Lund's Excursion To Windermere

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Title:     Lund's Excursion To Windermere
Author: Bill o'th' Hoylus End [More Titles by Bill o'th' Hoylus End]

Come hither mi muse, an' lilt me a spring,
Tho'daghtless awhile tha's been on the wing;
But yet tha mun try to cum up ta t'mark,
An' give us sum rhyme for a bit of a lark:
An' tho' at thy notes in this sensation age,
Wiseacres may giggle an' critics may rage,
Thou art my sole hobby there is no mistake,
So sing us t'Excursion ta Windermere Lake.

'Twor a fine summer's mornin' as ivver wor seen,
All nature wor wearin' her mantle o' green;
The birds wor all singin' i' owd Cockle Wood,
As if by their notes they all understood,
As weel as the people who com wi' a smile,
To see the procession march off i' grand style.

"Owd Rowland," the bell wi' his gert iron tongue,
Proclaim'd to the people both owd an' young,
'Twor high time to rise for each moment wor dear
As t'train wod be startin' fer Lake Windermere;
An' Rowland, the bell, didn't toll, sir, i' vain,
For hunderds wur ready ta start for the train.

But harken what music--grand music is here,
Ower maantains, dahn valleys, it's saanding so clear;
It's t'Turkey Mill Band wi ther sharps and ther flats,
I' ther blue an' green coits an' ther red-toppin'd hats,
'Tis plain whear they're bahn wi' t'long paces they take,
An' they'll play wi' some vengeance at Windermere Lake.

But, harken ageean! what's comin' this way?
More music, grand music; hey, hear how they play!
It's t'Fife an' Drum Band fra Throttlepoke Raw,
Wi' as strong a big drummer as ivver yah saw,
An' both his drum ends must be solid as stone,
Fer bi t'way 'at he thumps he macks it fair groan.

The procession moves off in a double quick pace,
An' all seem delightful--a smile on ther face,
As the music strikes up wi' owd "Robin a Dair,"
Toan hauf o' t'wimmen scarce knaw what they ail;
To see the bands marching it wod yah delight,
So ably conducted by owd Jimmy Wright.

The weivers led on by Miss Hob an' Miss Hall,
Each dress'd i' ther jackets, new turban, an' fall,
An' if you'd o' seen 'em you'd o' thowt they wor fine,
Wi' ther nice parasols an' ther gert crinoline;
But as they wor marchin' foaks sed at Miss Hob,
Wor t'nicest and smartest young woman i' t'job.

T'next section 'at followed wor a section o' rakes,
Led on by owd blossom, an' Driver o' Jacques,
Wi' Ruddock an' Rufus, an' Snowball so breet;
Along wi' owd Nathan, Bill Rollin an' Wreet;
An' Harry O'Bridget, Tom Twist, an' his pals,
An' Benger, an' Capper, an' Jonas o Salls.

The lads an' the lasses come marchin' behind,
An' rare an' weel suited wor t'youngsters yo mind;
For all wor nah waitin' fer t'Fife an' Drum Band,
To strike up like thunner ther music so grand;
How prahd an' delighted yo might a seen some,
When t'drummer wi' vengeance wor thumpin' his drum.

An' who cud hev thowt it?--but let ma go on;--
There wor Jacky o' Squires an' Cowin' Heead John,
Wi' Corney o' Rushers, but not bi hissen,
For there wor Joseph o' Raygills, owd Jess an' owd Ben.
Ye sall seek fer a month, but between nah an' then,
I defy ye ta find sitch a pick'd lot o' men.

Tom Nicholl then marched at t'heead of his clan,
An' it's said 'at he muster'd his men to a man;
There wor Joaney o' Bobs, an' his mates full o' glee,
An' that little dark fella 'at comes fra t'Gooise Ee.
All a set o' fine fellas in heighest respect,
Weel up i' moustaches an' nicely shirt neckt.

