‘Wha, bud Ah’d gert call ti blaam tha; thoo’ll awn ti t’ hamper, weean’t ta?’ ‘Aye, Ah nivver, ’at Ah mahnd on, ivver tried ti disawn ’t. What mud Ah foor? Sumboddy stowl ’t; Ah c’u’dn’t help that, onny road, c’u’d Ah?’
‘Then thoo’d nowt i’ t’ wo’lld ti deea wi’ t’ pricky-back otch’n?’ ‘Ah’ve tell’d tha ower an’ up agaan i’ tahms back ’at Ah’d nivver nowt i’ noa waay whatsoivver owt ti deea wi’ t’ otch’n,’ said Scott, emphatically.
‘Whya, thoo knaws ’at Ah ’ed a shilling ti pay for ’t cuming; what’s gahin ti be deean aboot that, then?’ ‘Whya, thoo dizn’t leeak ti me for ’t, diz ta?’ ‘Whya, Ah war that oot o’ pocket, an’ it war thi hamper ’at it cam in hard eneeaf.’ ‘Aye, an’ Ah’ll tell tha what, thoo’s nivver let ma ’a’e ’t back agaan; bud nivver mahnd, thoo mun keep t’ hamper, an’ wa’ll lap t’ job up that waay,’ magnanimously offered Scott.
‘Ah see ’at Ah’s boun ti be oot o’ pocket wi’ t’ otch’n,’ persisted Pettigrew, ‘bud Ah’ll tell tha what, thoo mun stan’ uz a glass foor friendship’s sake.’ ‘Whya, noo then, ez Ah’s gahin ti wed thi cusin Martha, cu’ thi waay.’ And so the matter was settled.
CHAPTER V
WIT AND CHARACTER—continued
I purpose devoting this chapter to stories which in themselves are good examples, embracing, as they do, many phases of Yorkshire character. With the exception of the first two or three, they will be given regardless of classification. But these two or three do need just a word. Our country-people, in their own way, hold in sincere veneration all spiritual teaching; but don’t look for too much. Bear in mind, superstition dies hard, and in judging them on this head, it is well to keep to the forefront the fact that in religion, as well as in everything else, they cling to much which their grandmothers believed before them, just as they speak of their parents as ‘t’ au’d fau’k,’ without in the least being disrespectful. So, without the least intention of being irreverent, the Deity is often addressed and spoken of in a manner which would shock the ears of many. ‘Ah wadn’t ’a’e deean that if Ah’d been Him,’ said an old dame, after hearing how the Israelites had been punished by God’s vengeance. ‘He owt ti ’a’e letten ’em off that tahm,’ was her concluding remark. It was her opinion, and she freely gave it. The Deity being spoken of as ‘Him’ and ‘He,’ was as natural to the old lady as it would have been for us to say ‘the Lord.’ Anyway, for real piety, I for one make my bow to the old dame.
Again, they have a way of materializing the most spiritual things. To them, heaven is nothing more than a big, beautiful city, which they have to try their best to get into, and having managed to do so, they are safe for ever. Doubtlessly they picture it sunnier, purer, and altogether more delightful than any place they have ever seen or heard of. But to them it is just a city. Certainly this applies more especially to the older people in our dales; the rising generation are learning different, but it will be long before they altogether leave the old and beaten track. And may it be so, for, after all, their religion is to them a very real and tangible thing. It is something which in these days of higher criticism many of us are letting slip from us. When reading the following stories, it should be borne in mind why they are given, and just what I wish to illustrate.
A clergyman having asked an old dying woman if she were quite happy, received this reply: ‘Neea, that Ah isn’t. Ah’s boun to dee, an’ Ah s’ gan ti heaven, an’ it’s that what’s boddering ma. Nut gahin ti heaven—Ah deean’t meean that—bud t’ music,’ said she, emphatically. ‘Ya see, Ah’ve nivver larnt nowt o’ music; Ah knaw nowt aboot it, an’ if tha start ma off wiv owther a harp or a dulcima, Ah s’all mak nowt bud a laughing-stock o’ mysel, for Ah can nowther tune ner scrat on ’em. Noo, if ’t c’u’d be ’ranged foor ma ti tak care o’ yan o’ t’ angel babbies, Ah s’u’d be ez reet ez ninepins, foor Ah allus did git on wi’ childer, an’ Ah’d fetch it up a pattern, an’ Ah’d promise nivver ti slap it; onny road, Ah s’all mak nowt ow ’t wiv a dulcima.’
The village artist was dying; he had painted three out of the four village signs, he had executed the scrollwork for every church decoration for years past, and there was in his house an imitation marble mantelpiece, which he had yearned to show every one. The clergyman was about to leave him, but before doing so, asked if he should pray. ‘Aye, aye,’ said the dying man, ‘and ez mebbe this’ll be t’ last tahm ’at ya will pray foor ma, Ah s’u’d be glad if ya’d mention ’at Ah’s a good hand at decorating; it’ll mebbe help yan a bit.’