‘No thank you,’ came the reply. ‘I’d soon as not.’
‘Don’t sausages agree with you then?’ asked the widow.
‘Well,’ said Tommy, shaking his head, ‘I’ve got nowt against sausages as such, but I think black pudding would have been more seemly at a funeral.’
The undertaker, having been upstairs to measure the corpse, joined the silent and sorrowful family group in a Wensleydale farmhouse. He waited for a moment before asking in a solicitous voice: ‘And when would you like the funeral to take place?’ There was a long pause. ‘Might I suggest Saturday?’
‘Aye, that’ll be all right,’ sighed the widow, sadly.
Another long silence ensued, then the eldest son announced: ‘Nay, that’ll not do.’
‘May I ask why?’ enquired the undertaker.
‘It’s t’bull sale at Hawes on Saturday,’ came the reply.
It cannot be bought or borrowed
It cannot be stolen or sold
But this precious gift
When freely given
Is a pleasure to behold.
For it reassures the frightened,
It soothes those who are sad,
And makes the mournful glad.
It brightens up this weary world
And lightens up our life
Brings sunshine to the shadows
At a time of pain and strife.
Acknowledgements
With thanks to the Yorkshire Post newspaper, the Dalesman and the Countryman magazines in which publications some of these articles appeared; to my editors Rowena Webb and David Moloney for their advice, patience and encouragement, and to my long-suffering wife and children who have heard these views expressed and listened to the anecdotes so many times around the dinner table.
‘On a Frosty Morning’ by Thomas Hood. Reproduced with Thomas’ kind permission.
Richard McCann’s teachings reproduced here with his kind permission.
‘When I Was a Young Lad’. A traditional Yorkshire folksong.