Lancashire Sketches / Third Edition

by Edwin Waugh

Having glanced in this brief way at the progress of Heywood, from the time when it first began to give a human interest to the locality, as a tiny hamlet, about the end of the fifteenth century, up to its present condition, as a cotton-spinning town of twenty thousand inhabitants, surrounded by a district alive with manufacturing activities, I will return to the narrative of my visit to the place, as it fell on one fine afternoon about the end of June.

We had come round from the railway station, along the southern edge of the town, and through the fields, by a footpath which led us into Heywood about one hundred yards from the old chapel in the middle of the place. The mills were stopped. Country people were coming into town to do their errands, and a great part of the working population appeared to be sauntering along the main street, stopping at the shops, to make their markets as they went along; or casting about for their Saturday night's diversion, and gazing from side to side, to see what could be seen. Clusters of factory girls were gathered about the drapers' windows. These girls were generally clean and tidy; and, not unfrequently, there were very intelligent and pretty countenances amongst them. The older part of the factory operatives, both men and women, had often a staid and jaded look. The shops were busy with customers buying clothing, or food, or cheap publications; and the ale-houses were getting lively. A little company of young "factory chaps" were collected about a bookseller's shop, near the old "Queen Anne," looking out for news, or pictures; or reading the periodicals exposed in the windows. Now and then, a select straggler wended his way across the road to change his "library-book" at the Mechanics' Institution. There was considerable stir lower down the street, where a noisy band of music was marching along, followed by an admiring multitude. And, amongst the whole, a number of those active, mischief-loving lads, so well known in every manufacturing town by the name of "doffers," were clattering about, and darting after one another among the crowd, as blithe as if they had never known what work was. We crossed through the middle of the town, and went down the north road into an open tract of meadow land, towards the residence of mine host.

The house was pleasantly situated in a garden, about two stones' throw from the edge of Heywood, in the wide level of grass land called "Yewood Ho' Greyt Meadow." The road goes close by the end of the garden. We entered this garden by a little side gate, and on we went, under richly-blossomed apple trees, and across the grass-plat, into the house. The old housekeeper began to prepare tea for us; and, in the meantime, we made ourselves at home in the parlour, which looked out upon the garden and meadows at the front. Mine host sat down to the piano, and played some of that fine old psalmody which the country people of Lancashire take such delight in. His family consisted of himself, a staid-looking old housekeeper, and his two motherless children. One of these was a timid, bright-eyed little girl, with long flaxen hair, who, as we came through the garden, was playing with her hoop upon the grass-plat, under the blooming apple trees; but who, on seeing a stranger, immediately sank into a shy stillness. The other was a contemplative lad, about thirteen, with a Melancthon style of countenance. I found him sitting in the parlour, absorbed in "Roderick Random." As soon as tea was over, we went out in the cool of the evening, to see the daylight die upon the meadows around. We could hear the stir of Saturday night life in the town. Through the parlour window we had caught glimpses of the weird flittings of a large bat; and, as we stood bare-headed in the garden, it still darted to and fro about the eaves, in dusky, vivid motions. As the cool night stole on, we went in, and the shutters closed us from the scene. We lingered over supper, talking of what newspaper writers call "the topics of the day," and of books, and local characters and customs; and about half an hour before midnight we crept off to bed.

When I rose from bed, and looked through the window of my chamber, the rich haze of a cloudless midsummer morning suffused the air. The sunshine lay glittering all over the dewy fields; for the fiery steeds of Phœbus had not yet drunk up those springs "on chaliced flowers that lie." The birds had been up many an hour, and were carolling and chirping gleefully about the eaves of the house, and in the gardens. The splendour of the day had touched even the dull town on the opposite ridge with its beautifying magic; and Heywood seemed to rest from its labours, and rejoice in the gladness which clothed the heavens and the earth. The long factory chimneys, which had been bathing their smokeless tops all night in the cool air, now looked up serenely through the sunshine at the blue sky, as if they, too, were glad to get rid of the week-day fume, and gaze quietly again upon the loveliness of nature; and all the whirling spinning machinery of the town was lying still and silent as the over-arching heavens. Another Sabbath had dawned upon the world; and that day of God, and god of days, was breathing its balm among the sons of toil once more.

Man has another day to swell the past,
And lead him near to little, but his last;
But mighty nature bounds as from her birth;
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam,
Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
Immortal man! behold her glories shine,
And cry, exulting inly, "They are mine!"
Gaze on, while yet thy gladden'd eye may see;
A morrow comes when they are not for thee.

It was a feast to the senses and to the soul to look round upon such a scene at such a time, with the faculties fresh from repose, and conscious of reprieve from that relentless round of necessities that follow them, hot-foot, through the rest of the week. As I dressed myself, I heard mine host's little daughter begin to play "Rosseau's Dream," in the parlour below, and I went down stairs humming a sort of accompaniment to the tune; for it is a sweet and simple melody, which chimed well with the tone of the hour. The shy musician stayed her fingers, and rose timidly from her seat, as I entered the room; but a little coaxing induced her to return to it, and she played the tune over and over again for us, whilst the morning meal was preparing. Breakfast was soon over, and the youngsters dressed themselves for chapel, and left us to ourselves; for the one small bell of Heywood chapel was going "Toll—toll—toll;" and straggling companies of children were wending up the slope from the fields towards their Sunday schools. Through the parlour window, I watched these little companies of country children—so fresh, so glad, and sweet-looking—and as they went their way, I thought of the time when I, too, used to start from home on a Sunday morning, dressed in my holiday suit, clean as a new pin from top to toe; and followed to the door with a world of gentle admonitions. I thought of some things I learned "while standing at my mother's knee;" of the little prayer and the blessing at bed time; of the old solemn tunes which she used to sing when all the house was still, whilst I sat and listened, drinking in those plaintive strains of devotional melody, never to forget them more.

