Little Abe, or, the Bishop of Berry Brow: Being the Life of Abraham LockwoodJewell, F.
Religion
Little Abe, or, the Bishop of Berry Brow: Being the Life of Abraham Lockwood
Jewell, F.
Lockwood, Abraham, 1792-1871; Methodist Church -- Bishops -- England -- Biography
It makes no pretensions to importance in any way. The only public
building which it boasts, is the Mechanics' Institute, a structure of
moderate size, yet substantially built. Its one main street is lined
with some very excellent shops, some of whose owners, report says, have
made a nice little competency there. It still boasts a toll-bar of its
own, which is guarded on either side by two white wooden posts, that
take the liberty of preventing all cattle, horses, and asses from
evading the gate, and of unceremoniously squeezing into the narrowest
limits every person who prefers pavement to the highroad. Lockwood is
also important enough to receive the attention of two or three 'buses
which ply to and fro between there and Huddersfield, as well as to have
the honour of a railway station on the L. and Y. line. Of course years
ago, when Abraham Lockwood was brought into the world, this locality
was not so attractive as it now is; only a few cottages straggled along
the level or up the hill towards Berry Brow, mostly inhabited by
weavers and others employed in the cloth manufacture of the
neighbourhood. Among these humble cottages there stood, on what is
known as the Scarr, one even more unpretentious than the rest: it
boasted only one story and two or three rooms in all; it was what Abe
used to call a "one-decker."
In this little hut dwelt the parents of Abe Lockwood; the fact of their
residing in such a humble home, shows sufficiently that they were poor,
perhaps poorer than their neighbours. However, in that same
single-storied cot in Lockwood, Abe Lockwood was born, a Lockwoodite by
double right, and though age has seriously told upon its appearance, it
stands to this day. We sometimes see little old men living on, and
year by year growing less and less, until we begin to speculate about
the probable time it will require at their rate of diminution for
nothing to remain of them; and the same may be said of the little old
house in which Abe Lockwood was born; it was always little, but as
years have slowly added to its age, it has gradually begun to look
less, and now, as other houses of larger size and more improved style
have sprung up all around the neighbourhood, it has shrunk into the
most diminutive little hut that can well be imagined as a dwelling
house, and it only requires time enough for it to be gone altogether.[1]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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