"Owd Tommy."

(A Yorkshire Sketch.)


Of all the seasons of the year,--that portion when winter treads upon
the skirts of the retiring autumn, always seems to me to be most deeply
fraught with sorrowful associations. A few short weeks before, one has
beheld the year in stately pride, loaded with blessings, and adorned in
nature's most luxurious garb, waters in silvery streams have lightly
leaped and bounded in the shadow of the waving ferns,--and little
flowers have nodded on the brink and peered into the crystal depths, as
though in love with their reflected loveliness;--the little hills have
decked their verdant breasts with floral gems, and the frowning crags
have seemed to smile, and from their time-worn crevices have thrust some
wandering weed, whose emerald tints have lent a soothing softness to the
hard outline of their rugged fronts. The feathered songsters on untiring
wing, have flitted in the sunny sky, pouring forth melodious sounds in
thankfulness and joy, as though their little hearts were filled too full
of happiness and overflowed in drops of harmony.

Light fleecy cloud's like floating heaps of down have sailed along the
azure sky, casting their changing shadows on the earth, whilst sighing
winds have whispered soothing songs amongst the rustling leaves, and
ripened fruits have hung in tempting show their sun-burnt fronts,
courting the thirsty lip, to tell us in their silent eloquence that the
year has gained its prime.

Even when the ice-king reigns, and howlling storms drive with
remorseless
fury o'er the plains, or wreck their vengeance on the sturdy
woods,--roaring amongst the pliant branches, and entwining around the
knarled trunks, uprooting some as though in sport to show its giant
strength. And the cascade which formerly leaped forth from sylvan nooks
where the wild flowers half hid its source, and bathed themselves in the
ascending mist,--now roaring down in sullied swollen force, bearing
along the wrecks of summer beauties,--tumbling and hissing through its
frost bordered bed,--growling in foaming rage around the rocks which
here and there protrude their sullen face to check its mad career;--even
this has much of majesty and beauty, and claims our admiration. But when
some glories of the autumn yet remain, and e'er stern winter has usurped
the sway,--one wide-wide field of death and desolation is all that's
left for man to ponder over;--fading flowers, trembling and shrinking in
the raw cold blast;--half naked trees, that day by day present a more
weird aspect--fields still green, but stripped of every gem;--whilst
still some russet warbler may be heard chirping in sorrow and distress,
and heavy looking clouds anxious to screen the cheering ray, which now
and then bursts forth with sickly smile, that seems like ill-timed mirth
amongst the dead.

On such a time as this, and in the early Sabbath morning, might be seen
a stalwart farmer strolling o'er the hills which command a view of the
little but interesting village of Luddenden.

I do not think that the dreary look of decaying beauties had much effect
upon him,--the pale blue smoke that issued from his mouth, in measured
time, seemed to afford him every consolation. He evidently saw some one
approaching in whom he was interested. Having satisfied himself that he
was not mistaken, he began talking aloud:--

"Oi! that's him sure enough; nah whativer can owd Tommy want laumering
over thease hills at this time o'th' morning? He's a queer chap, takkin
him all i' all; an' still if ought should happen him aw doant know where
they'd find his marrow; he's been th' same owd Tommy iver sin aw wor a
lad, an' aw'm noa chicken nah--he said--stroking a few grey hairs,
which, like a tuft of frosted grass, adorned his ruddy cheeks. Aw sud
think he's saved a bit o' brass bi this time, for he wor allus a nipper;
but he wor allus honest, an' it isn't ivery man yo meet i'th world 'at's
honest; but aw doant think Tommy ud wrang ony body aght o'th' vally o'
that;"--saying which, he snapped his finger and thumb together to denote
its worthlessness.

A few minutes more and Tommy might be plainly seen slowly ascending the
somewhat rugged road toward the spot where stood the farmer leaning
against the wall awaiting him. I could not better occupy the time that
intervenes than endeavour to picture the approaching traveller. His age
I would not dare to guess, he might be 60, or he might be 90. He was a
short thick-set man, and rather bent, but evidently more from habit than
from weight of years. He wore a long blue coat which plainly spoke of
years gone by, and bore in many places unmistakable evidence that Tommy
was no friend to tailors; beneath this an old crimson plush waistcoat,
that had long since done its duty, some drab knee-breeches, and a pair
of dark grey stockings which hid their lower extremities in a pair of
shoes about large enough to make two leather cradles; on his head a hat
that scorned to shine, and in his hand he carried an oaken staff; his
small grey eyes glistened with a spark of latent wit, whilst on his face
was stamped in unequivocal characters some quaint originality.

"Gooid morning, Tommy," said the farmer.

"Gooid morning ***," replied Tommy, "it's a nice day ower th' head but
fearful heavy under th' fooit."

"You're reight," said ***, "but where are yo trapesing to this
morning?"

"Waw, aw'm gooin as far as ***'s o' Tom's at th' Durham, to get my tooa
nails cut," said Tommy.

"Well, yo'll happen bait a bit and ha a wiff o' bacca wi' me, for its a
long time sin aw saw yo afoor," said ***.

