Betty Blake: A Tale of Butterworth Panic
It wor e black twenty-six when I wor reight in a fix,
An’ trade it wor bad an’ are poor hearts wor sad,
An’ we’d nout else to due bud to starve or to flee,
An’ leave are poor hoams, or stop there an’ dee.
Aw wor freating an’ thinking what wod be the end,
Baht meil or potatoes, or money or friend —
When my wife stagger’d in at are poor cottage door,
Gav a stare raand the house an’ fell on the floor,
We a cry at made me both tremble an’ shake; —
Sho wor more like a Specktor ner poor Betty Blake.
It spite ov her troubles, aw lifted her up
To are poor wretched bed, an’ gav her a sup
O coud watter – an’ thinking, it happen mud ease her —
An’ try’d my indevors to mend her an’ please her;
For aw talked o’ that day that aw used to coart her,
Bud little thowt then at aw couldn’t support her;
Or that panic wod come like a dark thunner claad,
An’ scatter the homes o’ the poor an’ the praad:
Bud my heart burned we grief, fer aw wanted to save her,
Fer aw knew at my Betty wor mad in the faver.
Aw sat by her side fer two neets an’ two days,
An’ aw thowt sho might mend, as on her aw gazed;
Sho catched hod o’ my hand, an’ her senses returned,
Bud net her gooid health, fer her fingers still burned, —
“Awn going,” sho said – “where no hunger or pain
Al be we us, Johny, when we meet again.
The angels have whispered my spirit to free,
We voices as soft as the hum of the bee;
It wor pining at did it, done fer thy sake,
In heaven you’ll meet we your poor Betty Blake.”
We a groan an’ a rattle sho dropt her poor heead,
Aw could hardly believe at my Betty wor deead;
An’ aw felt at her side, fer aw wanted to save her,
An’ like her at wor goan – aw wor mad we the faver.
Bud they tuke her away the varry next day,
To a little church yard, an’ it seemed fearful hard,
At aw couldn’t follow my wife
At aw loved as my life.
Bud aw’ve put up a tombstone o’ peeats fer her sake,
An aw mark’d on it letters at means Betty Blake.
The Vision
Blest vision of departed worth,
I see thee still, I see thee still;
Thou art the shade of her that’s goan,
My Mary Hill, my Mary Hill.
My chaamer in this silent hour,
Were dark an’ drear, were dark an’ drear;
But brighter far than Cynthia’s beam,
Now thou art here, now thou art here.
Wild nature in her grandeur had
No charm for me, no charm for me;
Did not the songsters chant thy name
Fra ivvery tree, fra ivvery tree.
Chaos wod hev com agean,
E worlds afar, e worlds afar;
Could aw not see my Mary’s face,
In ivvery star, in ivvery star;
Say when the messenger o’ death,
Sal bid ma come, sal bid ma come;
Wilt thou be foremost in the van,
To tack ma hoam, to tack ma hoam.
A New Devorse
Says Pug o’ Joans o’ Haworth Brah,
Ta Rodge at Wickin Crag —
Are Nelly’s tung’s a yard too long,
And, by’t mess it can wag.
It’s hell at top o’ t’earth we me,
An’ stand it I am forst;
I’d give all t’brass at I possess,
If I could get devors’d.
Then answer’d Rodge, I hev a dodge,
Az gooid a plan az onny;
A real devorse tha’ll get of course —
It willant cost a penny.
Then tell me what it iz, says Pug,
I’m hommost brocken-hearted;
We’ll go ta Keethlah Warkhaase, lad,
Where man an woife are parted.
Gooise an’ Giblet Pie
A Kersmass song I’ll sing, me lads,
If yoh’ll bud hearken me;
An incident e Kersmass time,
E eighteen sixty-three:
Withaht a stypher e the world —
I’d scorn to tell a lie —
I dined wi a gentleman
O’ Gooise an’ giblet pie.
I’ve been e lots o’ feeds, me lads,
An hed some rare tuck-aahts;
Blooid-pudding days wi killing pigs,
Minch pies an’ thumping taahts;
But I wir’d in an reight anall,
An’ supp’d when I wor dry,
Fer I wor dining wi a gentleman
O’ gooise an’ giblet pie.
I hardly knew what ail’d me, lads,
I felt so fearful praad;
Me ears prick’d up, me collar raise,
Taards a hauf-a-yard;
Me chest stood aaht, me charley in,
Like horns stuck aaht me tie;
Fer I dined wi a gentleman
O’ gooise an’ giblet pie.
I offan think o’ t’feed, me lads,
When t’ gentleman I meet;
Bud nauther on us speiks a word
Abaht that glorious neet;
In fact, I hardly can mesel,
I feel so fearful shy;
Fer I ate a deal o’ t’roasted gooise,
And warmed his giblet pie.
