The inhabitants of the Dean Valley in Rossendale have long been celebrated for their excellence as musicians, both vocal and instrumental; and it is from this fact that their appellation of "Deyghn Layrocks" has arisen. From records more than a century and a half old, we learn that they were in the habit of meeting in each others' houses by turns, and practising together the compositions, sacred and secular, which our country can boast in such rich abundance. Many pieces of their own composing bear the impress of ability far beyond mediocrity, and deserve to be more generally known.

Some of these have, indeed, already gone abroad into the world, and are sung in places widely apart; being admired by those who are unable to recognise either their origin or authorship.

I have in my possession a collection in ma.n.u.script of no fewer than fifty sacred pieces, consisting of Psalm tunes and chants, composed by residents in the Dean Valley, and in other parts of Rossendale. Large as is this number, I have reason to believe that it is but a fractional part of what might be collected in the locality. Some of the names given to the pieces are characteristic of the dry humour of the authors--a quality which is largely possessed by many of the old inhabitants of the Forest. Among the list we find "Happy Simeon,"

"Little Amen," "Bocking Warp," "Strong Samson," "Old Methuselah," and "Spanking Rodger."

In handloom days, when every man's house was his workshop, it was usual for the Deyghners to repair to each other's houses alternately after the Sunday's service at the Chapel, and continue their practice of music far into the small hours of the Monday morning; and, on rising after a brief repose, the Monday was spent in a similar manner.

Very often the Tuesday also was devoted to the like purpose. But sound, however sweet, is but sorry food for hungry stomachs, and, consequently, during the remaining days of the week, the loom had to be plied with unremitting vigour to supply the ever-recurring wants of the household.

It is related of two of the "Layrocks"--father and son--that they had been busy trying to master a difficult piece of music, one with the violin, the other with the violoncello, but were still unable to execute certain of the more intricate movements to their satisfaction.

They had put their instruments aside for the night, and had retired to rest. After his "first sleep," the younger enthusiast, in ruminating over the performance of the evening, thought that if he might only rise and attempt the piece _then_, he should be able to manage it.

Creeping from under the bed-clothes, he awoke his father, who also arose; and soon the two in their shirts might have been seen, through the unscreened window, flourishing their bows at an hour when ordinary mortals are laid unconscious in the arms of Somnus. The lonely traveller, had there been one at that untimely hour, would surely, like Tam o' Shanter as he pa.s.sed by "Alloway's auld haunted Kirk,"

have felt his hair rising on end at the sight of two ghostly individuals sc.r.a.ping music at the dead of night, and in such unwonted attire.

The early Bacup Baptists used to immerse in the river Irwell at Lumb Head. A story is related of an irreverent wag who placed a p.r.i.c.kly thorn at the bottom of the pool when old "Ab o' th' Yate" was baptized. On complaining of the injuries he had sustained in the process of immersion, Ab was consoled by being a.s.sured that it must have been his sins that were p.r.i.c.king him.

Richard Taylor of Bacup, the Rossendale "Ale-taster," was a humorist of the first water. His proper calling was that of a spindle maker, hence his sobriquet of "Spindle d.i.c.k," a rare workman at his trade when he chose, and in his soberer hours. He was a fellow of infinite jest, not lacking in sound judgment, but with that kind of twist in his nature that would never allow him for two minutes at a spell to treat any subject in a serious mood. In his hands there was nothing incongruous or far-fetched in the office of ale-taster. Its duties, incrusted with the antiquity of centuries, came as naturally to him as though he had been living in the time of the Heptarchy, and was to the manner born. The incongruity was when he forsook, as he occasionally did, his ale-tasting duties and applied himself a.s.siduously to his business of spindle making.

The appointment of ale-taster took place annually along with those of the greave, moor and hedge lookers, bellman and officers for the a.s.size of bread at the Halmot Court of the Lord of the Honor.

In earlier days the punishment for brewing or publicly vending bad ale was either a fine or a two hours' seat upon the cuck-stool before the culprit's own door. The drink, if p.r.o.nounced by a discriminating judge to be _undrinkable_, being handed over to the poor folk.

It is only in a district like Rossendale, that such an interesting relic of the olden time could have survived. Regularly as the month of October came round, d.i.c.k put in an appearance at the Halmot Court and was reinstated in his office with due formality. A memorial presented by him to the Court Leet contains some touches of dry humour highly characteristic of the man. In this he says:

"From a natural bashfulness, and being unaccustomed to public speaking, which my friends tell me is a very fortunate circ.u.mstance, I am induced to lay my claim in writing before your honourable Court.

