lancashire-poems - Tumblr blog

[lancashire-poems]

Gi'e Me a Day

Gie me a day wi' two breet een, An' smilin' lips an' a kissin' face; A day i' th' sun 'mid th' blue an' green- An' I wouldn't swop shops wi' His Grace.

Gie me a day wi' a bonny girl, Wheer th' fleawers are bloomin' an' th' sweet birds sing, Away from th' teawn an' its clatterin' whirl, An' I wouldn't swop shops wi' th' King.

Gie me a day wi' my own dear lass, A day when th' weather's i' gradely trim, When there's glory i' th' sky an' joy i' th' grass, An' I wouldn't swop shops wi' th' Cherubim!

~ Teddy Ashton's Lancashire Poems by Teddy Ashton (Allen Clarke), 1928

Well it's been a year since I made this blog, and I've barely done anything lmao. I've moved house twice, big life changes, but stuff's settling now so hopefully I can get back on top of things. Will be adding some non-poetry, maybe a bit of history of customs/traditions from the John Harland books

[lancashire-poems]

Th' Courtin' Neet (Part 1)

It's getten time to leave mi wark, An' wesh and dress misel'; Becose to neet, at th' edge o' dark, Aw meet wi' Rosy Bell; Before aw left, last Sunday neet, Aw grasp'd her hont i' mine, An' promised her, iv o wur reet, Aw'd go,if it wur fine.

We're rare an' noicely matched, us two, It's plain enough to see, For nob'dy could mak' more ado Nor Rosy does o' me; We allis meet abeawt one place, At th' end o' th' garden wo; Hoo grins an' laughs all o'er her face, Aw grin an' laugh an o.

Her mother looked as shy as owt, Th' furst neet aw went i' th' heawse, Aw durs'nt speak, nor cough, nor nowt, But ceawer'd theer loike a meawse. At last aw towd 'em what aw meant, An' them aw coom away; An', bless yo're loife, th' next time aw went Hoo ax'd me to mi tay.

An' neaw awm just as welome theer As ony lad i' th' teawn; They allis reach me th' two-arm cheer. An' tell'n me t' sit me deawn. Th' owd chap's a horse worth twenty peawnd, Beside' a lot o' ceaws; An' a bit o' rare good pasture greawnd Comes frontin' up to th' heawse. He's six fine pigs he says he's bred Off Dicky Hampson's sue: Awm welly sure, when Rosy's wed, He'll give her one or two. Yo' needn't think awm after th' brass, For aw wouldn't thank for th' spot, Wi' th' pigs, an' th' ceaws, an' o he has, Unless aw'd her i' th' lot.

Aw've never bin so long to th' schoo', But still aw'm noan a flat, Aw think aw've what'll help me through- Up here, inside mi hat. Iv theyn a table, or a bed, They want to give away, When me an' Rosy's getten wed, Aw'll fetch 'em ony day.

A new-laid egg or two fro' th' hen, Aw shouldn't scorn, not I; Nor a good fat rabbit neaw an' then,- Aw loike a rabbit pie. But yonder sonds mi darlin' dear, Hoo's lookin' eawt o' th' dur; It's no use ceawrin' grabblin' here, Aw'll go an' talk to hur.

~ Lancashire Songs, Poems, Tales & Recitations by Samuel Laycock, 1886.

It's been a while! I moved into a flat and have been getting back on track of some things. This is a lovely poem, one half of two (coming soon!). I might start mixing up which books I reference, because otherwise at this rate this blog will just be a Samuel Laycock blog for the next few years!

[lancashire-poems]

Foot Passengers, Keep To The Right

Foalk tell us there's sarmons i' stones: Excuse me for bein' so bowd, But aw'm just o' th' same mind as Tom Jones, 'At sich sarmons as thoose 'll feel cowd. This 'o mine, tho' it's noan o' th' first stamp, Is as good as this heart can indite; Mi text, taen fro' th' post ov a lamp, Is- "Foot Passengers, keep to the right."

An' furstly, aw'd ha' yo' beware O' that dandy 'at's struttin' through th' street; For he mak's more ado ov his hair, Than he does ov his brains, a fine seet! There's words o' deceit on his tongue, Calculated fair prospects to blight; If yo tread i' his steps you'll be wrong, Young fellows! keep on to the right.

Let the standard yo' go by be true, Measure man by his mind, not his purse; There's mony a great squire 'at's a foo', An' a drunken foo' too, an' that's worse. We'n rich men areawnd one could name, Who are hurried whoam drunk every night, That's no reason why yo' should do th' same, Foot passengers, keep to the right. Let your motives be upright an' pure, Proceedin' fro' hearts fill'd wi' love; Extend your kind acts to the poor, Seek wisdom an' help fro' above. To lead foalk to virtue an' God, Exert o' your influence an' might. Bid 'em guard against fashion's smooth road, Ask 'em kindly to keep to the right. Keep eawt o' thoose man-traps, mi boys, Th' "Pig an' Whistle," th' "Black Horse," an' th' "Blue Bell," They're nobbut owd Satan's fawse toys, To beguile, an' allure yo' to hell! Oh! as long as yo' toddle through th' world, Mak' the law o' the Lord your delight; Let th' chart o' God's truth be unfurl'd, It'll point yo' an' keep yo' to th' right. Th' owd Tempter'll come wi' his wiles, To prevent yo' fro' choosin' th' reet track; Never heed his fine coaxin' an' smiles, But, like Jesus, just tell him t' stond back. I' th' strait narrow way allis tead, Should yo' live till your locks are grown white; - Hoary hairs'll be th' creawn o' your yead, Iv yo'll mind an' keep on to the right.

