A ‘furrinor’ (foreigner, stranger) here joined the medley, a ‘South countryman’ from Yorkshire, who, chancing to have lately come to the village after some private experience of his own in stang-riding in one of the remoter Yorkshire vales, at once placed his services at the crowd’s disposal.
Marching at the head of the procession, like the drum-major of a band, and beating together two saucepan-lids, he led the anthem.
Between the ‘cling, cling, cling’ of the lids his voice rose lustily:
‘Ah tinkle, ah tinkle, ah tinkle tang,
It’s not foor your part nor mah part
’At ah ride the stang,
But foor you, Geordie Robertson, who his wife did bang.’
Scarcely had he ended when the shrill trebles of the boys took up the wondrous tale, and in antiphony chanted their response:
‘Up wiv a bump and down wiv a bang
Gans Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang;