The Old Folks' Christmas Do, - At Keswick

( Originally Published 1902 )

I DOUBT if there is any part of Great Britain where the tradition of holidays at Christmas time is so real and abiding as in the dales of Cumberland and Westmoreland. It is quite true that the old 'merry neets' have passed away, the farmers no longer take it in turn to call all their neighbours and acquaintances together to a Christmas supper and ` three-card lant ' and ' loo,' but whist parties are still the order of the day in many of the fell-side farms. I have talked with men who have played whist through the whole night, the whole of the next day, and part of the next night also, with such intervals for rest and refreshment as were necessary ; and still in the air at Christmas time there is a sense that is good both for man and beast, that there should be rest till Twelfth night has come in. There is a perceptible slackening of effort to do work, and a tacit recognition that, if orders for work are given, the person who gives them must not be surprised that the work remains over till the feeling for holiday is out of the blood.

Keswick and the neighbourhood are no exception in this matter, and I was not surprised to find on the day after Christmas Day that all the men-bodies who were able and strong on their feet, had gathered together in the little Keswick market-place by nine o'clock in the morning, to meet John Crozier's hounds and "gang wid 'em for a laal bit o' spoort on Skidder's breast." The hounds came twinkling round the Royal Oak corner, and stood about the red-coated running huntsman, listening with apparent pleasure to the magnificent chorus of " D'ye ken John Peel ? " with which their coming had been welcomed, and scarce had the sound of "Auld lang syne " died away when the whole market-place seemed to take to itself heels, and the black crowd moved up the Main Street and over the Greta Bridge, and away through Lime Pots by Vicarage Hill, and so down through the meadows still grey and white with fading snow, towards Millbeck and the Dodd. As one gazed towards Skiddaw, one noticed already dark figures on the white field of sight, or against the sky line. These were the spirits ardent for the chase who had gone away, almost with the stars, to take their signal posts on the higher slopes of Skiddaw, but as for the bulk of the field they moved along, a contented mass with the red coat and the white hounds gleaming in their midst, along through the level valley ; and these were the wiser, for, as the old huntsman put it, " Fox knaws a thing or two, and it's not gangin' up-bank today, thoo may depend on't."

Half an hour after they had passed I heard the sound of a horn and the cry of the hounds from afar, and I knew that game was afoot and that the Christmas hunt had begun in earnest. But my thoughts were not so much with the young men who were going to get a good ` breather' on Dodd, or the middle-aged folk who were going to dream over again the days of Christmas hunting years ago. I was thinking of the old folk, men and women sixty years and upward, who were to be assembled to-day in the Oddfellows' Hall to partake of what is known as the "Old Folks' Christmas Dinner and Tea," with whatever entertainment of reading, recitation, song, and speech should make time pass pleasantly between three and seven o'clock.

I had had an invitation to be present, and as I wished to see an old-fashioned 'Cumberland " Do,' I made my way thither towards 3 o'clock in the afternoon. 'Bus load after 'bus load came rumbling up, bringing out of the country-side the guests from distant hamlet and farm. Not less than 400 invitations had been sent out, no less than 180 old folk had responded. The institution was unique in its way. Thirty years ago it occurred to the writer of one of the best guide books that exists in the English Lake District, Jenkinson by name, an enthusiastic Yorkshíreman who was domiciled at Keswick, that it would be a very pleasant thing to have a social gathering to which all classes might be invited in Christmas week, and to which all who came should feel that they were there, not as it were by charity, but simply met together to chat with one another and enjoy themselves on equal terms as friends. Jenkinson's idea was warmly taken up by the leading townsmen, and from that day to this, the annual 'Old Folks' " Do"' has been looked forward to all through the year, and looked back upon with pleasantest memory. Surely it is no small thing that opportunity should be given not only for the neighbourhood to subscribe its small mite to the cause of neighbourliness, but that the young men of the town should all work harmoniously together with the landlords of the various hotels and the principal tradesmen, to make arrangements for the proceedings and to wait upon their older guests.

Arrived at the entrance to the Hall, I found the local band making brave music. Passing up the steps by kitchens whose steamy fragrance filled the air, I was ushered into a large room decked with much Christmas evergreen. Five tables reached from end to end, daintily decorated with ferns and flowers. The Vicar of Crosthwaite, the County Councillor of Keswick, the local lawyer, the local bank managers, and some of the leading hotel keepers were seated in the place of honour as carvers, and after a whistle was sounded by the master of ceremonies all rose to their feet, grace was said, and the Chairman begging no one to hurry, impressed upon the company that the oldest and youngest were to take time to-day, and then the soup was served. The leading tradesmen of the town were told off to various tables again. To the sound of the whistle of the master of ceremonies they advanced and served their guests. At another whistle, soup was removed and the meats were borne into the room. Beef, turkey, mutton, goose were all there piping hot ; potatoes, peas, pudding, turnips, and all other vegetables steamed on the tables. The Secretary, as I suppose he was, said something in a solemn way to the Chairman. The Chairman called for order, and announced, as if it were a matter of most urgent importance, that giblet pies innumerable were downstairs, and any-body who wanted giblet pie had simply to say the word. There was plenty to eat, plenty to drink. For those who cared for it, there was beer, but a very large proportion seemed to prefer lemonade, which was served side by side with the beer, and which was also seen in syphons all down the table. There was not much talking. Three o'clock was a late hour for many of the old folks' dinner, and they were hungry, but as hunger passed away the talk grew, and very pleasant it was to see the old folk who had not met for a whole year cracking with one another, and to hear the little bits of family gossip, to ask how So-and-So has fared and what So-and-So is doing now.

Of course there was an element of sadness in the room. The 180 people past 60 years meant 180 hearts that had seen much sorrow, but nevertheless they appeared determined for the moment to forget the past and to think happily of the future.

