JOHN DUXBURY MEMOIR

[Stanley]

JOHN DUXBURY

John Duxbury was a man, who in my boyhood I secretly worshipped; in middle life I admired him as one of the best men I ever knew; and now in my old age I revere his memory, as a man after God; [gap] our heart. To him a genuine good man, who trusted God and did that which was right is one of life’s greatest blessings. He came to Higher House Paythorne from Earby. He had been a Tackler and Overlooker in a Cotton Mill. All the farmers in the district said that he was a fool to leave a position with a good fixed income and to embark upon the precarious business of farming with all its many ups an downs. His reply was [gap] Wesleyan Local Preacher. I have a vivid recollection of his first sermon on the text "Moses, when he came to [gap] refused to be called the Son of Pharoh’s daughter. He painted a word picture of the Palace of Pharaoh, with all its luxuriousness then I saw the young Prince Moses cart it all away, to help his people. During the first five years we saw little of him at Chapel as he was a preacher in the Circuit, being very acceptable and often taking special services. When George Haworth left Tewitt Hall, he only took preaching appointments occasionally and was superintendent of the Sunday School. As his fields were next to ours I saw him nearly every day in summer time. I heard his private conversations with his neighbours, listened to what he said to his dog, when it disobeyed him. He was the first I knew who did not swear at his dog. That was my first favourable impression.

He was five years at Higher House. After the [first] he had four years of what farmers call bad luck. For some unexplained reason his cattle sickened and died. His wife a very proud woman was ill in bed for months. All the people said he would be "done up" During this time I went with Grandmother (on dark nights) to see them. I played with the boys, Walter, William Arthur, Oliver and Wilson in the kitchens, while she went upstairs. One of these nights there was a terrific gale. As we came home she said, "poor sailors a lot will lose their lives tonight, God help em". It was the night that Tay Bridge was blown down. [28th December 1879] During the year of affliction he kept his cheerfulness. I remember some of his prayers, expressing his faith in the law of providence of God. His personal appearance were, height medium, light brown whiskers, head bald, with a few dark brown curls that were around the back of his neck. He had the sweetest face I ever saw. One night, as I stood alone in the lane, near his home, I heard him coming and concealed myself, he passed me praying or singing about the goodness of God to him. He never knew how he influenced me. One night, a number of boys were playing in the dark. I saw the figure of what I thought was one of the other boys who had not done right in the game we were playing. I went up to him and in very bad language told. him off, as he did not reply, it dawned on me that perhaps it was someone else, so I went nearer, and lo, it was John Duxbury. When he knew: that I knew it was he, solemnly he said "George I'm downright sorry to have heard you speak like this, what would your Grandmother think if she had heard you". That was all, I felt in his presence to be guilty of a most serious sin. When he went down the road, I followed, as I suspected he was going to our home, when he went in I felt sure he would tell all the words I had spoken. Nine was the time I had to be in, but at that time he was still in the house. I waited, but he was still there at ten. I dare not face him, so I took off my clogs, entered quietly by the back door and up stairs to bed without supper. The following morning I confessed all to Grandmother. I finished by saying that Mr. Duxbury would tell you all last night. No, she said, he never said a word. After this year of trial, he moved to England’s Head where he was [successful] as he had hard times at Higher House. His wife's health was restored and she had the joy of having a girl born for which she had prayed. The farm was larger and the land better and he had a sympathetic owner, who was a Waddington Wesleyan and who left the Clark Legacy to the Chapel. He farmed England’s Head for 10 years, when he went to a larger farm on the outskirts of Barnoldswick. [Crook House] He died about the end of the century 1900. His widow and sons carried on the farm many years. One day as I was near I called and had tea with his widow. She made me most welcome. I was then a Local Preacher and I told her how much I owed to her husband, she told me how pleased he was with the way I had turned out, then she said "did you ever tell John, what you have now told me" I answered no. "Why didn't you", she said a little sharply, " for he would have been so pleased if you had, and its now too late."

BIRD NESTING

In spring time, finding birds nests was my favourite pastime. Lapwings, plovers, or tewitts, as we called them were the ones most sought, as their fresh eggs could be sold at a 1d. each. While I heard of others who had claimed to have sold large quantities, I never found sufficient or to have a dozen, which was the minimum number the dealer would buy. The other nest I sought for just for the love of seeking and finding. I knew the local birds and where they nested. One special incident remains which I now relate. For a long time it had been my ambition to find a Curlew's nest. One day as I was crossing the moor on what is known as Bell-moor. I almost trod on a Curlew as it flew startled from its nest. The eggs were almost as large as a goose, brown, with dark spots. What a find: I grasped the eggs, two in each hand and set off home. On my way I crossed John Duxbury’s field and seeing him, shewed him with pride my eggs and said I've found a Curlew's nest. He looked at the eggs then he looked at me and said slowly and very solemnly "George: you've robbed it would you like your life nest robbing ? !!: "I wouldn't care a bit" I replied. and went on, but before I got through the next field I had a mental vision of our home being robbed, of furniture, no food, no place to sleep, no home: it was so realistic that I wept and returned to the moor and found the empty nest and replaced the eggs. Oh the [joy?] of a word, spoken in love, by a good man.


Extracts from unpublished autobiography My Life Story by George Hargreaves 1868-1939. From Reg Postlethwaite.