It wurnt long afore thay gat arm’d—sum wi’ clothes props, muk forks, ropes an’ so on, an’ thare wur sum competition yo mind, for thay wur all tryin
wich cud mak best movement so as thay cud immortalise thair names it th’ history of Haworth, for thare wur wun Joe Hobb, a handloom weaver, browt his slay boards, and as he wur goin’ daan th’ hill he did mak sum manœvures yo mind, for talk abaat fugal men i’ th’ army wen thay throw thair guns up into th’ air an’ catches em agean, thay wur nowt ta Joe, for he span his slay boards up an’ daan just like a shuttlecock. But wal this wur goin’ on th’ storm began to abate, and th’ water seemed to get less, but still thay kept at it. Wal at last a chap at thay called Dave Twirler shaated aat at he saw summat, and thay look’t way at he pointed, and thare behold it wur won o’th’ ribs o’th’ railway stickin’ up, here a dead silence tuk place which lasted for abaat three haars, for nobody durst oppen thair maath, flaid at th’ wind wud mak th’ current stronger, an’ sum o’th’ wimmen held thair tungs to that pain and misery wal thair stockings fell down ower thair clog tops; but hasumever th’ silence wur brokken by a Haworth Parish chap ’at they call Bob Gimlet, he happen’d to be thare an’ he said, na lads, look daan th’ valley, for I think I see th’ skeleton at ony rate, an’ Bob wur reight, for it wur as plain to be seen as an elephant in a shop winder.
An’ this wur a fact, it wur th’ railway thay saw,
An’ at th’ first o’th’ spectre thay all stood in awe,
For it wur smashed all i’ pieces ashamed to be seen
As tho it hed passed throo a sausidge masheen,
Wi’ horror sum fainted while others took fits,
An’ theas ’at cud stand it wir piking up th’ bits.
But after a while when thay all becum calm,
Thay gathered together like bees in a swarm,
Resolved to pick up all th’ fragments an’ th’ wood,
An’ splice ’em together as weel as thay cud,
Hasumever thay started a putting it streight,
An’ wi spelking and braying thay soin made it reight.
Six months nah elapsed, an’ th’ gert job wur done,
An’ th’ next thing to argue wur wen it sud run;
So thay sent Joe a Stirks araand wi his bell,
An’ gave him strict orders at he wur to tell
At th’ inspector hed been an’ examined it throo,
An’ cum to th’ conclusion at th’ railway wud do.
So to wark wi’ a vengeance, the bellman set to
To warn up a meeting at th’ Black Bull,
It wod a dun yo all good to hear Joey shaat,
For thay heard him distinctly for miles all abaat,
For i’ less ner ten minits, thay flockt so fast,
While Jonny Broth’s horses thay cudnt get past.
So thay framed on wi’ th’ meeting an’ th’ chairman spak first,
An’ tell’d ’em at th’ railway wur finish’d at last,
An’ declared at th’ inspector hed passed when he cum
Both viaducts an’ bridges as saand as a plum;
As for sinkin’ agean thay wud do nowt o’th’ sort,
For thay sailed throo th’ arches i’ Marriner Boat.
So he hoped i’ this meeting thay all wud agree,
An’ settle when th’ oppening o’th’ railway sud be,
He thout for his part tho he nobbut wur one,
At first day o’ April wur t’ fittest to run,
Wen a voice sed, sit daan or I’ll pelt thee wi spoils,
Duz ta think at wur baan to be April foils?
Then up on to th’ platform jump’d Red Dicky Brook,
Along wi his uncle, Black Tom at Dyke Nook,
Determined to sattle an’ bring things araand,
As th’ railway wur finished, both proper an’ saand;
So thay pitched on a day, it wur April the fourth,
To oppen th’ grand railway fra Lundon to Haworth.
It wur carried as usual, bi th’ showin’ o’ hands,
Amidst great rejoicin’ an playin’ o’ bands,
Both oud men an’ wimen had a smile on thair face,
For all wur dead certain it wur baan to tak’ place,
So thay fled to thair homes like bees to a hive,
Impashent an’ ankshus for th’ day to arrive.