MIRIAM:
A Tale of Pole Moor and the
Greenfield Hills.
By D. F. E. SYKES, LL.B.
AUTHOR OF: “THE HISTORY OF HUDDERSFIELD,”
“THE HISTORY OF THE COLNE VALLEY,”
“BEN 0’ BILL’S, THE LUDDITE,”
“TOM PINDER, FOUNDLING,”
“SISTER GERTRUDE,”
&c., &c.
HUDDERSFIELD,
1912.
Introduction
MIRIAM: A Tale of Pole Moor and the Greenfield Hills links the protagonists to The Burn Platts, an area above Slaithwaite near Pole Moor where a group of Romanys or Gypsies lived around the time of an incident which took place, in 1832, at the Moorcock Inn, on the edge of the bleak moorland above Greenfield near Saddleworth. It was at this remote pub that the landlord and his gamekeeper son were violently murdered.
The Burnplatters were described by MR. G. S. Philips in 1848 as a group of savages “living in log huts thatched with sods, and paying neither rent nor taxes. They were a community to themselves, and had their own wild laws and government. They were the terror likewise of all wayfarers, and it was dangerous for any man to go amongst them alone.”
It includes substantial portions of dialect spoken at that time in the area when Greenfield was still part of the West Riding of Yorkshire. The author has attempted to reproduce this phonetically using the conventional alphabet. He is not always consistent in the way the dialect is transcribed though this in itself illustrates the nature of dialect.
CHAPTER I.
THE WAKES.
IT was the first morning of the eagerly awaited Saddleworth Wakes in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-nine, a year so full of great doings in the country, and followed by a year of still greater doings, that there is little marvel that I call it easily to mind. I had been out of bed by cock-crow to steal across the bare, worm-eaten boards of the chamber floor as prattily as my six feet of height and fourteen stone of weight would permit, to peer through the long diamond-paned window of bottle-green glass up the valley towards Greenfield, the quarter whence we folk of Biggie got our weather. It was a glorious sun-rising and promised a glorious day, and so I stole back to bed in great content, glad that though it was not the Sabbath I could stretch my long limbs between the blankets—sheets were an unknown luxury for such folk as myself and fellow chamberer, Jim Haigh, sometimes called Jim o’ ’Lijah’s, sometimes Jim th’ Tuner, but more often simply Th’ Tuner.
I suppose so small a bedroom rarely accommodated two men of our inches. For if I was six-feet-nothing in my stocking-feet, Jim o’ertopped me by a good four inches, and, whilst I was still, as it were, in the making, and lank and willowy, Jim, though but four years my senior, which made him four-and-twenty, was broad and deep chested, with the arms and legs of a very son of Anak. The turn-up bed,
“Contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day,”
into which Jim insinuated himself very gingerly o’ nights, creaked and groaned under his weight, and every morning he woke with cold feet, for the simple reason that they stretched a good half yard out of the bottom of the bedstead. He could not stand upright in our little chamber, and as for yawning and stretching himself, as one does in rousing from insufficient sleep, it was sheer out of the question. A giant truly w