There are many other side-lights to our character, only a few of which it will be possible to notice. But every story is pictured in such varying light and shade as to afford those who can fully appreciate them many varied traits of our character. And one word, if you please, with reference to these stories. Nearly all have the merit of being in essence true. They have been gathered from various sources, but in the main first hand. Many of the characters were known personally to the writer; and although in a few instances the origin and authenticity are doubtful, they are included because they so fully illustrate that which was to be demonstrated, and because they are so true to life, and just what would really have happened under like circumstances.
There is one special gift which the Yorkshireman possesses in a high degree, i.e. the humorous. It is a humorousness, too, which often (given that you understand and appreciate the dialect) sparkles with genuine wit. I plead guilty to the fact that much of the wit of our country-people is, as it were, given with the back of the hand. Still, it is none the less witty, for all that. And if the same sounds rough and unmusical to you, kindly bear in mind that the Chinese consider our best music little else than a tumult of discordant sound. It is generally the last few words uttered which contain the bud, blossom, and fruit all in one. I remember once being completely shut up by a Yorkshire lad, and he only uttered two words; but the tone and the look were the very cream of sarcastic jeering. This was how it came about. The lad was driving home some ducks from the pond. ‘You have a lot of fine ducks, my boy,’ said I. And then, thinking to buy a couple, I asked, ‘How often do you kill them?’ ‘Nobbut yance,’ was the laconic reply.
‘T’ law’s nowt bud a tak in all t’ waay thruff,’ said one. ‘When me an’ Tom went afoor wer betters aboot that hedge, Ah’d Jackson ti talk foor me, an’ he ’ed Smith ti talk foor him. An’ ti lissen ti them tweea blackguarding yan anuther when t’ case war on, yan mud ‘ thowt ’at tha war i’ arnist, an’ ‘at tha nivver wad ’a’e spokken civil t’ ane tither agaan; bud bless mah leyfe, when t’ case war adjourned ti t’ next court daay, an’ when me an’ Tom, scooling at yan anuther leyke all that, went inti t’ Black Lion ti ’ev a glass o’ yal, if wa didn’t finnd them tweea takking wine an’ ‘ranging ti gan fishing tigither t’ next daay. “Tom,” sez Ah, “if this is t’ waay tha mak t’ feeal o’ yan, seeaner thee an’ me haps t’ business up an’ t’ better it’ll be foor baith on uz.” An’ he sez ti me, “Gi’e uz thi han’ on’t,” an’ Ah did. An’ then Ah shoots oot, “Hi! Ah’ll tell ya what, you tweea ’ed best ’range to gan fishing foor awlus; bud mahnd ya, nowther me ner Tom’s gahin ti finnd t’ bait for owther on ya!”
Sally Ridge was a terror to all those she took a dislike to. She usually played some prank to the detriment of those who, for the time being, were out of favour. On one occasion, however, she went a trifle too far; she broke the back of a duck with a stone. This got poor Sally into fearfully hot water, and there was every likelihood of her being summoned; however, the writer interceded on her behalf, and on Sally faithfully promising never to stone a duck again, she was pardoned. Within an hour afterwards, I surprised her gaily pitching stones amongst the feathered swimmers. ‘Didn’t you promise me faithfully not to throw stones at the ducks again, Sally?’ I asked, taking hold of her, and adding, ‘it is wicked of you to break your word in this way.’ ‘Ah ’evn’t brokken my wo’d,’ replied Sally, trying to free herself. ‘But you have; you promised not to throw stones at the ducks again,’ I repeated. ‘An’ Ah isn’t; Ah’s thrawing at yon geese, an’ it’s nut mah fau’t if t’ silly au’d ducks git thersens i’ t’ road. Leave lowse, Ah nivver sed nowt ti naebody aboot geese.’
Three visitors hired a boat at Staithes for an hour’s fishing, having a man each to attend to their lines. On returning to land, the fishermen were paid half a crown for the sail. The visitors had not got far away, when one of the fishermen ran after them. ‘Ah saay, mister,’ said he, turning the half-crown over in his hand, ‘ya see ther’s three on uz, an’ nut being schollars, wa’re bet ti knaw hoo ti share ’t oot; bud Ah’ll tell ya what wa deea knaw,’ he added, with a merry twinkle in his eye, ‘if ya war ti gi’e uz anuther sixpence, wa s’u’d ’ev a bob apiece.’ And they got it.
An old keeper was told off to hand the gun for a very poor shot. After blazing away at several coveys, he turned to the old chap, saying, ‘I am afraid you will think me a very bad shot!’ ‘Nut Ah. Ah think ’at Ah nivver seed naebody shut better an’ hit warse i’ mah leyfe.’ ‘And yet I have made many a good bag before to-day,’ said the sportsman, just a wee bit nettled. ‘Aye, bud oor bo’ds flee, tha deean’t sit ti be shutten at,’ was the quiet rejoinder.
Lady —- said to one of her under-gardeners, ‘Thomas, the maids tell me that you often say very nasty things about women; do you ever do the same of the men?’ And then her ladyship looked him squarely in the face, but Thomas was equal to the occasion. ‘Neea, my lady, that Ah deean’t, acoz i’ that case it ’ud be trew, ya knaw.’
Tommy had been fishing on Sunday; he had been caught red-handed by the Chapel minister. The good man read Tommy a long lesson on the enormity of his sin, concluding by asking what Tommy had to say for himself. ‘It’s nut a real rod!’ ventured Tommy. ‘That does not matter,’ said his judge; ‘the sin is just the same, and the Lord never prospers those who break the sabbath.’ ‘Wha, then,’ promptly replied Tommy, ‘it mun ’a’e been Au’d Scrat’ (i.e. Satan) ‘’at’s egg’d ’em on ti bite ti-daay, foor Ah nivver catched sa monny afoor’—holding up a bottle fairly alive with sticklebacks and minnows.
Whether I am succeeding or not is for others to judge, but what I am striving to do is to paint the various points in our character faithfully. I am neither hiding nor glossing. Our brusquerie and doggedness, our tenacity of opinion and keenness to acquire the all-needful, our pride and independency, as also our want of that respect for those who may consider themselves our superiors, have been as fully and as truthfully set forth as space would admit of.
On the other hand, our people are warm-hearted, hospitable to a degree, and exhibit a deep sense of gratitude for favours received, such as would never be credited by those who judge us by our rugged exterior. But it is there, for all that. Let me give you two or three stories quite true, which prove to some extent what I have just asserted.