which consists of the villages of Crich, Fritchley and Whatstandwell.
Trades people of Crich 1880
Provided by Beryl Calladine
A doggerel penned by 'WH' in 1880 . Whoever 'WH' was he, or she, covered the tradesfolk of Crich fairly comprehensively.
More fun than a Trades Directory!
With our worthy Vicar I must begin,
His duty is to save from sin;
His sermons and his prayers should raise,
Our hearts to God in thankful praise.
Our Doctor next comes into view,
In cleverness he’s beat by few;
His skill and talent gain renown,
The finest man in all the town.
Of Lawyer Harris not much is known,
The less the be better you all will own;
For if from him you want advice,
You’ll have to pay a heavy price.
In Mr. Boag you’ll see combined,
Largeness of heart and soul and mind;
He’s shrewd of thought, in words polite,
His life with all his acts unite.
Of Mr. Coupe, there’s no offence ,
In saying he’s a man of sense;
To ought that’s good his hand he’ll lend.
The poor in him possess a friend.
Joseph Howitt is a decent man,
Most of his workmen say;
And for their sake we’ll hope he’ll live
Their wages long to pay.
Above him lives his brother Harry,
A gun he used to love to carry;
But now he’s got a shop and wife,
He has to lead a steadier life.
Mr. Burton has only one arm,
But to make up for this he’s got a large farm;
He’s also go three servant chaps,
And so he takes no harm perhaps.
Mr. Cowlishaw’s an upright man
In all his ways and dealings;
He studies business while he can,
And is possessed of proper feelings.
Mr . Storer is a very good man,
Who works for God below:
And when he’ s done what good he can,
To heaven I ‘m sure he’ll go.
Mr. Wightman ‘s just and true,
To all he’ll do or say;
Of such as him we have but few,
He ‘ s honest as the day.
Miss Walker keeps the Kings Arms Inn,
In order and control;
Sells Whisky, Brandy, rum and gin,
And ale to make men roll.
Joseph Rollinson he works hard,
He also keeps a shop;
But, as I’ve many more to name,
With him I must not stop.
Thomas Dawes he keeps a grocer’s shop,
Sells all you may require;
But if you say to much to him;
The fat is in the fire.
Another upright man I reach,
Whose name I mean to mention;
Joseph Whittaker, (I’ve heard him preach,)
To do good is his intention.
George Stocks works at the frame,
An he contrives to do what’s right;
Joseph Slack he does the same,
They both work hard from morn till night.
Charley Walter lives above,
A barber and hair-cutter ;
Scissor-grinder to is he,
Sells hair oil rich as butter.
There’s Joseph Brown I won’t forget
A framesmith very good;
And if his work I meant to blame,
I could not if I would.
There’s Edward Bown, a neighbour good,
As all around will say;
T ‘would cheer you up to see his face,
If you should. pass that way.
Samuel Stocks works very hard,
His children do as well;
But which brings home of money most
There is no need to tell.
John Haynes, our only joiner here,
Makes aught you may require;
In shape of tables, box, or drawers,
He’ll suit a small desire.
Raph Smith, who lives at Dimple House,
A butcher used to be;
He leads a very easy life,
For retired now is he.
A respectable draper is Mr. James Lee,
Candles he makes and keeps a farm;
He also deals in sugar and tea
Churchwarden too, and doe s no harm.
Near him lives our friend John Perry
Who deals in apples, pears, and cherries;
Potatoes, oranges, (and fish,
Which mainy think a dainty dish)
John Dawes he does the rates collect,
Also a shop he keeps of toys;
He penny pipes and ‘bacca’ sells,
for naughty little boys.
Fredrick Curzon a tailor is,
That does his work right well;
Caleb Gratten lives next door,
Who cakes and pies does sell.
A druggist shop we now have got,
Which some think very handy;
To get laudanum, snuff and pillruff,
And also sugar candy.
Mrs Howitt and Miss Poyser
Dressmakers are first class;
For style and fit it well is known,
There’s non them can surpass.
John Stocks is a very good baker,
Pork pie and sausage maker;
His flour is good, his bread is clean,
The sweetest and freshest that ever was seen.
Vaughan Taylor he in beef doth deal,
Mutton also lamb and veal;
His weight is just his price is fair,
His customers this all declare.
John Higton is a butcher too,
On cutting up he’s beat by few;
His quality and quantity both are good,
So but a pound or two off him, if want you ever should.
Arthur Smith another butcher is,
Fred Cheetham would be the same;
But he so very oft gets drunk,
For which he’s much to blame.
Robert Foster is a very real English man,
One of the oldern kind;
Honest, straightforward and upright,
He always speaks his mind.
William Thorpe lives just above,
He is a man of taste and sense;
For flowers and snuff there’s lots will own,
He spares no trouble or expense.
John Saxton a churchwarden is,
A lawyers clerk besides;
And if you want your will to make,
In him you must confide.
Joseph Ash goes to the mill,
A shop he also keeps;
And straight to see Miss Fanny Dear,
Will Petts he often peeps.
Richard Young he is a farmer,
A plumber and a glazer too;
He is a tidy sort of fellow,
But alas he is a blue.
Mr Kirk who lives on Bown’s Hill,
A very good drapers shop does keep;
And when he is selling off his things,
You’ll get your clothing very cheap.
Mrs Wigley sells bulls eyes,
A school she also teaches;
Of little girls, and also boys
Not yet put in their breeches.
A blacksmith William Poyser is,
The same is Ralph his son;
And if your horse would want a shoe,
He’ll slowly put it on.
There’s Greenhough, Prince and Shipton too,
A three a shop possess;
Bur Prince has lately bankrupt turned,
Which is no pretty mess.
George Smith a man of principle,
His son the same may be;
A wheelwright that non can beat,
A farmer too is he.
Another blacksmith we have got,
Thomas Taylor is his name;
And if I say he nothing knows,
I shall be much to blame.
Mr Twigg’s the parish guardian,
And reliever of the poor;
With his smashing trap and pony,
Rides the parish o’er and o’er.
A toyshop Mrs Wettons got,
Sells dolls the child to please;
And lollipops and ginger beer,
So strong it makes you sneeze.
Mr Hunt he saddles makes,
His work he well doth do;
And if you want your harness good,
You’ll get it strong and new.
Mrs England keeps a shop,
Sells sugar tea and balm;
Samuel Holmes he does the same,
He also has a farm.
Of publican I’ve not said much,
But we have a lot;
The stuff they sell is nothing worth,
Makes man a brutish sot.
John Wetton is the parish clerk,
‘Amen’ he shouts on Sunday;
In earnestness he does his work,
Though he be hoarse on Monday.
But he’s a still more solemn charge,
The graves are in his trust;
Which holds the wicked and the good,
The righteous and the just.
Long life and prosperity,
To all by friends around;
And may you ever while you live,
With noble works abound.
My story now in finished,
My yarn I now have spun;
Adieu my fellow brethren,
My criticisings done.