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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Aw'm a poor cotton weighver, as ony one knows; We'n no meight i'th heawse, an' we'n worn eawt er clothes; We'n live't upo nettles, while nettles were good; An' Wayterloo porritch is th' most of er food; This clemmin' and starvin', Wi' never a farthin' It's enough to drive ony mon mad." This family was four in number man, wife, and two children.
They had buried one girl three weeks before; and one of the three remaining children lay ill of the measles. They had suffered a great deal from sickness. The wife said, "My husband is a peawer-loom weighver. He'll get 'em back as soon as he con, yo may depend; for we don't want to bother folk for no mak o' relief no lunger than we can help."
There were a few books on little shelves, and a Bible lay on the window-sill; and there was a sad, chapel-like stillness in the house. A clean, staid-looking girl stood at a table, peeling potatoes for dinner. The old man said, "We are five, altogether, in this house. This lass is a reeler. I am a weighver; but we'n bin out o' wark nine months, now.
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