A Holiday in Staithes, 1927: The Roydsians Come to Town
" Youth with swift feet walks onward in the way, The land of joy lies all before his eyes."
In 1927, a party of schoolchildren from Royds Hall School in Huddersfield came to Staithes for their summer camp. We don't know very much about the school from our own collection, but we do have something rather better: their school magazine, The Roydsian, in which the campers recorded their adventures.
There is poetry about the cliffs and sea, an enthusiastic recommendation of Staithes as a holiday destination, an account of a fish auction, a visit to the village bakehouse, a cricket match, a gigantic shirt in a Hinderwell shop, various mysterious goings-on involving members of staff, and quite a lot of silliness.
The result is a wonderfully immediate glimpse of Staithes in 1927 - although, as with any visitor's account, it tells us as much about the people doing the visiting as it does about the village itself.
We've been having a rummage through the museum's own collections to see what we can discover about the people and places that caught the Roydsians' attention. I’ve presented the original text here in the blog, along with some explanations of what they’re talking about - and how it connects to stories we already have at the museum.
About the magazine
The holidaymakers who descended on Staithes in 1927 were pupils of Royds Hall School in Huddersfield, a relatively new school at the time. Royds Hall Grammar School had opened in September 1921, jointly run by the Huddersfield and West Riding education authorities, after the area found itself short of grammar-school places. Six years later, its pupils were already producing their own school magazine, The Roydsian. It was much more than a formal school newsletter: alongside school news, sporting results and reports, it contained poems, jokes, gossip, travel accounts and the sort of wonderfully unfiltered observations that make an old school magazine such a treasure for social history.
“Camp Days”
The magazine begins with a poem by Florence Crawshaw, VI, celebrating the pleasures of a Staithes summer: walking the cliffs, paddling in the sea, exploring the woods, rowing around the bay and watching the fishermen on the shore.
It is a fairly romantic view of Staithes - although the schoolchildren certainly weren't the first visitors to discover that the village was an excellent place for a summer holiday.
By the 1920s, Staithes had become a popular destination for organised holiday groups. Above the village, at the former military training camp, the Holiday Fellowship had established a holiday camp in 1923, using the wooden huts to provide inexpensive holidays for groups. The museum has records of other school groups staying there, including a photograph of a boys' school group from 1927.
The Roydsian account gives us a flavour of what these young visitors actually did once they arrived: they walked, swam, rowed, explored and generally made themselves at home.
And, as we'll see, they also took a remarkably keen interest in what the people of Staithes were doing.
"t'is our delight to tramp along the cliffs,
Exhilarated by the freshening breeze,
To see the white clouds racing in the heavens,
To meet the foam crests dancing on the seas.
And 'tis our joy to frolic in the waves
That laughingly caress the shining sands,
To rest upon the beach and weave day-dreams
Of unknown peoples and of far-off lands.
And when the sun is hot we wend our way
To woods where fresh streams cool the scented air;
The earth is a mosaic of tiny leaves
With patches of gay sunlight.everywhere.
And clown the cobbled streets we reach the shore,
Where old men tanned and wrinkled. stand and gaze
On troops of children scampering on the rocks,
And memory paints afresh their childhood days.
And we can take some light, swift-moving boat,
And, vigorously rowing round the bay,
With quick, clean strokes and oars that dip and rise,
Enjoy the sea air and the salty spray.
Florence Crawshaw, VI.
“In Praise of Staithes”
This is perhaps the most revealing piece in the whole magazine - and also one which needs to be read with a slightly raised eyebrow.
The anonymous writer recommends Staithes to anyone looking for somewhere “straightforward and direct”, praises the “hale and hearty fisherfolk”, and is fascinated by the fact that some of the fishermen apparently get by on only two to four hours' sleep.
The writer is also fascinated by the local dialect:
“I don't know why they don't speak proper English like ours, but they don't.”
It is an excellent example of the way visitors could find Staithes both fascinating and exotic, even though they were only travelling to a fishing village on the Yorkshire coast.
