“Riding the Fair”—at Avingham.
And what have those troopers to do here to-day?
The duke of Northumberland’s pipers are they.
The pipers, followed by the duke’s agent, bailiff, constable, and a numerous body of farmers, principally the duke’s tenantry, proceed first through the fair, where the proclamation is read, that the fair shall last nine days, &c.;[558] and then, the duke being lord of the manor, they walk the boundary of all that is or has been common or waste land. That task completed, they return to the alehouse with the pipers playing before them, where they partake freely of store of punch at the duke’s expense. The farmers are so proud of being able to express their attachment to his grace “in public,” as they term it, that they mount their sons on cuddies, (asses,) rather than they should not join the procession, to drink with them “the health o’ his grace, and lang may he leeve ta pratect and study the interests o’ his tanentry.” Then there’s “Here’s te ye Tam, thank’s te ye Joke,” and so they separate for the fair, there to “settle how mickle per heed they con git for their nowte an swine.”
Avingham fair, like others, is attended by many a “gaberlunzie,” with different kinds of amusement for children, such as the “E and O, black-cock and grey;” and, above all, for the amusement of the pig drivers and “gadsmen,” Punch and Toby, (so called by them,) and a number of those gentlemen who vomit fire, as if they had swallowed the wicks of all the candles they had snuffed for Richardson. Many of those worthies I recollect having attended ever since I was able to see above the level of their stalls. At my last visit, I was much amused with one who seemed to have been just arrived from the sister kingdom; he was surrounded by ploughboys and their doxeys, their cheeks as red as their topknots. He had a large pan suspended from his neck, and, as the girls observed, a “skimmering” white apron and bib, and he bellowed as loud as he could, “Hearse a’ yer rale dandy candy, made ap wa’ sugar an brandy, an tha rale hoile a mint; it’s cood far young ar hold, cough or cold, a shortness a’ breath, ar a pain at tha stamach, it’s cood far hany camplaint whatsamever; A, fate! an yil try it:—noo leddies, hif ye try it, an yer sure ta buy it.” And sure enough this was the case, for whatever might be its qualities, it pleased the “leddies,” who purchased in such abundance, that they besmeared their faces so as to destroy that rosy red, love’s proper hue, which dwells upon the cheeks of our northern rustic beauties.
I must not forget to mention that the October fair is more numerously attended by those who go for pleasure. Unlike the southern holyday folks, they prefer autumn for this reason, that “hearst” is just ended, and they have then most money, which, with the “leddies,” is generally expended in dress suitable to this and similar occasions. After baking a sufficient number of barley bannocks for the following day, and the milk set up, they throw off their “linsey-woolsey petticoats,” and “hale made bed-goons” for a gown, a good specimen of their taste, in the two warmest colours, a red flower or stripe upon a yellow ground, and as much of a third colour round the waste, as would make them vie with Iris. In this butterfly state they hasten to the scene of mirth, and most of them dance till they have reason to suppose it is time to “gang hame, an git a’ ready be’ crowdie time.” The style of dancing is the same as in Scotland, country dances, reels, jigs, and hornpipes; the last mentioned is much admired. No merry-making is allowed to pass over without some rural “admirable Crichton” having shown his agility in this step. The hornpipe is introduced between each country dance, while “Love blinks, wit sleeps, an’ social mirth forgets their’s care upon the earth.” The following day is called by the inhabitants “gwonny Jokesane’s” day; why so is not known; all they know is, that it is and has been so called since the recollection of the oldest alive; and that is sufficient to induce them to continue a custom, which is peculiar to it, as follows. When a sufficient number have assembled, they elect what they are pleased to call a mayor, who they mount upon a platform, which is borne along by four men, headed by the musician that attended the preceding evening, and followed by a number of bailiffs with white “wans,” and all the men, wives, maids, and white-headed urchins in the village. Thus, all in arms, they proceed first to the minister’s house, and strike up a dance in front. His worship, “the mayor,” as a privileged person, sometimes evinces a little impatience, and if the minister has not made his appearance, demands to speak to him. On his advancing, “his worship” begins thus, “A yes! twa times a yes! an’ three times a yes! If ony man, or ony man’s man, lairds, loons, lubburdoons, dogs, skelpers, gabbrigate swingers, shall commit a parliament as a twarliament, we, in the township o’ Avingham, shall hea his legs, an heed, tied ta tha cagwheel, till he say yence, twice, thrice, prosper the fair o’ Avingham, an’ gwonny Jokesane’s day.” This harangue, however ridiculous, is always followed with cheering, in which their good-tempered pastor freely joins, with his hat above his head, and stepping forward, shakes “his worship” by the hand, giving him a cordial welcome, trusting he will not leave the manse till he takes a “drap a yel, a’ his ain brewin.” This is of course acceded to. The ale being handed round in plenty, and being found to be good, “an’ what is na guid that the minister hes,” they engage themselves for some time, “while news much older than their ale goes round.” The musicians meanwhile play such airs as “The Reel Rawe,” “The Bonny Bit,” “Laddie Wylam away,” &c. The dance goes round, “the young contending as the old survey,” until silence is called, when “his worship” gives as a toast, “Health, wealth, milk, and meal, the de’al tak ye a’ thot disent wish him (the minister) weal—hip! hip! huzza!” Raising “his worship” shoulder height again, they proceed round the village, repeating their gambols in front of every respectable house where they meet with a similar reception.
After this, foot-racing commences, for hats, handkerchiefs, and (as Mathews calls them) she-shirts. The several races run and prizes distributed, they return to the last and gayest of their mirthful scenes, not without bestowing some little pains in selecting colours calculated to give the finishing touches to the picture.
“Wi’ merry sangs, an’ friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
An’ unco tales, an’ funny jokes,
Their sports were cheap an’ cheary.
****
Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt,
They parted aff careerin,
Fu’ blythe that night.”
So ends the fair of Avingham and its sports, which was to me, “in my youthful days,” a source of great amusement, but whether it is in comparing the present with the past, from a consciousness of having