on of Jonathan Wright, farmer, Damems. My mother was
a daughter of Crispin Hill, farmer and cartwright, of Harden, and she
enjoyed a relationship with Nicholson, the Airedale poet. I can trace my
ancestry back for a long period. The Wrights at one time belonged to the
rights of Damems. Then according to Whitaker's "Craven" and "Keighley:
Past and Present", "Robert Wright, senior, and Robert Wright, junior,"
ancestors of mine, fought with Earl de Clifford, of Skipton, on Flodden
Field. I believe I am correct in saying that since that event the name of
Robert has been retained in our family down to the present time--a
brother of mine now holding the honour. Several of my ancestors, along
with my grand father, are buried in the Keighley Parish Church-yard, at
the east end. But it strikes me that I'm going astray a little.

A MUSICAL FATHER

Many old townsfolk--especially those musically inclined--will remember my
father, who was a vocalist of no mean repute;--at least, this was said of
him in general. Possessing a rich tenor voice, he was in great demand,
both publicly and privately. He occupied the position of leading singer
in the Keighley Parish Church Choir, at the time when the late Mr. B. F.
Marriner and other gentlemen were prominently associated with the Church.
His services were often requisitioned on the occasion of anniversaries of
places of worship, &c. In those days, mind you, "t'anniversary Sunday"
was regarded as a big and auspicious event. Great preparations were made
for it, and when the service did take place people attended from miles
around; I believe the singing was relied on as the chief "fetching"
medium. But somehow or other I never did care much for singing--I really
didn't. Nevertheless I ought to say we had an abundance--I was going to
say over-abundance--of singing in our house; indeed, the word used is not
nearly sufficiently expressive--_I_ had singing to breakfast, singing to
dinner, singing to supper, singing to go to bed--Ah! My pen was going
further, but I just managed to stop it. One really must, you know,
represent things as they stand.

A MISCHIEVOUS BOYHOOD

But, as I have told you, I didn't take to singing. I would ten times ten
rather be "away to the woods, away!" I recollect that when I was a little
boy--my parents _said_ I was a little naughty boy--I got into endless
scrapes. But people will talk. Roaming in the woods had an especial charm
for me; and Peace Close Woo