"The appointment which I hold is a very ancient one, dating, as you are aware, from the time of the good King Alfred, when the Court Leet appointed their head-borough, t.i.thing-men, burs-holder and ale-taster; which appointments were again regulated in the time of Edward III.; and through neglect this important office to a beer-imbibing population ought not to be suffered to fall into disrepute or oblivion.

"In Rossendale there are countless numbers of practical followers of the school to which that ill.u.s.trious Dutchman, Mynheer Van Dunck, belonged, and while they imbibe less brandy, they make up for it in beer. For some Rossendale men, indeed, beer is meat, drink, washing and lodging: and do away with the office of ale-taster, an inferior quality of the beverage may be sold, and the consequent waste of tissue among the working cla.s.ses would be something awful to contemplate. Your honourable Court, then, cannot but perceive the vast importance of my office.

"At the time when Rossendale was in reality a forest, and a squirrel could jump from one tree to another from Sharneyford to Rawtenstall without touching the ground, the office of ale-taster was no doubt a sinecure; but with the growth of population and the spread of intelligence in Rossendale there has been a proportionate increase of licensed public-houses and beer-shops, which has created a corresponding amount of responsibility in my duties.

"For three years I have upheld the dignity of your honourable Court as ale-taster without emolument, stipend, fee or perquisite of any kind.

I have even been dragged before a subordinate Court and fined five shillings and costs whilst fulfilling the duties of my office. My great service should receive some slight acknowledgment at your hands, and thus would be secured the upright discharge of those duties you expect me to fulfil; and my imperial gill measure, which I carry along with me as my baton of office, should bear the seal of your honourable Court.

"The quality of the beer retailed at the Rossendale public-houses is generally good, and calculated to prevent the deterioration of tissue, and I do not detect any signs of adulteration. The only complaint I have to make is of the quality of the ales sold at Newchurch during the week in which 'Kirk Fair,' is held; they are not then up to the mark in point of strength and flavour; but this is a speciality, and it is the only speciality that I feel bound to comment upon, excepting that which immediately concerns your obedient servant, Richard Taylor, Ale-taster for that part of Her Majesty's dominions known as Rossendale."

On a later occasion Mr Taylor sent in his resignation to the Halmot Court as follows:

"Gentlemen, I respectfully, but firmly, tender my resignation as the ale-taster of the Forest, an office which I have held for seven years without any salary or fee of any description. During that period I have done my duty both to his grace the Duke of Buccleuch (Lord of the Honor of c.l.i.theroe in which is the Forest of Rossendale) and to the inhabitants generally. From feelings of humanity I refrain from suggesting anyone as my successor, for unless he possesses an iron const.i.tution, if he does his duty to the appointment, he will either be a dead man before the next Court day, or he will have to retire with a shattered const.i.tution."

The Court, however, declined to entertain Mr Taylor's pet.i.tion, and reappointed him to the office he had so long filled with so much credit to himself (though with very questionable benefit) and to the advantage of the many thirsty souls within his jurisdiction.

The reference to "Kirk Fair," and to the quality of the ale sold there on those occasions will be appreciated by those who know the district.

For three successive days the streets of the village are thronged with a surging ma.s.s of people on pleasure bent. As many of these come long distances in the heat of summer, with their parched throats and high spirits, they are naturally less critical of the quality of their drink than at ordinary times; and the publicans, with what amount of truth beyond the declaration of the official ale-taster, I am not prepared to vouch, were suspected of taking advantage of the circ.u.mstances to thin down and lengthen out their ales.

When in discharge of the functions of his curious calling of ale-taster, d.i.c.k carried in his coat pocket a pewter gill measure of his own fashioning, of peculiar old-world shape, with a turned ebony-wood handle in the form of a cross that projected straight from the middle of the side. This symbol of his office was secured by a leathern thong about half a yard in length, one end being round the handle, the other through a b.u.t.ton-hole in his coat. After a day's official work he might occasionally be seen, with unsteady gait, wending his way up the lane to his domicile on the hillside, with the gill measure dangling below his knee.

Not unfrequently he had to appear before the Bench for being drunk and incapable, and though he was sometimes mulcted in a fine, as often as not some smart sally of wit won the admiration and sympathy of the "Great Unpaid," who let him down as softly as their sense of duty would permit. d.i.c.k, on those occasions, would declare that it was his legs only, and not his head, that was drunk. He would a.s.sert that, like a barrel, he was easily upset when only partially filled; but, when full to the bung and end up, he was steady as a rock.

