One hundred years ago
. . Most of these facts are taken down from the lips of a very fine old sailor, who has been 48 times across the Atlantic in sailing vessels, and in many other parts of the world besides. He is now 73. . . . He was born in Robin Hood's Bay, and never was at school except for one week. . . . The schoolmaster-parson was of the type now happily extinct. He worked hard all the week, and came down into the town every Saturday night and got tipsy. Every one was so used to this that they thought nothing of it. The parish clerk took him home. The doctor was always tipsy too. The parson would not marry anyone — that is, everyone knew that he would be ill received, if he did not carry a bottle of rum to church with him. A glass of this was offered for luck to the first man whom the young couple met on their way thither; the clergyman did not like to begin the service until he had had one; and when the ceremony was performed, he, the clerk, and the sexton finished the bottle, after which it was the custom to throw it over the bride's head for luck, and break it against a tombstone.
The Spectator, 28 August 1886
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