We were now alone in the silent house, and there was a Sabbatical stillness all around. The sunshine gleamed in at the windows and open doors; and, where we sat, we could smell the odours of the garden, and hear the birds outside. We walked forth into the garden, among beds of flowers, and blooming apple trees. We could hear the chirrup of children's voices, still, going up the road, towards the town. From the woods round Heywood Hall, there came over the meadows a thrilling flood of music from feathered singers, sporting in those leafy shades. All nature was at morning service: and it was good to listen to this general canticle of praise to Him "whose service is perfect freedom." A kind of hushed joy seemed to pervade the landscape, which did not belong to any other day, however fine—as if the hills and vales knew it was Sunday. To the wisest men, the whole universe is one place of worship, and the whole course of human life a divine service. The man who has a susceptible heart, and loves nature, will find renovation in communion with her, no matter what troubles may disturb him in the world of man's life:—

For she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life
Shall e'er prevail against us or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty-mountain winds be free
To blow against thee.

The back yard of the house, in which we were sauntering, was divided from the woods of Heywood Hall by a wide level of rich meadows; and the thick foliage which lapped the mansion from view, looked an inviting shelter from the heat of a cloudless midsummer forenoon—a place where we could wander about swardy plots and lawns, among embowered nooks and mossy paths—bathing in the coolness of green shades, in which a multitude of birds were waking the echoes with a sweet tumult of blending melodies. Being disposed for a walk, we instinctively took the way thitherward. The high road from the town goes close by the front gates of the hall. This road was formerly lined by a thick grove of trees, called "Th' Lung Nursery," reaching nearly from the edge of the village to the gates. The grove so shut out the view, and overhung each side of the way, that the walk between looked lonely after dark; and country folk, who had been loitering late over their ale, in Heywood, began to toot from side to side, with timid glances, and stare with fear at every rustle of the trees, when they came to "Th' Lung Nursery." Even if two were in company, they hutched closer together as they approached this spot, and began to be troubled with vivid remembrances of manifold past transgressions, and to make internal resolutions to "Fear God, an' keep th' co'sey," thenceforth, if they could only manage to "hit th' gate" this once, and get safely through the nursery, and by the water-stead in Hooley Clough, where "Yewood Ho' Boggart comes a-suppin' i'th deeod time o'th neet." This road was then, also, flanked on each side by a sprawling thorn-edge, overgrown with wild mint, thyme, and nettles; and with thistles, brambles, stunted hazles, and wild rose bushes; with wandering honeysuckles weaving about through the whole. It was full of irregular dinges, and "hare-gates," and holes, from which clods had been riven; and perforated by winding tunnels and runs, where the mole, the weasel, the field-mouse, and the hedgehog wandered at will. Among the thorns at the top, there was many an erratic, scratchy breach, the result of the incursions of country herbalists, hunters, bird-nesters, and other roamers of the woods and fields. It was one of those old-fashioned hedges which country lads delight in; where they could creep to and fro, in a perfect revel of freedom and fun, among brushwood and prickles, with no other impediment than a wholesome scratching; and where they could fight and tumble about gloriously, among nettles, mint, mugwort, docks, thistles, sorrel, "Robin-run-i'th-hedge," and a multitude of other wild herbs and flowers, whose names and virtues it would puzzle even a Culpepper to tell; rough and free as so many snod-backed modiwarps—ripping and tearing, and soiling their "good clooas," as country mothers used to call them, by tumbling among the dry soil of the hedge-side, and then rolling slap into the wet ditch at the bottom, among "cuckoo-spit," and "frog-rud," and all sorts of green pool-slush; to the dismay of sundry limber-tailed "Bull-Jones," and other necromantic fry that inhabit such stagnant moistures. Some looked for nests, and some for nuts, while others went rustling up the trees, trying the strength of many a bough; and all were blithe and free as the birds among the leaves, until the twilight shades began to fall. Whilst the sun was still in the sky, they thought little about those boggarts, and "fairees," and "feeorin'," which, according to local tradition, roam the woods, and waters, and lonely places; sometimes with the malevolent intent of luring into their toil any careless intruder upon their secluded domain. Some lurking in the streams and pools, like "Green Teeth," and "Jenny Long Arms," waiting, with skinny claws, for an opportunity to clutch the wanderer upon the bank into the water. Others, like "Th' White Lady," "Th' Skrikin' Woman," "Baum Rappit," "Grizlehurst Boggart," and "Clegg Ho' Boggart," haunting lonely nooks of the green country, and old houses, where they have made many a generation of simple folk pay a toll of superstitious fear for some deed of darkness done in the dim past. Others, like "Nut Nan," prowling about shady recesses of the woods, "wi' a poke-full o' red-whot yetters, to brun nut-steylers their e'en eawt." But, when dusky evening began to steal over the fading scene, and the songs of birds, and all the sounds of day began to die upon the ear—when the droning beetle, and the bat began to flit about; and busy midges danced above the road, in mazy eddies, and spiral columns, between the eye and the sky; then the superstitious teachings of their infancy began to play about the mind; and, mustering their traps, the lads turned their feet homeward, tired, hungry, scratched, dirty, and pleased; bearing away with them—in addition to sundry griping feeds of unripe dogberry, which they had eaten from the hedge-sides—great store of hazlenuts, and earth-nuts; hips and haws; little whistles, made of the bark of the wicken tree; slips of the wild rose, stuck in their caps and button-holes; yellow "skedlocks," and whiplashes made of plaited rushes; and sometimes, also, stung-up eyes and swollen cheeks, the painful trophies of encounters with the warlike inhabitants of "wasp-nests," unexpectedly dropped on, in the course of their frolic.