I was cook at
th' Swan i' Shudehill, aboon forty year sin." She said that, in
those days, the Swan, in Shudehill, was much frequented by the
commercial men of Manchester. It was a favourite dining house for
them. Many of them even brought their own beefsteak on a skewer; and
paid a penny for the cooking of it. She said she always liked
Manchester very well; but she had not been there for a good while.
"But," said she, "ye'll hev plenty o' oatcake theer--sartin." "Not
much, now," replied I; "it's getting out o' fashion." I told her
that we had to get it once a week from a man who came all the way
from Stretford into Manchester, with a large basketful upon his
head, crying "Woat cakes, two a penny!" "Two a penny!" said she;
"why, they'll not be near as big as these, belike." "Not quite,"
replied I. "Not quite! naw; not hauf t' size, aw warnd! Why, th'
poor fellow desarves his brass iv he niver gev a farthin' for th'
stuff to mak 'eni on. What! I knaw what oatcake bakin' is."
Leaving the canny old Cumberland woman at her baking, we called at a
cottage in Everton Gardens. It was as clean as a gentleman's
parlour; but there was no furniture in sight except a table, and,
upon the table, a fine bush of fresh hawthorn blossom, stuck in a
pint jug full of water.
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