Ode to Wedlock!
Oh! Hymen, god of Wedlock! thou
Companion of the lover’s vow,
Thy subjects they are fearful;
If thou could nobbut see the strife,
There is sometimes ’tween man and wife,
I think thou’d be more careful.
Oft has thou bound in durance vile,
De fearful frown, and cheerful smile,
And doubtless thought it famous;
When thou the mind ov fancy sweet,
Has knit the knot so nice and neat
For some blessed ignoramous.
What nature, truth, and reason too,
Has oft declared would never do,
Thou’rt fool enough to do it;
Thou’s bound for better and for worse,
Life’s greatest blessing with a curse,
And both were made to rue it.
But luve is blind, and oft deceived,
If adage old can be believed,
And suffers much abuses;
Or never could such matches be,
O, mighty Hymen! tied by thee,
So thou has thy excuses.
Com Geas a Wag o’ thee Paw
[T’west Riding o’ Yorkshire is famed for different branches it fine art line, bud t’musick aw think licks t’lump, especially abaht Haworth an’ Keethlah. Nah Haworth wunce had a famous singer at they called Tom Parker, he wor considered wun at best e Yorkshire in his toime. It is said at he once walked fra Haworth to York e one day, and sung at an Oratoria at neet. He hed one fault, an’ that wor just same as all tother Haworth celebrates, he wod talk oud fashund, an’ that willant due up at London. Bud we hed monny a good singer beside him it neighbourhood; there’s oud John Dunderdale, Daniel Ackroyd, Joe Constantine, an’ oud Jim Wreet. Nah what is ther grander ner a lot a local singers at Kersmass toime chanting it streets; its like being e heaven, especially when yohr warm e bed. Bud there’s another thing ats varry amusing abaht our local singers, when they meet together there is some demi-semi-quavering, when there’s sharps, flats, an’ naturals; – ’an t’ best ale an’ crotchets mixt, that’s the time fer musick.]
Come, geas a wag o’ thee paw, Jim Wreet,
Come geas a wag o’ thee paw;
I knew thee when thi heead wor black,
Bud nah its az white as snow;
Yet a merry Kersmass to thee, Jim,
An’ all thi kith an’ kin;
An’ hoping tha’ll a monny moar,
For t’ sake o’ ould long sin,
Jim Wreet,
For t’ sake o’ ould long sin.
It’s so monny year to-day, Jim Wreet,
Sin oud Joe Constantine —
An’ Daniel Ackroyd, thee an’ me,
An’ other friends o’ thine,
Went up ta sing at Squire’s haase,
Net a hauf-a-mile fro’ here;
An’ t’ Squire made us welcome
To his brown October beer,
Jim Wreet;
To his brown October beer.
An’ oud Joe Booth tha knew, Jim Wreet,
That kept the Old King’s Arms;
Whear all t’ church singers used t’ meet,
When they hed sung ther Psalms;
An’ thee an’ me amang um, Jim,
Sometimes hev chang’d the string,
An’ with a merry chorus join’d,
We’ve made yond tav’ren ring,
Jim Wreet,
We’ve made yond tav’ren ring.
But nearly three score years, Jim Wreet,
As past away sin then;
When Keethlah in Appolo’s Art,
Cud boast her musick men;
Bud musick nah meeans money, Jim,
An’ that tha’s sense to knaw;
Bud just fer oud acquaintance sake,
Come geas a wag o’ thy paw, Jim Wreet,
Jim Wreet,
Com geas a wag o’ thee paw.
Song of the Months, from January to December
High o’er the hill-tops moans the wild breezes,
As from the dark branches I hear the sad strain:
See the lean pauper by his grim hearth he freezes,
While comfort and plenty in palaces reign.
Dark is the visage of the rugged old ocean,
To the caves in the billow he rides his foamed steed:
As over the grim surges with his chariot in motion,
He spreads desolation, and laughs at the deed.
No more with the tempest the river is swelling,
No angry clouds frown, nor sky darkly lower;
The bee sounds her horn, and the gay news is telling
That spring is established with sunshine and showers.
In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining,
And nature with blossom is wreathing the trees;
The white and the green in rich clusters entwining,
And sprinkling their sweetness on the wings of the breeze.
O May, lovely goddess! what name can be grander?
What sunbeam so bright as thine own smiling eye;
With thy mantle of green, richly spangled in splendour,
At whose sight the last demon of winter does fly.
From her home in the grass see the primrose is peeping,
While diamond dew-drops around her is spread;
She smiles thro’ her tears like an infant that’s sleeping,
And to laughter is changed as her sorrows are fled.
The landscape around is now sprinkled with flowers,
The mountains are blue in their distant array;
The wreaths of green leaves are refreshed with the showers,
Like a moth in the sunshine the lark flees away.
