Joseph Mather

[John]

Joseph_Mather, (1737-1804) was born in 1737, in 'Cack Alley', a jennel which led from Lambert Street to Westbar Green. As a youth he was apprenticed to the file trade in the small works of Nicholas Jackson of Shemeld Croft.

Joseph was only small, but rather wide in breadth and for most of his younger days he belonged to the Methodists. From them he acquired a good knowledge of the Bible, from which he frequently quoted.

To earn a few extra coppers, Joe, throughout his life, composed ballads, which he sold in the streets and at public houses. Usually when selling his songs, he would ride seated the wrong way round on a grinder's donkey and sometimes on the back of a young bull. Should it start to rain he would steer the animal into the nearest alehouse.

Though Joe's moral character was reasonably good, he was easily led astray, and quite often he would finish up in the old gaol in Pudding Lane, (now King Street). This was a debtor's gaol, of only two cells, one for each sex. Sheffield folk could be sent there for owing as little as sixpence!

The ballads written by Joe symbolised the terrible conditions under which most Sheffield people lived.

One of his poems describes the Sheffield of his day, it also struck a chord with me of Sheffield in the 50's but not of today when Sheffield is a beautiful city.

Where slowly down the vale a river runs,

Of dark complexion like its crooked sons;

In a fair country, stands a filthy town,

By bugs and butchers held in high renown;

Sheffield the Black - in ugliness supreme;

Yet ugly Sheffield is my dirty theme.

Ah, luckless he, who in unhappy hour

Is doomed to walk our streets beneath the shower,

No friendly spout from the projecting paves,

The copious tribute of the clouds receives,

But headlong from the roof, in sooty showers,

Prone on the hapless passenger it pours.

While on our moonless evenings, dark and damp,

Imprudent thrift denies the public lamp

And many a dunghill graces many a street.

Whole streams of rubbish and whole seas of mud;

With turnip tops, potato peelings join,

And to their cast garments, peas and beans combine,

Providing pigs and ducks with goodly cheer;

To pigs and ducks our streets are ever dear,

May no audacious scavenger presume to wield the rake, the shovel or the broom

[RichardB]

John, Newbie, Welcome to you, great posting

Mather's stuff has stuck me as "terrible", much like most of Ebenezer Elliott's stuff (It's a date thingie), but great to see him rocognised here

[RichardB]

One cutlery manufacturer, Jonathan Watkinson of Silver Street, who had incurred the fierce indignation of the work- men by inaugurating a system of counting thirteen to the dozen, came under Mather's lash; and it was applied lustily in several bitterly personal songs.

Watkinson was Master Cutler at the time (I787), and in virtue of his office he gave a bespeak night at the theatre. The gallery was packed by indignant cutlers, and, led by Mather, they roared out the vivisectory chorus of

"Watkinson and his Thirteens"

with such persistence as finally to drive the unfortunate man out of the house.

The late Mr. John Wilson, to whom we are indebted for these and other particulars of Mather's life and songs, was informed that the ballad drove Watkinson still further, that is to his grave. Whether this were so or not, it is certain that life was made a burden to him by Mather's invectives, hurled in a song which remained for many years a prime favourite at workmen's convivialities. It never failed to bring down the house long after the original quarrel had been forgotten, and when, indeed, the custom of counting even fourteen as twelve had been accepted.

The above is from :

SchooIdays - Memories and History

Pre 20th. Century

REMINISCENCES OF SHEFFIELD by R. E. LEADER

CHAPTER 03 - CONDITION AND HABITS OF THE WORKMEN and NOTABLE CRIMES.

This out of copyright material has been transcribed by Eric Youle, who has provided the transcription on condition that any further copying and distribution of the transcription is allowed only for noncommercial purposes, and includes this statement in its entirety. Any references to, or quotations from, this material should give credit to the original author(s) or editors.

---------------------------------

And here is the song itself ....

Watkinson's Thirteens

This monster oppression behold how he stalks

Keeps picking the bones of the poor as he walks

There's not a mechanic throughout this whole land

But more or less feels the weight of his hand.

That offspring of tyranny, baseness and pride

Our rights both invaded and almost destroyed

May that man be banished to Villainy screens

Or sides with big Watkinson and his thirteens

Chorus

And may the odd knife his great carcass dissect

Lay open his vitals for men to inspect

A heart full as black as the infernal gulf

In that greedy blood sucking and bone scraping wolf

This wicked dissenter expelled his own church

Is rendered the subject of public reproach

Since reprobate marks on his forehead appeared

We all have concluded his conscience is seared

See mammon his god and oppression his aim

Hark how the streets ring with his infamous name

The boys at the playhouse exhibit strange scenes

Respecting big Watkinson and his thirteens

Chorus

We claim as true Yorkshire men leave to speak twice

That no man should work for him at any price

Since he has attempted our lives to enthral

And mingle our liquor with wormwood and gall

Beelzebub take him with his ill-got pelf

He's equally bad if not worse than thyself

So shall every cutler that honestly means

Cry 'take Watkinson and his thirteens'

[Come on SheffieldHistory, sing up, sing loud and proud!!!]

Chorus

[RichardB]

The following verse is from Mather's ‘The File Hewer’s Lamentation’:

I'm debtor to a many,

But cannot pay one penny;

Sure I've worse luck than any;

My traps are marked for sale.

My creditors may sue me,

The bailiffs may pursue me,

And lock me up in jail.

As negroes in Virginia,

In Maryland or Guinea,

Like them I must continue—

To be both bought and sold.

While ***** ships are filling

I ne'er can save one shilling,

And must, which is more killing,

A pauper die when old.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/southyorkshire/conten...d_feature.shtml

[neddy]

The Songs of Joseph Mather

http://books.google.com/books?id=RNkIAAAAQ...er&as_brr=1