Elijah Ridings 1802 — 1872.

From “The Village Muse” of 1854.

Elijah was born in Failsworth near where Old Road turns sharply, leading up to the present—day Oldham Road. The full piece, consisting of about five hundred lines, is far to long to reproduce here, but may be viewed upon request.

Elijah was a handloom weaver, and in my opinion, far superior in writing technique to the rest of the band of writers who were born within the “Golden Mile” from Failsworth Pole — i.e. Ben Brierley, Joseph Burgess, Sim Schofield, &c. Here are a few snatches. The whole piece is written in isosyllabic rhyming couplets, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear, and deals with Failsworth Pole, rush carts, Morris Dancers.

With buoyant youth, and modest maid,

All skipping o’er the green—sward glade,

With laughing eyes and ravish’d sight,

To view once more the old delight.

0~ now there comes — and let’s partake —Brown nuts, spice bread, and Eccles—cake;

There’s flying—boxes, whirligigs,

And sundry rustic pranks and rigs;

With old Chum cracking nuts and jokes,

To entertain the country folks,

But more to sell and turn a penny,

And get an honest living any —Aye, any humble, striving way,

Than do what shuns the light of day.

Behold the rush—carts, and. the throng

Of lads and lasses pass along;

Now, view the nimble Morris—dancers,

The blithe, fantastic, antic prancers,

Bedeck’d in gaudiest profusion,

With ribbons in a sweet confusion

Of brilliant colours, richest dyes,

Like wings of moths and butterflies,

Waving white kerchiefs in the air,

And. crossing here, re—crossing there,

And up and down, and every where;

Springing, bounding, gaily skipping,

Deftly, briskly, no one tripping:

All young fellows, blithe and hearty,

Thirty couples in the party;

And on the foot—paths may be seen

Their sweethearts from each lane and green,

And cottage—home, all fain to see

This festival of rural glee.

Behold the strong—limb’d. horses stand,

The pride and boast of English land;

Fitted to move in shafts or chains,

With plaited, glossy tails and manes;

Their proud heads each a garland bears

Of quaint devices — suns and stars,

And roses, ribbon—wrought abound,

The silver plate, one hundred pound

With green oak boughs the cart is crown’d,         

The strong, gaunt horses shake the ground.     

Ay, thus it was in my young days,

As thus I state in simple Lays.

The annual festivity

Of the four—township chapelry.*

Adieu! I bid ye all adieu!

In Newton, Failsworth, Moston, too,

And. Droylsden, ay, and Medlock Vale,

And that sweet spot called. Alderdale.

And should. these rhymes in memory live,

While these old. pastimes pleasure give,

Then, will they be remember’d well,

When all the muse disdains to tell,

Of stubborn pride and. wealth’s forgotten,

And all their “acts and deeds” are rotten.

ER.

*        The townships of Newton, Noston, Failsworth, and Droylsd.en, constituted. the Chapelry of Newton, and repectively in a kind of quarternation, as above enumerated, take their annual turn in providing the rush—carts, &c. The wakes are principally held at Newton, better known as Newton Heath, in consequence of the township being the locality of the ancient, as well as the present church or chapel. The old. structure fell down on the morning of Monday, the second of May, 1808, and providentially about twelve hours after the pastor and his congregation had retired from their pious duties. The rushes of which the rush—cart was composed, were deposited in the chapel.