How joyous the reapers, their harvest songs singing
As they see the maid bringing the flagon and horn;
And the goddess of plenty benedictions is flinging
Over meadows and pastures, and her barley and corn.
’Tis sweet on the hills with the morning sun shining,
To watch the rich vale as it brightens below;
’Tis sweet in the valley when day is declining,
To mark the fair mountains, deep tinged with its glow.
Now is the time when biting old Boreas
True to his calling, – the tempests impend;
His hailstones in fury is pelting before us,
Our fingers are smarting, and heads they are bent.
The cold winds do murmur, the bleak snow is falling,
The beasts of the forest from hunger doth call;
There is desolate evenings and comfortless mornings,
And gloomy noontides for one and for all.
Drear is thine aspect, tyrannical December,
O hast thou no mercy for the pitiless poor;
Christmas is thine, and we shall remember,
Though dark is thy visage, we honour thee more.
My Visit ta’t Glory Band
Last Sunday, reight early, I sett off fra home,
Ower mountains an’ valleys, intending to roam;
As it wor a fine morning an’ no sign o’ rain,
I bethowt ma I’d go up Oakworth be t’train;
But I’m sitch a whimsical sort of a man,
I nivver get threw wi owt at I plan.
For I’d hardly goan two hundred yards fra my door,
When who did I see walking prattly before?
It wor oud Jennet t’Ranter fra Avercake row,
As nice a oud body is ivver you saw;
Shoo wor dress’d up ta t’mark wi her Cashmere shawl,
An wor bahn dahn to t’meeting at Temperance Hall.
When I saw it wor Jennet I lengthen’d my pace,
An’ as soon as shoa saw me shoo look’d i’ my face;
An’ says “Hallo, Bill! tha’s com’d aght fearful soin
Ther’ll be a blue snaw; – pray, where are ta gooin?
If tha’s nobbut come aht for a bit of a stroll,
Tha’d better go wi ma for t’gooid o’ thy soul.”
So I agreed to go wi her; for what could I do,
When t’decent oud woman wor teasing ma so?
So we link’d on together an’ paddled along,
Both on us singing a Glory Band song;
Hasomivver we landed, an’ hedn’t ta wait,
For one t’panjandrums hed getten agait.
So they prayed an’ they sang i’ ther oud fashun’d way;
Until a gert chap says “I’ve summat ta say;”
An’ bethart I’st a fallen dahn sick i’ my pew,
But I thowt at toan hauf t’ he said worant true,
For he charged Parson Ball wi’ being drunk i’ the street,
At he’d been put ta bed three times i’ one neet.
“Does ta hear,” says Oud Jennet, “what t’hullet is saying,
He’s using his scandal asteead o’ being praying,
For John Ball is respected by ivvery one,
So I sallant believe a word about John,
Fer him an’ arr Robin are two decent men,
So pray yah nah harken, they’ll speik fer thersen.”
So all wor nah silent, they mud hear a pin fall,
For nobody wor hissing or clapping at all;
For scarce had long Gomersall spun out his yarn,
Wi his two blazing een he hed scarcely sat dahn,
Than John stood up on his pins in a minit, —
An’ rare an’ weel please wor me and Oud Jennet.
“My brethren,” he sed wi a tear in his ee,
“Yah sall hear for yerselns my accusers an’ me,
An’ if I be guilty – man’s liable to fall
As well as yer pastor an’ servant John Ball;
But let my accuser, if faults he hes noan,
Be’t t’first, and no other to thraw the first stone.
“I’ve drunk wine and porter, I do not deny,
But then my accusers hev not telled you why:
So their false accusation I feel it more keen,
’Cos I’ve hed the lumbago i’ both o’ my een;
Beside mi back warked as if it wor broke,
An’ mi throit’s been so parched wal I thowt I sud choke.
“I’ve been so distracted and hanneled so bad,
Wal I thowt monny a time I sud ommust go mad,
An’ t’doctors hes tell’d me there wor no other way
Nobbut going to Blackpool or else Morecambe Bay;
An’ charged me to mind if I sat dahn to dine,
To lig into t’porter, an’t brandy, an’t wine.
“So nah, my accusers, what hev you to say,
You can reckon that up in your awn simple way;
But if there’s a falsehood in what I’ve sed nah
I wish mi new hat wod turn into a kah,
So this is mi answer, an’ this mi defence.”
“Well done!” says oud Jennet, “he’s spokken some sense.”
So his speech nah he ended, but it touch’d em it wick,
For we all could see plainly it wor nowt but a trick;
And Jennet declared – tho’ she might be too rude, —
If he’d come up to’t dinner he’s hev some home brew’d,
Fer it spite o’ ther scandal sho wor proud on him yet,
An’ if he drank wine an’ porter who’d out to du wi’t.
