Now! Then! 2024! - Yorkshire On This Day

Excerpt

With wires strong they marched along unto brave Thriberg town, then,
With nut brown ale that ne’er did fail, and many a health went round, then.

Brave Luna bright did shine that night, to the woods they did repair, then,
True as the sun their dogs did run, to trace the lofty hare, then.

A lofty breeze among the trees, while shining he came on, then,
Like Cain he stood seeking for blood, with his bayonet and gun, then.

Then he did charge with shot quite large, George Miller did him spy, then,
This rogue’s intent was fully bent, one of us poor lads should die, then.

His cruel hand he did command that instant for to fire, then,
And so with strife took poor Brown’s life, which once he thought entire, then.

His blood aloud for vengeance cried, the keeper he came on, then,
Like cruel Cain up to him came, and so renewed his wounds, then.

Now this dear soul ne’er did control, nor think that man no ill, then,
But to Dalton Brook his mind was struck, while his dear blood did spill, then.

For help he cried, but was denied, no one their nigh him stood, then,
And there he lay till break of day, dogs licking his dear blood, then.

Farewell dear heart, now we must part, from wife and children dear, then,
Pity my doom it was too soon that ever I came here, then.

[…]

With sword and gun we now will run, though the law it doth maintain them,
Yet poor Brown’s blood, lost in the wood, for vengeance cries amain, then.

Comment

Comment

An approximation to the facts:

In the night of the 10th of December last, George Millner and William Brown went from Brightside to a little below Thriber [Thrybergh] (the estate of Savil Finch, Esq.) with intent to snare hares: after they had been upon the ground some time, and were walking by a hedge-side in their return home, two men, viz. John Shirtliff, and one Roebuck (employed by Mr Finch for that purpose) leaped out of some bushes, with each of them a gun in their hands, and bayonets fixed upon them: Shirtliff said, “I have taken you now; and, by God, either stand stíll, or I will shoot you.” Brown replied, “Why, what have we done that we must be shot?” And, just as he was speaking the last word, he received the whole charge of Shirtliff’s piece in at his back. Millner being within arms-length of him, and seeing him fall, immediately took to his heels, expecting to share the same fate; and heard Brown cry out several times, “For God’s sake help me! you have killed me!” Upon which, Shirtliff stabbed him in at the back with his bayonet, and then he and Roebuck left him for dead upon the spot. How long he lay before he came to himself, he never could give any account; however, when he had recovered his senses, he attempted to get to some house; and, with sometimes walking, and sometimes creeping upon his knees, he got to a house, commonly called the New Inn, upon the turnpike road, about two miles from Rotherham, and about three from where he received his wounds. When the good people at the house saw his condition, being pretty near spent with the loss of blood, they immediately sent to Rotherham for a surgeon: Mr. Bellamy being met with, directly went to his assistance, and took the greatest part of the charge, which was shot, out of his left breast, then finding him to be in great danger, because he could not prevent the wind from coming out of the wound in his back. Mrs Finch was informed of it, and she was so kind as to send to the Marquis of Rockingham desiring him to let his Surgeon (Mr. Burn) attend him. His Lordship was so much shocked at the cruel treatment, as to be scarce able to speak: however, Mr. Burn, the surgeon, was directly sent, and the same day the Marquis ordered ten guineas to be sent for the relief of the disconsolate wife and her five children, the oldest about nine years.

On Tuesday Shirtliff went to the inn, and desired to be admitted to Brown. The landlord attended him into the room, where were several persons. As soon as Shirtliff got to the bed where Brown lay, he fell on his knees, and begged him to forgive him: to which Brown replied, “How canst thou expect me to forgive thee, when thou threatened to shoot me. I only asked thee what I had done, that I must be shot; and thou made me no answer, but shot me directly. As I never injured thee, I cannot – I cannot forgive thee – Thou hast killed me – I cannot forgive thee.” Upon this, Shirtliff acknowledged his crime, and wept bitterly. On Wednesday Messrs. Binks and Booth (Brown’s masters [they had a foundry in Sheffield]) applied for a warrant to Mr. _______, to apprehend Shirtliff, which he refused, saying, There was no proof. To this they answered, that Brown had declared it to every one that had been near him, that it was Shirtliff that shot him, and that Shirtliff had confessed the same. Mr. _______ then said, that no man had a right to convict himself; that Shirtliff had been with him, and had promised that he would not absent himself; therefore it was not necessary to have him secured. – The day after, Brown’s wife, and one Millner, waited upon Mr. _____, and asked for a warrant, which was refused, and both of them basely insulted by him; saying, If the man dies, Shirtliff will be ready at the inquest. In about ten days he died, and the jury gave in a verdict against Shirtliff for the wilful murder of William Brown. Upon which he was committed to York, by the coroner. While he was at York, he was kept at a great expence; and at the assizes, Mr. _____ appeared in his defence, and he was found not guilty.