But among the procession at walk'd in his pride,
Wor Joey o' Willie's 'at lives at t'Beck Side;
An' along wi' Bill Earby wor marchin' his friend,
Wun Jemmy o' Roses fra t'Branshaw Moor End.
As we pass'd dahn t'tahn the foaks did declare
'At t'best lukin' men wor Sam Butt an' Black Hare.

But t'next at com on an' made t'biggest crack,
Wor t'gallant Big-benners led on wi' Bill Shack;
An' t'spectators praised 'em an' seem'd i' ther joy,
When they saw Johnny Throstle, an' Nolan an' Boy.
Altho' not weel up i' ther armour an mail,
Yet these are the lads 'at can tell yu a tale.

Hahsumivver, we push'd an' thrusted thro' t'craad,
Wal we landed at t'station an' waited i' t'yard;
So we all sattled dahn, for we thowt it t'best plan
To wait o' wer orders to get into t'train.

Hahsumivver, after a deal o' yellin' an' screamin' o' t'injuns, Mr. Mann sed all wor reight nah, an' they mud start as sooin as they liked, for ivverybody wor i' t'train at wor bahn, but owd Pally Pickles an' Matty o' Maude's; an' their Sally cudn't go becos they had a mustard plaister to put on to their Roger's chest; he'd strain'd his lungs wi' eitin' cahcumbers. Beside, owd Pally cudn't go either, becos shoo'd nobody to wait on t'owd fella at wor laid up i' t'merly grubs; an' ivverybody wor so taen on abaght Will Scott not going, for, as owd Betty sed, what wod they do if ther legs gat asleep an' no galvanic battery to shack em reight ageean?

But, hahsumivver, t'guard blew his whistle an' off t'train started helter-skelter up bi Utley as hard as ivver it cud go. An nah for a change o' scene!--fer t'Exley-Heeaders aght wi ther rhubub pasties an' treacle parkins. Harry o' Bridget's hed a treacle parkin t'size of a pancake in his hat crahn, an' Joe o' owd Grace's fra Fell Loin hed a gert bacon collop in his pocket t'size of a oven tin. Somebody remarks, "Tha'll grease thi owd chops wi' that, Joe." He sed "I like a bit o' bacon when it isn't reezed, tha knaws, especially home-fed like this"; but just when he wor exhibitin' it rhaand t'hoile, t'train stopp'd at Kilwick Station, fer t'maister an' t'missis wor waitin' to get in; so t'Turkey Mill Band struck up "We're goin' home to glory," wi' credit to both t'conductors an' thersens. Hahsumivver, they wor forced to put double time in at t'latter end, for Puffin' Billy started o' screaming ageean fearfully, so all wor in t'carriages an' off in a crack--my word, they did leg it ower hedges an' dykes, thru valleys an' mahutains--

"Where the wind nivver blew,
Nor a cock ivver crew,
Nor the deil sahnded
His Bugle Horn."

I'll assure yu, foak, it seemed varry little afoar we wor at Clapham. Why, yu can judge for yersens; when Tom o' Twist's gat up an' popped his heead aght o' t'window an' shaated aaght "We're at Derby already!" but it turned aght to be nowt but a coil truck wi' "Derby" marked on it. Well, be it as it may, we landed at Lancaster sooin, an' some o' t'owd maids gat aght here, but it wor nivver knawn to this day what for; hahsumivver, it hes been suspected at they wor after some watter, for ther shooin wor steepin' wet when they com back. But yu mun knaw at after a deal o' twistin' an' twinin' they started for Windermere, but, my word, it worrant generally thowt so, for owd Nathan o' Johnny's an' their Samuel, an' owd Matty o' Sykes's, an' Bob o' t'Bog, stood it boldly 'at it wor goin' back to Keighley, an' wodant believe it wal they reitched Kendal; besides, ivverybody thowt at t'train wor lost, but after another start we landed at Windermere, an' nearly all t'passengers wor fair capp'd, for they thowt for sewer at t'injun hed been flaid wi' summat.

But, hod yer din, says Railway Tim,
As it is varry clear,
At t'injun's reight an' landed streight,
For this is Windermere.

