remarkable for an old-world breed of men and manners. Their misdemeanours arose more from exuberant vigour of heart and body, than from natural moral debasement. Twenty years since there was no church in Smallbridge, no police to keep its rude people in order—no effective school of any sort. The weavers and colliers had the place almost to themselves in those days. They worked hard, and ate and drank as much as their earnings would afford, especially on holidays, or "red-letter days;" and, at by-times, they clustered together in their cottages, but oftener at the road-side, or in some favourite alehouse, and solaced their fatigue with such scraps of news and politics as reached them; or by pithy, idiomatic bursts of country humour, and old songs. Sometimes these were choice snatches of the ballads of Britain, really beautiful "minstrel memories of times gone by;" such as we seldom hear now, and still seldomer hear sung with the feeling and natural taste which the country lasses of Lancashire put into them, while chanting at their work. Some of Burns's songs, and many songs commemorating the wars of England, were great favourites with them. Passing by a country alehouse, one would often hear a rude ditty, like the following, sounding loud and clear from the inside:—
You generals all, and champions bold,
Who take delight i'th field;
Who knock down palaces and castle walls,
And never like to yield;
I am an Englishman by birth,
And Marlbro' is my name;
In Devonshire I first drew breath,
That place of noble fame.
Or this finishing couplet of another old ballad:—
To hear the drums and the trumpets sound,
In the wars of High Garmanie!
I well remember that the following were among their favourites:—"O, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi' me?" "Jockey to the Fair," "Owd Towler," "The Banks of the Dee," "Black Eyed Susan," "Highland Mary," "The Dawning of the Day," "The Garden Gate," and "The Woodpecker." There are, also, a few rough, humorous songs in the Lancashire dialect, which are very common among them. The best of these is the rudely-characteristic ballad called "Jone o' Greenfelt," and "The Songs of the Wilsons," of which the following, known by the name of "Johnny Green's Wedding," and "Description of Manchester College," by Alexander Wilson, is sufficient to show the manner and characteristics of the remainder of these popular local songs:—
Neaw lads, wheer are yo beawn so fast?
Yo happun ha no yerd what's past:
Aw gettun wed sin aw'r here th' last,
Just three week sin come Sunday.
Aw ax'd th' owd folk, an aw wur reet,
So Nan an me agreed tat neet,
At iv we could mak both eends meet,
We'd be wed o' Ayster Monday.
That morn', as prim as pewter quarts,
Aw th' wenches coom, a browt t' sweethearts;
Aw fund we're loike to ha' three carts,—
'Twur thrunk as Eccles wakes, mon;
We donn'd eawr tits i' ribbins to,—
One red, one green, an tone wur blue;
So hey! lads, hey! away we flew,
Loike a race for th' Leger stakes, mon.
Right merrily we drove, full bat;
An eh! heaw Duke an Dobbin swat;
Owd Grizzle wur so lawn an fat,
Fro' soide to soide hoo jow'd um:
Deawn Withy Grove at last we coom,
An stopt at th' Seven Stars by gum,
An drunk as mich warm ale an rum,
As 'nd dreawn o' th' folk i' Owdham.