The Keighley corps, along with the battalion of which it formed a part, and many other regiments from various parts of the country, were next ordered to Dover, to take part in a gigantic review there. In all there would be about 30,000 troops gathered, these including both Regulars and Volunteers of all grades and classes. His Majesty the King of the Belgians was to be present at the review. The Keighley contingent left the town on the Saturday morning before one Easter-Monday, and finally arrived at St. Pancras at 11 o’ clock at night. We marched to the barracks of the Surrey Volunteers, who gave us a right loyal and warm reception, and, indeed, showed us the most extreme kindness throughout our stay with them; and this good feeling between the Surrey Rifles and the Keighley Rifles has, I believe, been continued down to the present moment. Captain Irving evinced a deep interest in us, and he remained with us until a late (or early) retiring-hour, amusing us with his Cockney yarns. In the morning we took part in a

CHURCH PARADE TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY

It was a pleasant Sunday morning, and I was out of the barracks early, taking a few miles’ walk. I was back in readiness for the parade, which saw us at the Abbey in good time, and we were permitted to look through the beautiful edifice, and admire and reverence the interesting national mementoes within its walls. We took our seats in time for the service. Dean Stanley was the preacher, and I regarded it a fine treat to have the privilege of listening to such an eloquent sermon as the Dean delivered on “The Passover.” I must confess that there were certain passages in the rev. gentleman’s discourse which I could not fairly understand; but, perhaps that was owing a great deal to my attention being centred elsewhere. Opposite me sat an elderly gentleman, clean shaven, with close-cut side whiskers. This gentleman was very attentive to the sermon, and likewise to his Prayer-book. Sergeant Midgley (who is at present in Keighley), a fellow-Volunteer, whispered in my ear, “Do you know that old gentleman across the aisle?” “No,” replied I. He told me he was no less a personage than Mr Jefferson Davis, Ex-president of the Confederate States of America. Instantly my mind was involuntarily set a-thinking about the American Civil War, and its four years of human butchery—all brought about by this man in front of me who was now coolly listening to the word of God! However, the service was over, and the Volunteers filed out of the church and marched to the strains of their drum and fife band, which played rollicking tunes to the delight of the rollicking Yorkshiremen. When we got in front of the Bank of England, Captain Allan Brown (commanding the Keighley detachment) halted and dismissed us until seven in the evening.

SEEING THE “SIGHTS O’ LUNNON”

We broke up into parties. Billy Bentley, John Walton, Thomas Ackroyd, William Brown, and Ben Atkinson were in the party which I joined. Bentley had served as a policeman in London, and knew his way about the metropolis fairly well; Ackroyd had worked as a tailor in the big city, and I myself had been there before; so that we were able to find our way about very well. We went through St. Paul’s Cathedral, and then on to Trafalgar Square, passing, on our way, through St. James’ Park, just outside of which we saw the cluster of monuments to the Crimean heroes who fought for “England’s home and beauty.” We also visited the Duke of Wellington’s house, and spent a short time in Hyde Park. Having viewed the extensive block of buildings comprising Buckingham Palace, we passed into Regent-street and here the party broke up.

I MEET WITH A KEIGHLEY GENTLEMAN

It was here that I met with Mr Frederick Carrodus, brother of the eminent violinist, Mr John Tiplady Carrodus, who, by the way, paid a visit to his native town of Keighley a few weeks ago. Mr Fred Carrodus had with him a gentleman whom he introduced to me as Mr Hermann, pianoforte manufacturer, and to whom I was introduced by Mr Carrodus as Bill o’ th’ Hoylus End, the Yorkshire poet. For four or five hours we were bosom friends and comrades, as it were. Mr Hermann knew his way about London to perfection, and he took me to many places “to see what I could see.” He had always his hands down to pay, telling me that he would treat the Yorkshire poet as long as he was with him; and that he did. It was tolerably late at night when Mr Carrodus and Mr Hermann and I said au revoir to one another. I made my way as quickly as possible to the Surrey barracks, and my hurried journey must have caused no little wonder and alarm in the minds of the easy-going Londoners whom I met and passed. Seven o’clock was the time when I should have been in the barracks but it was much after that hour. However, an explanation to Captain Brown set matters right.

