Adventures and Recollections. Bill o'th' Hoylus End

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СКАЧАТЬ She was occasionally good enough to sing for me. This woman taught me the song “Shan Van Vocht,” and other Irish Gaelic songs.

LEARNING TO BE AN ACROBAT

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      A visit to Pablo Franco’s circus, which came to Keighley, led me into the belief that with a little practice I should make a passable trapezist, or tight-rope walker. So when I got home the first thing I did was to procure some rope &c. With this apparatus I constructed a kind of trapeze and tight-rope in my bed chamber. I used to practice nightly just before jumping into bed. But my ambition was one night somewhat damped, when I fell from the bar and hurt myself. This small beginning ended badly for me; for my father learned that part of his homestead had been converted into a circus; he was, or pretended to be, greatly displeased with the discovery, and he straightway cut down the ropes and things. Then I had to find some other means of following up my practice. When you once start a thing it’s always best to go on with it. So I got a lad about the same age as myself into my confidence, and one Saturday we resolved to have a night’s “circusing” on our own account in a barn. We had had a fair round of trapezing, rope walking, turning somersaults and the like—wearing special costumes, you know, for the occasion—when in the wee sma’ hours of the morning the old farmer, who claimed the ownership of our circus—in other words barn—suddenly came upon us. He had evidently heard us going through our rehearsal. His unannounced appearance startled Jack and myself very much indeed. The old farmer bade us in language certainly more forcible than polite—to “Come down, ye rascals.” Jack and I naturally hesitated a little, but that irritated the farmer, and he said that if we wouldn’t come down he would fork us down—he was evidently thinking of hay-time. We two, perched on the haystack, did not take the words at all with a kindly meaning. However, I told Jack in an under-tone to pack up our clothes and get away, suggesting that I would spring down and tackle the old man. Jack obeyed and got away, and I seized the farmer and held him tightly in a position by no means agreeable to him. He soon promised that if I left loose he would let me go away. I released him and doubled after Jack, finally landing at Cross Lane Ends, where Jack was waiting for me. We put on our usual garments and departed each on his own way. During the day I went to a neighbour’s house. I was rather startled on seeing the old farmer there; but exceeding glad was I when he failed to recognise me. He was telling the family about two “young scoundrels,” and how one had attacked him in his own barn early that morning; he little thought that a little “scoundrel” in that house was the “attacker” he wished to get hold of. Little Willie Wright could not help but smile interestingly at the old man’s vivid description of the incident. That incident, I may say in passing, served to mark the termination of my career as a circus hand.

TRYING THE FIDDLE

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      Instrumental music next turned my head, or, more definitely—a violin. I bought a fiddle on my own account. Of course my father saw the instrument; if I could keep it out of his sight I could not very well keep it out of his hearing. Then, besides, little boys should not be deceptive. He says: “What are you going to do with that?” I says: “I’m going to learn to play it.” Then he asked me where I had bought it, and I told him like a dutiful son—“Tom Carrodus’s in Church Green.” He summoned my mother and asked: “Mally, what dos’ta think o’ this lot?” She—good woman—said it was only another antic of her boy’s, and “let him have his own way.” But my father, on the contrary, got rather nasty about the matter, remarking that if I didn’t take the thing away he would put it into the fire. He said he was sure it would only turn out a public house “touch,” and informed me that it was only one in a thousand who ever got to be anything worth listening to. He endeavoured to impress upon me what a nuisance the old fiddler was on the Fair Day; and “concluded a vigorous speech” by again reminding me that if I didn’t take the fiddle out of his sight he would burn it. He did give me the chance to play out of his sight; but, knowing, young as I was, that the unexpected sometimes happens, I decided to get rid of “the thing,” as my father was pleased to call it. Fiddle and I parted company the very day after we came to know each other.

THE “NIGGER” BUSINESS

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      next fascinated me; and I induced several lads and lasses in the village to form a “troupe.” We got up a show—not a very showy show, but a nice little show—and charged a reasonable sum for admission—only a half-penny! The “company” managed, by working together, to possess itself of a creditable wardrobe. But the “Fell-lane Nigger Troupe” did not live long. I, for example, began to soar a little higher, that is to the dramatic stage; but my father evidenced the same bad grace as he did in regard to my fiddle.

A STROLLING, ROLLICKING PLAYER

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      I had somehow or other scraped together close upon a couple of hundred reprints of plays, which cost me from 6d to 2s a-piece. He said he would have no acting in his house. I pleaded it was only a bit of pastime; but it was all in vain, and what was more he threw all my books on the fire. This greatly disheartened me—I should be about 14 years old at this period;—but though my father burned my play-books he did not quell my ardent ambition to go on the stage. A few days after, a theatrical man, called Tyre, visited Keighley. (Oh! how I have blessed that man!) He advertised for some amateur performers to play in a temperance drama of the title “The seven stages of a drunkard,” at the old Mechanics’ Hall (until recently the Temperance Hall). The piece was to be played nightly for a fortnight. I mentioned to my father that I should very much like to take part in the performance. He asked the advice of somebody or other as to the character of the play, and being informed that it was a temperance piece, he consented to my serving a fortnight with the company. I applied, and was gladly accepted. The part of a boy—a boy who, in manhood, was a drunkard—was allotted to me. The company played for a fortnight before crowded houses. But my stage career was not destined to end there. Tyre, seeing that the Keighley public appreciated the efforts of his local talent, arranged for the performance of another piece, styled “Ambrose Guinnett.” He asked me to take a part in that piece also, and I agreed on the spot to do so. I was put in as a sailor, and I purchased in the Market-place a sailor’s suit and a black wig, on “tick”—you see I was determined to have them. By-and-bye, it reached the ears of my father that I was going “reight in for t’business.” However, the day fixed for the first performance came round, and then the performance commenced.

TRICKING POLICEMAN LEACH

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      The curtain had risen and all was going on nicely when on the stage, behind the wings, appeared a policeman—a real policeman—a policeman to the heart, into the bargain! “Robert” turned out to be nobody else than my old friend, Mr. James Leach, now of Balmoral House, The Esplanade, Keighley: this, I ought to mention, was my first meeting with Mr. Leach. My father it seemed, had heard definitely that I should be acting that night, and so he had induced Police-constable Leach (No. 5678, X division, A.1.), to look after me. Well, as I said before, P.C. Leach came on the stage. I happened to be the first soul he encountered. Says he to me: “Have you got a young man here called William Wright?” [I saw he did not “ken” me.] Says I to him: “I have not.” Says he to me: СКАЧАТЬ