Read Ebook: Adventures and Recollections by Bill O Th Hoylus End

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MAKING AND SAILING SHIPS

Ben and I also took a fancy to making various models, especially ships. Mr Lund caught us at the job, and, taking an interest in our work, he offered a prize for the one of us who made the best-sailing three-rigged vessel. We made our ships and gaily decorated them. The day fixed for the trial was regarded with keen interest by the mill-hands. The trial trip was to take place in the mill dam, and the banks of the dam were crowded with workpeople. The conditions were that we should sail the ships, with the aid of a warp thread, from the head to the foot of the dam. And the contest began. Ben's ship had scarcely been launched when it upset, being side-heavy. But my ship sailed gallantly before the breeze, right on to the finishing post. The spectators cheered lustily; I felt very proud, I did. I got the prize, and was made quite a "hero" of for a few days. But they little knew the grand secret of my success. I had driven a spindle into the keel, so as to allow it to protrude downwards into the water; with this in it, it was almost impossible for the ship to upset!

TO THE STAGE AGAIN

Notwithstanding the kindness which I received at the mill, I could not settle down. I had a strong inclination to get out into the world and see something. My ambition again returned to the stage. I began to visit travelling theatres which came to Keighley, staying in Townfield Gate. I joined an amateur dramatic society, composed of Keighley people. The names of the members were:--Arthur Bland, John Spencer, William Binns, Mark Tetley, Thomas Smith, Thomas Kay--all of whom, I believe are dead--and Joshua Robinson, James Lister, Sam Moore and myself. There were also a number of females, who must be all dead by this time. We had weekly Saturday night performances in an old barn in Queen-street, which is now used as a warehouse by Messrs W. Laycock & Sons, curriers. After a short course of training in the society, Arthur Bland, John Spencer, and myself became rather--ambitious I suppose I shall have to call it--and joined the profession altogether. I should be about sixteen years old; and I was about the youngest member in the company. My companions and I joined Wild's Travelling Dramatic company. I was called the "juvenile," owing to the fact that I was the youngest member of the company. We fulfilled engagements at Bradford, Halifax, Dewsbury, Keighley, and other towns in the district. I considered that I made a "rare fist" at acting, but the advice was unsympathisingly hurled at me--"Come home to your parents and start afresh." Well, I took the advice, and went home to my parents. I often think it was very good of them to allow their errant son to come home as often as they did. I returned to my position as a warpdresser at Lund's mill, being about eighteen years old at the time. Things went on very peaceably and agreeably for another little while, but I--just verging on the age of manhood--again felt a strong desire to go out into the world.

OH! FOR A SAILOR'S LIFE!

LONGING FOR HOME AGAIN

I determined that as soon as ever I got into Hull I would make straight for Keighley. Many a time on the vessel did I think of Mrs Hemans's beautiful poem "There's no place like home." I shall never forget, I think, the feelings of ecstacy with which I was seized on the vessel sailing into the port of Hull. It was four o' clock on a cold, dreary December afternoon, and I could not help but cry as, going on the quay, I heard an organ grinder giving off the strains "Home, Sweet Home!"

Of all the spots on earth to me Is Home, Sweet Home. And that dear spot I long to see-- My Home, Sweet Home. Where joyfully relations meet, Where neighbours do each other greet. If ought on earth there can be sweet, 'Tis Home, Sweet Home.

It seemed to me as if my father and mother were calling their prodigal son home. I straightened myself up, and says: "Here goes for Keighley, without a ha'penny in my pocket:" the skipper was not by any means kind-hearted, and did not give me even an "honorarium." But my troubles were not by any means past and gone: many who read these lines will, I trow, know what it is to tramp a long distance with a purse, as Carlyle said, "so flabby that it could scarcely be thrown against the wind." My trudge from Hull to Bradford seemed beset with thorny places.

TRAMPING AND ADVENTURING

THE PRODIGAL RETURNS HOME

Mr James Lund happened to be there. He was not a little surprised to see me, and wanted to know all particulars as to my wanderings. I offered an explanation as best I could. Mr Lund provided me with refreshment, which I badly needed, and paid my railway fair to Keighley. When I got into this "Golden Valley of the West Riding," as Keighley has been called, I had no little difficulty in getting to my home at the North Beck Mills. My feet were intensely sore with my long tramp, and I could scarcely put one before the other--which, of course, is a necessary performance if one wants to walk anywhere. However, I reached home in time--after an absence of something like nine months. I was received there with all the welcome it was possible for a prodigal son to be. My mother said she dreamed the night before I was coming home. I don't exaggerate facts much when I say there were great rejoicings in the camp at my home-coming. Of course, with paternal regard, my father wanted to know where I had been, and, when I had given him a hurried account of my peregrinations, he strongly recommended me to "jump into a peggytubful o' water an' hev a wesh." I accordingly executed the order of the bath, and donned a suit of clothes, which I had left behind me. My father said, "Well, I don't want them to lose anything by you at Hull;" and with those few, but expressive remarks, he took my sailor's suit and pitched it into the North Beck--which ran near by our homestead. I regret I have no proof before me that the clothes ever reached Hull. But we will let byegones be byegones. I was put back to warp-dressing at North Beck Mills, where I remained for a few months.