OFF TO DOVER—A STORMY MORNING

Next morning, about four o’clock, the bugle sounded the reveille and soon after we were all in marching order. We proceeded by an early train on the Chatham and Dover Railway, and by nine o’clock in the morning had reached our destination—Dover. It was, I think, one of the coldest and most miserable mornings I ever experienced. The sea was very rough, the waves lashing on the roadway; and the rain came down in torrents. During the night there had been such a storm in the Channel, the natives said, that had not been equalled for half-a-century. The whole of the soldiers were paraded on the Esplanade, but they were again and again forced back from the edge of the shore, until there was really no room to pile arms. General Lindsay saw the situation, and came riding up with several officers, with whom he held a sort of council of war. Before they had arrived at a decision, the waves had come over the beach and dashed right up to where the soldiers were standing. “It’s no use,” said General Lindsey, “this review is a forlorn hope—I must dismiss the parade.” He then gave the whole of the Volunteers orders to dismiss until three o’clock in the afternoon. The men dispersed in various directions, and just as they had got pretty nearly cleared away, up rode the Duke of Cambridge and Prince Arthur (now Duke of Connaught). The two Royal personages drew up in front of a large hotel, and out of curiosity I remained standing by. The Duke was in a very angry mood, and demanded to know who had dismissed the parade. Upon this, General Lindsey made his appearance in the doorway of the hotel, and, addressing the Duke of Cambridge, said:—“Your Royal Highness,—Owing to the severe inclemency of the weather, I have thought fit to dismiss the parade until three o’clock in the afternoon.” “You had no business to do such a thing,” the Duke hotly replied. “It will be a failure, and His Majesty the King of Belgium will be disappointed. Send out your aid-de-camp to bring everyone in—never mind the weather.” The storm was still raging. I noticed a couple of steamers in the offing. They were coming from France, and the passengers were Volunteers who had been in that country since Saturday. The vessels could be seen buffeting with the waves, and it was noticed that the funnels of the steamers were missing, having, as we afterwards learned, been blown away by the violent wind and heavy sea. It was about this period that a small vessel—a gunboat, I think it was—the “Ferret,” was driven on the rocks in front of the Castle, and dashed to pieces. The crew managed to get off by the boats. For a time it was believed that a boy on the boat had been lost, but he was subsequently rescued. After much delay the two steamers were able to land the Volunteers, who told a terrible tale of their rough voyage across the Channel.

I PERFORM A MILITARY TACTIC

In the meantime, the Duke of Cambridge was “drilling” General Lindsey for dismissing the troops. Wise, perhaps, in my generation, I stole away on hearing the General instructed to re-collect the troops, and got into the back quarters of the town. I finally found myself in a tavern kept by an old cobbler, and he allowed me to dry my soaked uniform. Through a window in the house I could watch the movements of the troops who had been got together again. Soon after dinner there was a calm in the weather; the rain ceased and the sun came out.

I could see regiment after regiment ascend the Heights of Dover. Now, a battalion of “stragglers” was being formed, so, after having partaken of refreshment, I emerged from my lair. I found a trooper in waiting at the end of the passage, and he ordered me to double to and fall in quick or he would “prick” me. I joined the “stragglers.” We climbed the Heights together, and then each man joined his own regiment. While all this was going on sailors from vessels anchored in the harbour had been dragging big guns up the heights; and, in fact, the preparations that were made favoured the idea that a real engagement was about to take place. When all was in readiness