After the meats, came plum pudding. Again the Secretary solemnly approached the Chair-man, and the Chairman as solemnly assured the company that for those who had few teeth in their heads or had eaten so many plum puddings that they had ceased to care for them, there was an abundance of rice pudding pre-pared, which was very much at their service. Mince pies seemed to be a kind of necessary second course to this plum pudding and rice. Then the whistle sounded again, and cheese and butter and biscuits were the order of the day. So after about an hour the tables were cleared and grace was said, and the bulk of the old folks left the hall for the carpenters to make their arrangements for the concert staging. They returned in half-an-hour and took their seats again at the tables for the entertainment, which was broken half way by an interval for tea and cake.

I saw the programme and knew that I was in for a long sitting, but it was so varied that it all passed along without fatigue. It was begun by the elementary scholars of one of the Keswick schools, under command of their master, singing four glees and reciting the ballad of the " Revenge." Then a stalwart fox-hunter mounted the platform and gave with admirable voice and spirit, We'll all go a-hunting to-day." At the end of each verse, he shouted "Now all together," and one felt the roof would be lifted, by the way the 180 guests of 60 years and upwards joined in, with full accord, to assure the singer, " That they would all go a-hunting to-day." One or two songs followed, and the Chairman gave his address. He begged them to remember the founders of the feast, and spoke of the thirty-one old folk who had passed away since last meeting; 2254 years of what was working life, in the town and neighbourhood last year at this time, was folded up as a vesture and was as a tale that is told. But there were old folk still hearty and alive, old bodies of 94, 93, and 90, whom they could not help thinking of on this occasion. He brought them congratulations from one old lady who would be 93 on the 5th of the following month, and from three much honoured ladies in the town, whom he had seen on his way down to the ' do,' whose ages between them made up a total of 258. He could not help thinking that this old folks' dinner actually helped to keep people alive, they so looked forward to it. He was quite sure it kept the true spirit of friendliness between neighbours, and kindliness between heart and heart, a living thing in their midst ; and talking with many old folks he had learned that in their opinion the secret of old age lay in the supping of 'poddish,' and he concluded by reading the following lines, written by him, in dialect, to suit the occasion and to give point to his speech :

THE SECRET OF OLD AGE.

As ah came doon the Kessick street,
Ah met a body of 93 ;
She was straight of back and strong on her feet,
An' this is what she said to me,
"You ask me why sea lish ah go
'Twas poddish, barn, that meadd me so.

" What, barn ! in oor foorelders' daays,
When ' meery-neets ' were aw the thing,
When fwoaks graaved peat to mak a blaaze,
And fiddlers went a-Christmassing,
We grew oor oats, we kept a coo,
An' supped oor poddish aw t' year throo.

" Good harden-sark oor mudders meadde,
We carded woo', we larned to spin,
Dress-makkin was not then the treadde,
An' household wark was thowt no sin ;
'Pow-sowdies' for oor Cursmas do
We hed, but supped oor poddish too.

" We didn't clash oorsels wi' tea,
We'd milk an' havver-bread to eat,
An' that is why ah'm 93,
An' t' oald fwoaks" do' is still a treat.
If you wad hev' your oald age so,
To poddish back ye aw mun go."

An excellent Cumberland dialect reading was given, and then tea was served. Another Cumberland dialect poem followed, then a fiddler mounted the platform, and the Chairman solemnly begged the company to remove their clogs. I did not know even what a clog was, but I soon found out the point of his remark. Hardly had the fiddler begun than the feet of all those aged people were heard keeping time to the fiddler's tune. That love of dancing and sense of rhythm is native to Cumberland, and although days are past when the elementary schools had to be closed because the dancing master had come into the neighbourhood, dancing is still a passion with the people, who seem better able to express them-selves in that way than in any other. Suddenly the fiddler changed his tune to an old-fashioned eight-reel, and an aged woman rose from her seat and with the accustomed cry was seen to begin to dance as she had danced it seventy years ago. It was an astonishing performance; I was told she was over eighty, but in good truth I believe if the Chairman had not stopped the fiddler, she would have danced till she died. Great applause followed, and the old lady resumed her seat as if nothing very remarkable had happened, and the programme went forward. The Vice-Chairman was then called upon for an address. He emphasised the social character of the gathering, and spoke tenderly and kindly of all the guests who were gathered together, and ended by reciting a hearty poem entitled Welcome into Cumberland. At the last the Chairman proposed the health of the old folks, and called upon an old man eighty-two years of age to respond. The old fellow toddled up to the Chairman's side, and putting his hand on his shoulder as if the Chairman was his own son, returned thanks for all the guests with admirable taste. As he did it, he could not help looking back to his boyhood and telling the company of the differences of work and the conditions of work, in the days when he was a plough boy, as he had been for fifteen years or more before machinery came in, and to-day. Wages then, he said, were a quarter of what they are now ; he remembered when salt was 7s. and meal was 7s. 6d. per stone, and he said those were hard times, but they were happy times for all that. " We put our heart into our work and we enjoyed it." The old fellow's story of work before machinery came in, set many of us on thinking, beyond what he had imagined. With all our boasted progress and advance of wages and cheapness of living, the working men of England are not so happy in their work as they were when this old fellow followed the plough in the thirties of last century. The joy and dignity of labour has somehow or other been lost.

The proceedings ended with the National Anthem and a verse of "Auld Lang Syne," which filled the room and echoed out into Keswick streets, and then, after many a hand-shaking and " Yell be hear next year likely," "Ay, ay, I whoape sea," they passed back to the town and back in the omnibuses to the far-off farms and hamlets, and the Old Folks' "Do" of 1901 was past and over.