Frank Oldfield

Frank Oldfield
or Lost and Found
by the Reverend T.P. Wilson, M.A., Rector of Smethcote
Published by T. Nelson and Sons, London, Edinburgh and New York,
1872.
Also by W. Tweedie, 337 Strand, London, and at The Office of the
United Kingdom Band of Hope Union, 5 Red Lion Square, London.
Preface
The Committee of the United Kingdom Band of Hope Union having
offered prizes of One Hundred Pounds, and Fifty Pounds respectively,
for the two best tales illustrative of Temperance in its relation to the
young, the present tale, "Frank Oldfield," was selected from eighty-four
tales as the one entitled to the first prize. The second tale, "Tim
Maloney," was written by Miss M.A. Paull, of Plymouth, and will
shortly be published. Appended is the report of the adjudicators:--
We the adjudicators appointed by the Committee of the United
Kingdom Band of Hope Union, to decide upon the Prize Tales for
which premiums of One Hundred Pounds, and Fifty Pounds, were
offered by advertisement, hereby declare that we have selected the tale
with the motto "Nothing extenuate, or set down aught in malice," as
that entitled to the First Prize of One Hundred Pounds; and the tale with
the motto "Hope on, Hope ever," as that entitled to the Second Prize of
Fifty Pounds.
As witness our hands, Thomas Cash, T. Geo. Rooke, B.A., John
Clifford, M.A., Ll.B., &c.
United Kingdom Band of Hope Union Office, 5 Red Lion Square,

London. August 3, 1869.
This book was well-written, and generally exciting throughout,
although one of the early chapters was a bit lacking in action (people
seated round the dinner-table). The action was credible and well
described. The whole thing rang very true, and for that reason might be
read by someone wishing to gain more knowledge of life two-thirds of
the way through the nineteenth century. The Reverend Wilson writes
well, and it would be pleasant to seek out and read other books from his
pen. N.H. (transcriber)
FRANK OLDFIELD, BY THE REVEREND T.P. YOUNG
CHAPTER ONE.
LOST.
"Have you seen anything of our Sammul?" These words were
addressed in a very excited voice to a tall rough-looking collier, who,
with Davy-lamp in hand, was dressed ready for the night-shift in the
Bank Pit of the Langhurst Colliery. Langhurst was a populous village
in the south of Lancashire. The speaker was a woman, the regularity of
whose features showed that she had once been good-looking, but from
whose face every trace of beauty had been scorched out by
intemperance. Her hair uncombed, and prematurely grey, straggled out
into the wind. Her dress, all patches, scarcely served for decent
covering; while her poor half- naked feet seemed rather galled than
protected by the miserable slippers in which she clattered along the
pavement, and which just revealed some filthy fragments of stockings.
"No, Alice," was the man's reply; "I haven't seen anything of your
Sammul." He was turning away towards the pit, when he looked back
and added, "I've heard that you and Thomas are for making him break
his teetottal; have a care, Alice, have a care--you'll lose him for good
and all if you don't mind."
She made him no answer, but turning to another collier, who had lately
come from his work, and was sauntering across the road, she repeated

her question,--
"Jim, have you seen anything of our Sammul?"
"No, I know nothing about him; but what's amiss, Alice? you're not
afraid that he's slipped off to the `George'?"
"The `George!' no, Jim, but I can't make it out; there must be summut
wrong, he came home about an hour since, and stripped and washed
him, then he goes right up into the chamber, and after a bit comes down
into the house with his best shoes and cap on. `Where art going,
Sammul?' says I. He says nothing, but crouches him down by the
hearth-stone, and stares into the fire as if he seed summat strange there.
Then he looks all about him, just as if he were reckoning up the odd
bits of things; still he says nothing. `Sammul,' said I, `won't you take
your tea, lad?' for it were all ready for him on the table. Still he doesn't
speak, but just gets up and goes to the door, and then to the hearth-
stone, and then he claps his head on his hands as though he were
fretting o'er summat. `Aren't you well, Sammul?' says I. `Quite well,
mother,' says he, very short like. So I just turns me round to go out,
when he jumps up and says, `Mother:' and I could see by the tears in his
eyes that he were very full. `Mother,' says he again, and then he
crouches him down again. You wouldn't believe, how strange I
felt--you might have