At one time in his career d.i.c.k kept a beer-house, the sign over the door being a representation of the Globe, with the head and shoulders of a man projecting through it, and underneath it the legend: "Help me through this World!" By way of counteracting any bad moral effects that arose from his vending of beer on week-days, he taught a Bible-cla.s.s in a room over the beer-shop on Sundays. He christened one of his sons "Gentleman," Gentleman Taylor, being determined, as he said, to have one gentleman in the family, whatever else.

Poor d.i.c.k Taylor! I always felt grateful to his personality and to the humour which girt him round. He was a link that bound us to the past; a kind of embodied poetical idea in keeping with the ancient Forest and its traditions. I have more than half a suspicion that he must have been lying dormant for centuries in the muniment-room of c.l.i.theroe Castle, and, like Rip Van Winkle, awoke at length to resume his interrupted duties. I never conversed with him without being carried in imagination back to bygone times, and on such occasions it was with a half-resentful feeling of annoyance that the proximity of a later--should we be justified in saying, a higher?--civilization, in the guise of a smoky factory chimney, dispelled the illusion.

The post of ale-taster, though still nominally maintained, is in reality obsolete, and could not be revived, even in out-of-the-way places, without committing an anachronism. Even in d.i.c.k Taylor's day the office was looked upon as belonging to the past--a relic of a bygone age, in which a social system, different from the present, prevailed. It belonged to the days of stocks and pillories, of ducking and cucking stools and scolds' bridles; of sluggard wakeners and dog whippers. _Tempora mutantur._ It needed a genial humorist to a.s.sume the duties of the office in this latter half of the nineteenth century, and a vulgar imitator would find no favour.

In a wide and populous district the duties, when conscientiously performed, were more than mortal stomach could bear unharmed, even though the paunch were like that of Falstaff, which d.i.c.k's was not, and leaving out of account the temptations which beset such an official. d.i.c.k took to ale-tasting as a jest, though he fulfilled his duties with a mock gravity that enhanced the fun of the situation.

Keen as was his taste for ale, he had a keener relish for the humour of the position. Alas! it was joking perilously near to the edge of a precipice. The last of the Ale-tasters died, a martyr to duty, on the 10th day of October, 1876. _Sic itur ad astra._

A number of curious legends, not lacking in humour, are current in the Rossendale district. It is said that some of the youths of Crawshawbooth village were amusing themselves at football on a Sunday afternoon in the field between Pinner lodge and Sunnyside House. A gentlemanly personage, dressed in black, approached and stood looking at them for some time apparently interested in the game of the Sabbath-breakers. The ball at length rolled to his feet, and, unable, perhaps, to resist the temptation, he took it in his hand, and gave it a kick that sent it spinning into the air; but instead of the ball returning to _terra firma_, it continued to rise until it vanished from the sight of the gaping rustics.

Turning to look at the stranger who had performed such a marvellous feat, they espied--what they had not observed before--the cloven hoof and barbed tail (just visible from underneath the coat) of his Satanic Majesty! The effect of this unexpected discovery on the onlookers may be imagined. Had the wall round the field been twelve feet high instead of four it could hardly have prevented their exit. As for the cause of their sudden dispersion, he vanished in a blaze of fire, and the smell of the brimstone fumes produced by his disappearance was felt in the village for many weeks after.

Another story of the same personage is the following: At the corner of the field between Stacksteads and the railway is a large irregularly-shaped mound made up of earth, clay and coa.r.s.e gravel. The debris of which it is composed has probably been washed down out of "h.e.l.l Clough," a depression in the hills immediately opposite, and deposited at this place at a remote period of time. But there is a legend connected with it. It is said that before the river Irwell had scooped out its present channel through the Thrutch Glen--a narrow gorge about eighty feet wide, through which the river, the road and the railway run side by side--the whole of the valley extending thence up to Bacup foot was covered by a vast sheet of water--a great lake embanked by the surrounding hills. At h.e.l.l Clough it is said that his Satanic Majesty had a country seat and was accustomed to perform his ablutions in the lake in question. One day the water, swollen by heavy rains, and lashed into fury by the wind, overflowed its banks at the Thrutch, ploughing out a pa.s.sage through the rock and shale which hitherto had barred its progress. His Majesty of the cloven foot, who stood upon the edge of the lake enjoying the storm himself had raised, began to perceive the sudden withdrawal of the water from his feet.

