WILLIAM BUCKERIDGE
THE TOWN CRIER is now to be seen full fig in the new dress ordered by the Corporation, the distinguishing characteristic of which is the cocked hat, recalling the memory of this important functionaries of bye-gone days - the parish beadles.
On presenting himself in his unique investiture in the Market on Thursday, Buckeridge came in for considerable compliment and humorous admiration from his numerous agricultural friends.
On the next page a rhyme appears and follows in full at the foot of this article.
So no wonder that our Crier came in for "a good deal of chaff when he first made his appearance in this unique attire", and quickly "went back to the more sober top hat with gold lace."
BS 01/21
THE NEW CIVIC HEADPIECE
Behold the glories of our Crier's new cocked hat!
O, spectacle of grandeur! such as surely never sat
Upon the brow of heroes of the olden time.
Brave veterans on tented fields or ocean brine,
Nelson, Napoleon,—Wellington, and Blucher, two
Familiar now by full-length boot or highlow shoe!
O hat triangular! a sight for this degenerate age,
When billycocks, and wideawakes, and caps are all tha rage
From parson down to ploughboy! e'en policemen long have dropped
The familiar chimney pot so hard and shiny topped;
Fierce visaged bearskins to Glengarry caps give place,
And of its wonted terrors rob the military face!
Nay, rather would we turn to view the welcome sight,
Our brand-new Fire Brigade, with brazen helmets bright,
Prompting the thought of future brave heroic deed
With fire engine and fire escape in time of direct need!
Who dares to say indeed, a headpiece cannot speak ?
Where, shorn of crested helm would be the classic Greek?
Where, too, if wigs were doffed, would dwell our judges' sapient wit?
How would the noble savage, minus his tufted scalp, for war be fit ?
Oh honoured then, thrice honoured, the three-corned hat
Which with new dignity surmounts the functionary that
In full-blown grandeur of municipal attire,
Scarce can we recognize our friend the old Town Crier!
Never in Newbury's palmy days of yore, I ween,
Was headpiece so imposing in its fashion seen!
Talk to me not of Mayor's and Corporation's robes,
Of priestly copes and chasubles and albs and stoles,
How feebly do these spread a wondering awe around
Compared with the three-cornered hat which now has crowned
Our bellman's pericranium in glories that outshine
The pomp of courtly heralds in the olden time!
Now at the silver tinkle of that well-known bell,
Silence! ye small boys! yelping curs, farewell!
Ye German bands, shut up! ye engines, shut off steam!
Ye bicyclists, dismount! organs be mute! let no one dream
Of interrupting by hoarse shouting or irreverent chat,
The message issuing from stentorian lungs beneath that hat!
Lost purses, concerts, straying dogs, fish fresh to sell,
New showmen come to town,—what news he has to tell!
Never, except perchance in columns of the Weekly News,
Is such variety of speech, to interest or amuse:
And now secure from ever falling dull or flat,
By the enlivening presence of the new three-cornered hat!
Oh honour to our Councillors, who thereby did desire
To dignify the Borough in the person of the Crier!
Long may he wear his hat, long may he ring his bell,
Long may he walk about with bills, and stick them up as well!
And may the traders of the town wax prosperous and fat,
Bearing their heads aloft, as though each wore just such a hat!
W.
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