menu_book Chapter 32

PART THIRTY-TWO Of Ancient Ballads and Songs of Lancashire Edited by John Harland This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Jonah Grimphilts' Rumble The Original Song

In Dr. Dixon's Songs and Ballads of the English Peasantry, one of the various versions of this song is printed, and it is there stated to be a production of the eighteenth century. But Samuel Bamford in his walks through South Lancashire observes that the celebrated song of Jonah Grimphilts, beginning, said John to his wife on a what summer's day, of which perhaps more copies have been sold among the rural population of Lancashire than of any

other song known, has been generally ascribed to the pen of James Butterworth, the author of a poem called Rochevale, and other productions of creditable literary merit. Mr. Bamford long held the common opinion as to the origin of Jonah. The song took amazingly. It was wartime.

Volunteering was all in vogue then, and he remembers standing at the bottom of Miller Street in Manchester with a cockade in his hat, and viewing with surprise the almost rage with which the very indifferent verses were purchased by a crowd that stood around a little old fashioned fellow with a withered leg, who, leaning on a crutch with a countenance full of quaint humour and a speech of the perfect dialect of the county, sang the song

and collected the half-pence as quickly as he could distribute it. Some years ago the writer fell in with this same personage at Ashton Underline and took the opportunity for acquiring further information respecting the origin of a song once so much in repute. He accordingly invited the minstrel to a little rest and chat at a neighbouring tavern where,

over a pipe and a pot or two of ale, he learned all he wished to know on the subject, which he noted down in shorthand as the narrator gave it. It was a cold and rainy day in winter. The door was accordingly shut. The fire stirred up to a warm glow.

The cripple sat basking before the fire, with his lame leg thrown across his crutch, his other foot on the fender, when, after putting a quid of tobacco into his mouth and taking a swig of the ale, he went on gaily with his narrative for some minutes until glancing towards the paper and seeing uncouth figures multiplying upon it, he sprang on his one and with a look of astonishment not unmixed with concern, he exclaimed,

Hey, hey, here I say, what Macca-letters are to setting down? Here I say, what dost thou call those letters? Dost thou think that nobody knows what thou art doing? Bersithi, I hath it anore that I know what thou art doing as well as thou dost thee sell. Thou pretendst to rule the planets, dost thou?

Bersithi, I can rule them as well as thou can, and that I let anore if thou ores to put any other tricks on me. The hearty laugh, a brief explanation, and, more than both, a kindly invitation to the drink and tobacco, soon brought the guest to his seat again and to his wanted jovial humour.

He then said there were thirteen Jones and Grimfields produced within a short time, but The original one, that above mentioned, was composed by Joseph Lees, a weaver residing at Glodwick near Oldham, and himself Joseph Coop, who at the time of its composition was a barber, tooth-drawer, blood-letter, warper, spinner, carder, twiner, stubber, and rimester residing at Oldham.

He said they were both in a terrible predicament without drink or money to procure any, after having been drinking all night. They had been at Manchester to see the play and were returning to Oldham the day following, when in order to raise the wind, they agreed to compose a song to be sung at certain public houses on the road where they supposed it would be likely to take, and procure them

what they wanted, the means for prolonging their dissipation. A storm came on and they sheltered under a hedge, and the first verse of the song was composed by him, Coop, in that situation. Lees composed the next verse, and they continued, composing verse and verse until the song was finished as afterwards printed, but it took them three days to complete it.

They then put it in the press, and he said, We met a bin worth money a hundred pound, if we'd an assense to tak care of the brass. Mr John Hickson states that formerly an Oldham man used to come every year to Gorton wakes in order to sing this song, which he did in turn at the three public houses then existing in the village.

