Fred. M Bickerton

Failsworth and its neighbours, Woodhouses and Daisy Nook, have in the past been well—known for the characters they have produced, and the tales that have been told about them. They have also been renowned among dialect speakers for the nicknames applied to residents, and for the fact that their nicknames became better known than their baptismal names.

A money collector one day went to see a certain John Taylor. He queried unsuccessfully for some time, and then found a person who could direct him to the right house.

The instructions were: “Tha mun goo d.eawn th’ lone o’er th’ cut bridge, an’ tha’ll see a row of houses. In th’ third un tha’ll see an owd. woman sat at the door, with a mob cap on, ax for Jack o’th’ Bucks.” The instructions were followed., and the visitor asked the old woman for Mr John Taylor. “Nobody of that name lives around here,” was the reply, “what’s he like?” The description was not very convincing, so the speaker added “I was told to ask for “Jack o’tb’ Bucks.”

“Oh,” was the lady’s long drawn—out answer, “Tha means eaur Jack.” The lady was known as Owd. Betty Buck. There was also Ben o’th’ Bucks, and many other Bucks.

Mr Fred Kenyon of Woodhouses was a lively old character. He was said to be the oldest weaver who wove for Cliffs, while his grandfather had been the first. Fred was a bit of a politician, fond of argument, and somewhat masterful in his presentation. He was of the Reforming School, and could see no good in voting Tory.

When Frederick Cawley, who later became Lord Cawley, first stood for the old Prestwich division, he paid a visit to Fred’s home, having heard that this man might turn Woodhouses to the Liberal cause. (As a matter of interest, Cawley’s agent was Sim Schofield.). Old Fred was at work in his greenhouse in his shirt sleeves. The family were flabbergasted, and did. not know what to do. It was a big event, and. father must be made present­able. So while Mr Cawley was entertained by one, another slipped upstairs on the quiet, got her father’s tall bat, and took it to him in the greenhouse with the intimation that Mr Cawley had. called to see him. What father would look like in a tall hat with shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and corduroy trousers, did not quite fix itself in her mind., but but father sensed the situation. Going in, just as he was, with the tall hat in his hand, he said: “Sithee, Master Cawley what they’ve fetched me. Tha hasna come to see mi tall hat, basta, thas come to see the mon.”

The character of the people is shown in little things. They would scrape every penny they could out of a penurious existence in order to become householders, and get a vote, in our disillusionment we think so little of today.

A member of a Failsworth family was emigrating to America, so of course there had to be a farewell do, with a drop of something in the tea to make it taste a little uncommon. When the bottle was produced. the meagre supply was eyed askance by the assembled guests. They looked at each other in dismay. Mother would divide it out, which she did by measuring the drops, one, two, three. “I think that’ll bi all I can give thee Mary, if there’s owt to bi left for t’others.” Joe, who was watching the approach of the bottle felt that one chap really merry in a company was better than half a dozen just promising to be merry, so watching for a favourable opportunity gave his mother’s elbow a short tap, and the whole contents gushed into his own cup. When the hub—hub created. by the disappointed guests had died down the meal proceeded, and the old lady presiding called the emigrant to her side, and said: “Here, Mary, I’ll gi thee half a pound of biscuits to eat on th’ road.”

There was a family of Andrews, also known as Potter, who resided in Daisy Nook. One of them also known as Jim Tipping was in the Daisy Nook Band. Returning one night from Woodhouses, where the band. had been playing,~ and where alcoholic refreshment had been liberally served afterwards, he managed to get to the stump where “Ab o’th’ Yate” (Ben Brierley) put his stuffed. monkey. Then a queer notion came into his head. He thought he was at home in his bedroom. He hung his trombone on the branch of a tree, as if on a hook, then took off his clothes, and hung them on neighbouring branches, and calmly laid down between the hedge as if in bed. When the policeman went that way shortly after, he saw the trombone glistening in the light of the moon, and further search showed bin Jim, curled up in his shirt, comfortably asleep.

Another old worthy, proud of his name, and just a little pompous, was in the habit of using high—sounding words to describe his meanings. He was one day taking a journey by train, not a common experience, but he had occasion to leave the carriage, for those were in the days before pass­engers knew anything about corridors and conveniences. He called a uniformed official to him, and in awesome tones ordered him “Not to let the train emerge from the station before I return.” The old gentleman did not believe in time—saving abbreviations either. One morning the postman delivered a letter addressed to “Mr THOS.” He would not have it, that was not his name, and anyone who wrote to him should have known better. (Note: People who were poor, but who could read and write a little. sometimes used. to send an empty, addressed, but unstamped envelope to their loved ones, &c. The postman demanded that the recipient of the letter should pay the postage owed. before it was handed over. They couldn’t afford it, but by just glancing at the handwriting they knew that the writer was still alive, and thinking of them. Perhaps a small agreed mark on the envelope meant all is alright, another, contact me, &c. DH).

“Jimmie o’ Betty’s” had steadily courted Molly for twenty years, and. had never given a hint about marriage. They had gone together that long folks said that “they favvert.” (favoured each other?) He would. call for her, take her the usual walk, squeeze her hand at the garden gate when leaving, but he never rose to greater heights, and probably never would, if his pal had not said to him one night: “I say, Jimmie, art beaut wed Molly or not. If thi art, bi pretty sharp about it, 005 I met as weel tell thi, if tha doesn’t, I will.” So Jimmie and Molly got wed.

Another lady had passed her fortieth birthday by a few years before she managed to effect marriage, and her niece in turn was approaching forty when her father said. to her: “Dust’na think it’s time tha browt him up to scratch? Tha’ll be driving it as late as tha Aunt Mary, if tha’rt not careful.” Then on her wedding day when she presented herself before her Lather, in all her finery to receive his blessing, he blurted out: “Thi looks o reet, wench, but tha’rt noan half as nice as thi fayther.”

An incident which shows how much interest a vicar took in the spiritual well—being of his parishioners happened. once in the Woodhouses district. Two individuals, who were known as “Owd Felly,” and “Owd. Betty,” had lived together for a long time, although they had never gone through the marriage ceremony, no one could see any fault in their lives. Both were respectable, good. tempered in the usual way, and clean decent neighbours, but the vicar said they were living in sin and their mortal souls were in jeopardy.

He implored. them to get married and thus regularise their union, but for a time they could not see how that would make any difference in their mode of living. They would. just carry on as they had been doing. The vicar was persistent and consistent as well. He promised that if they would go to

Bardsley Church and get married he would perform the ceremony for nothing, and would send a conveyance for them into the bargain.

Eventually, to stop him pestering, the couple consented, and one fine day they set out for Bardsley Church with the good wishes of their neighbours, and when they came back, there was a little “do” to further conventionalise the affair. So the vicar got an easy conscience concerning the future of two of his eldest parishioners, and it is hoped the couple themselves felt a mystic delight in their lives as a result of their acceptance of the good office of the church.