You're wanting advice for the holiday, and you believe in Yorkshire for the Yorkshireman? And you want a place and people right straightforward and direct? Then Staithes is the place for you! You only take a train via Leeds and York, and you get there all right. And the hale and hearty fisherfolk you'll meet there will be just after your own heart. "Back to Nature" with a vengeance, if you can persuade them to let you share in their open-air life, fraught with uncertainty, hardship and peril, of course, but made grand by its sincerity and friendliness. Ask one of these old sea-rovers - and you'll find they will vie with any of Conrad's or R.L.S.'s - how much sleep they usually have, and they will reply "Oh, two to four hours, it depends"; ask if the sea is eve, too rough for them to go fishing, and the answer will be, "Rough sea is our best fish'n"; ask your old salt as one of our party did, if he can swim, and witl1 a quiet, sideways look, too dignified for one of scorn, he will probably reply - "No! we can't swim!" Of course, their language isn't quite like yours. I don't know why they don't speak proper English like ours, but they don't.
And you’ll admire the women; they show the same blunt strength as the men. No foolish pride about them! They take their share in the perils and hardships of life-in the hauling of the boats up the shore--in the cleaning and bartering of the fish, too. Not that thev are void of beauty.Had I the pen of a Wordsworth or a Scott, I should long ago have made one of them, I believe they called her "Rachael," the subject of a stirring idyll.
The very names of the people and the boats and the places round reflect the characteristic bluntness of the people. But you'll maybe be most interested in the names of the inns. Oh, yes! there are inns all right. Fish'ns thirsty work, and-I could a tale to you unfold about- but no! I won't. Now, why call an old hostelry "The Spread Eagle" or "The Flying Dutchman"? Is not the "Cod and Lobster" much more inviting and full of meaning; and doesn't "The Shoulder of Mutton" suggest, at any rate, a hearty meal and a comfortable hour? And the people's names. Who could ever forget Bill Verrill, the oldest man in the village; or Thomas Trattles, the chemist; or Mrs. ‘Ick, who bought the lobsters; or Thickear and Bumbleby, the famous cricketers of Staithes; or Mr. Herring and Mr. Haddock, fine boatmen both; or Dick Picknut with his pleasure-boats at Redcar; or Trillo, the ice-cream vendor. Names such as these are not easily forgotten, any more than the picture you will get of the life of the people.
1 will tell you of the survival of one mediaeval custom the use of a public bakehouse - and, if you have a minute to spare, I will tell you of the manner of our arrival at this sinister vault-like place. One morning about ten o'clock, a party of our campers found their way down to Staithes, and were rather intrigued on their arrival to see certain delectable pies, tarts and loaves of bread, howbeit, in a raw state, borne carefully and hurriedly along in one direction. Determined to know the truth, these youngsters tracked the steps of one unsuspecting housewife, who was bearing a specially delicious pie. Of course, they kept discreetly one turn in the tortuous line behind until, round the last of these, the woman disappeared. Whither had she fled, that visionary dream? What was the fate of that pie? They paused to consider; and at that moment, from a dark opening on their left, they saw emerge the same person - but, pieless! She eyed them questioningly, as if to say, "What do ye here?" And then the truth dawned on them in all its radiance, as at that precise instant of time, down the alley there advanced to meet them another housewife and another pie. Making very bold, they asked if they might peep inside "there," and she, leading them kindly, took them into an abysmal place, where all they saw was a man - not exactly prepossessing - indeed, looking decidedly Satanic, as he poked his large fire in the wall and seemed none too pleased at their intrusion. They then noticed along one side of the room a stone slab, almost covered with pastries to be baked, for anything from 1 1/2d. upwards.
This was only one bit of Sherlock Holmesing to which our party had resort. What is life, nay, what is even a holiday, without its little thrills of adventure? So just take my advice and visit Staithes. I don't think you could easily get into trouble - "if you beware the Cod and Lobster"; you may learn a lot; and if you have weather such as we had, you should return feeling at peace with all the world and your fellow-men.