He was known not only there, but in all the villages round, as I would join a Grimphilt, from his being a regular visitor at their annual wakes, and singing this favourite ballad. The Jacobins issued a polite parody of this song, which never became popular, and is supposed to be almost wholly forgotten. In it some paviers on the road point out John to one another, saying, See thee, that's Monas

can nor the walk nor ride. John hears them and detects them. But often be thee jeers on comical sneers, then akin to thou'd macarous sneers. John Payne was the stay-maker. John a Grimphilt says John to his wife on a what-summer's-day,

On resolved he Grimphilt no longer to stay, For all go to Audham as fast as I can, So fare thee well, Grimphilt, and fare thee well, Nan. For a soldier I'll be, and brave Audham I'll see, And all I a battle with French. Dear John, said our Nan, and who bitterly cried,

Wilt be one o' the foot, and I won'ts for to ride. O'd zones wench, or ride o' the ass o' a mule, Here o' cowery Grimphilt os black as thou dole, Both clemin' and starvin' and never a-fardin', It's a dwelly-drive on him on mad. Ay, John, since we come to Grimphilt for to dwell,

We ain't a money a-bear meel, or can varrow a-tell. Bear meel, et God. Ay, that's o' varrow well know, There's been two days this wick, that we ain't a-d nowt at all. O' varrow near sided a-fore all abide it, O' fight o' the Spanish and French.

Then says me nought Margat, Ay, John, that's o' what, o' ney go to Audham, But in England o'd stop. It matters doubt, Marg, for to Audham all go, O's ney clem to deeth, but somebody shall know.

First Frenchman o' find, o' tell him a mind, And if he'll know a fate he shall run. Then down the brew o' come, for we livent at top, O' thou'd reach Audham ere ever o' stop. Ay, God, how this state, we no' get into th' mumps,

Me o'd hat in me hunt, and me clogs full o' stumps. But I soon'd to Audham, o' going to Audham, And o'd I a battle with French, O' kept Eendweer through th' lawn, and to Audham o' went, O' axed a recruit if they'd made up the count.

Now, now, honest lad, for he talk like a king, Go with me through th' street, and thee o' will bring, Where if thou't willing, a me I a shilling. Ay, God, I thought this were rare news. He brought me to th' plek, with he measuring their height,

And if they'd been right, there's an out said about to eat, O' ratched me, unstretched me, and never did flinch. Says the mon, o' believe thou it's me lad to an inch. O' thought this'll do, o' stag in is he new. Ay, God, Audham, brave Audham for me.

So fare thee weal, Grimfield, a soldier o' made, O' get a new shoon, an a rare cocade, O' fate for Aud England as hard as O'con, O' the French, Dutch, or Spanish to me, it's all one. O' make them to stare like a new-started hare,

And I'll tell them for Audham or come. Footnote, both cleming and starving and never a-farding. Cleming is a hungering or famishing. The editor of Songs of the Peasantry says that turning the termination ing into ink

is one of the most striking peculiarities of the South Lancashire dialect. On the other hand, Samuel Bamford said it is not Lancashire at all, but Cheshire. This peculiarity is found on both sides

of the division between the two counties, but not in other parts of Lancashire. End of footnote. In several copies, both in print and in manuscript, the song ends here, but in others several stanzas are added,

of which the following will serve as a sample. When I went for a soldier, I meant for to ride, so they brought me a tit and I got on at Trangside. Or a geat at Trangside, but I soon tumbled o'er, me officer said I should never ride more,

or thou' t that's quite to eat, or can goo on me feet, as far as I wish for to go. So they brought me a gun and cold lift and reet, thou' m unhoud up thy head and keep slipping thy feet, or they wheeled me about till I leaned to one side,

and me officer said I could no other walk nor ride. Peace is proclaimed and John goes home again. So now, warm at warm, hath loon set agate, ween plenty of pratties and dumplings to eat, and thou' peace is made, the waivers may laugh,

had Billy's brown loaf made a bran and a chaff, et cetera, et cetera. The song has many imitations, the following may be given as specimens. John o' Grimphilts return,

or John o' Margots for a Grimphilts o'erwent, to conquer the Frenchmen o'er were fully bent, at Audemar listed and went to the wars, o'er feats nor the dangers, nor battles nor scars, to conquer a die or resolve for to try,

and humble the pride of the French. With me kit on me back, o'er for Audem did go, and thou' t if o'er funnum, o'er'd soon let him know, that John o'er to Grimphilts no quarter would give, but would fate for Aud England as long as he lived,

o'er the French Dutch or Spanish o'er think o'er can manage, o'er think o'er me laddots can crack, or met an old friend as o'er going up th' lawn, he stopped me instead, we're now on his jawn, on o'er going a-faiting o' the French,

but thou mung o'er warm, for each body says, that they dare not come. I god I'll up Audem, that somebreez t' Audem, that o'er a-pothrode for to fate. However, said Dick, thou o'er better go see,

and if thou' gunnum on him, be sure sent for me. O Dick, never mind me, o'er do what o'er can, remember my love to both Margat and Nan, and tell them no fret, some money o'er get, and o'er come to Grimphilts again.

