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 assin'(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 grass,
Listenin' to t' murmurin' brooklet,
An' waitin' for t' sweethear't to pass;
Shoo drops her wark i' her appron,
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' lassie,
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' Buttress 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 passin' 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 God 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 lass," 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."
So Peter gate a time-table,
They gloor'd(4) ower t' map together,
An' Drew did all at he were able,
But couldn't find it either.
At last says he, "There's Leeds Taan Hall,
An' there stands Bradford's Mission;
It's just between them two—that's all,
Your map's an old edition.
"Bud theer it is—I'll lay a craan;—
An' if ye've niver knawn it,
Ye've miss'd a bonny Yorkshire taan,
Though monny be at scorn it."
He oppen'd t' gate; says he, "It's time
Somebody coom—I'll trust thee;—
Tha'll find inside no friends o' thine,
Tha'rt first at's coom thro' Pudsey."
1. Makes pretence. 2. Beside.
3. From. 4. Stared.
Pateley Reaces 1874
Anonymous
From The Nidderdill Olminao, 1875,
edited by "Nattie Nidds" (Pateley Bridge).
Attention all, baith great an' small,
An' doan't screw up your feaces;
While I rehearse i' simple verse,
A count o' Pateley Reaces.
Fra all ower moors they com by scores
Girt skelpin'(1) lads an' lasses;
An' cats an' dogs, an' coos an' hogs,
An' horses, mules an' asses.
Awd foaks were thar, fra near an' far,
At couldn't fairly hopple;
An' laffin' brats, as wild as cats,
Ower heeads an' heels did topple.
The Darley lads arrived i' squads,
Wi' smiles all ower their feaces;
An' Hartwith youths, wi' screwed-up mooths,
In wonder watched the reaces.
Fra Menwith Hill, and Folly Gill,
Thorngat, an' Deacon Paster,
Fra Thruscross Green, an' t' Heets Were seen
Croods coomin' thick an' faster.
'Tween Bardin Brigg and Threshfield Rig
Awd Wharfedeale gat a thinnin';
An' Ger'ston plods(2) laid heavy odds
On Creaven Lass for winnin'.
Sich lots were seen o' Hebdin Green,
Ready sean on i' t' mornin',
While Aptrick chaps, i' carts and traps,
Were off to Pateley spornin'.(3)
All Greenho Hill, past Coddstone's kill,(4)
Com toltherin'(5) an' singin',
Harcastle coves, like sheep i' droves,
Awd Palmer Simp were bringin'.
Baith short an' tall, past Gowthit Hall,
Tup dealers kept on steerin',
For ne'er before, roond Middles Moor,
Had there been sich a clearin'.
All kinds and sorts o' games an' sports,
Had Pateley chaps provided,
An' weel did t' few their business do
At ower 'em all persided.
'T'wad tak a swell a munth to tell
All t' ins an' t' oots o' t' reaces,
Hoo far they ran, which horses wan,
An' which were back'd for pleaces.
Awd Billy Broon lost hauf a croon
Wi' Taty-Hawker backin',
For Green Crag flew, ower t' hurdles true,
An' wan t' match like a stockin'.
An' Creaven Lass won lots o' brass,
Besides delightin' t' Brockils,
An' Eva danc'd, an' rear'd and pranc'd;
An gif(6) she stood o' cockles.
But t' donkey reace were star o' t' pleace,
For awd an' young observers;
'Twad meade a nun fra t' convent run
An' ne'er again be nervous.
Tom Hemp fra t' Stean cried oot, "Weel dean,"
An' t' wife began o' chaffin';
Whal Kirby Jack stack up his back,
An' nearly brast wi' laffin'.
Sly Wilsill Bin, fra een to chin,
Were plaister'd up wi' toffy,
An' lang-leg Jane, he browt frae t' Plain,
Full bent on winnin' t' coffee.
Young pronsy(7) flirts, i' drabbl'd skirts,
Like painted peeacocks stritches(8);
While girt chignons like milkin'-cans
On their top-garrits perches.
Fat Sal fra' t' Knott scarce gat to t' spot,
Afore she lost her bustle,
Which sad mishap quite spoil'd her shap,
An' meade her itch an' hustle.
Lile pug-nosed Nell, fra Kettlewell,
Com in her Dolly Vardin,
All frill'd an' starch'd she proodly march'd
Wi' squintin' Joe fra Bardin.
Tha're cuffs an' falls, tunics an' shawls,
An' fancy pollaneeses,
All sham displays, ower tatter'd stays,
An' hard-worn ragg'd chemises.
Tha're mushroom fops, fra' fields an' shops,
Fine cigarettes were sookin',
An' lots o' youths, wi' beardless mooths,
All kinds o' pipes were smookin'.
An' when at last the sports were past,
All heamward turn'd their feaces;
To ne'er relent at e'er they spent
A day wi' Pateley Reaces.
1. Huge 2. Grassington labourers.
3. Spurring. 4. Kiln. 5. Hobbling.
6. If 7. Over-dressed. 8. Strut about.
Play Cricket (1909)
Ben Turner
Whativer task you tackle, lads,
Whativer job you do,
I' all your ways,
I' all your days,
Be honest through an' through:
Play cricket.
If claads oppress you wi' their gloom,
An' t' sun seems lost to view,
Don't fret an' whine,
Ask t' sun to shine,
An' don't o' livin' rue:
Play cricket.
If you're i' debt, don't growl an' grunt,
An' wish' at others had
T' same want o' luck;
But show more pluck,
An' ne'er mak others sad:
Play cricket.
If in your days there's chonce to do
Good deeds, then reight an' fair,
Don't hesitate,
An' wait too late,
An' say you'n(1) done your share:
Play cricket.
We've all a row to hoe, that's true,
Let's do it best we can;
It's nobbut once
We have the chonce
To play on earth the man:
Play cricket.
1. You have.