Much intemperance and disorder often followed these funeral feastings.  An old song long preserved in the district depicts one of these funerals, which was by no means a one-day affair, but sometimes lasted several days, during which the drinking went on.  The inn was perhaps a necessity in this out-of-the-world place, but it was unfortunately a great temptation to the inhabitants, and to the old Northern Light parson who preceded the vicar whose reminiscences we are recording.  Here in the inn the old parson sat between morning and afternoon service with a long clay pipe in his mouth and a glass of whisky by his side.  When the bells began to settle and the time of service approached, he would send Jerry to the church to see if many people had arrived.  When Jerry replied: 

“There’s not many comed yet, Mr. Nowton,” the parson would say: 

“Then tell them to ring another peal, Jerry, and just fill up my glass again.”

The communion plate was kept at the inn under Jerry’s charge.  Three times a year it was used, and the circumstances were disgraceful.  Four bottles of port wine were deemed the proper allowance on communion days, and after a fractional quantity had been consumed in the church, the rest was finished by the churchwardens at the inn.  One of these churchwardens drank himself to death after the communion service.  He was a big man with a red face, and was always present when a bear was baited at the top of the hill above the village.  One day the bear escaped and ran on to the moor; everybody scattered in all directions, and several dogs were killed before the bear was caught.

The successor of Jerry as clerk, but not as publican, was a rough, honest individual who was called Dick.  When excited he had two oaths, “By’r Lady!” and “By the mass!” but as he always pronounced this last word mess, it was evident he did not understand the nature of the oath he used.  He had a rough-and-ready way of doing things, and when handing out hymn-books during service he used to throw a book up to an applicant in the gallery to save the trouble of walking up the stairs in proper fashion.  He talked the broadest Yorkshire dialect, and it was not always easy to understand him.  This was particularly the case when, in his capacity as clerk, he repeated the responses at the funeral service.

A tremendous snowfall happened one winter, and the roads were all blocked.  It was impossible for any one to go to church on the Sunday morning following the fall, as the snow had not been cleared away.  It was necessary for the vicar, however, to get there, as he had to read out the banns of marriage which were being published; so, putting on fishing-waders to protect himself from the wet snow, he succeeded with some difficulty in getting through the drifts.  In the churchyard, standing before the church clock, he found Dick intently gazing at it, so he asked him if it was going.  His reply was laconic:  “Noa; shoo’s froz.”  He and the vicar then went into the church, and the necessary publication of banns was read in the presence of the clerk alone.