B. S.
Note: The bakehouse in this story is Garr End Cottage.
The people
The writer has collected a whole list of memorable local names: Bill Verrill, Thomas Trattles the chemist, Mrs ‘Ick (This must be Mrs Laverick), Thickear and Bumbleby, Mr Herring, Mr Haddock, Dick Picknut and Trillo the ice-cream seller.
Some of these people have proved elusive in the museum's records. Others lead us into much more substantial stories.
I think Bill Verrill, for example, was William Francis Verrill (1847–1935), better known locally as Billy Fanny. In 1927 he was about 80 years old, so the Roydsians' description of him as “the oldest man in the village” makes sense.
Billy Fanny was a fisherman, lifeboatman, singer, storyteller and local character. He was also involved in one of the extraordinary episodes of Staithes' maritime history. During the First World War, while fishing aboard the coble Success, he encountered the German submarine UB-39. The story of the encounter became one of the many tales associated with this wonderfully larger-than-life character.
And then there is the cricketing duo of Thickear and Bumbleby. The museum sources don't allow us to identify them with complete certainty, but the names immediately suggest two well-established Staithes families: Theaker and Umpleby. The latter family produced Arthur Stanley Umpleby, the stationmaster, dialect scholar and poet.
Cricket was certainly played in Staithes. Local accounts remember both organised clubs and informal games, and the museum has an especially good account of a cricket match played in 1901 between the Staithes artists and visitors.
And there is a lovely continuation of the story in the memories of Bill Hinchley, who remembers that when he was young, the local lads were sometimes given half a day off school so that they could play cricket with the holidaymakers.
So when the Roydsians boast about the “Staithesian Cricket Eleven”, they weren't inventing the idea of local cricket. They were joining a tradition that was already well established.
The women
The Roydsian writer is also struck by the women of Staithes, noting that they shared the “perils and hardships” of fishing life and helped haul boats, clean fish and barter the catch.
On this point, the visitors were noticing something genuinely important.
The museum's sources show women taking an active part in almost every stage of the fishing economy. They gathered bait, prepared and baited lines, helped launch and haul boats, repaired nets, processed fish and sold catches.
Women also bought fish and shellfish at the harbour auctions. Among the women recorded in connection with the trade are Dinah Hick, Mary Verrill, Rachel Longster, Dinah Theaker, Florence Verrill, Ann Laverick, Mary Shippey and Molly Hick.
So the Roydsians' description of the women of Staithes as active participants rather than simply spectators was, in this respect, rather perceptive.
The names
The visitors were fascinated by the local names - and particularly by the names of the pubs.
They mention the Cod and Lobster and the Shoulder of Mutton, declaring that such names are much more interesting than the grander names found elsewhere.
The Cod and Lobster was clearly a place the campers got to know well. They mention it several times, and it provides the backdrop to their account of the fish auction later in the magazine.
The mysterious Mrs ‘Ick
The magazine's “Mrs ‘Ick” is particularly intriguing.
She appears repeatedly in the fish auction account, energetically bidding for crabs and lobsters and apparently quite capable of competing with the schoolboys watching from the balcony.
The museum's records point towards Mrs Laverick - almost certainly the woman the Roydsians rendered as “Mrs ‘Ick”.
And that is a useful reminder of just how difficult old local records can be. The spelling of names varies, nicknames abound, and an outsider recording a name phonetically may leave us with a puzzle nearly a century later.
The magazine gives us the character first: a determined woman at the fish auction, buying crabs and lobsters. The museum sources give us the wider context: women such as Ann Laverick were part of the working fish trade, buying and selling catches rather than merely watching the men do it.
The public bakehouse
The Roydsians' next discovery is one of my favourites.
A group of campers notices women carrying uncooked pies, tarts and loaves through the streets. Intrigued, they follow one of them, only to watch her disappear into what they describe as a “dark opening”.
