Two Suffolk Friends Part 3

Not many years since, not far from Ipswich, some practical agriculturists met--as, for all I know, they may meet now--at a Farmers' Club to discuss such questions as bear practically upon their business and interests. One evening the subject for discussion was, "How to cure hot yards," _i.e._, yards where the manure has become so heated as to be hurtful to the cattle's feet. Many remedies were suggested, some no doubt well worth trying, others dealing too much maybe in small-talk of acids and alkalis.

None of the party was satisfied that a cure had been found which stood the test of general experience. Then they asked an elderly farmer, who had preserved a profound silence through all the discussion, what he would recommend. His answer was very true and to the point. "Gentlemen,"

he said, "yeou shu'nt have let it got so."

HIPPICUS.

VI.

THE ONLY DARTER.

A SUFFOLK CLERGYMAN'S REMINISCENCE. {52a}

Our young parson said to me t'other daa, "John," sez he, "din't yeou nivver hev a darter?" "Sar," sez I, "I had one once, but she ha' been dead close on thatty years." And then I towd him about my poor mor.

{52b}

"I lost my fust wife thatty-three years ago. She left me with six bors and Susan. She was the owdest of them all, tarned sixteen when her mother died. She was a fine jolly gal, with lots of sperit. I c.o.o.n't be alluz at home, and tho' I'd nivver a wadd {52c} to saa aginst Susan, yet I thowt I wanted some one to look arter her and the bors. Gals want a mother more than bors. So arter a year I married my second wife, and a rale good wife she ha' bin to me. But Susan c.o.o.n't git on with her.

She'd dew {52d} what she was towd, but 'twarn't done pleasant, and when she spook she spook _so_ short. My wife was werry patient with her; but dew all she could, she nivver could git on with Susan.

"I'd a married sister in London, whue c.u.m down to see us at Whissuntide.

She see how things fared, and she saa to me, 'John,' sez she, 'dew yeou let Susan go back with me, and I'll git her a good place and see arter her.' So 'twas sattled. Susan was all for goin', and when she went she kiss't me and all the bors, but she nivver sed nawthin' to my wife, 'cept just 'Good-bye.' She fared to git a nice quite {53} place; but then my sister left London, and Susan's missus died, and so she had to git a place where she could. So she got a place where they took in lodgers, and Susan and her missus did all the cookin' and waitin' between 'em.

Susan sed arterwards that 'twarn't what she had to dew, but the runnin'

up-stairs; that's what killt her. There was one owd gentleman, who lived at the top of the house. He'd ring his bell, and if she din't go di-reckly, he'd ring and ring agen, fit to bring the house down. One daa he rung three times, but Susan was set fast, and c.o.o.n't go; and when she did, he spook so sharp, that it wholly upset her, and she dropt down o'

the floor all in a faint. He hollered out at the top o' the stairs; and sum o' the f.o.o.ks c.u.m runnin' up to see what was the matter. Arter a bit she c.u.m round, and they got her to bed; but she was so bad that they had to send for the doctor. The owd gentleman was so wexed, he sed he'd paa for the doctor as long as he could; but when the doctor sed she was breedin' a faver, nawthing would satisfy her missus but to send her to the horspital, while she could go.

"So she went into the horspital, and laa five weeks and din't know n.o.body. Last she begun to mend, and she sed that the f.o.o.ks there were werry kind. She had a bed to herself in a big room with nigh twenty others. Ivry daa the doctor c.u.m round, and spook to 'em all in tarn. He was an owdish gentleman, and sum young uns c.u.m round with him. One mornin' he saa to Susan, 'Well, my dear,' sez he, 'how do yeou feel to- day?' She saa, 'Kind o' middlin', sir.' She towd me that one o' the young gentlemen sort o' laffed when he h'ard her, and stopped behind and saa to her, 'Do yeou c.u.m out o' Suffolk?' She saa, 'Yes; what, do yeou know me?' She was _so_ pleased! He axed her where she c.u.m from, and when she towd him, he saa, 'I know the clargyman of the parish.' He'd a rose in his b.u.t.ton-hole, and he took it out and gov it her, and he saa, 'Yeou'll like to hev it, for that c.u.m up from Suffolk this mornin'.' Poor mor, she was _so_ pleased! Well, arter a bit she got better, and the doctor saa, 'My dear, yeou must go and git nussed at home. That'll dew more for yeou than all the doctors' stuff here.'

