Why Tommy isn’t a Deacon.

Tommy wor allus considered to be th’ tip top in his trade.  His worn’t a common sooart ov a callin like wayvin, or spinnin, or coil leeadin.  He nobbut had to deal wi’th’ heeads o’th’ community.  Th’ fact is he wor a barber; an’ ther’s monny a chap at awd moor o’ thear gooid fortun to th’ way he fixed up th’ aghtside o’ thear heeads, nor what they did to th’ fixin i’th’ inside.

Aw’ve monny a time thowt when aw’ve seen him thrang ’at his trade wor just a reight schooil for a chap to gaa to, to leearn to have contempt for wod-be gurt fowk, for aw’ve seen chaps come in lukkin as fierce as a pot-lion, an ommost makkin yo tremel wi’ th’ way they sed’ gooid mornin,’ but as sooin as they’ve getten set daan, an’ a gurt print table-cloth tucked under ther chin, an’ lathered up to ther een, they’ve sat as quiet an’ luk’d as sheepish as a chap’ at’s just been to see his sweetheart get wed.

Well, ther wor nobbut one thing ’at Tommy aspired to, moor nor what he had, an’ that wor to be a deacon.  Net ’at he knew owt abaat what a deacon owt to be, or owt to do, but becoss a chap ‘at used to goa to th’ same schooil when they wor lads, had getten made a deacon at th’ Starvhoil Baptists’ Chapel, an’ Tommy didn’t like to be behund hand; an’ then agean ther wor a woman in th’ case.

Tommy had allus been a pretty regular attender at auther one chapel or another, but he’d niver stuck to one i’ particular, for he liked to hear different preachers, an’ he didn’t feel varry anxious to pay pew rent.  But just abaat this time summat happened ’at made a change in him.

Cloise to whear he lived ther wor a chap ‘at kept a sausage shop, an’ he wor takken sick an’ deed, an’ his widder sent for Tommy to come an’ shave him befoor he wor burrid, an’ he did it i’ sich a nice an’ considerate way, an’ tawked soa solemn, an’ pooled sich a long face, ’at he gate invited to th’ funeral, an wor axed to be one o’th’ bearers an’ as he nobbut stood abaat four feet in his booits, he consented at once, for as t’other five chaps all stood abaat six feet, he knew he wodn’t have mich to carry.

When th’ funeral wor nicely ovver, an’ they gate back to th’ haase, they wor all invited to stop an’ have a bit o’ summat to ait, an’ as sausage wor th’ handiest o’ owt to cook, shoo axed ’em if they’d have some.  Nubdy’d owt to say agean it, but Tommy didn’t seem satisfied, an’ when th’ widder saw it shoo sed, ‘may be, Tommy sausage doesn’t agree wi’ yo,—­is thear owt else yo’d like?’

“Well,” he sed, “aw’ve nowt agean sausage, but aw think ’at black pudding wad be moor appropriate for a burrin.”

“Tha’d happen like black beer to swill it daan,” sed one.  “Nah, yo ’at want sausage can have it, an’ them ’at likes black puddin can have that,” shoo sed.’  An’ varry sooin ther wor a dish o’ booath befoor’ em, but nubdy seemed to fancy th’ black pudding nobbut Tommy, an aw dooant think he enjoyed’ em mich, for they worn’t varry fresh.