Then another woman emerges - without her pie.
Eventually the mystery is solved. The children have discovered Staithes' communal bakehouse.
It sounds comical because the campers don't understand what they're seeing. But what they have stumbled upon is an important part of everyday life in the old village.
The museum has a photograph of Margaret Verrill carrying baked goods back across the footbridge from the bakehouse, as well as written evidence for communal and commercial bakehouses in Staithes.
There were bakehouses in the village from much earlier than the Roydsian visit. Records from the eighteenth century mention a bakehouse operated by Betty Spink, while an 1838 auction notice describes a dwelling house and bakehouse occupied by Mrs Burton and others.
For families living in small cottages, a large communal oven was enormously useful. The bakehouse could handle the quantities of baking needed for celebrations and festivities, as well as providing bread and other provisions.
So the schoolchildren thought they had found a mysterious hole to hell down an alleyway.
They had actually found a piece of the infrastructure of everyday Staithes life.
“Staff Amusements at Camp”
The children weren't the only ones enjoying themselves.
The next article is an affectionate piece of school-magazine mischief about the teachers, who apparently became quite different people once they were away from Huddersfield.
There are horses, donkeys, paddling, toffee apples and a particularly unfortunate master who decides to ride a Shetland pony “about half his size”.
But the most interesting part for us comes when the teachers join the villagers in their work.
The magazine describes them helping to haul a fishing boat up the beach. The teachers, pupils and visitors all join in, pulling together until the boat reaches the edge of the quay.
The writer even records the fishermen's cry of “Yo! ho!” as they make another effort.
This is another example of the campers accidentally recording something that was entirely ordinary to the people of Staithes but rather exotic to their visitors. For the fishermen, hauling a coble was work. For the school party, it was an exhilarating team sport.
The magazine admits that the teachers' motives are uncertain: perhaps they wanted to show off their strength; perhaps they genuinely wanted to help; perhaps they simply wanted to join in.
Probably all three.
How the staff is in its element at camp! Registers and mark-books thrown to the winds, they take advantage of solitude to revel in the many ''sophistries of youth," that would be quite out of place in the respectable and stately town of Huddersfield. We feel rather disinclined to let non-campers (foolish people!) into our confidence, but for this once we will share our interests and enjoyment.
Observant Roydsians at Saltburn might have witnessed certain masters and mistresses, bribed in some instances by toffee-apples, seated in a boat, the prey of a beach photographer. Before this, one of the toffee-apple enthusiasts had mounted a horse and experienced a violent and thrilling canter along the sands. This exercise, doubtless, had provided the appstite necessary for the sequel. Another of the staff spent a few minutes on a donkey's back, but his enjoyment was somewhat marred by the attack of coughing and sneezing which seized the animal, and by the consequent delay in beginning the ride. Induced by the successful horsemanship of his colleagues, our strongest and most athletic master decided to display his skill. He therefore, hired the most appropriate steed present-a little Shetland pony about half his size-and, sitting astride, started to gallop furiously, and to provide an exact representation of the world-famous Gilpin of a bygone age.
Another master spent much of his leisure time repeatedly placing a certain pebble at the edge of the sad seawaves, and watching the process of its displacement (? !) . What is that saying about "little things please ---"? Lured by the same sea-waves, many of the mistresses indulged in the admirable, but none the less juvenile, pastime of paddling; and the result of one "dip" was that one of the stronger and better-shod mistresses was re quested to carry a paddler pickaback over rough stones and sca-weed--a veritable sight for the gods!
Our staff also took great delight in sharing with the villagers their games and work. The classic cricket match played on the Thursday night, will assuredly be dealt with by an abler pen than mine. Suffice it for me to record more childish amusements! Three masters, for example, vied with several fisher-youths at stoning a bucket which they had fastened to the quay-wall; and it must be confessed, they brought no small credit on the school by their performance. Then, later, when the boats were being brought in, the staff, as well as the pupils and other visitors, all joined in hauling the boats up the pebbly beach, to the very edge of the quay! So great was their enjoyment of this practical "tug-of-war" that they even asked if any advantage would be gained by a further effort to drag the resisting barque on to the top of the wall.