"She han't no money left to paa for her jarney. But the young gentleman made a gatherin' for her, and when the nuss went with her to the station, he holp her into the cab, and gov her the money. Whue he was she din't know, and I don't now, but I alluz saa, 'G.o.d bless him for it.'

"One mornin' the owd parson--he was yar father--sent for me, and he saa, 'John,' sez he, 'I ha' had a letter to say that Susan ha' been in the horspital, but she is better now, and is c.u.mmin' home to-morrow. So yeou must meet her at Halser, {55} and yeou may hiv my cart.' Susan c.o.o.n't write, so we'd nivver h'ard, sin' her aunt went away. Yeou may s'pose how I felt! Well, I went and met her. O lawk, a lawk! how bad she did look! I got her home about five, and my wife had got a good fire, and ivrything nice for her, but, poor mor! she was wholly beat. She c.o.o.n't eat nawthin'. Arter a bit, she tuk off her bonnet, and then I see she han't no hair, 'cept a werry little. That wholly beat me, she used to hev such nice hair. Well, we got her to bed, and for a whole week she c.o.o.n't howd up at all. Then she fare to git better, and c.u.m down-stairs, and sot by the fire, and begun to pick a little. And so she went on, when the summer c.u.m, sometimes better and sometimes wuss. But she spook werry little, and din't seem to git on no better with my wife. Yar father used to c.u.m and see her and read to her. He was werry fond of her, for he had knowed her ivver sin' she was born. But she got waker and waker, and at last she c.o.o.n't howd up no longer, but took wholly to her bed. How my wife did wait upon her! She'd try and 'tice her to ate suffen, {56a} when yar father sent her a bit o' pudden. I once saa to him, 'What do yeou think o' the poor mor?' 'John,' sez he, 'she's werry bad.' 'But,' sez I, 'dew she know it?' 'Yes,' sez he, 'she dew; but she een't one to saa much.' But I alluz noticed, she seem werry glad to see yar father.

"One day I'd c.u.m home arly; I'd made one jarney. {56b} So I went up to see Susan. There I see my wife laad outside the bed close to Susan; Susan was kind o' strokin' her face, and I h'ard her saa, 'Kiss me, mother dear; yeou're a good mother to me.' They din't see me, so I crep'

down-stairs, but it made me werry comforble.

"Susan's bed laa close to the wall, so that she could alluz make us know at night if she wanted anything by jest knockin'. One night we h'ard her sing a hymn. She used to sing at charch when she was a little gal, but I nivver h'ard her sing so sweetsome as she did then. Arter she'd finished, she knockt sharp, and we went di-reckly. There she laa--I can see her now--as white as the sheets she laa in. 'Father,' sez she, 'am I dyin'?' I c.o.o.n't spake, but my wife sed, 'Yeou're a-dyin', dear.' 'Well, then,' sez she, ''tis bewtiful.' And she lookt hard at me, hard at both of us; and then lookt up smilin', as if she see Some One.

"She was the only darter I ivver had."

JOHN DUTFEN.

Is it extravagant to believe that this simple story, told by a country parson, is worth whole pages of learned arguments against Disestablishment? {57} Anyhow, to support such arguments, I will here cite an ancient ditty of my father's. He had got it from "a true East Anglian, of Norfolk lineage and breeding," but the exegesis is wholly my father's own.

VII.

Robin Cook's wife {58a} she had an old mare, {58b} Humpf, humpf, hididdle, humpf!

And if you'd but seen her, Lord! how you'd have stared, {58c} Singing, "Folderol diddledol, hidum humpf."

This old mare she had a sore back, {58d} Humpf, &c.

And on her sore back there was _hullt_ an old sack, {58e} Singing, &c.

Give the old mare some corn in the sieve, {59a} Humpf, &c.

And 'tis hoping G.o.d's husband (_sic_) the old mare may live, Singing, &c.

This old mare she chanced for to die, {59b} Humpf, &c.

And dead as a nit in the roadway she lie, {59c} Singing, &c.

All the dogs in the town _spook_ for a bone, {59d} Humpf, &c.

All but the Parson's dog, {59e} he went wi' none, Singing, "Folderol diddledol, hidum humpf."

VIII.

"MASTER CHARLEY."

A SUFFOLK LABOURER'S STORY.