So, i' landing, ivverbody seemed quite startled wi' t'appearance o' t'place. "Well, if ivver, I'm fair capp'd!', sed owd Maude o' Peter's, "it's t'nicest spot I ivver saw wi' mi een, an' I sall say so to mi deein' day. It looks like a paradise! I've seen mony a nice place i' mi life-time, both dreamin' an' wakin', but this licks all! What wi' t'grand black marble houses an' t'roses growin' up at t'front, it's ommost like bein' i' Heaven." But nobody cud hear aboon t'toan hauf o' what wor said cos t'bands wor playin' as hard as ivver they cud an' t'foak wor all in a bussle, for--

Miss Hob an' Miss Jonas tuke a cab dahn to Bowness,
An' mind yu, they luk'd fearful grand;
An' when they gat theer they tuke fer Grassmere,
Like two o' t'first ladies i' t'land.

Miss Walsh an' Miss Roddy an' another young body,
Bethowt 'em 'at it wod be t'best,
To tak a fine boat an' just hev a float
Dahn the lake as far as Dove's Nest.

Says Miss Nelly Holmes, "as I've left off mi looms
I'll show at I'm summat better;
An' I'll go ta Low Wood, it might do ma good,
An' sport both on t'land an' on t'watter."

Hahsumivver, Miss Martha Smith fra Utley, an owd maid, an' Jenny Hodgson, an' Ann Shack, an' abaght nineteen other owd maids, bethowt 'em they'd hev some teah, for there wor a paper stuck i' ivvery window wi' "Hot water sold here," as an inscription. So they went in an' bargain'd for it, an' ax'd what it wor a piece fer hot waiter. "Tuppence a piece," says t'Missis. "Tuppence a piece!" exclaim'd t'dollop of 'em, "we can get it at owd Matty Wreet's fer a penny a week. It's a burning shame, but let's hev a bucket a piece."

So thirteen cups a piece they tuke,
An' they were noan ta blame,
Fer weel shoo knew did Hannah Shack,
They'd hev to pay the same.

An' my word, t'gert foak wor capp'd when they saw us; these wor some squintin' throo glasses, yu mind, an' especially when t'band started a playin'. In fact, they wor fair charm'd wi' t'Turkey Mill Banders, an' a deal o' t'young ladies an' gentlemen admired t'conductor, fer his arm went just like a hand-loom weiver swingin' his pickin' stick.

Fer monny a noble lord did say,
An' so did monny a heiress,
"Can this be Julien's Band, I pray,
That late we've seen in Paris.

"Upon my word, I think it is
That famous French instructor,
Mon Dieu! when I behold his phiz,
It is the great conductor."

But they wor t'moast capped wi' t'Fife an' Drum Band ov owt. They tuke 'em to be a band of Esquimaux at hed just landed i' England. Hahsumivver, we followed after, marchin' ta t'tune 'at t'owd kah deed on, i' droves like a squad o' pie-bald geese, wal we com ta t'watter edge, an' then--

To Miller's Brah, an' Calf-garth Woods,
Some on 'em tuke ther route,
Some sailed across to Castle Wray,
An' some went whear they thowt.

Some tuke a yacht to Newby Brig,
To brave both wind an' tide,
Wal others sailed around Belle Isle,
An' some to Ambleside.

I' landin' at Ambleside, Joe o' Raygill's bethowt him he'd hev a glass o' ale, an' bethegs he'd t'misfortun to leave three gert curnberry pasties i' t'hotel, an' didn't bethink him wal he'd getten on ta t'top of a big hill, but when he bethowt him, my word, he did bounce dahn that hill ta some tune. When he gat back, t'missis hed geen 'em to Jonas o' Sall's, an' behold they wor luking fer one another up hills an' dahn valleys, Joe axin' ivverybody he met if they'd seen owt of his three pasties, an' Jonas axin' fer t'owner on 'em. Hahsumivver, they nivver gat ta see nowt wal they wor theer, for they didn't meet wal t'train wor just startin' back agean, an' then Joe didn't get his pasties, cos Jonas hed geen 'em to a injun-driver, an' theer--betmess he'd hetten 'em, ta Joe's mortification an' rage!