When o'er was hardly begun o' me trade, my officers touted me at peace o'er made. If there be no faiting, o'er me let me go, and if they'll no be quiet, be sure to let me know. If to Grimphilts you'll come, you'll find me o'er home,

next door to Nought Margat's o'er live. As o'er were going up the brew, for we livin' o'er top, o'er said o'er Rach Grimphilts, for ever o'er'd stop. There such peepin' and whisperin' as o'er went and bithed mumps, that's John at went up with his clogs full o' stumps,

with his cap and his fither, he looks very clever, Nought Margat'll wonder was come. When o'er get into Grimphilts, who an'an were o'er home, who run to Nought Margat's, and Towdor o'er'd come, what, is he come back?

He God is quite right. If he's bitten the French, why, will I one merry meet? Who a' John is no doubt as brouts things about, he is true to both country and king. John o' Grimphilts, jr.

Mr. Higson informs us that the following was once a very popular song, and was taken down from the singing of an old handloom weaver at Droylston. It was written just after the Battle of Waterloo, when times were bad, and handloom weavers' wages

fell from about three pound to a guinea or 25 shillings a week, that is, for three or four days' work. For then weavers could seldom be induced to work on Monday, Tuesday, or often on Wednesday, these days being devoted to recreations procured

with high wages. Oh, my poor cotton weaver, as money o' one knows, o' now t' hateeth house, and o' o' won out me clothes. Ye'd hardly give six pence for o' o' I've got on. Me clogs are both boreson, and stockings o' o' none.

Ye'd think it were hard to be sent into thward to gleam and do best a' chick on. Our parish church-parsons kept telling us long we'd see better times if o'd but ow'd me tongue, or ow'd me tongue till I can o'dly draw breath,

or think in me heart it means to clem me to death. Or know he lives weal we backbiting the deal, but he ne'er picked o' in his life. We taught on six week, thinkin' each day with last, we tarried and shifted till now we're quite fast.

We lived upon nettles while nettles were good, and wait a'loo porridge with best o's food. I'm telling ye true, or can find folk in o' that are livin' o' better than me. Now, ow'd Bill o' Dan sent baleys one day

for to shop score o'd ow'd him, but o' couldn't pay. But he had just too lat for ow'd Bill o' Bent had sent it an' cart, and taint goods for trent. They laughed nout for a stool at a seat for two, and on it coit margots an' me.

The baleys scout round us sly as a mouse, when they seen the things we taint out o' the house. And to one says to th' other, o's gone thou may see. Or said, Never fret, lads, ye welcome, take me. They made no more ado, but nipped up thou'd stew,

and we both leet and swack upon th' flags. Or get out of o' a margots, for o'er struck and sick, who said o'd near had such a banks in o' wick. The baleys scout off with ow'd stew on their back, and they wouldn't a gate if they'd broken a neck.

They an' so mad at ow'd Bent, cos he'd taint goods for rent, till they an' ready to flee us alive. Or said to o'er margots, as we lean o' puff floor, we never shall be low in this wild, I'm sure. For if we mon alter, o'm sure we mon mend,

for o'er think in me heart, we are both at fore end. For mate we an' non, no are no looms to wave on. He God, th' looms are as well lost as fun. My piece were chient off, and o'er took it in back. Or hardly durst speak, Mr. Lookard so black.

He said, Ye're o'er paid last time at ye come. Or said, if o'er were, till we wave in bouts loom, and it's mine at arming, or's ne'er big o'er again, for I've woven me selteth fore end. So I come outeth where house, and left him chew that,

when I thought at o'er things, or saw vex that o'er swat. But to think o'er mum watch, to keep him oneth set, o'er the days o'er my life, and then dearth her debt. But to all give o'er this trade and work we are spared, or go on, break stone upon throad.