(Oxford Magazine 1770)

The New Inn was probably situated at the NW corner of the point where the turnpike crossed Dalton Brook (see below), which by the time of the 1904 OS 6-inch was occupied by The Grapes Inn, by which a milestone stood indicating 2 miles to Rotherham (consistent with the above) and 10 to Doncaster. Yummys Pizza stands roughly opposite nowadays:

The northern ballad

The ballad appears in two versions. The closest to the above tale and probably the oldest is “Bill Brown,” which was printed by William Wright of Birmingham in 1827-29, by C. Croshaw of York somewhere between 1814 and 1850, by J. Harkness of Preston in 1840-1866, and then in C.J. Davison Ingledew’s great collection of ballads and songs (Davison Ingledew 1860). Millner has become Miller, Brown dies forthwith, the keeper’s name is muddled, Dalton Brook is added (redundant local knowledge that convinces), the inquest is omitted, the assizes judge is bribed, the end is somewhat confused, and vengeance is promised:

BILL BROWN
In seventeen hundred and sixty-nine,
As plainly doth appear then,
A bloody scene was felt most keen,
Till death it did draw near then.

Of poor Bill Brown of Brightside town,
A lad of well known fame then,
Who took delight both day and night,
To trace the timid hare then.

With wires strong they march’d along
Unto brave Thriberg town, then,
With nut brown ale that ne’er did fail,
And many a health went round then.

Brave Luna [the moon personified] bright did shine that night,
To the woods they did repair then,
True as the sun their dogs did run,
To trace the lofty hare then.

A lofty breeze among the trees,
While shining he came on then,
Like Cain he stood seeking for blood,
With his bayonet and gun then.

Then he did charge with shot quite large,
George Miller did him spy then,
This rogue’s intent was fully bent,
One of us poor lads should die then.

His cruel hand he did command,
That instant for to fire then,
And so with strife took poor Brown’s life,
Which once he thought entire then.

His blood aloud for vengeance cry’d,
The keeper he came on then,
Like cruel Cain up to him came,
And so renewed his wounds then.

Now this dear soul ne’er did controual,
Nor think that man no ill then,
But to Dalton Brook his mind was struck,
While his dear blood did spill then.

For help he cry’d but was deny’d,
No one their nigh him stood then,
And there he lay till break of day,
Dogs licking his dear blood then.

Farewell dear heart now we must part,
From wife and children dear then,
Pity my doom it was too soon,
That ever I came here then.

Farewell unto my brave dear lads,
Whoever range the fields then,
This cruel man’s murdering hand,
Has caused me to yield then.

In grief and pain till death it came,
To embrace his dear soul then,
Who took his flight to heaven straight,
Where no man can controul then.

While the country round heard of the sound,
Of poor Brown’s blood being spilt then,
Put it in vogue to find the rogue,
That justice might be done then.

With irons strong he marched along,
Unto York castle fair then,
In a dark cell was doom’d to dwell,
Till the judge he did appear then.

George Miller bold as I have been told,
Deny it here who can then.
He ne’er was loath to take his oath,
Brown was a murder’d man then.

There was a man who there did stand,
Whose heart did shake amain then,
But gold did fly they can’t deny,
Or at Tyburn he’d been hung then.

They’d ne’er been bold to hear it told,
To hear of Shirtley’s doom then,
The judge put it by to God on high,
And they might have judged him soon then.

There’s brave Ned Greaves never did fail,
To crown poor Bill Brown’s name then,
George Miller brave defies each knave,
That travels o’er the plain then.

With sword and gun we now will run,
Though the law it doth maintain them,
Yet poor Brown’s blood lost in the wood,
For vengeance cries amain then.

Frank Kidson says (Kidson 1891) says it was sung to “The mill, the mill, o,” but I would like to hear someone try.

The southern ballad

The author of the version printed by H.P. Such in London between 1863 and 1885 creates from this a shortened, simple revenge ballad, which also appears in another London source (Ashton 1888). This metropolitan version is ironically the only one now used by regional singers:

POOR BILL BROWN
Ye gentlemen, both great and small,
Gamekeepers, poachers, sportsmen all,
Come listen to my simple clown,
I’ll sing you the death of poor Bill Brown,
I’ll sing you the death of poor Bill Brown.

One stormy night as you shall hear,
(It was in the season of the year,)
We went to the woods for to catch a fat buck,
But ah! that night we had bad luck,
Bill Brown was shot, and his dog was struck.

When we got to the woods our sport begun,
I saw the gamekeeper present his gun,
I called on Bill to climb the gate
To fetch the buck, but it was too late,
For there he met his untimely fate.

Then dying he lay upon the ground,
And in that state poor Bill I found,
And when he saw me he did cry
“Revenge my death,” “I will,” said I,
For many a hare we have caught hard by.

