The Story of Sammy Buttercup

A newspaper advert for Sammy Buttercup's Lancashire Sketches

Who was Sammy Buttercup?

​George Newbrook, better known under his nom de plume of ‘Sammy Buttercup’ was a prolific writer of Lancashire Sketches. His humorous productions appeared in newspapers and literary supplements week by week up to the time of his death.
​Over 130 of his Lancashire Sketches were printed in the Leigh Chronicle, including ‘Grond Dooins at Croft’ and ‘Little Billy’ as well as a series under the title ‘Th’ Jubilee Debatin’ Club’ which also appeared in the Liverpool Weekly Post.
Sammy was in great request for recitations and comic sketches at local parties and social gatherings where his ready wit but quiet and unassuming manner made him invariably a universal favourite.

He sadly died on 20th February 1890. After his burial the Liverpool Daily Post wrote –

Yesterday, the mortal remains of George Newbrook, better known throughout Lancashire, and, indeed, the whole of the United Kingdom, as Sammy Buttercup, were interred in the churchyard of Croft, near Warrington.

Sammy has been ailing for a considerable time, the first symptoms of what has proved to be a fatal illness showing themselves so long ago as September last. He continued to grow weaker, and gradually lost the use of his eyesight, and became unable to read or write. He rallied somewhat towards the end of January, but catching cold early in the present month, he relapsed, and died on the 20th inst.

Sammy was born in Manchester on the 5th March 1835, and had thus almost completed his fifty-fifth year. He is survived by a widow and a grown-up family.

Widely known as Sammy’s writings were, few could claim to have a personal acquaintance with him; indeed, his personality was a mystery to many. A quiet, unassuming man, one would not readily suppose that his was the hand that wrote so many mirth-provoking tales.

In the small cottage at Croft where Sammy spent the latter days of his life, he composed some of the wittiest anecdotes. Brimful of that humour which pleases best of all, because it came naturally and without any apparent effort, Sammy’s favourite couplet

“Grief to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt;
Whilst every grin, so merry, draws one out.”

Expresses in small compass his own genial and lovable disposition. He was a great reader, and thought much on what he read; yet this passion for reading and writing with which he was possessed contributed in no small degree to his untimely death.
He moved in a very lowly sphere of life, and thus it is that his writings will endear him in the memory of that class in particular. He was not lacking in conversational powers, as an hour’s conversation with him would amply testify. His mind was stored with a large amount of general knowledge, from which he could draw to an unlimited extent.

Our Croft correspondent writes: - “A well-known person has been removed by the band of death from amongst the inhabitants of Croft, Mr. George Newbrook, the original “Sammy Buttercup” and Lancashire sketch writer, having died at his residence at Millhouse Brow, Croft, about 20 minutes past 11 o’clock on Thursday morning last, at the age of 54 years. Some months ago he broke a blood vessel, and was confined to his house for a short time, and was attended to by Dr. Sephton, of Culcheth, when he recovered a little, though he has never been in very good health since. He was, however, taken worse a few weeks ago, and gradually became weaker, and died as stated.

He was a man of very quiet disposition, and will be regretted by a large circle of friends amongst whom he visited. His funeral took place at Christ Church, Croft, on Sunday afternoon last, the ceremony being performed by the rector, the Rev. T. P. Kirkman. Several friends from Leigh and Croft were present to witness the funeral ceremony at the church.

The grave of George Newbrook at Christ Church

The original stone

The original 2' square stone, made of slate, must have been unsuitable from damage and was replaced with the ledger stone. Later, the original was restored and added to the ledger. It has on it the quote:
“Grief to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt;
Whilst every grin, so merry, draws one out.”

LEIGH CHRONICLE & WEEKLY DISTRICT ADVERTISER
​FRIDAY 9TH MARCH 1888

LANCASHIRE SKETCHES
No. XXXII – LITTLE BILLY
BY THE ORIGINAL SAMMY BUTTERCUP

Aw'm beawn to tell yo a bit ov a tale abeawt a chap at Croft, that bootiful little sitty ut lics abeawt six mile fro Leighth, 3,022 fro New York, an five fro Warrinton.

Neaw aw may as weel tell yo as heaw Croft's a varry aynshunt place, an th' reeason on't not bein menshund i'th Hist'ry o' Hinglond is bocose thoose ut wrote it didno goo to th' trubble o' payin it a visit to mak enquiries.

Neaw iv yo'll look i' Scriptur yo'll find it sez summat abeawt Moses bein fun i' some bullrushes, but it doesno say eggsactly wheer thoose rushes wur; but, iv aw remember reight, thoose rushes wur asoide o' where th' Booard Skoo is neaw, tho' th' rushes wur taen away mony a year sin to mak porayter hampers on.

