Now! Then! Fakesong by an army captain about the sights of the St. Bartholomew’s Fair today at Reeth, Swaledale

24 August 1870: Fakesong by an army captain about the sights of the St. Bartholomew’s Fair today at Reeth, Swaledale

Frederic William Moorman. 1916. Yorkshire Dialect Poems (1673-1915) and Traditional Poems. London: Sidgwick and Jackson. Get it:

Excerpt

Why, t’ lads their best shoon had put on,
An’ t’ lasses donn’d all their best cwoats;
I saw five pund of Scotch wether mutton
Sell’d by Ward and Tish Tom for five grwoats.
Rowlaway had fine cottons to sell,
Butteroy lace an’ handkerchers browt;
Young Tom Cwoats had a stall tuv hissel,
An’ had ribbins for varra near nowt.

Thar was Enos had good brandy-snaps,
Bill Brown as good spice as could be;
Potter Robin an’ mair sike-like chaps
Had t’ bonniest pots te could see.
John Ridley, an’ awd Willy Walls,
An’ Naylor, an’ twea or three mar,
Had apples an’ pears at their stalls,
An’ Gardener Joe tea was thar.

Thar was scissors an’ knives an’ read [red] purses,
An’ plenty of awd cleathes on t’ nogs [pegs],
An’ twea or three awd spavin’d horses,
An’ plenty o’ shoon an’ new clogs.
Thar was plenty o’ good iron pans,
An’ pigs at wad fill all t’ deale’s hulls [sties];
Thar was baskets, an skeps, an’ tin cans,
An’ bowls, an’ wood thivles for gulls [sticks for stirring hasty puddings].

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.

Abbreviations

Comment

The notes are by Moorman, who writes in his introduction:

The western portion of the North Riding, including Swale and Wensleydale, has been less fruitful in dialect poetry than the eastern. Apart from the anonymous “Wensleydale Lad” already noticed, is is represented this anthology only by the spirited poem, “Reeth Bartle Fair,” the work of a true lover of dialect speech, Captain John
Harland, who published for the English Dialect Society a valuable glossary of Swaledale words (1873).

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Original

REETH BARTLE FAIR (1870)

This mworning as I went to wark,
I met Curly just coomin’ heame;
He had on a new flannin sark [shirt].
An’ he saw at I’d just gitten t’ seame

“Whar’s te been?” said awd Curly to me.
“I’ve been down to Reeth Bartle Fair.”
“Swat [sit] te down, mun, sex needles,” [literally the interval of time during which a knitter would work the loops off six needles] said he,
An’ tell us what seets te saw there.”

“Why, t’ lads their best shoon had put on,
An’ t’ lasses donn’d all their best cwoats;
I saw five pund of Scotch wether mutton
Sell’d by Ward and Tish Tom for five grwoats.
Rowlaway had fine cottons to sell,
Butteroy lace an’ handkerchers browt;
Young Tom Cwoats had a stall tuv hissel,
An’ had ribbins for varra near nowt.

“Thar was Enos had good brandy-snaps,
Bill Brown as good spice as could be;
Potter Robin an’ mair sike-like chaps
Had t’ bonniest pots te could see.
John Ridley, an’ awd Willy Walls,
An’ Naylor, an’ twea or three mar,
Had apples an’ pears at their stalls,
An’ Gardener Joe tea was thar.

“Thar was scissors an’ knives an’ read [red] purses,
An’ plenty of awd cleathes on t’ nogs, [pegs]
An’ twea or three awd spavin’d horses,
An’ plenty o’ shoon an’ new clogs.

Thar was plenty o’ good iron pans,
An’ pigs at wad fill all t’ deale’s hulls; [sties]
Thar was baskets, an skeps, an’ tin cans,
An’ bowls, an’ wood thivles for gulls. [sticks for stirring hasty puddings]

“Thar was plenty of all maks [sorts] o’ meat,
An’ plenty of all sworts o’ drink,
An’ t’ lasses gat monny a treat,
For t’ gruvers [miners] war all full o’ chink.
I cowp’d [bartered] my black hat for a white un,
Lile Jonas had varra cheap cleath;
Jem Peacock an’ Tom talk’d o’ feightin’,
But Gudgeon Jem Puke lick’d ’em beath.

“Thar was dancin’ an’ feightin’ for ever,
Will Wade said at he was quite griev’d;
An’ Pedlety tell’d ’em he’d never
Forgit ’em as lang as he leev’d.
They knock’d yan another about,
Just warse than a sham to be seen,
Charlie Will look’d as white as a clout,
Kit Puke gat a pair o’ blaek een.

“I spied our awd lass in a newk,
Drinkin’ shrub wi’ grim Freesteane, fond lad;
I gav her a varra grow leuk; [ugly]
O, connies,[mates] but I was just mad.

Sea I went to John Whaites’s to drink,
Whar I war’d [spent] twea an’ seempence i’ gin;
I knaw not what follow’d, but think
I paddl’d through t’ muck thick an’ thin.

“For to-day, when I gat out o’ bed,
My cleathes were all sullied sea sar,
Our Peggy and all our fwoak said
To Reeth Fair I sud never gang mar.
But it’s rake-time,[time for the next shift] sea I mun away,
For my partners are all gain’ to wark.”
Sea I lowp’d up an bade him good day,
An’ wrowt at t’ Awd Gang [lead-mine] tell ‘t was dark.”

614 words.