Th' Barrel Organ

by Edwin Waugh

"Well, yo seen, this mak o' wark went on fro week to week, till everybody geet weary on it; an' at last, th' chapel-wardens summon't a meetin' to see if they couldn't raise a bit o' daycent music, for Sundays, beawt o' this trouble. An' they talked back an' forrud about it a good while. Tum o'th Dingle recommended 'em to have a Jew's harp, an' some triangles. But Bobby Nooker said, 'That's no church music! Did onybody ever yer "Th' Owd Hundred," played upov a triangle?' Well, at last they agreed that th' best way would be to have some sort of a barrel-organ—one o' thoose that they winden up at th' side, an' then they play'n o' theirsel, beawt ony fingerin' or blowin'. So they ordert one made, wi' some favour-ite tunes in—'Burton,' and 'Liddy,' an' 'French,' an' 'Owd York,' an' sich like. Well, it seems that Robin o' Sceawter's, th' carrier—his feyther went by th' name o' 'Cowd an' Hungry;' he're a quarryman by trade; a long, hard, brown-looking felley, wi' e'en like gig-lamps, an' yure as strung as a horse's mane. He looked as if he'd bin made out o' owd dur-latches, an' reawsty nails. Robin, th' carrier, is his owdest lad; an' he fawurs a chap at's bin brought up o' yirth-bobs an' scaplins. Well, it seems that Robin brought this box-organ up fro th' town in his cart o'th Friday neet; an' as luck would have it, he had to bring a new weshin'-machine at th' same time, for owd Isaac Buckley, at th' Hollins Farm. When he geet th' organ in his cart, they towd him to be careful an' keep it th' reet side up; and he wur to mind an' not shake it mich, for it wur a thing that wur yezzy thrut eawt o' flunters. Well, I think Robin mun ha' bin fuddle't or summat that neet. But I dunnot know; for he's sich a bowster-yed, mon, that aw'll be sunken if aw think he knows th' difference between a weshin'-machine an' a church organ, when he's at th' sharpest. But let that leet as it will. What dun yo think but th' blunderin' foo,—at after o' that had bin said to him,—went and 'liver't th' weshin'-machine at th' church, an' th' organ at th' Hollins Farm."

"Well, well," said Nanny, "that wur a bonny come off, shuz heaw. But how wenten they on at after?"

"Well, I'll tell yo, Nanny," said Skedlock. "Th' owd clerk wur noan in when Robin geet to th' dur wi' his cart that neet, so his wife coom with a leet in her hond, an' said, 'Whatever hasto getten for us this time, Robert?' 'Why,' said Robin, 'it's some mak of a organ. Where win yo ha't put, Betty?' 'Eh, I'm fain thae's brought it,' said Betty. 'It's for th' chapel; an' it'll be wanted for Sunday. Sitho, set it deawn i' this front reawm here; an' mind what thae'rt doin' with it.' So Robin, an' Barfoot Sam, an' Little Wamble, 'at looks after th' horses at 'Th' Rompin' Kitlin,' geet it eawt o'th cart. When they geet how'd ont, Robin said, 'Neaw lads; afore yo starten: Mind what yo'r doin; an' be as ginger as yo con. That's a thing 'at's soon thrut eawt o' gear—it's a organ.' So they hove, an' poo'd, an' grunted, an' thrutch't, till they geet it set down i'th parlour; an' they pretended to be quite knocked up wi' th' job. 'Betty,' said Robin, wipin' his face wi' his sleeve, 'it's bin dry weather latly.' So th' owd lass took th' hint, an' fetched 'em a quart o' ale. While they stood i'th middle o'th floor suppin' their ale, Betty took th' candle an' went a-lookin' at this organ; and hoo couldn't tell whatever to make on it…. Did'n yo ever see a weshin'-machine, Nanny?"

"Never i' my life," said Nanny. "Nor aw dunnot want. Gi me a greight mug, an' some breawn swoap, an' plenty o' soft wayter; an' yo may tak yo'r machines for me."