Then agean, in another place, yo'll find summat abeawt Jonah swallerin a whale; but that's sich greyt while sin ut thers no trace left i' Croft o' noather Jonah nor t' whale, an th' lond bein plow'd up so mich so as to plant green peighs an carrots, its mich iv they ever find ony trace on't.

In another place yo find it menshund abeawt Jacob's ladder. Neaw thers a greyt mony ladders i' Croft, an they'n getten mixt up so mich ut thers no tellin which wur Jacob's ladder.

Neaw thers an owd smithy at Croft-bin theer monya hunderd year -- an accordin to th' Hist'ry o' Lankesher, it wur at this smithy wheer Oliver Crummell stopt to get shoon put on his hosses when he wur on his rode to Preston. When th' hosses ud getton their shoon on, he marcht his army to Leighth, an ther wur feet marks ov his cannon wheels uppoth hee rode for mony a year after, but thers no trace left on um neaw.
Oliver Crummell stopt o neet at th' King's Arms, Leighth, an th' next mornin, after he'd blown Whalley Abbey deawn, an Windleshaw Abbey, Sant Helen, he marcht his sowgers to l'reston.

Aw'm gettin off mi tale a bit, but as Croft wur a varry nooated place i' owden toimes, an nob'dy seeums to know mich abeawt it at th' present toime, aw think its just as weel to gie my readers a bit ov a descripshun on't.

It's not a varry largely-populated place, an at th'present toime its mooastly populated wi men, wimmin,an childer. Ov course thers a toothri hosses an keaws,an a toothri pigs an fowl, an loikewoise horn'd ponies an a four-legg'd cock, but aw dunno want to enter into nat’ral hist’ry.

Neaw ther's some varry owd inhabitants at Croft - some on ums bin livin theer ever sin they flit fro some-wheer else, au some's lived theer o ther loif-an its varry seldom ut a deeath taks place theer, becose its sich a healthy little spot.
Yo seen they get th' sea breeze fro th' Isle o' Mon every mornin bi t’ fust train, an th' climate theer doesno vary so mich-thermometers theer never goo deawn aboon 90 degrees below zero i'winter, nor aboon 327 n ‘arf i' summer.

Ther isno a doctor for miles, becose they dunno need ony. Thers noather warkheawses, ragged skoos, infirmaries, nor prisons, an th' inhabitants behave theirsels so weel ut it nobbut needs one poleesmon.

Some foak may happen think ut thers no building at Croft nobbut a toothri farm-heawses ; but lemmi tell yo ut thers a grond brewery theer, wi twelve acres ov a orchard attatch'd to't, wheer they con get moor gooseberries i'th seeason nor what ud mak apple dumpling enuf to feed o Lankesher.

Then thers a Church, a Catholic Chapel, a Unitarian Chapel, a Booard Skoo, a Pooast Offis, a Penny Bank, a Burial Society, Horticultural Society, an a Oldfellas' Lodge, but aw conno understond these Oddfellas at o, becose they're welly o married men.
Th' "Charge of the Light Brigade" took place at Croft. Aw dunno meean thoose " noble six hundred, becose ther wur aboon six theausand o' these, an Paddy Flynn wur chargin un wi a leeted candle an a toastin-fork, an it wur set deawn i' hist'ry as th' " Massacre of the Innocents."

Th' Battle o' Wayterloo wur fowten somewhere between Charley Wild's Farm an th' General Elliot Hotel, an th' Hindyun Mutiny took place in a field belungin to Measter Sankey.

Dick Turnip stopt o neet at Croft when he wur on his rode fro Lunnon to York, an th' Mail Coach fro Liverpool to Jerusalem used to stop three days so as th'passengers could goo o' getherin strawberries.

Ther used to be a deol o' weyvin an fustin-cuttin i'Croft, an th' King o' Shanty onest went theer to be mezzerd for a numbrell an a pair o' breeches.

Aw've just dropt across a bit o' poetry abeawt Croft, ut wur written bi oather Lungfella or Shortfella, somewheer abeawt th' toime o'th fust Revolushun i'Seringapotater, so aw'l just gie yo a copy on't :-

CROFT
Thers a little spot co'd Croft,
O, aw've bin theer varry oft,
Its as nice a little spot as e'er wur seen ;
With its ripplin brooks an rills,
With joy my heart it fills,
An its grond i' summer, when its fields are green.

