Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 9

My awd hat

Thomas Blackah

I'll wear thee yet awhile, awd hat, I'll wear thee yet awhile; Though time an' tempest, beath combined, Have changed thy shap an' style.

For sin we two togither met, When thoo were nice an' new, What ups an' doons i' t' world we've had, Bud awlus braved 'em through.

That glossy shade o' thine, awd hat, That glossy shade o' thine, At graced thy youthful days is gean, Which maks me noo repine.

Fra monny a gleam an' monny a shoor Thoo's sheltered my awd heead; Bud sean a smarter, tider hat Will shelter 't i' thy steead.

Though friends have proved untrue, awd hat, Though friends have proved untrue, An' vanished in adversity, Like mist or mornin' dew; Yet when fierce storms or trials com I fand a friend i' thee; Sea noo, when thoo's far on, awwd hat, Thoo 'st finnd a friend i' me.

Some nail or crook 'll be thy heame O' t' joists, or back o' t' door; Or, mebbe, thoo'l be bunched(1) aboot Wi' t' barns across o' t' floor.

When t' rain an' t' wind coom peltin' through Thy crumpled, battered croon, I'll cut thee up for soles to wear I' my awd slender shoon.

1. Kicked

Reeth Bartle Fair(1) (1870)

John Harland

This mworning as I went to wark, I met Curly just coomin' heame; He had on a new flannin sark(2) An' he saw at I'd just gitten t' seame.

"Whar's te been?" said awd Curly to me.

"I've been down to Reeth Bartle Fair."

"Swat(3) te down, mun, s.e.x needles,"(4) said he, An' tell us what seets te saw there."

"Why, t' lads their best shoon had put on, An' t' la.s.ses donn'd all their best cwoats; I saw five pund of Scotch wether mutton Sell'd by Ward and Tish Tom for five grwoats.

Rowlaway had fine cottons to sell, b.u.t.teroy lace an' handkerchers browt; Young Tom Cwoats had a stall tuv hissel, An' had ribbins for varra near nowt.

"Thar was Enos had good brandy-snaps, Bill Brown as good spice as could be; Potter Robin an' mair sike-like chaps Had t' bonniest pots te could see.

John Ridley, an' awd w.i.l.l.y Walls, An' Naylor, an' twea or three mar, Had apples an' pears at their stalls, An' Gardener Joe tea was thar.

"Thar was scissors an' knives an' read(5) purses, An' plenty of awd cleathes on t' nogs,(6) An' twea or three awd spavin'd horses, An' plenty o' shoon an' new clogs.

Thar was plenty o' good iron pans, An' pigs at wad fill all t' deale's hulls(7); Thar was baskets, an skeps, an' tin cans, An' bowls, an' wood thivles for gulls.(8)

"Thar was plenty of all maks(9) o' meat, An' plenty of all sworts o' drink, An' t' la.s.ses gat monny a treat, For t' gruvers(10) war all full o' c.h.i.n.k.

I cowp'd(11) my black hat for a white un, Lile Jonas had varra cheap cleath; Jem Peac.o.c.k an' Tom talk'd o' feightin', But Gudgeon Jem Puke lick'd 'em beath.

"Thar was dancin' an' feightin' for ever, Will Wade said at he was quite griev'd; An' Pedlety tell'd 'em he'd never Forgit 'em as lang as he leev'd.

They knock'd yan another about, Just wa.r.s.e than a sham to be seen, Charlie Will look'd as white as a clout, Kit Puke gat a pair o' black een.

"I spied our awd la.s.s in a newk, Drinkin' shrub wi' grim Freesteane, fond lad; I gav her a varra grow(12) leuk; O, connies,(13) but I was just mad.

Sea I went to John Whaites's to drink, Whar I war'd(14) twea an' seempence i' gin; I knaw not what follow'd, but think I paddl'd through t' muck thick an' thin.

"For to-day, when I gat out o' bed, My cleathes were all sullied sea sar, Our Peggy and all our fwoak said To Reeth Fair I sud never gang mar.

But it's rake-time,(15) sea I mun away, For my partners are all gain' to wark."

Sea I lowp'd up an bade him good day, An' wrowt at t' Awd Gang(16) tell 't was dark."

1. The fair held at Reeth in Swaledale on St. Bartholomew's Day, August 24.

2. s.h.i.+rt. 3. Sit.

4. "s.e.x needles" is literally the interval of time during which a knitter would work the loops off six needles.

5. Red. 6. Pegs. 7. Sties.

8. Sticks for stirring hasty puddings.

9. Sorts. 10. Miners. 11. Bartered. 12. Ugly.

13. Mates. 14. Spent. 15. Time for the next s.h.i.+ft.

16. A lead mine

The Christmas Party (1876)

Tom Twistleton

When cowd December's st.u.r.dy breeze In chimley-tops did grumble, Or, tearing throug'h the leafless trees, On lang dark neets did rumble, A lot o' young folks, smart an' gay, An' owds uns, free an' hearty, Agreed amang thersels at they Would have a Christmas party At hame some neet

They kicked up sich a fuss an' spreead, An' made sich preparations; They baked grand tarts an' mixed their breead Wi' spices frae all nations.

To drive away baith want an' cowd It seem'd their inclination; An' t' neebours round, baith young an' owd, All gat an invitation To gang that neet.

Smart sprigs o' spruce an' ivy green Were frae the ceiling hinging, An' in their midst, conspicuous seen, The mistletoe was swinging.

The lamp shone forth as clear as day, An' nowt was there neglected; An' t' happy, smiling faces say, Some company is expected To coom this neet.

An' first com Moll wi' girt lang Jack, A strapping, good-like fella; An' following closely at their back Com Bob and Isabella.

With "How's yoursel?" an' "How d'ye do?"

They sit down i' their places, Till t' room sae big, all through an' through, Wi' happy smiling faces Was filled that neet.

A merrier lot than this I name Ne'er met at onny party; All girt grand b.a.l.l.s they put to shame, They were sae gay an' hearty.

Here yan had made hersel quite fine, Wi' lace an' braid's a.s.sistance; An' there a girt grand crinoline, To keep t' lads at a distance, Stood out that neet.

The lads draw up to t' fire their chairs, An' merrily pa.s.s their jokes off; The la.s.ses all slip off upstairs, To pu' their hats an' cloaks off.

Befoor a gla.s.s that hings at t' side They all tak up their station, An' think within theirsels wi' pride They'll cause a girt sensation 'Mang t' lads that neet.

An' now the l.u.s.ty Christmas cheer Is browt out for t' occasion; To pies an' tarts, an' beef an' beer, They git an invitation.

An' some, i' tune to put it by, Play havoc on each dainty, Whal some there is, sae varra shy, Scarce let theirsels have plenty To eat that neet.

Against the host o' good things there They wage an awful battle; They're crying out, "A lile bit mair!"

An' plates an' gla.s.ses rattle.

Here, yan's nae time a word to pa.s.s, Thrang(1) supping an' thrang biting; There, simpering sits a girt soft la.s.s That waits for mich inviting An' fuss that neet.

An' when this good substantial fare Has gien 'em satisfaction, They side(2) all t' chairs, an' stand i' pairs, Wi' heels i' tune for action.

See-sawing, t' fiddler now begins The best that he is able; He rosins t' stick an' screws up t' pins An' jumps up on to t' table, To play that neet.