"Well," continued Skedlock, "it's moor liker a grindlestone nor a organ. But, as I were tellin yo:—

"Betty stare't at this thing, an' hoo walked round it an' scrat her yed mony a time, afore hoo ventur't to speak. At last hoo said, 'Aw'll tell tho what, Robert; it's a quare-shaped 'un. It favvurs a yung mangle! Doesto think it'll be reet?' 'Reet?' said Robin, swipin' his ale off? 'oh, aye; it's reet enough. It's one of a new pattern, at's just com'd up. It's o' reet, Betty. Yo may see that bith hondle.' 'Well,' said Betty, 'if it's reet, it's reet. But it's noan sich a nice-lookin' thin—for a church—that isn't!' Th' little lass wur i'th parlour at th' same time; an' hoo said, 'Yes. See yo, mother. I'm sure it's right. You must turn this here handle; and then it'll play. I seed a man playin' one yesterday; an' he had a monkey with him, dressed like a soldier.' 'Keep thy little rootin' fingers off that organ,' said Betty. 'Theaw knows nought about music. That organ musn't be touched till thi father comes whoam,—mind that, neaw…. But, sartainly,' said Betty, takin th' candle up again, 'I cannot help lookin' at this thing. It's sich a quare un. It looks like summat belongin'—maut-grindin', or summat o' that.' 'Well,' said Robin, 'it has a bit o' that abeawt it, sartainly…. But yo'n find it's o' reet. They're awterin' o' their organs to this pattern, neaw. I believe they're for sellin th' organ at Manchester owd church,—so as they can ha' one like this.' 'Thou never says!' said Betty. 'Yigh,' said Robin, 'it's true, what I'm telling yo. But aw mun be off, Betty. Aw 've to go to th' Hollins to-neet, yet.' 'Why, arto takin' thame summat?' 'Aye; some mak of a new fangle't machine, for weshin' shirts an' things.' 'Nay, sure!' said Betty. 'A'll tell tho what, Robert; they 're goin' on at a great rate up at tat shop." 'Aye, aye,' said Robin. 'Mon, there's no end to some folk's pride,—till they come'n to th' floor; an' then there isn't, sometimes.' 'There isn't, Robert; there isn't. An' I'll tell tho what; thoose lasses o' theirs,—they're as proud as Lucifer. They're donned more like mountebanks' foos, nor gradely folk,—wi' their fither't hats, an' their fleawnces, an' their hoops, an' things. Aw wonder how they can for shame' o' their face. A lot o' mee-mawing snickets! But they 're no better nor porritch, Robert, when they're looked up.' 'Not a bit, Betty,—not a bit! But I mun be off. Good neet to yo'.' 'Good neet Robert,' said Betty. An' away he went wi' th' cart up to th' Hollins."

"Aw'll tell tho what, Skedlock," said Nanny; "that woman's a terrible tung!"

"Aye, hoo has," replied Skedlock; "an' her mother wur th' same. But, let me finish my tale, Nanny, an' then—"