Thers ponies theer wi horns,
A farmer plagued wi corns,
An a cock ut struts abeawt wi four legs ;
A clock i'th frunt o'th skoo,
Tho' too lazy for to goo,
An a duck they sen ut oft lays gowden eggs.
 
Then thers Polly Ann McGuire,
With a yead as red as foyar,
Thers Paddy Flynn an Jeremy O'Neil ;
An thers little Jonty Roe,
Wi a blister on his toe,
An a greyt big mustard playster on his heel.
 
Thers a farmer theer wi't gout,
An his woife waynt let him out,
An a widder woman wi a wooden leg,
An then thers Jemmy G .,
Sometoimes he gets on th' spree,
An tho' wealthy oftoimes bacco he will beg.
 
Thers another chap --- Pee Heyes --
He's a boy for heytin peighs,
An little Sammy Yates goos killin pigs ;
Then thers little Jemmy Shaw,
He loikes a bit o' jaw,
An he's varry fond o' doncin Irish jigs.
 
An thers Charley Wild -aw'm sure
He is a perfect cure-
But as good a bit o' comp'ny as yo'il find ;
He could tell yo mony a tale
As ud mak yo'r face turn pale,
An he sez keaws' tails are allus hung behind.
 
Jemmy Johnson keeps a farm,
An he's seven cats i'th barn,
He sez he keeps um theer the rats to scare;
Then thers Roddy wi his gun,
Sometoimes he has some fun --
He one toime kill'd a hedgehog for a hare.

But to mi tale.

Little Billy warks at that smithy " hereinbefore menshund," as th' lawyers sez. He's a varry quiet an daysent soart ov a chap, an aw'm sartin his woife's getten a good husband.

Neaw Billy wauks abeawt two mile to his wark in a mornin an two mile back agean at neet, an he's never missin nobbut when he's absent.

His measter wanted to goo whoam a bit sooner tother day, so he towd Billy to put th' hoss i'th trap, an he went to get a gill o' ale while Billy geet it raddy.

After he'd bin i'th aleheawse abeawt hauve an heawr, he went eawt to see what Billy wur doin, an he fun him stondin theer lookin gradely puzzled.
"Is it raddy yet, Billy ?" th' measter axt.
" Aye, aw think it'll do neaw, " sed Billy.
" But what's this doin here ?" th' measter sed, when he seed th' hoss's collar lyin uppoth floor.
" Why, aw couldno find a place for that," sed Billy, "an aw thowt it ud happen do witheawt."
" But it'll not do witheawt," sed his measter, "look sharp an get it on, becose aw want to be gooin."
" Wheer does it goo!" sed Billy, as he poikt th'collar up an lookt at it.
" Why, it goos on it neck, to be sure," sed his measter, an then he went in for another gill.

Billy pood th' yead gear off th' hoss an tried to put th' collar on, but he kept th' narrow eend up, an for o he kept thrutchin an swattin, an welly shuved th' hoss i'th doytch, he couldno get th' collar o'er it yead.

" Aw'll be heng'd iv aw con understond this," sed Billy to hissel, as he stared fust at th' collar an then th'hoss's vead, "this here's oather gone less or else th'hoss's yead's gone bigger.But it happen doesno goo o'er it yead, " he sed, as a fresh thowt struck him.
Then he took th' hoss eawt o'th trap, an geet booath it hinder legs throo t' collar, an tried to get it on that rode, but it wur no use, for when he geet it up to it tail he couldno get it no furr.

"Its no use tryin, " he sed to hissel, as he clapt th'collar uppoth floor, "thers summat wrang somewheer. Aw darst bet th’ Bank o’ Hinglond, Iv aw had it, ut that hoss wern't mezzer'd for this collar.'

Th' measter coom cawt agean in a bit to see iv trap wur raddy, but it wur just same as it wur afoar.
" Hasn to getten that collar on yet, Billy ?" he sed.
" Nawe, " sed Billy, "an aw'd loike to see th' chap as con put it on.
"Put it on ? Why, it goos on yezzy enuf," sed th' measter, as he geet howd o'th collar and slipt it o'er th' hoss's yead, an Billy stood starein at him loike a thunner-struck grasshopper.
 
Billy couldno gie o’er thinkin abeawt th' hoss's collar. It wur th' topmost thing in his mind o neet, in fact he actily dreamt abeawt it that neet, geet up in his sleep, an wakken'd th' woife wi tryin to shuve th' hondle o'th kettle o'er her yead.
Then ther wur a gradely flare-up, becose th' woife thowt as heaw he wur tryin to murder her, till Billy wakken'd an towd her abeawt th' hoss's collar.

Heawever, things are o reight agean neaw, an Billy ul know heaw to put a collar on i' futur.