Whether the friendliness was promoted by the novelty of the occupation, a desire to show off their strength or a genuine wish to help the villagers, is still a mystery; but one master secretly confessed to me that he had joined the haulers from an earnest desire to join in the "bleating" of the fishermen - "Yo! ho!" - which they repeated in a wailing. tremulous chorus at intervals, when a renewed effort was needed.
Even in the train, homeward-bound, discretion was thrown to the winds. Distracted by the wailing lament from the next carriage, concerning a certain "Lord Mayor of London," a Dame possessing ''a lame, tame crane," a lady and gentleman named "Clementine" (known, by the way to the sailors at Staithes) and "John Brown" respectively, two mistresses invoked the help of the pupils present, and delivered a most life-like cat's war-cry. This had the de sired effect-the loud and ominous shutting of the door of the carriage in question.
But alas! every bit of enjoyment must come to an end; and no one would believe how rapidly the staff could resume its normal "equilibrium." No sooner had we touched the platform at Huddersfield than all of them were again sober and quite "comme il faut"; and now, of course, their little, childish amusements above recorded seem mere dreams of yesterday, only to be realized fully at next year's camp.
M. Shaw, Vb.
“A Camp Maths Problem”
This is a wonderfully silly little piece about the camp's money.
The children imagine a ten-shilling sum being passed from the group leader to “The Bank”, then back to the leader, then to the individual camper, then to the canteen, and finally back to the Bank.
Every morning the same shilling begins the journey again.
At the end of the week, the Banker announces that the account is closed - so where have the ten shillings gone?
There isn't really a Staithes mystery to solve here, but it does give us a glimpse of how these organised camps worked. Pocket money was pooled, controlled and circulated through the camp, while the canteen provided food and drink.
It is also a lovely reminder that the Roydsian wasn't trying to write a serious history of the holiday. This was a school magazine, written by children for their school friends, and the jokes are as much part of the historical evidence as the descriptions of fishing boats.
To call money, currency, is peculiarly apt at Staithes. For the large sum brought to, camp as pocket money runs with scarcely any halts all week. It is first paid to a group leader, but dodges quickly through his fingers to "The Bank" for the night. Early next morning it sets out again as small silver, and passes from the Bank to the leader, from the leader to its real owner. It is hurried to the can teen to be exchanged for food and drink, and arrives again at the Bank. Each morning the same unfortunate shilling sets out on a similar round.
But though we may hold it for a few minutes each day, and spend it on pop six times over, the circulation invariably stops with the coin in the Banker's possession. We have paid him originally say ten shillings; each day he has paid out the same mere shilling, which has been punctiliously returned to him by way of the canteen within the hour. Yet at the end of camp, or even before, he announces the account is closed! The problem set the student of economics is to find the ten shillings.
F. E. C.
“Camp Alphabet”
The alphabet is probably the quickest way to discover what mattered to the campers.It is essentially a list of everything they remembered about the holiday - food, noise, sport, money, excursions, local people and the occasional minor disaster.
Runswick Bay deserves a particular mention. The museum has evidence of visitors walking from Staithes to Runswick for bathing and recreation, and Holiday Fellowship material promoted the walk as an easy excursion, with “safe bathing and plenty of sand”.
The campers were therefore following a well-established holiday route.
A for the absence of serious disasters.
B for the blisters just covered by plasters.
C for the cookhouse where food was prepared.
D for the donkey which Mr. G.-- scared.
E for the emptiness felt before meals.
F for the fish - crabs and lobsters and eels.
G. for the glorious bottles we popt-ed.
H for the hound that Burnley adopted.
I stands for Ivor, the camp-warden's son.
J for the jokes and abundance of fun.
K for the "kream" that we put on our faces.
L's "Love Divine" that went out with slow paces.
