by linell » Sat Apr 04, 2009 6:01 pm
The Naming of 'Cog' Baby
Early in the 19th Century Lye Waste (alias Mud City) was dubbed ‘Heathendom’ by a visiting Cleric, who declared that it’s grimy citizens had progressed little since the days of the Ancient Britons.
In 1870 an erstwhile Reporter from the ‘Good Words’ was sent to investigate the natives of Lye Waste. After firstly visiting Halesowen and Sedgley he travelled to Lye Waste, armed with the knowledge that strangers were not welcome there! But determined to learn all he could about the Lye Waste Tribe.
Before attempting to penetrate the interior, he encamped at Cradley, a slightly more civilised place. There he was warned that he would be stoned if he dared to enter Lye Waste without prior permission. His informant was a Cradley man, educated enough to possess a small library which he put at the disposal of the roving reporter. Here the Reporter learnt from a book of local Poems how to worm his way into Mud City and managed to closely investigate the curious customs of the place. He ruminated much on the nick – names of it’s various inhabitants, publishing a long list of these, which included the following: -
Pighook, Taypot, Blackbats, Tacker, Croaker, Dragon, Crackback, Bummer, Smacker and Ding.
He emphasised the point that Christian names were seldom if ever used, and many of the Lye Waste inhabitants had great difficulty in remembering their proper surnames!
However he was successful in discovering at least two of the proper names of those listed above, for he wrote:-
‘I can perfectly understand why a man named Nightingale should be nicknamed Bird, but why is a man christened Southall known as Smacker, and a man called Pearson, known as Ding?’
He illustrated his point concerning the rare use of Christian names by quoting from the volume of poetry loaned to him whilst he was in Cradley. The poem written by ‘A Cradley Bog Pudding’ tells the story of a young Lye Waste Nailer named Cog Round who is married to a Nailstress from the district known as Molly. Cog is determined that their offspring should have a proper Christian name and the Poem reproduced below tells how he sets about achieving this: -
THE NAMING OF COG BABY
At length Moll borned a fine wench
Who, Cog swore would have a name
For he, nor any of his family had,
Which made some folks cry ‘shame’
So Cog axed a neighbouring parson,
If any objection he got
To give a name to the young bairn
Which had lately come to his lot.
The Parson consented and came
And Cog capered like one wild,
And called out to Molly upstairs,
The mon cum ter christen the child.
Well then, axed the mon in the parlour,
An, I’ll be downstairs in a minnit,
An fetch the wench in with the child
So the mon can prepare to begin it.
The Priest asked what name they decided,
But both Molly and Cog did declare,
We mun leave it entirely to yoe,
For we’ strangers to names about here.
Perhaps a scripture name you’d prefer?
Why says Cog, I’ve no choice at all,
But perhaps, said the mon, Your wife has?
But the devil a word spoke Moll.
Says the Parson, - What think you of Ben?
Are, says Cog, that’ll do well enough.
So, to christen the child he prepared
With some water from an old trough.
So they christened it Ben, you must know,
And when all the ceremony was o’er,
The Parson, he gave them his blessing
And wished them good morn at the door.
But as soon as the portal was closed,
Molly bawls, as she sits on the bench.
Yoe fule, yo’ve had it called Ben,
When yoe knows very well it’s a wench.
Why the devil, said Cog date yer spake,
Befower the mon went away
When the mon axed yer wot it should be
Not the devil a word did yer say.
Cog searched but no parson could find,
And returned in a mad sullen mood,
Shouting Moll, all would have bin right
If yoe’d opened yer mouth when yoe shood.
Poor Molly so modest before,
In great fury at Cog she flies,
And Cog for to finish the scene,
Furnished Moll with a pair of black eyes.
Perhaps at these manners you’ll laugh
But surely you’ll not be surprised
When I tell you that this was the first
That was in this Village baptised.
But in this great age of improvement,
For refinement, it seems, they’ve a taste,
And who knows, in a Century to come
No place, may shine - like Lye Waste.