The Owd Master at the Hall had two children--Mr James and Miss Mary. Mr James was ivver so much owder than Miss Mary. She come kind o'

unexpected like, and she warn't but a little thing when she lost her mother. When she got owd enough Owd Master sent her to a young ladies'

skule. She was there a soot o' years, and when she come to staa at home, she _was_ such a pretty young lady, _that_ she was. She was werry fond of c.u.mpany, but there warn't the lissest bit wrong about her. There was a young gentleman, from the sheres, who lived at a farm in the next parish, where he was come to larn farmin'. He was werry fond of her, and though his own folks din't like it, it was all sattled that he was soon to marry her. Then he hear'd suffen about her, which warn't a bit true, and he went awaa, and was persuaded to marry somebody else. Miss Mary took on bad about it, but that warn't the wust of it. She had a baby before long, and he was the father on't.

O lawk, a lawk! how the Owd Master did break out when he hear'd of it! My mother lived close by, and nussed poor Miss Mary, so I've h'ard all about it. He woun't let the child stop in the house, but sent it awaa to a house three miles off, where the woman had lost her child. But when Miss Mary got about, the woman used to bring the baby--he was "Master Charley"--to my mother's. One daa, when she went down, my mother towd her that he warn't well; so off she went to see him. When she got home she was late, and the owd man was kep' waitin' for his dinner. As soon as he see her, he roared out, "What! hev yeou bin to see yar b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" "O father," says she, "yeou shoun't saa so." "Shoun't saa so," said he, "shoun't I? I can saa wuss than that." And then he called her a bad name. She got up, nivver said a wadd, but walked straight out of the front door. They din't take much notiz at fust, but when she din't come back, they got scared, and looked for her all about; and at last they found her in the moot, at the bottom of the orchard.

O lawk, a lawk!

The Owd Master nivver could howd up arter that. 'Fore that, if he was put out, yeou could hear 'im all over the farm, a-cussin' and swearin'.

He werry seldom spook to anybody now, but he was alluz about arly and late; nothin' seemed to tire him. 'Fore that he nivver went to charch; now he went reg'ler. But he wud saa sumtimes, comin' out, "Parson's a fule." But if anybody was ill, he bod 'em go up to the Hall and ax for suffen. {62} There was young Farmer Whoo's wife was werry bad, and the doctor saa that what she wanted was London poort. So he sent my father to the marchant at Ipswich, to bring back four dozen. Arter dark he was to lave it at the house, but not to knock. They nivver knew where ta come from till arter he died. But he fare to get waker, and to stupe more ivry year.

Yeou ax me about "Master Charley." Well, he growed up such a pretty bor.

He lived along with my mother for the most part, and Mr James was so fond of him. He'd come down, and plaa and talk to him the hour togither, and Master Charley would foller 'im about like a little dawg.

One daa they was togither, and Owd Master met 'em. "James," said he, "what bor is that alluz follerin' yeou about?" He said, "It's Mary's child." The owd man tarned round as if he'd bin shot, and went home all himpin' along. Folks heared him saa, "Mary's child! Lord! Lord!" When he got in, he sot down, and nivver spook a wadd, 'cept now and then, "Mary's child! Lord! Lord!" He coun't ate no dinner; but he towd 'em to go for my mother; and when she come, he saa to her, "Missus, yeou must git me to bed." And there he laa all night, nivver slapin' a bit, but goin' on saain, "Mary's child! _Lord_! _Lord_!" quite solemn like.

Sumtimes he'd saa, "I've bin a bad un in my time, I hev."

Next mornin' Mr James sent for the doctor. But when he come, Owd Master said, "Yeou can do nothin' for me; I oon't take none o' yar stuff." No more he would. Then Mr James saa, "Would yeou like to see the parson?"

He din't saa nothin' for some time, then he said, "Yeou may send for him." When the parson come--and he was a nice quite {63} owd gentleman, we were werry fond of him--he went up and staa'd some time; but he nivver said nothin' when he come down. Howsomdiver, Owd Master laa more quiter arter that, and when they axed him to take his med'cin he took it. Then he slep' for some hours, and when he woke up he called out quite clear, "James." And when Mr James come, he saa to him, "James," sez he, "I ha'

left ivrything to yeou; do yeou see that Mary hev her share." You notiz, he din't saa, "Mary's child," but "Mary hev her share." Arter a little while he said, "James, I should like to see the little chap." He warn't far off, and my mother made him tidy, and brushed his hair and parted it.

Then she took him up, and put him close to the bed. Owd Master bod 'em put the curtain back, and he laa and looked at Master Charley. And then he said, quite slow and tendersome, "Yeou're a'most as pritty as your mother was, my dear."

Them was the last words he ivver spook.

Mr James nivver married, and when he died he left ivrything to Master Charley.