LOOKING FOR A TRADE

Then my father determined that I should have a trade of some sort. I began to have a little taste for sculpture in a primitive kind of way, and I used to smuggle big stones into my bed-chamber, and, when opportunity offered, try to carve figures, busts, &c., out of them, with tools which, I must confess, were far from having a razor's edge on them. My father came to know of my efforts in this line, and he and my mother held a confab, the result of which was that I was apprenticed to an uncle of mine, a mason named Joshua Hill, of Harden. I remained at this business for a fair time and helped my uncle to build Ryecroft Primitive Methodist Chapel. He gave me every opportunity to become efficient in my new calling if practice goes for anything. When I pass the chapel at Ryecroft I look with some amount of pride on the two stoops, enclosing the door, which I hewed out. After finishing the chapel my uncle Joshua commenced the erection of a tavern, called the "Moorcock," at Harden. But in my new situation my pocket-money was very limited. I didn't appreciate this limitation, and I left the service of my uncle and went to Bingley.

ADVENTURING WITH THE SHOWS

It happened to be the Tide, and going into the Gas Field I fell in with the proprietor of a travelling theatre, a Frenchman, rejoicing in the name of "Billy Shanteney." He asked me to join his company, which I eventually did. At night, before the performance commenced, I paraded on the platform outside as a gay spangled warrior, and while thus engaged I was somewhat astonished to behold my uncle Joshua making his way to what seemed the entrance, but he darted on to me and attempted to drag me, as he himself said, "back home." However, I didn't go back home, and we went on with the performance. At the close of the Tide week, the company went to Idle, and I went with them; and thence to the Bradford Fairground. It goes without saying that when Bill o'th' Hoylus End was playing as a king one night and next morning getting a red herring to his breakfast, there was something radically wrong somewhere. Still I had a hearty reverence for the "silvery fish," as will be apparent from the sentiments in the following

ODE TO A HERRING

Wee silvery fish, who nobly braves The dangers o' the ocean waves, While monsters from the unknown caves Make thee their prey, Escaping which the human knaves On thee lig way. No doubt thou was at first designed To suit the palates of mankind; Yet as I ponder now, I find Thy fame is gone, With dainty dish thou art behind With every one.

. . . . .

When times are hard we're scant o' cash, And famine hungry bellies lash And tripe and trollabobble's trash Begin to fail-- Asteead o' soups an' oxtail 'ash, Hail! herring, hail! Full monny a time 'tas made me groan To see thee stretched, despised, alone; While turned-up noses past have gone O' purse-proud men! No friends, alas! save some poor one Fra' t' paddin' can.

. . . . .

If through thy pedigree we peep, Philosophy from thee can reap, To me I need not study deep There's nothing foreign, For I, like thee, am sold too cheap, My little herring!

PLAYING THE CLOWN AND EVADING THE IMPOSSIBLE

CLOWNS AT A DISCOUNT

Next morning we were up betimes and on our way to Halifax, where we knew it was the Fair Day. We had an inkling that we might be able to engage ourselves at some of the shows. And so it came to pass. Spencer re-engaged with Wild's, and Buckley got a situation at Pablo Franco's. But clowns were at a discount.

SEEKING AND FINDING

However, there happened to be on the Fair Ground the proprietress of a new theatre. She was in search of "talent"--you know what I mean--eh? Oh, yes! The theatre was a wooden one, in Barnsley. It was not quite finished, but would be ready for opening in a week or so, and the old lady--"Virgin Mary," I believe she was commonly called--wanted to get a company together in time for the opening. She fully explained matters to me, and, as a result I was engaged--that is to say I was professionally engaged by her.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

She, of course, saw the whole of my personal belongings at first sight. And it is often said that first impressions are lasting. She paid my railway fare and gave me a "lift" of half-a-crown, and also mentioned, by the way, that I might walk over to Barnsley if I liked and expend the amount of the fare on myself. With this understanding we parted company. Next morning I started for my new sphere of life, deciding to utilise

SHANKS' PONY

It was a glorious morning. When I set off, my feet were encased in a pair of high Wellington boots, but as I walked along one of the boots began to pinch my foot very badly, so I stopped somewhere between Halifax and Brighouse and changed the offensive boot for one of my stage pumps.

THE GREEN BAG

ENTERTAINING STRANGERS

There was a "druffen Scotchman" in the house, and as soon as he became aware that I had read much about the Land o' Cakes and Barley, he showed a kind of rapturous paternal affection for me. When he learned that I could "recite a wee bit," his delight knew no bounds. I recited several pieces for the entertainment of the company, such as "Young Lochinvar" and "Jock o' Hazeldean," and they rewarded me with fifteen pence for my efforts, besides treating me to some light refreshment.