Or Margaret declares, if o'er'd close to put on, o'er'd go up to London to see the great mon, and if things did no water when there o'er had been, who says o'er'd begin, and fate's blood up to thee? Who's not again the king, or who likes a fair thing,

and who says o'er can tell when o'er's hurt? Footnotes. Thward. World. Clem.

Starve. Hunger. Picture. Through the shuttle. Woe.

End of footnote. This ballad is still a favourite in many parts of Lancashire, and the last three lines have become household words. John O' Greenfield's ramble inserteth green bag. To those of our readers who are not old enough

to remember the circumstances of the memorable trial of Queen Caroline, the consort of George IV, it may be necessary to explain that much of the documentary evidence produced on that occasion in the House of Lords came from a certain green bag, which,

in the state of public feeling at the time, became an object of popular indignation, if not of contempt, like the celebrated, non mi ricordo, I do not recollect, of an Italian witness against the Queen on that trial.

Says John to his wife, I've great news for to tell. I've been to Lunham Fout, or the road be mesel. I get up one morning a four break a day. I fout I should meet the green bag in me way.

Had no porritchin' ow, so I run like a foo, and ne'er stop till I seed Lunham Fout. And when I get there, I walked up and down, kept lookin' about me like some country clown. They wanted for to know what I had in me rag.

I said it to a meal for to put a green bag. I begun for to swagger, and said he's a beggar, that's mon that keeps stuffing green bag. I think by me truth I'm unright to ow in an, for to tell her to come here as hard as oot gone,

because oot so brazen and fears no face, and I want for to see that mon at me's brass. I'll tie up me lugs and run in me clogs, and doff off my hat to green bag. There is more of this,

but enough has been given to show its character. Jonah Grimphilts, going to thrush and war, is another of the many imitations of this favourite song, but very far short of the spirit of the original. We take a specimen of it

from a printed ballad sheet or broadside. Yo Lancashire lads, come listen a while, we'll sing you a song that'll make you all smile. Of ow Jonah Grimphilts you've often hear tell, for at Grimphilts near Audham long time o did dwell,

o rat's way to loo, where o fouts like o'mon, but me age at that time it was scarce twenty-one. So I geeked me discharge whence pieces it were made, and o went back to Grimphilts a starteth o'd trade. But weave in on me, which I never agree,

so I'll go for a soldier again. O'm tired as old Alexander the Tsar, is fully detarming to keep on the war, so I'll go to Russia, bout any fear, and help me brave countrymen in'th grime here.

So fare thee well, England, o'm bound o't mean, but if o't a good luck for to come back again, o'll tell you a tale that'll make you all stare, about Alexander the Great Russian Bear, and if o' chance catch him, to England o'll fetch him,

and show him at up and to peace. John o' Grimphilts visit to Mr. Fieldon, with a petition to the Queen to fill every hungry belly, is another imitation with reference to the late Mr. John Fieldon of Todmanen, MP for Oldham,

who was a great opponent of the new poor law. The extracts we take from a printed ballad broadside. Says John o' Grimphilts, o'll tell you what, nan, o'll see Mr. Fieldon as o' Armaman, says nan o' me grunnies, this is me belief,

o'll think Mr. Fieldon can banish this grief, to London o'll walk with me clogs on me feet, to axe Bobbin nosy if they go on it reet, o'll tell o' me young Queen o'm ashamed to be seen, for o've hardly a smock to me back.

John talks of going to Ireland to consult Father Matthew, and of asking the Tory for meat, the wig for a plate, and the chartist for a glass of pop. When o' come back from Ireland to London o'll go, and o' about Grimphilts o'll let him to know,

and if they should call me a country clown, o'll say I'm a felly for a Saddleworth town, with me hat in me aunt, o'll tell o'm o'll want some porridge for Margaret and Nan, o'll say o'm so clem'd that o' cannot abide,

and me guts are as bare as a jackass's hide, o'll tell Bobbin nosy these times are so hard, they're empty o' houses, well you know o' ward. No money's so scant, the monarch drop the rent, o' the landlords o'll very soon break.

Footnote, Bobbin nosy, Sir Robert Peel and the Duke of Wellington. End of footnote. End of part 32.