"Waw, aw dooant mind if aw have a rick or two, but aw munnot stop long,
for it luks rayther owercussen up i'th' element; but ha's that lad o'
thine getting on sin he wed quiet Hannah lass? Aw've wondered sometimes
if he wod'nt rue his bargain,--is shoo as fat as sho wor?"

"Eea, shoo keeps i' varry gooid order, shoo puts her mait into a better
skin nor th' mooast; they didn't hit it soa well at th' furst, for shoo
wor varry waspish, an' tha knows awr Joa's as queer as ***'s hatband,
when he's put aght a bit. One morning, abaght a wick after they wor wed,
Joa woran't varry weel, an' had to ligg i' bed a bit,--shoo gate up to
muck th' beeas,--(for shoo can do a job like that, tha knows, when
shoo's a mind.)"

"Eea! eea!" said Tommy, "noabody better,--shoo's a pair o' gooid
end,--shoo's nooan afeared o' dipping her finger i' water, nut shoo."

"Well, aw tell thi, shoo gate up, an' in a while shoo call'd aght 'at
his porridge wor ready when he liked to come daan, an' then shoo went
aght. Soa in a bit, he gate up, an' th' pan wor stood o' th' rib
flopping away rarely. Well, he gate a plate, an' thowt he'd tern' em
aght to cooil, when asteead o' porrige, aght come th' dish claat slap on
to his fooit;--talk abaght single step doncing!--tha should just ha seen
him; he ommost lauped clean ower th' breead flaik;--an' thear shoo stood
grinning at him throo th' winder, an' he wor soa mad--he wuthered th'
pan fair at her head;--he miss'd his aim an' knock'd th' canary cage to
smithereens, th' cat gate th' burd, an' th' pan fell into th' churn.
Nah, what wod ta think ov a thing like that?"

"Waw, its just loike one ov her tricks;-tha knows shoo wor allus a
trimmer o' one, ***."

"Shoo wor, Tommy, an shoo allus will be to her deeing day. It put awr
Joa into a awful passhian, but shoo didn't care a pin, shoo said shoo'd
lived too long near a wood' to be fear'd ov a hullet,--but they're as
reight as *** and Liddy nah. Aw'll tell thi ha that happens. Tha knows,
awr Joa allus thowt a deeal ov his mother, an he wanted th' wife to do
i'th' same way; an one morning shoo' wor neighding th' dooaf, when Joa
says, 'Mally', that isn't th' way to neighd, my mother allus 'used to do
soa;'--an' he wor baan to show' haa; Shoo made noa mooar to do, but
lauped into th' middle o'th' bowl wi' her clogs on, an' started o'
traiding it wi' her feet, an' shoo says, 'does thi mother do soa?' After
that, he let her have it mooastly to her own way, an' they seem to get
on varry weel amang it nah--an' if he keeps steady they're putting it
together nicely. An' what have yo fresh, Tommy?"

"Nay, nowt 'at means ought aw think, ***--but aw'd like to been
pooisened t'other wick, but as luck let, aw wor noa war."

"Pooisened! Tommy, nay, surelee nut."

"Yos, but aw had--tha sees aw live at th' Ee'Gurnard, an' aw'd just been
into th' mistal wi' young maister William, an' he'd been holding th'
canel for me whol aw siled th' milk, an' he wor full ov his marlocks an'
bluzzed th' canel up mi nooas an' put it aght,--he's a shocker."

"Waw, Tommy, yo wodn't be pooisened wi' a canel, aw'll niver believe?"

"Noa, but as aw wor telling thi, aw'd been i'th' mistal, an' aw went
into th' kitchen for a bit o' summat to ait. Aw saw some fat o'th' ooven
top in a pot, soa aw gate some breead an' ait it up. Aw thowt it wor
fearful gooid an' savored summat aw'd niver had afoor; but just when
aw'd finished it, one o'th' young mistresses come daan an' axed me what
aw'd done wi' what wor i'th' pot? Soa aw tell'd her aw'd etten it. Etten
it!!' shoo skriked. 'Etten it!! Why,' shoo says, 'yo'll be pooisened,
Tommy, its pumatum!' Well, aw says, 'pumatum or net, aw've etten
it,'--an' away shoo ran an' browt th' maister an' th' mistress, an' all
t'other fowk i'th' haase, an' rarely they laffed tha minds; but maister
made me a glass o' rum to settle it, an' aw felt noa mooar on it."

"Well," said ***, "tha mayn't feel it nah, but aw shouldn't be capped
if thi inside wor to grow full o' ringlets."

"Niver heed that, they'll keep mi belly warm," said Tommy, "but th'
bacca's done, soa aw mun be making mi way shorter. Gooid day, ***."

"Gooid day, Tommy. Aw hope tha'll have a fine day for thi walk."

"Eea, eea, aw hope aw shall, but if it rains aw sholl'n't melt."

"Nooah, but its rayther coolish."

"It'll be warmer as it gets ooater, ***. Gooid day."

And thus the two friends parted; each smiling at the quaint humor of the
other;--the one to climb seven miles of rough and heavy road to get his
toe nails cut, and the other to pay an early visit to his son, and rest
his limbs, which by six days of willing toil had earned a Sabbath's
rest. He walked slowly, musing as he went, and every now and again
making audible the current of his thoughts.