M for the money doled out every day.
N for the noise that we made on the way.
0 for poor orderly, groaning and sighing.
P for the photos where some look like dying.
Q for the questions we asked down at Staithes.
R stands for Runswick, where some went for bathes.
S for the .Staithesian Cricket Eleven.
T for the tinkling that woke us (?) at seven.
U for utensils - enamel and tin.
V for the value of needle and pin.
W for wickets so easily taken.
X for the xcellent pies that were baken.
Y for the yarns that we all loved to hear.
Z for the zeal for the School Camp next year.
Trio (IIlb).
“An Auction Sale”
Now we come to one of the richest pieces in the magazine.
The writer describes the Friday fish auction in considerable detail. The auctioneer rings a bell, the women arrive, the fishermen bring in the catch, and everyone gathers around the fish.
It is almost theatre.
And the museum's records allow us to see just how important these auctions were.
Fish were sold at several places around the village, but the staith - the quay - was a particularly important site. Auctions could stretch along the waterfront, with catches being sold to merchants and buyers.
One important figure was Jimmy James, a fisherman from Newlyn who settled in Staithes in 1896 and became a fish auctioneer. His son Willie later developed the family fish-merchants' business, W. James & Sons.
To the Roydsian campers, the Friday-morning fish auction seems to have been a wonderfully entertaining spectacle: fishermen appearing with their catch, women arriving to bid, an auctioneer keeping his ledger, and the whole business taking place almost on the doorstep of the Cod and Lobster. But there was much more at stake than the schoolchildren perhaps realised. By the early twentieth century, Staithes had developed a substantial trade in fish, with auctions taking place in several parts of the village according to the state of the tide and where the boats had landed. The Staith itself could become one long fish market, with sales stretching from the Cod and Lobster towards Barrass Steps. The fish was not simply destined for the dinner tables of Staithes: catches were bought for markets further afield, and the railway provided an important means of getting fish out of the village. In 1913, more than 200 tonnes of fish were sent from Staithes railway station, sometimes in special fish trains when the quantity landed justified them.
And the women the Roydsians noticed arriving to bid were not merely spectators. Women had long played an important commercial role in the Staithes fishing economy, buying fish, crabs, lobsters and winkles and carrying them inland for sale. Museum records name numerous women involved in this trade, including Dinah Hick, Mary Verrill, Rachel Longster, Dinah Theaker, Florence Verrill, Lizanne Sanderson, Ann Laverick, Mary Shippey and Molly Hick. Their work fitted into a much larger web of women's labour around the fishing industry: gathering bait, baiting lines, helping launch and haul the cobles, mending nets, cleaning and curing fish, and managing the household while men were at sea. Contemporary artists noticed these women too. Laura Knight, who arrived in Staithes in 1897, painted the fishing community repeatedly, including women gutting fish in their characteristic bonnets.
So when the Roydsians describe the women suddenly appearing on Friday morning and competing for the catch, they were witnessing a well-established part of village life. Their account is funny because they are outsiders encountering something unfamiliar; but underneath the comedy is a glimpse of a highly organised local economy in which the people of Staithes - and particularly its fishing women - knew exactly what they were doing.
And finally there's the boat. The first batch of lobsters comes from a craft named Love Divine. The Love Divine was a traditional Staithes double-ender, and its name board survives in the village. It hangs inside the Cod and Lobster alongside the name boards of other historic local boats.
There is even a rather lovely later connection with the name. When the old Wesleyan Chapel held its final service in 2009, the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” was chosen for the occasion - and the Love Divine happened to be lying in the beck beside the chapel. The Roydsians, of course, had no idea that the boat they were watching in 1927 would still have a name board in the village generations later.
Clang, Clang, Clang!! Not a fire but merely an auction sale in the vicinity of that spot of great renown, the "Cod and Lobster."
