Part 18 (2/2)

On one particular evening which has left its imprint indelibly on my mind, I spent a few pleasant hours with a handful of local celebrities in the Commercial Inn. The chief of the party was the celebrated Lancas.h.i.+re poet, the late Mr Edwin Waugh, who had come to Keighley to give readings in the old Mechanic's Hall, and was invited to join us. Another member of our party was Mr John Hopkinson, brother to Mr Barber Hopkinson. A right merry fellow he was, full of yarns and comic ditties. With him was his nephew, Mr Benjamin Hopkinson, who about the time was causing some stir in the district with several letters which he published in the Press.

This trio are now gone over to the great majority. Mr Emmott, veterinary surgeon, and Mr Lacy, another local worthy, were also in the company.

Very pleasant and entertaining was the time we spent together that night.

Next morning I accompanied Mr Waugh to Kildwick, whither we walked on the ca.n.a.l bank. On the way, the Lancas.h.i.+re poet proved himself an intensely interesting and instructive companion. He had a large stock of funny stories, and possessed quite a knack of imparting his sensible advice to one in an inoffensive and almost unnoticeable manner. During the journey I said little, but thought much. At Kildwick we inspected the ”Lang Kirk,” and other places of note in the locality, and then parted. It was soon after this visit that I wrote the following verses:-

Old Kildwick Grange and Kildwick Hall, I see them now once more; They 'mind me of my boyish days, Those happy days of yore.

The old White Lion in the corner stands, Most fitting for the poets, Where Turner from a foreign land Would give his great exploits.

'Twas in the Indian jungle The tiger first he saw, With fiery eye, and open mouth, Sharp talons on his paw.

They met, and with a desperate spring The tiger on his prey; While Turner's two companions- Both cowards ran away.

But Turner fought a desperate fight, His courage ne'er forsook, He javelled at the tiger Until his bayonet broke.

One part was in the savage breast, And Turner understood If he could grovel out the steel 'Twould draw the savage blood.

'Twas done-the blood gushed out amain, The lion-hearted brave Beheld his foe go to a stream, To drink and meet his grave.

I see the house where Turner lived; But Turner is not here.

In the Lang Kirkyard he now may rest Without a tiger's fear.

”SAMMY” MOORE, AND OTHERS

Since I began these Reminiscences I have received a letter from an old friend of mine, whom I said I thought was dead. I allude to ”Sammy”

Moore, and I am glad to hear that he is alive and doing well. I had not heard of him for a score of years. Many are the happy hours we have spent together on the stage. His letter says he is in California, where he is occupying a good situation as registrar of a town of about 10,000 inhabitants. He says he has left off acting and wishes to know if I have done the same; and he also inquires after many of his old Keighley friends. This sentence leads me to refer to a few more of my own friends in the days of yore. There is the Rev William Thawbrey, a Wesleyan Methodist minister at Keighley, who subsequently took up work in the mission field in South Africa. Then there are the late Mr Thomas Carrodus, the manager of the Yorks.h.i.+re Penny Bank at Keighley, the Brothers Kay, Mr Joshua Robinson, and Mr James Lister,-all of whom were fellow stage amateurs of mine. The hand of death has pa.s.sed heavily over my old friends-particularly those with whom I moved on the amateur theatrical stage-and I can number on my fingers those who have been left.

CHAPTER XXV

MR JONAS BOTTOMLEY

I had not a little to do with the late Mr Jonas Bottomley, of mint rock fame. I first became acquainted with him in the warp department at Messrs Lund's in West-lane. He came to ask me if I would write his ”manifesto,”

or election address, as he intended ”standing” for the Local Board and the Board of Guardians. I wrote out the address, but Mr Bottomley did not succeed in getting on either of the Boards. It was soon afterwards that the Prince of Wales was announced to visit Milner Field, Saltaire. Mr Bottomley had hit upon some idea or other, and he came to ask me who was the likeliest person to write a letter to the Prince of Wales. I referred him to the late Rev J. Room, vicar of Eastwood. Mr Bottomley accordingly waited upon Mr Room, who, however, said he had come to the wrong person; he (Mr Room), was not in the habit of addressing kings and princes, and lords and dukes, but he could refer him to a man who was. Mr Room said he knew n.o.body better for the work than Bill o' th' Hoylus End. So Mr Bottomley appealed to me, and, with some demur, I penned a rough epistle, which was couched somewhat as follows:-”To His Royal Highness Albert Edward Prince of Wales.-May it please your Royal Highness to accept a package of mint rock from your humble servant. And, in addition, while your Royal Highness is staying in the locality, I should very greatly appreciate an interview. If you could see your way to consent to my earnest longing you would greatly oblige your most humble and obedient servant, Jonas Bottomley.” Mr Bottomley told me when I was writing the letter that if he got the Royal patronage to his mint rock he would give me 100 ”slap dahn,” which, you may guess, made me as anxious as Mr Bottomley to bring about the desired ”interview.” I had also to write some verses concerning the Royal visit to Saltaire-

<script>