"Its monny a long year sin aw saw owd Tommy before, an' it may be monny
a long year before aw see his face agean; aw think owd Time must use him
wi' a gentler hand nor he uses me. Aw remember th' first time aw saw
him, he wor coming past th' churn milk Joan, wi' a lump o' parkin in his
hand as big as awr ooven top; an' that wor th' day 'at Jenny an' me wor
wed. It seems like a dream to me nah. Poor Jenny!--if there's a better
place, tha'rt nooan soa far off thear!" And then he paused to wipe the
heavy drops from off his cheeks. "Aw thowt aw'd getten ower this sooart
o' thing, nah he sed, but aw believe aw niver shall. Its just five year
come Easter sin aw laid her low, an awve niver been able to aford a
grave stooan for her yet, but aw can find that bit o' rising graand
withaat a mark, an prize it nooan the less. But its noa gooid freating
abaght things we cannot help. Aw'll have another reek or two an' goa an'
see awr Joa." So filling his little black clay pipe with the fragrant
weed (which for convenience he carried loose in his waistcoat pocket),
he puffed his cloud of incense in the air and hastened on to gain his
journey's end. A walk of a few minutes brought him to the door of a low
whitewashed farm-house, around which the cans were reared, ready to be
filled with the morning's milk. He ventured in, (first carefully
removing all the mire from his shoes, lest he should soil the nicely
sanded floor,) and drawing up the old arm chair which shone like
polished ebony,--he looked around the strange apartment. "Its a queer
fancy (he said at last) at Mally should be soa fond o' pots,--what
ther's mooar here nor what ud start a shop; it saves th' expense of
slapdashing onyway." And he was right, for, from floor, to ceiling, and
along the old oak beams, appeared one medley of crockery--pots of all
sizes--cups and plates of all shapes and patterns were hung or reared
against the wall until it was impossible to find another place where one
might be displayed; and on the mantle shelf, a long array of china
images of fortune-telling gipsies, guarded at each end by what was
supposed to represent a dog--they might resemble dogs, but surely such a
breed exists not now, for if there was a point about them to recommend,
it was what Mally often said, "They ait nowt." In a short time both Joe
and Mally made their apperance--health bloom on their cheeks, and with
a hearty welcome prepared the morning's meal. A clean white cloth spread
on as clean a table, the requisite pots, the fresh churned butter, and
the wheaten bread was all that was displayed to tempt them to the meal;
but it was all that was required, for appetite gave relish to the plain
repast, and many a wealthy man in stately rooms, with every luxury
around, might well have envied them their simple fare, sweetened by
labor, and so well enjoyed--whilst savory meats, of which they never
knew, in vain invited him whose satiated tastes loathed every dish. But
the old farmer did not seem at ease, and when the meal was over--after a
short conversation, he bade them both good day, and turned his steps
towards his lonely home. Perhaps it was the son who called up in the old
man's mind some thoughts of former days--or perhaps the train of thought
he had indulged in previously might have laid a load of gloom upon him;
but, be it as it may, he seemed inclined to spend the day under his own
roof tree.

The winter came and spread its spotless snows o'er hills and dales; the
wild winds wailed; the woodman's axe echoed amidst the woods; the song
birds fled; the dauntless redbreast twittered on the window sills; the
cawing rooks wended their weary way in solemn flight. The spring again,
like a young bashful maid, came smiling upon old Winter's track; the
field's looked gay again; and trees seemed vieing which could first be
drest in verdant green. The Summer followed on, the sun shone o'er the
fields of ripening grass; the mowers scythe was dipped in fragrant dews,
and Flora bounteously bestowed her favorite flowers. Autumn succeeded,
and once more the' eye was gladdened with the bearded grain, waving in
golden splendour in the breeze;--again the luscious fruits are tempting
one to pluck; and soon again the year,--weary with its labors, prepares
to sleep, and desolation reigns.

'Tis Sunday morning, and the sun looks down through murky mists;--the
ground is slightly hardened with the nipping frost; here and there some
hardy flower endeavours to look gay:--the tolling bell rings out its
morning call, and straggling groups wend their way to worship in the
village church. But on the hill, which rises high above, was stood a man
in deep and earnest thought. One could scarcely have believed that the
pale, aged looking man, who dressed in sombre black was standing and
looking over the quiet scene, was the stalwart farmer, who just one year
before was holding converse with old Tommy;--but he begins to speak.

"Its just twelve months to day," he said, "sin aw wor talking to him o'
this varry spot, an nah he's gooan, an awm left to attend his funeral:
ther's nowt to feel sorry for 'at aw know on, but when an owd face is
noa mooar, 'at one's been used to see--it tells a tale 'at's easy
understood;--it leaves a gap i'th' world 'at's never shut--it bids us to
prepare an reckon up awr life to see if all's as we could like it to
be,--an' use what time's left to square accounts,--soa's when we're
called to 'liver up, we may be ready. Jenny wor ready, an soa wor Tommy.
It isn't ivery man yo meet i'th world 'at's honest."


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