THE SIGNAL FOR THE START

was given. There was a tremendous cannonading, which would be heard for some distance. Then there were movements by the cavalry soldiers, who, in their charges, trampled down hedges, corn and, in truth, everything that came in their way. This did really seem to me a ruthless and unjustifiable proceeding. The manoeuvres concluded with volley-firing by the respective companies of the various regiments. General McDonald gave the Keighley Volunteers great praise for their efficiency in volley-firing. The sham fight lasted over three hours, and was witnessed with apparent interest by the King of Belgium and his staff. At the conclusion, each regiment went in its own direction. The Keighley contingent returned to the Surrey barracks, arriving about 10 o’clock at night. We found a grand banquet awaiting us, and this, I need scarcely say, was very welcome after a truly hard day’s work. The repast was succeeded by an entertainment, at which there were vocal and instrumental music, and readings and recitations, by several of the Keighley representatives and the Surrey officers. Captain Irving gave readings in the Cockney dialect, which immensely amused the Yorkshiremen. The Haworth Drill-sergeant recited “Cockhill Moor Snake,” and Bill o’ th’ Hoylus End gave “Jack o’ th’ Syke Hill” and “Come, nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,”—the latter of which our townsman, Squire Leach, publicly recited on his marriage day, and a few verses of which I am tempted to introduce here:—

“Come, nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,”
Are words but rudely said,
Tho’ they may cheer some stricken heart,
Or raise some wretched head;
For they are words ah love,
They’re music to mi ear;
They muster up fresh energy
To chase each doubt an’ fear.

Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,
Tho’ some may laugh an’ scorn;
Ther’ wor nivver a neet afore ta neet
But what ther come a morn.
An’ if blind fortune’s used thee bad,
Sho’s happen noan so meean;
To morn’ll come, an’ then for some
T’ sun’ll shine ageean.

Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,
But let thi motto be—
“Onward!” an’ “Excelsior!”
An’ try for t’ top o’ t’ tree;
An’ if thy enemies still pursue
(Which ten ta one they will),
Show ’em, owd lad, thou’rt doing weel,
An’ climbin’ up the hill.

Very pleasant hours were those spent with the Surrey Volunteers that night in spite of our tired and wearied condition. Next day we returned to Keighley, only to find that after our week’s absence the town had not altered very much!

A VOLUNTEER DRAMATIC SOCIETY

We had found the Surrey Volunteers possessed a very good dramatic class and a pretty little theatre in the barracks. This led to the formation of a similar organisation at Keighley, and among the members of the society were Sergeant Atty, Private Thomas Ackroyd, Corporal Colley, Sergeant William Brown, Private John Walton, Sergeant Roddy, and Corporal Wright (alias Bill o’ th’ Hoylus End). We got a stage erected in the Drill Hall, and purchased a drop-scene (in the centre of which was worked in silk a representation of the coat of arms of the Cavendish family), and all the necessary accessories. This was all done “on strap.” For our first performance we gave the comedy “Time tries all,” and there was a large and influential gathering, including Mr Birkbeck, banker, of Settle, and party. Mr Birkbeck afterwards invited the society to repeat the performance at his residence. The proceeds of our first entertainment were £14, and performances on two other nights brought the sum up to £40. It was not long before we had raised £80 and this was sufficient to discharge all expenses incurred in erecting and fitting up the stage, purchasing costumes, &c. The society continued to prosper. Military plays were generally chosen for representation, such as “The Roll of the drum” and “The Deserter.” At last, certain difficulties arose which sealed the doom of the society, and the organisation soon dropped into decay. The stage, &c., were allowed to remain, and the hall was let to travelling theatricals and other companies. The dramatic society and the reviews which the Volunteers occasionally attended at London, York, Doncaster and Liverpool all tended to make my connection with the Volunteer corps very pleasant and enjoyable; and I can truly say that in those days it was regarded a great privilege to be a Volunteer. My membership of the Keighley corps extended over fourteen years, and would not then have been severed but for my removal to Bradford. Perhaps I may wind up my Volunteering history with a few verses which I penned on the death of Captain Irving of the Surrey Volunteers:—

Gone is poor Irving, the brave Volunteer—
The soldier, the man, is now on his bier;
He was with you all round, as well as the ranks,
Full of wit, and good humour, and frolicsome pranks.

He could mimic the Cockney at home or abroad,
He could shoulder a rifle or handle a sword;
His word of command would put you all right;
He could talk to a stranger from morning to night.

But, alas! he is gone, and we now mourn his loss,
For he’s gi’en up his sword at the foot of the Cross.
And if there’s an army wherever he’s gone,
We know that brave Irving is second to none.