"Well, it wur pitch dark when Robin geet to th' Hollins farm-yard wi' his cart. He gav a ran-tan at th' back dur, wi' his whip-hondle; and when th' little lass coom with a candle, he said, 'Aw've getten a weshin'-machine for yo.' As soon as th' little lass yerd that, hoo darted off, tellin' o' th' house that th' new weshin'-machine wur come'd. Well, yo known, they'n five daughters; an' very cliver, honsome, tidy lasses they are, too,—as what owd Betty says. An' this news brought 'em o' out o' their nooks in a fluster. Owd Isaac wur sit i'th parlour, havin' a glass wi' a chap that he'd bin sellin' a cowt to. Th' little lass went bouncin' into th' reawm to him; an' hoo said, 'Eh, father, th' new weshin'-machine's come'd!' 'Well, well,' said Isaac, pattin' her o'th yed; 'go thi ways an' tell thi mother. Aw'm no wesher. Thae never sees me weshin', doesto? I bought it for yo lasses; an' yo mun look after it yorsels. Tell some o'th men to get it into th' wesh-house.' So they had it carried into th' wesh-house; an' when they geet it unpacked they were quite astonished to see a grand shinin' thing, made o' rose-wood, an' cover't wi' glitterin' kerly-berlys. Th' little lass clapped her hands, an' said, 'Eh, isn't it a beauty!' But th' owd'st daughter looked hard at it, an' hoo said, 'Well, this is th' strangest weshin'-machine that I ever saw!' 'Fetch a bucket o' water,' said another, 'an' let's try it!' But they couldn't get it oppen, whatever they did; till, at last, they fund some keys, lapt in a piece of breawn papper. 'Here they are,' said Mary. Mary's th' owd'st daughter, yo known. 'Here they are;' an' hoo potter't an' rooted abeawt, tryin' these keys; till hoo fund one that fitted at th' side, an' hoo twirled it round an' round till hoo'd wund it up; an' then,—yo may guess how capt they wur, when it started a-playin' a tune. 'Hello?' said Robin. 'A psaum-tune, bith mass! A psaum-tune eawt ov a weshin'-machine! Heaw's that?' An' he star't like a throttled cat. 'Nay,' said Mary, 'I cannot tell what to make o' this!' Th' owd woman wur theer, an' hoo said, 'Mary; Mary, my lass, thou 's gone an' spoilt it,—the very first thing, theaw has. Theaw's bin tryin' th' wrong keigh, mon; thou has, for sure.' Then Mary turned to Robin, an' hoo said, 'Whatever sort of a machine's this, Robin?' 'Nay,' said Robin, 'I dunnot know, beawt it's one o' thoose at's bin made for weshin' surplices.' But Robin begun a-smellin' a rat; an', as he didn't want to ha' to tak it back th' same neet, he pike't off out at th' dur, while they wur hearkenin' th' music; an' he drove whoam as fast as he could goo. In a minute or two th' little lass went dancin' into th' parlour to owd Isaac an' hoo cried out, 'Father, you must come here this minute! Th' weshin'-machine's playin' th' Owd Hundred!' 'It's what?' cried Isaac, layin' his pipe down. 'It's playin' th' Owd Hundred! It is, for sure! Oh, it's beautiful! Come on!' An' hoo tugged at his lap to get him into th' wesh-house. Then th' owd woman coom in, and hoo said, 'Isaac, whatever i' the name o' fortin' hasto bin blunderin' and doin' again? Come thi ways an' look at this machine thae's brought us. It caps me if yean yowling divle'll do ony weshin'. Thae surely doesn't want to ha' thi shirt set to music, doesto? We'n noise enough i' this hole beawt yon startin' or skrikin'. Thae'll ha' th' house full o' fiddlers an' doancers in a bit.' 'Well, well,' said Isaac, 'aw never yerd sich a tale i' my life! Yo'n bother't me a good while about a piano; but if we'n getten a weshin'-machine that plays church music, we're set up, wi' a rattle! But aw'll come an' look at it.' An' away he went to th' wesh-house, wi' th' little lass pooin' at him, like a kitlin' drawin' a stone-cart. Th' owd woman followed him, grumblin' o' th' road,—'Isaac, this is what comes on tho stoppin' so lat' i'th town of a neet. There's olez some blunderin' job or another. Aw lippen on tho happenin' a sayrious mischoance, some o' these neets. I towd tho mony a time. But thae tays no moor notis o' me nor if aw 're a milestone, or a turmit, or summat. A mon o' thy years should have a bit o' sense.'

"'Well, well,' said Isaac, hobblin' off, 'do howd thi din, lass! I'll go an' see what ails it. There's olez summat to keep one's spirits up, as Ab o' Slender's said when he broke his leg.' But as soon as Isaac see'd th' weshin'-machine, he brast eawt a-laughin', an' he sed: 'Hello! Why, this is th' church organ! Who's brought it?' 'Robin o' Sceawter's.' 'It's just like him. Where's th' maunderin' foo gone to?' 'He's off whoam.' 'Well,' said Isaac, 'let it stop where it is. There'll be somebody after this i'th mornin'.' An' they had some rare fun th' next day, afore they geet these things swapt to their gradely places. However, th' last thing o' Saturday neet th' weshin'-machine wur brought up fro th' clerk's, an' th' organ wur takken to th' chapel."