Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 12

"Aye, aye, I'd needs be watchful, There's niver a soul can tell, An' happen 'twixt yan o' t' snaw-blints(3) Yan mud catch a glimpse o' t' bell.

"I reckon nowt o' t' coast-guards!

What's folks like them to say?

There's neer a yan amang 'em Knaws owt aboot oor bay.

"I's niver leave my winder Whiles there's folks as has to droon; An' it wadna be the first time As I've help'd ta wakken t' toon.

"I isn't good for mich noo, For my fourscore years is past; But I's niver quit my winder, As long as life sal last.

"'Twas us as seed them Frenchmen As wreck'd on Speeton sands; 'Twas me as seed that schooner As founder'd wi' all hands.

"'Twas me first spied oor cobles Reight ower t' end o' t' Brig, That time when all was droonded; I tell'd 'em by there rig.(4)

"Aye, man, I's neen sae drowsy, Don't talk o' bed to me; I's niver quit my winder, Whiles there's a moon to see.

"Don't talk to me o' coast-guards!

What's them to sike as me?

They hasn't got no husbands, No childer, lost i' t' sea.

"It's n.o.bbut them at's felt it, As sees as I can see; It's them as is deead already Knaws what it is to dee.

"Ye'd niver understan' me; G.o.d knaws, as dwells above, There's hearts doon here, lives, broken, What's niver lost their love.

"But better noo ye'd leave me, I's mebbe not misen; We fisher-folks has troubles No quality can ken."

1. Thick-set. 2. Bridlington.

3. Snow-storms. 4. Dress.

Aar Maggie

Edmund Hatton

I believe aar Maggie's coortin', For shoo dresses hersen so smart, An' shoo's allus runnin' to t' window When there's ony o' t' chaps abaat: Shoo willent wear her owd shawl, Bud dons a bonnet atstead,(1) An' laps her can in her gaan As shoo goes to t' weyvin' ,shed.

Of a neet wi' snoddened(2) hair, An' cheeks like a summers cherry, An' lips fair a.s.sin'(3) for kisses, An' een so black an' so merry, Shoo taks her knittin' to t' meadows, An' sits in a shady newk, An' knits while shoo sighs an' watches Wi' a dreamy, lingerin' lewk.

Thus knittin', sighin' an' watchin', Shoo caars(4) aat on t' soft meadow gra.s.s, Listenin' to t' murmurin' brooklet, An' waitin' for t' sweethear't to pa.s.s; Shoo drops her wark i' her app.r.o.n, An' glints aat on t' settin' sun, An' wonders if he goes a-courtin'

When his long day's wark is done.

When shoo hears t' chap's fooitsteps comin', Shoo rises wi' modest grace; Ay, Mag, thou sly, lovin' la.s.sie, For shame o' thy bashful face!

Shoo frames(5) to be goin' home'ards, As he lilts ower t' stile, Bud when he comes anent(6) herr, Shoo gies him sich a smile.

Then he places his arm araand her, An' shoo creeps cloise to his side, An' leyns her heead on his waiscoit, An' walks wi' an air o' pride.

Bud oh! you sud see her glances, An' oh! you sud hear 'em kiss, When they pairt thro' one another!

If shoo isn't coortin', who is?

1. Instead. 2. Smoothed out. 3. Asking.

4. Cowers, lies. 5. Makes pretence. 6. Beside.

Parson Drew Thro' Pudsey (1st Ed) or T' First o' t' Sooart (2nd Ed)

John Hartley

From pp 135, 136, 75, 76 and 77 of second edition.

I heeard a funny tale last neet, I couldn't howd frae laughin' ; 'Twere at t' Bull's Head we chonced to meet, An' spent an haar i' chaffin'.

Some sang a song, some cracked a joke, An' all seemed full o' larkin' ; An' t' raam were blue wi' bacca smoke, An' ivery ee 'd a spark in.

Long Joe at comes thro' t' Jumples Clough Were gettin' rayther mazy, An' Warkus Ned had supped enough To turn their Betty crazy, An' Bob at lives at t' Bogeggs farm, Wi' Nan thro' t' b.u.t.tress Bottom, Were treatin' her to summat warm- It's just his way. Odd drot 'em!

An' Jack o' t' Slade were theer as weel, An' Joe o' Abe's thro' Waerley, An' Lijah off o' t' Lavver Hill Were pa.s.sin' th' ale raand rarely.

Thro' raand an' square they seemed to meet To hear or tell a story, But t' gem o' all I heeard last neet Were one by Doad o' t' Glory.

He bet his booits at it were true, An' all seemed to believe him; Though if he lost he needn't rue, But 't wodn't done to grieve him.

His uncle lived it Pudsey taan, An' practised local praichin'; An' if he 're lucky, he were baan To start a schooil for taichin'.

But he were takken vary ill, He felt his time were comin'; They say he browt it on hissel Wi' studyin' his summin.

He called his wife an' neighbours in To hear his deein' sarmon, An' telled 'em if they lived i' sin Their lot 'd be a warm 'un.

Then, turnin' raand unto his wife, Said, "Mal, tha knaws, owd craytur, If I'd been blest wi' longer life I might hae left things straighter.

Joe Sooithill owes me eighteen pence; I lent it him last love-feast."

Says Mall, "He hasn't lost his sense, Thank G.o.d for that at least."

"An' Ben o' t' top o' t' bank, tha knows, We owe him one paand ten."

"Just hark," says Mally, "theer he goes, He's ramellin' agean."

"Don't tak a bit o' notice, folk; You see, poor thing, he's ravin'.

It cuts me up to hear sich talk; He's spent his life i' savin'."

"An', Mally la.s.s," he said agean, "Tak heed o' my direction, T' schooil owes me hauf a craan, I mean My share o' t' last collection.

Tha'll see to that an' have what's fair, When my poor life is past."

Says Mally, "Listen, I declare, He's sensible at last."

He shut his een and sank to rest, Death seldom claimed a better; They put him by, bud what were t' best, He sent 'em back a letter, To tell' em all haa he'd goan on, An' haa he gate to enter, An' gav 'em rules to act upon If iver they sud ventur.

Saint Peter stood wi' keys i' hand, Says he, "What do ye want, sir, If to go in, you understand, Unknown to me, you can't, sir.

Pray what's your name? Where are ye thro'(3)?

Just make your business clear?", Says he, "They call me 'Parson Drew,'

I've come thro' Pudsey here."

"Ye've come thro' Pudsey, do ye say?

Don't try sich jokes on me, sir; I've kept these doors too long a day, I can't be fooled by thee, sir."

Says Drew; "I wodn't tell a lie For t' sake o' all there's in it, If ye've a map o' England by, I'll show you in a minute."