At this summons several old salts venture to withdraw their support from the walls of the "inn" and stroll towards the bellman, who turns out to be the daily fish auctioneer. His comical appearance accentuated by a decided squint and hat awry, recall Tom Brown's excitement as he eyed the mongers in his youthful visits to the fair.After an interval of several minutes (time is no object at Staithes), the women folk appear, removing traces of the weekly clean from their hands, for this, of course, is Friday morning. The morrow will find purchasers at this sale at such remote places as Stockton and Darlington markets. Eventually they take their seats (evidently reserved) under the balcony raided by youthful campers of the male sex, who have contrived, by some means to reverse the positions of Romeo and Juliet. The first batch of lobsters are thrust unceremoniously.into the centre of the circle by the owner of the craft, around which there clings that elusive perfume of "Attar of Lobsters," and which owns the suggestive cognomen "Love Divine." It is soon apparent that the chief purchasers are the women-folk, and their methods provide much food for psychological reflection. The immortal Rachael seems incarnated in the most striking of these fisherwomen, who bears her name.
After a short struggle this first 'lot' is consigned to Mrs. Rachael, who encases the whole struggling mass in her apron in spite of their struggles. The next few minutes secs a hard and bitter conflict between Mrs. 'ick and the Romeos on the balcony for the possession of the spritely crustaceans. One is inclined to wonder how many dependents Mrs. 'ick is burdened with, for the cry, "A score of nice crabs, Mrs. 'ick," is oft repeated, Perhaps, like the old woman in the shoe, she is troubled with a numerous band of young hopefuls but Mrs. ‘ick solves the problem by giving them crabs. Suddenlv a familiar voice is heard from the midst
of the crowd: “I bid two shillings," and the excited visage of Mrs. Freeman is seen between two stalwarts, anxiously following the movements of two fine fat lobsters in the circle. Another voice is heard from another quarter: "Let the lady hev 'em, if she wants 'em," and straightway Mrs. Freeman becomes the proud possessor of two squirming, lively lobsters. (These were afterwards subdued by being committed to the melting-pot and known to be '''in the pink'' when last heard of).
After a few more sparring matches between the irrepressible Romeos on the balcony, and the indefatigable Mrs. 'Ick, proceedings. were closed for the day.
Business ended, the long legs of the auctioneer were seen scaling the steps leading to his house, and followed by the women folk about to settle their accounts for ledger entries (of transactions) during the sale.
Ethel Bailey (Old Roydsian) .
“We Wonder…”
This article is a series of inside jokes. The children have accumulated a list of questions about things that happened during the holiday. Most intriguing of all:
Was Billy Verrill really sure it was Captain Cook he remembered?
We don't have answers to all these questions. And perhaps that's part of the fun.
How the artists get the pictures of Staithes.
Who said they weren't going to the Camp Sunday service, it was holiday.
Why members of Hut 3 wished each other good night so affectionately that Mr. Airey could not sleep.
Who was beaten by a simple fisher-boy when it came to buying eggs.
If Billy Verrill was certain that it was Captain Cook he remembered.
If he was sure it was not Drake.
If it was true that his own name was Captain cook lobsters. What were they drinking? (No prize for correct answer).
How Burnley and the other gay dog could bear to part.
Who, subtracted Mr. Guilbert's biscuits from a twenty-figure table, produced them from his sleeve, divided by three, and raised them to the Tth.
Why the policeman did not arrest the trespassers whose bicycle (a) squeaked (b) fell to pieces after it had been to Saltburn.
What, or who, was the ancient and well-worn.
Why certain people could not, as Mr. Bailey requested, carry their liquor like gentlemen.
Who tucked Clingan up at night.
Who circulated the rumour about Mr. Diggle, and if Mr. Diggle's conduct had suggested it.
If the railway engine strained itself when Knight overtook it.
If Mr. Keegan spent the night in hopeful contemplation of the figure in his bed, or if he tried to imitate it.
If Mr. Wilkinson did the same.
What reasons there were for feeling unfair.
If it was generosity, cowardice or principle which prompted Mr. Bailey to. give the fisherman the brandy.