I know the man that shot Bill Brown,
I know him well and could tell his clown.
And to describe it in my song:
Black jacket he had and red waistcoat on,
I know him well, and they call him Tom.

I drest myself next night in time,
I got to the wood as the clock struck nine;
The reason was, I’ll tell you why,
To find that gamekeeper I’ll go try,
Who shot my friend, and he shall die.

I ranged the woods all over and then
I looked at my watch and it was just ten;
I heard a footstep on the green,
I hid myself down for fear of being seen,
For I plainly saw it was Tom Green.

Then I took my piece in my hand,
Resolved to fire if Tom did stand,
Tom heard the noise and turned him round.
I fired and brought him down,
My hand gave him his deep death wound.

No revenge you see my hopes have crowned,
I’ve shot the man that shot Bill Brown,
Poor Bill no more these eyes will see,
Farewell, dear friends, farewell to ye,
I’ve crowned your hopes and your memory.

Here‘s the melody given by Kidson (Kidson 1891):

Here’s the great Peter Bellamy singing something like this latter version, which he learnt from Bert Lloyd:

Here‘s a longer piece on poaching ballads, which I haven’t had time to read. A.L. Lloyd writes about Bill Brown in Folk song in England, but I haven’t got my copy here.

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Original

In seventeen hundred and sixty-nine,
As plainly doth appear then,
A bloody scene was felt most keen,
Till death it did draw near then.

Of poor Bill Brown of Brightside town,
A lad of well known fame then,
Who took delight both day and night,
To trace the timid hare then.

With wires strong they march’d along
Unto brave Thriberg town, then,
With nut brown ale that ne’er did fail,
And many a health went round then.

Brave Luna bright did shine that night,
To the woods they did repair then,
True as the sun their dogs did run,
To trace the lofty hare then.

A lofty breeze among the trees,
While shining he came on then,
Like Cain he stood seeking for blood,
With his bayonet and gun then.

Then he did charge with shot quite large,
George Miller did him spy then,
This rogue’s intent was fully bent,
One of us poor lads should die then.

His cruel hand he did command,
That instant for to fire then,
And so with strife took poor Brown’s life,
Which once he thought entire then.

His blood aloud for vengeance cry’d,
The keeper he came on then,
Like cruel Cain up to him came,
And so renewed his wounds then.

Now this dear soul ne’er did controual,
Nor think that man no ill then,
But to Dalton Brook his mind was struck,
While his dear blood did spill then.

For help he cry’d but was deny’d,
No one their nigh him stood then,
And there he lay till break of day,
Dogs licking his dear blood then.

Farewell dear heart now we must part,
From wife and children dear then,
Pity my doom it was too soon,
That ever I came here then.

Farewell unto my brave dear lads,
Whoever range the fields then,
This cruel man’s murdering hand,
Has caused me to yield then.

In grief and pain till death it came,
To embrace his dear soul then,
Who took his flight to heaven straight,
Where no man can controul then.

While the country round heard of the sound,
Of poor Brown’s blood being spilt then,
Put it in vogue to find the rogue,
That justice might be done then.

With irons strong he marched along,
Unto York castle fair then,
In a dark cell was doom’d to dwell,
Till the judge he did appear then.

George Miller bold as I have been told,
Deny it here who can then.
He ne’er was loath to take his oath,
Brown was a murder’d man then.

There was a man who there did stand,
Whose heart did shake amain then,
But gold did fly they can’t deny,
Or at Tyburn he’d been hung then.

They’d ne’er been bold to hear it told,
To hear of Shirtley’s doom then,
The judge put it by to God on high,
And they might have judged him soon then.

There’s brave Ned Greaves never did fail,
To crown poor Bill Brown’s name then,
George Miller brave defies each knave,
That travels o’er the plain then.

With sword and gun we now will run,
Though the law it doth maintain them,
Yet poor Brown’s blood lost in the wood,
For vengeance cries amain then.

659 words.

Tags

Tags are assigned inclusively on the basis of an entry’s original text and any comment. You may find this confusing if you only read an entry excerpt.

• Assizes (24) ·
• Ballad (18) ·
• Brightside, Sheffield (1) ·
• Charles Watson-Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham (3) ·
• Hunting (10) ·
• Industrial Revolution (22) ·
• 📌Knavesmire (15) ·
• Land law (2) ·
• Lloyd, A.L. (1908-1982) (1), folk singer and collector of folk songs ·
• Murder (38) ·
• Northern Circuit (5) ·
• Peter Bellamy (1) ·
• Poaching (2) ·
• Rotherham (21) ·
• Savile Finch (1) ·
• 📌Sheffield (72) ·
• Steel (12) ·
• 📌Thrybergh (6) ·
• Turnpike trust (2) ·
• Wildlife (1) ·
• 📌York (164) ·

All tags.

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