But, that worn't all t'mistak at wor made; fer Bill Rollins bethowt him at he'd lost summat, but cudn't tell fer his life what it wor. He groped his pockets, luk'd into his carpet beg, an' studied fer aboon an haar; at last he pick'd it aght 'at it wor their Peg 'at he'd lost somewheer up on t'mahntens.

Well, as I wor tellin' yu, we'd promenaded t' gigantic hills an' beautiful valleys, intermix'd wi' ower-hingin' peaks an' romantic watter-falls which form part o' t'grand Lake scenery of ahr English Switzerland to the delight of ivvery one o' t'excursionists. T'day beginnin' to advance, an' "back agean" bein' t'word i' ivverybody's maath, yu cud see t'fowk skippin' ower t'Lake ("Home-ward bound," as t'song says), some in a Indian canoe, some in a Venetian gondolier; owd Ben Rusher wor in a Chinese junk, somebody sed. But, haivver, hunderds mud be seen on board o' t'steam yachts comin' fra Newby Brig an' Ambleside. Fra t'latter place t'steamer wor fair craaded wi' foak, for i' t'first class end ther wor Mr. an' Mrs. Lund an' their illustrious friends, Mr. Mann an' staff wi' a parson an' four of his handsome dowters; at t'other end wor a German Band, some niggers, Jimmy Wright, jun., alias Jim o' Peggy's, wi' a matter o' one hunderd Ranters rhaand him. Jim wod hev his lip in; but he's a rare chorus singer, there's nowt abaght that; for, my word, t'strangers did praise him aboon a bit, an' weel he desarved it, fer he gap'd like a young throstle, wal t'foak wor fair charm'd, an' 'specially t'Germans an' t'niggers 'at wor on deck, fer they'd nivver heeard onny chorus-singin' afoar they heeard Jim strike up--

We're joyously sailin' ower the lake,
Bound fer t'opposite shore;
An' which o' yu's fooil enuff ta believe
We sall nivver see land onny more.

Let the hurrican roar,
Sall we ivver land onny more.

The skilful pilot's at the wheel,
An' his mate is watchin' near;
So the captain shouts "Cheer up, mi lads,
There's nobody nowt to fear."

Then let the hurrican roar,
We sall reitch the opposite shore.

An' summat abaght "the evergreen shore" he sang. But what wi' t'beautiful landscapes on both sides o' t'Lake, an' t'recollections o' Wordsworth, Wilson, Mrs. Hemans, Harriet Martineau, an' other famous poets, painters, an' authors, it threw one of our party into a kind o' poetical mood--

For wal he stood upon the deck,
He oft wor heeard to say,
"I'd raither oomo to Windermere,
Nor go to Morecambe Bay;
An' though I've been to Malsis Hall,
Where it is fearful grand,
It's nowt at all compared wi' this--
The nicest place i' t'land.

For, O how splendid is the Lake,
Wi' scenery like this!
If I cud nobbut stop a week,
It wod be nowt amiss;
A resolution nah I'll mack,
T'next summer what to do;--
Asteead o' comin' for a day,
I'll stop a week or two."

But nah we land at Bowness Pier,
Then sooin we jump ashore,
An' back to t'Station we did steer,
For rare an' pleased we wor:
So into t'train for back agean,
Owd friends once more to meet;
An' in a crack we're landed back--
Bi ten o'clock at neet.

All join i' praise to Mr. Mann,
For t'management he made;
An' praise the gallant Turkey Band,
For t'music 'at they play'd:
An' praise is due fra ivvery one
'At shared i' this diversion;
All praise an' thanks to Mr. Lund,
Who gav this grand Excursion.

[The end]
Bill o'th' Hoylus End's poem: Lund's Excursion To Windermere

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