Who was home-sick between meals.
Why, in the Staithes match, the tail had to do all the wagging.
Why the other three hundred didn't go.
J. L. Armitage, VI.B.
“The Song of the Shirt”
This one takes the campers out of Staithes and into Hinderwell.
On their way to Runswick Bay, they pass an outfitters' shop displaying an enormous shirt - 46 inches long.
The Roydsian contributors turn the sight into a parody of Thomas Hood's The Song of the Shirt, complete with enormous shirts, sunburn and the sufferings of the holiday camper.
It is a tiny detail, but it tells us something about how the group travelled around the area. Their holiday wasn't confined to the harbour and beach. They were walking the surrounding villages and taking notice of the shops, roads and people they encountered.
And it is precisely these throwaway details that make old accounts like this so valuable.
A modern visitor might photograph the sea.
The Roydsians photographed it in words - and also remembered the enormous shirt in Hinderwell.
Read the original poem here: https://allpoetry.com/The-Song-of-the-Shirt
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A Woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with the voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt!"
"Work! Work! Work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work-work-work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's O! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save
If this is Christian work!
"Work-work-work
Till the brain begins to swim,
Work-work-work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
(In the style of a Hood).
[ As the Roydsian party were one day wending their way to Runswick Bay (with full intentions of returning by the Cliff path !) one of the van suddenly called a halt outside an unpretentious gentlemen's outfitters. The ladies of the party were at first inclined to regret that it was not at the neighbouring "modiste's" where all the latest models - and others - were displayed. But all joined in the exclamations of horrified surprise when the garment which, "recollected in tranquillity," inspired the above worthy lyric, met their gaze. No room for tasteful window display here, for, covering almost one side of the window was an enormous shirt “For a Man"; and this noble specimen was "run up" by another, almost as expansive, on the other side. It is well, the party reflected as it moved away, casting a longing, lingering look behind, that these are the days of Singer’s and Jones' for no hand-worked stitches could ever have held together a shirt so vast, so mighty, so Gargantuan.]
With sunburnt skin all peeling off,
With wind-ruffled, tousled mop,
A schoolboy stood in a critical mood,
Eyeing a Hinderwell shop.
Stretch-Stretch-Stretch
In poverty, hunger and dirt,
For with a voice of Roydsian pitch
He yelled the Song of the Shirt.
Grow-Grow-Grow
While the bell is ringing at seven;
Grow-Grow-Grow
While the rain drips in at even.
It's O ! to be a boy
Along with the Roydsian clan,
Where costumes are never too short for joy,
If this is the shirt for a man.
With hands held up in awe
Convinced of something wrong,
He read the ticket announcing to all,
'Tis forty-six inches long.
Hitch-Hitch-Hitch
Whoever shall buy this strange shirt,
For fishermen large, e'en Colossus far-famed
Attired in this garb might now be defamed,
For wearing an old-fashioned skirt.
F. E. C.
So what did the Roydsians actually see?
Reading the magazine nearly a hundred years later, what strikes us is how much the children managed to notice.
They saw the picturesque Staithes: cliffs, sea, boats and beaches.
But they also saw the working village.
They watched women buying lobsters.
They watched fishermen auctioning their catch.
They helped haul boats.
They discovered the communal bakehouse.
They played cricket with local people.
They heard the local dialect.
They noticed the names of pubs, boats and villagers.
They walked to Runswick Bay and wandered through Hinderwell.
And, occasionally, they got into a bit of trouble.
The Roydsian was never intended to be a historical document. It was a school magazine, written by children and teachers who were trying to amuse their friends back in Huddersfield.
But that is precisely why it is so useful.
Almost a century later, the jokes give us little windows into ordinary life: who was buying the fish, which boats were coming ashore, where visitors walked, what people ate, which local characters caught the eye, and how a group of schoolchildren experienced Staithes when they came here in 1927.
They came for a holiday.
They left us a time capsule.
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