THE BAG MYSTERY

AT WARP-DRESSING AGAIN

But I did not utterly forget the sentiment of Shakespeare--"There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." I stayed the night at a little village called Kirkburton, and the following morning I walked to Clayton West. Here, I found out, a good deal of fancy weaving was carried on; and, looking at my case from all its bearings, I came to the conclusion that it was advisable for me to abandon my theatrical career, for the present at least, and try my hand at warp-dressing again. This was duly resolved upon. Accordingly, I applied at a factory at Clayton West, belonging I believe, to Mr Norton. I got employment without much trouble: luckily they were in want of a "man o'my sort."

A MINISTERING ANGEL

I started work at noon and worked during the dinner-hour. The first of the hands to return from dinner was a good-looking young wench, a twister-in. She thoughtfully asked if I had had my dinner. Of course I didn't think I had, as it was too far to go home to it. "Oh! but you shall have some dinner" says the big-hearted factory-lass; "for I'll go home and bring you something." "Thank you," said I, and she was gone. But not for long; not many minutes elapsed before she was by my side with a big jug of coffee and a goodly-sized, appetising, real Yorkshire pasty, the size of an oven-tin or thereabouts. I don't want to go into fractions, besides, it isn't at all necessary. Suffice it to say that I presented her with my heart felt thanks.

Bards hev sung the fairest fair, Their rosy cheeks an' auburn hair, The dying lover's deep despair, Their harps hev rung; But useful wimmin's songs are rare, An' seldom sung. Low is mi lot, and hard mi ways While paddlin' thro' life's stormy days; Yet ah will sing this lass's praise Wi' famous glee. Tho' rude an' rough sud be mi lays Sho'st lass for me.

As to the repast itself--well I enjoyed that with much warmth, as we sometimes say. Then I resumed the work which had been set out for me, and finished by five o'clock in the afternoon. There I left off until next morning. I had obtained in advance a few shillings to tide me over the night.

"T'OTHER LODGER!"

I went in search of lodgings about the village. In the end I came across an old lady, and, after I had had a consultation with her on the above-mentioned subject, she said she could take me in as a lodger if I cared to sleep with another lodger she had--a young butcher: if I was in by eleven o'clock, she assured me, I should be all right. I accepted her offer. Sometime before eleven o'clock, the "other lodger" came home. He was not by any means what Keighley teetotallers would term a "temperate, upright, law-abiding citizen," for he was as drunk as a pig. When he heard that I was to be his bed-fellow, oh! there was a "shine," and no mistake. He vehemently declared that he'd never "lig" with me; and, under the circumstances, I sustained his objection, and we parted. Tired and weary as I was I felt that I could well spare all I possessed if only I could get the use of a bed:--

AMONG THE IRISH

However, the butcher and I parted company. I went back to the tavern I had been resting at, and explained matters to the landlady and her good master. He did not receive me very acceptably, and told me that he "could sleep on a clothes-line this weather." I didn't like to contradict him. His wife rather pitied me, and said there were half-a-dozen harvesters in the taproom and I might arrange to spend the night with them. Acting on the principle that half-a-loaf is better than no bread, I allowed the landlord to introduce me to the company in the taproom. The company consisted of half-a-dozen Irish harvesters "on the spree." "Can you take this man as a lodger?" asks the landlord. "Oh, yes, if he behaves himself," one readily exclaimed, and another chimed in, "If he doesn't, be jabers! we'll mak' him." I fully ingratiated myself into their good graces for the night by "standing a gallon round." I took part in the general amusement, and sang for them the song, "Shan Van Vocht," in Irish Gaelic, until they all swore I was a countryman of theirs. The night wore on with song and clatter, And ah! the ale was growing better.

THE BARN DORMITORY--THE FIRE

MY ESCAPE FROM THE FIRE

HOW THE PEOPLE RECEIVED ME

Meanwhile, the alarm of fire had been given, and a number of people from the neighbourhood appeared, in response, on the scene. I could not see them, being at the rear of the building, but could hear their shouts. The half-dozen Irishmen, I afterwards learned, all answered the roll-call, but I was missing. On this occasion, if it had never occurred before or since, my absence caused indescribable consternation. Many thought I had been burned to death or killed, for the roof of the barn had fallen in. After some little time, however, and after much struggling on my part, I was able to allay their fears by appearing before them. It required no small amount of pluck--as I call it--to face them--bootless, coatless, vestless, hatless, penniless, and, withal, with my feet and trousers besmeared with cow dung. But there is a time in every man's life when he shall come to evoke sympathy from his fellows. "He's coming!" they said, "Here he is!" they shouted, and as I passed along the ranks I was the object of universal sympathy in my woe-bestricken condition.

A CHATTY, QUIZZY, KINDLY POLICEMAN

THE RESULT OF THE FIRE

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