When dark cleawds o' adversity come, An' hang o'er your yead like a pall, Keep an anxious look eawt for your whoam, An' be ready, your Master will call! When your sky is o cloudless an' clear, When your prospects are hopeful an' bright, Beware! for a storm may be near; Be cautious, an' keep to the right.

When death your last summons shall bring, An' tells yo' t' pack up an' begone, Yo' can calmly, resignedly sing, "Tha'rt welcome, reet welcome, owm mon!" Oh, heaw th' angels i' heaven will rejoice That moment your soul ta'es its flight; An' you'll hear Christ's own welcomin' voice, "Come up hither, my friend, to the right!" ~ Lancashire Songs, Poems, Tales & Recitations by Samuel Laycock, 1886. Been ill for the past week or so, typical timing with Christmas. Coincidentally this next song is one of religion. I'm not entirely sure on any previous songs this one would fit to melody-wise, but it's a nice one regardless.

[lancashire-poems]

Th' Village Pedlar

Th' Village pedlar's a jovial owd brick, A merchant o' great local fame; He goes trudgin' areawnd wi' his basket an' stick, An' a few useful things aw'll just name. He 's needles, an' bodkins, an' thread, An' buttons, an' bobbins, an' tape, An' hair-pins for lasses to stick i' their yead, To keep their hair nicely i' shape.

He's wursted a haup'ny a bo, Blue-peawder, an' furniture paste, An' capital mustard i' packets an' o, If yo' think it's noan good yo' can taste. Neaw th' owd pedlar ne'er gets eawt o' tune, Tho' he's bother'd wi' o sorts o' foalk; Iv they vex him a bit, he forgets again soon, An' passes it off as a joke.

He's carried his basket so long, That at last it's become like a charm, An' he'll tell yo' he feels as if sommat wur wrong, If he hasn't it hung on his arm. E'en at church on a Sunday, awm towd, When his mind should be free fro' sich cares, He's o ov a shiver, his arm feels so cowd, For th' want ov his basket an' wares.

He's a Christian i' th' spite ov o' this, Oh, awve often yeard th' owd fellow tell 'At he thowt he could boast o' moor genuine bliss Than even eawr Queen could hersel'. Earthly jewels one sees up an' deawn, He will tell yo' must crumble to dust; But he's livin' in' hopes o' possessin' a creawn, At'll nother turn faded nor rust.

Owd pedlar, aw wish aw wur poor, Trampin' reawnd wi' a basket an' wares: Leavin' blackin' an' blessin's at every one's door, An' trying to leeten foalk's cares. When tha claps deawn thi basket to dee, Whot a gloom will be felt o areawnd! Hot tears'll stond tremblin' i' mony a one's e'e, As they lower thi body i' th' greawnd.

Th' little childer' 'at loved thee so dear, To that spot where tha 'rt buried will throng, An' they'll say, wi' sad looks, "Th' owd pedlar lies here, Come, let's sing him a noice little song." Then they'll deck thi green grave wi' wild fleawers, Pat it closer to keep thee reet warm; An' say, as they leave thee alone a few neawers, "Bless th' owd fellow, he's tackin no harm!" ~ Lancashire Songs, Poems, Tales & Recitations by Samuel Laycock 1886

This one is labelled as a song in the book. It seems to fit nicely to Grand Old Duke of York and similar tunes.

[lancashire-poems]

Hello, World!

This blog will be used to document poems, songs, phrases, and other similar written art relating to Lancashire. The main purpose of the blog is to help document some of the Historical pieces that I have found over the years in old books. Where applicable, I will add a reference.

For this reason, many of the poems/phrases will come in waves where they will share a common author/collector. Also some authors felt more inclined to write in dialect, and where this is the case I will follow suit. Ideally they'd all be written in dialect but I'm not 100% sure on my 1700-1800s Lancashire dialect yet.

What do I define as Lancashire?

I will be using mostly the Historical boundaries to define Lancashire, but those few rare places that have since been added are happy to come along! Many of the poems are likely to come from industry towns so expect plenty of Merseyside/Greater Manchester mentions!

"I have a poem/song/etc. for you to add!"

That's great! At the moment, I have plenty of poems to add myself so may not get round to it. Also, my main goal at the moment is to document those poems/songs/etc. which are 1800s or earlier. If I'm sent something I particularly like from later dates, I will consider it but I will be needing a source.

Who am I?

I'm me! My name is Tom, I'm from Wigan but currently living in Chorley. I'm 23 years old working in tech after getting a Master's in maths. My pronouns are whatever you want to use for me, I have no preference. I am not single, I have the best girlfriend ever (her words).

Why am I doing this?

I love Lancashire. I love poetry and song. I am also a big fan of the accent/dialect of Lancashire, and aside from this I am working on my own accent to make it a much older form akin to how things would've been spoken Pre-BBC and Grammar Schools. This is for the preservation of my culture and the places I love. If I can convince even a couple of people to join me in this accent preservation work, I will be a happy person.