APPENDIX I

The late Mr Hanson Halstead was born in Siddal, Halifax at the end of the last century. He was for some years an engineer, active trade unionist and socialist, and member of the NCLC; but he seemed more like a countryman, was a strong dialect speaker, and in his later years took on a smallholding with pig-keeping. At the end of his life, in the early 1960s, he started jotting down reminiscences in a Boots diary (which he gave to me). The episode below is undated, but probably dates from the earliest years of the present century.

The Burning of the Shrew

When Mary came hoam from her wark she war full o news. She said, ‘Has ta heard, Bill, ’at Jack so and so has gorn a living wi Misis so and so in Jubilee Road?’ ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Them ’at haven’t trouble seem to make some for the’sens.’ ‘Aye, but I haven’t told thee all yet.’ ‘Well, what else is ther to tell?’ ‘Well, to-morn neet they are goin to burn them up.’ ‘So there is goin to be some fun, eh?’ ‘Aye, sum on ’em is making two big dummies, stuffed wi’ sawdust, and pariffin oil, and they are going to be facing one another on a long pole, and there is going to be a procession around the village and to end in Jubilee Road.’

A lott were all looking for’ard to it, a lott ’at wor no better theirselves. On the night, as it became dusk they went and fetched out the dummies, and it was like some devil’s madjic. They sett off around the village, and the procession grew and grew — folk wi’ bells and draw tins, cake tins, owt ’at would make a noise; and it was nearly as good a noise as a jazz band ont wireless reckons to make with £2,000 worth of instruments. It went around the village, and landed in Jubilee Road. Talk about advertising! The police was there, and, Hell, they had to get a lott to break a way through, for the dummeys. There were a lott more people packed in Jubilee Road than lived in Siddal and no advertising. Well, the dummeys went through. The police tried to get it, but women danced in front of them and sat down in the street in front of them to stop them. But it went on, and up Scarhall stepps and back darn Backhold Lane around to Jubilee Road. Then they sett them on fire, and when they got in front of the house, and it was blazing like hell, the police was protecting the door. Then it was thrown on top of them. Two days later they removed, and they drummed them out unceremoniously with cake-tins and draw-tins. But that crowd! you could have walked on their heads. There will never be a crowd like that in Jubilee Road again, and no advertising. (A little bit of savagery.) Don’t think I am making out Siddal to be a reight good moral place: I am not. It was like any other place, as the Parson’s egg.

(One or two modifications to spelling and also to punctuation.)