Divining the cause, he slipped on a large ap.r.o.n, and, hastily filling it with soil and gravel, made with all speed to repair the breach.

But, just as he reached the place where the mound described is situated, his ap.r.o.n strings broke, and the ma.s.s of rubbish which he carried fell to the ground, where it has lain to this day.

It is some such tradition of the close proximity of the devil to the district which has given rise to the saying, quoted by Samuel Bamford: "There's a fine leet i' th' welkin, as th' witch o' Brandwood said when th' devil wur ridin' o'er Rossenda."

The "witch o' Brandwood" was probably concerned in the following incident. It would appear that the intention of the founders of the old Church at Kirk was to build it on a site at Mitch.e.l.lfield-nook, and that the materials for the structure were deposited at that place--when one morning it was discovered that the whole had been transported overnight by some unseen power to the hillside on which the Church stands.

Not to be diverted from their purpose, the inhabitants again conveyed the materials to the place which they had originally fixed upon, and appointed a watch to frustrate any further attempts at removal. But one night as the sentinel slumbered at his post--an enchanted sleep, probably--the unseen hands had again been busy, with similar results.

A third time the materials were deposited on the chosen site, and, on this occasion, three of the inhabitants appointed to keep watch and ward. As these sat toasting their toes at a wood fire they had kindled, an old lady with a kindly countenance, coming past, saluted them with a pleasant "good e'en," at the same time offering them each a share of some refreshment which she carried. This they had no sooner partaken of, than a profound drowsiness overtook them, ending in a deep and protracted sleep--from which in the morning they were aroused by the shouts of the bewildered rustics who came only to find that the pranks had a third time been repeated. So, yielding to the decision of a power which was not to be outmanoeuvred, the builders erected the church on its present site.[11]

[11] A somewhat similar legend exists in connection with the old churches at Rochdale and Burnley.

Reverting again to hand-loom days, and stepping over by Sharneyford and Tooter Hill--"th' riggin' o' th' world," as Tim Bobbin called it--the high ridge separating Rossendale from the Todmorden Valley, by way of Dulesgate (Devil's gate), where Waugh a.s.sisted at the poker weighing--we may encounter some of the finest examples of Lancashire and Yorkshire border character, their conversation overflowing with mother-wit and ready repartee. Speaking of some one who had a "good conceit of himself," said old John Howorth to me; "there's only three spoonfuls o' wit (sense) i' th' world, and yon mon has gettin' two on'

em!"

One old dame, recounting the struggles of poor folk in the days when there was plenty of law, but a sad lack of justice--not to speak of mercy--dealt out to the workers, and describing the kind of men and their head servants who held the noses of the poor to the grindstone while they themselves were laying the foundations of big fortunes, spoke thus:

"Yei, it wur hard work for poor folk i' thoose days. We geet sixpence a cut for weyving cuts, and in a whool week, working long hours, we couldna' get through moore nor about nine or ten cuts--for they were twenty yards long apiece. That would mak' five shillin' a week at moast; an' when we had finished 'em, we had to carry 'em on our backs two or three mile to th' taker-in.

"I con remember my owd mon once takin' his cuts in, and he had tramped through th' weet and snow on a cowd winter's mornin', and when he had gettin' his cuts pa.s.sed by th' taker-in, he axed him if he would gi'e him a penny to buy a penny moufin to eat as he wur goin' back whoam; but th' taker-in said to him: 'Eh mon! if I wur to gi'e thee a penny it would be gi'en' thee o' th' profit 'at our maisters get fro' a cut, (whereas at the time they were probably making a clear guinea by each of them). They're nearly working at a loss now by every cut yo weyving. No, it'll never do to gi'e thee pennies in that reckless fashion, Jone!'

"It wur hard work i' thoose days, I can tell thi', to get porritch and skim milk twice a day, wi' happen a bit o' bacon on Sundays. Once I had to go fro' near to Stoodley Pike, across Langfield Moor, wi' my cuts. It were a raw cowd morning, very early, before it wur gradely leet. An' when I geet to th' taker-in--eh! an' they wur hard uns, thoose takers-in!--he says when he seed me:

"'Hillo! are yo here so soon, Betty? Warn't yo fley'd o' meetin' th'

de'il this morning as yo coom across Langfield Moor?'

"'Nowt o' th' soart,' I said, I wur noan feart o' meetin' th' de'il up o' th' moor, for I knew th' hangmets weel that I'd find th' de'il when I geet here!"