T’ History o’t Haworth Railway
Before I commence mi short history o’t Haworth Railway, it might be as weel to say a word or two abaht Haworth itseln. It’s a city at’s little knawn, if onny, it history o’ England, though ther’s no daht but its as oud as Methuslam, if not ouder, yet with it being built so far aht at latitude ov civilized nashuns, nobody’s scarcely knawn owt abaht it wal latly. T’ finders ov it are sed to be people fra’t Eastern countries, for they tuke fearful of em e Haworth it line o’ soothsayers, magishuns, an’ asstrologers; but whether they com fra’t east or’t west, they luke oud fashun’d enuff. Nah t’ city is situated in a very romantic part o’ Yorkshur, and within two or three miles o’t boundary mark o’ Lancashire. Some foak sez it wer t’last place at wer made, but it’s a mistak, for it lukes oud fashun’d enuff to be t’first ’at wer made. Gert travellers sez it resembles t’ cities o’ Rome and Edinburgh, fer ther’s a deal o’ up-hills afore you can get to’t top on’t; but e landing you’d be struck wi’ wonder and amazement – what wi’t tall biggens, monniments, domes, hampitheaters, and so on; fer instance, t’Church, or rather the Cathedral, is a famous biggen, and stands majestically o’t top at hill. It hes been sed at Oliver Cromwell that wor so struck wi’t appearance at Church an t’ City, altogether, wal he a mack a consented to hev it the hed-quarters for the army and navy.
The faander o’ t’ Church is sed to be won Wang-be-Wang, won et Empror’s o’ China as com ower in a balloon an’ browt we him all his relations, but his granmuther; the natives at that toime wur a mack a wild, but i mixing up we t’ balloonites they soin become civilized and big’d t’ Church at’s studden fra that time to nah, wit exepshun o’ won end, destroyed at sum toime, sum sez it wur be war. Sum sez west and an t’ saath end wur destroyed, but it’s a mack a settled on wit wiseuns it wur wichcraft; but be it as it may Haworth, an’ t’ folk a’tagether is as toff as paps, an’ hez stud aht weel, an’ no daht but it wod a flerished before Lunden, Parriss, or Jerusulum, for sentries back, if they’d hed a Railway; but after nearly all Grate Britten and France hed been furnished we a Railway, the people i Haworth began to be uneazy and felt inclined no longer to wauk several miles to get to a stashun if they were bahn off liks. And besides, they thout it wur high time to begin and mack sum progress i’ t’ wurld, like their naburs ’t valley. So they adjetated for a line down the valley as far as Keighley, and after abaht a hundred meetings they gat an Act passed for it i Parlement. So at last a Cummittee wur formed, and they met wun neet a purpose to decide when it wod be t’ best convenient for em to dig t’ furst sod to commerate and start the gert event. And a bonny rumpus there wor yo mind, for yo may think ha it wor conducted when they wur threapin wi wun another like a lot o’ oud wimen at a parish pump when it sud be. Wun sed it mud tak place at rushberring, another sed next muck-spreading toime, a third sed it mud be dug et gert wind-day e memory o’ oud Jack K – . Well, noan et proposishuns wod do for t’ lot, and there wur such opposistion wal it omust hung on a threed, wether the railway went on or net, wal at last an oud farmer, wun o’ the committee-men, we a voice as hoarse as a farm yard dog, bawls aht, I propose Pancake Tuesday. So after a little more noise it wor proposed and seconded at the Grand Trunk Railway between the respective tahns of Keighley and Haworth sud be commemorated wi diggin t’ furst sod o’ Pancake Tuesday, it year o’ our Lord 1864; and be t’ show o’ hands it usual way it wor carried by wun, and that wor Ginger Jabus, and t’tother cud a liked t’bowt him ower, but Jabus worn’t to be bowt that time, for he hed his hart and sowl i the movement, and he went abaht singin —
Cum all ye lads o’ high renown
At wishes well your native town,
Rowl up an’ put your money down
An’ let us hev a Railway.
We Keighley folk we are behind,
An’s sed to wauk agin wur mind;
But sooin t’ crookt-legg’d uns they will find,
Weel kap em we a Railway.
Well, hasumivver public notice wur made nawn, be the bellman crying it all ower t’taan, wich he did to such a pitch, wal he’d summat to do to keep his hat fra flyin off, but he manijed to do it at last to a nicety, for the news spread like sparks aht of a bakehus chimla; and wen the day com they flocked in fra all parts, sum o’ the crookt-legged uns fra Keighley com, Lockertown and the Owertown folk com, and oud batchelors fra Stanbury and all parts et continent o’ Haworth; folk craaded in o’ all sides, even the oud men and wimen fra Wicken Crag and the Flappeters, and strappin folk they are yo mind, sum as fat as pigs, wi heads as red as carrots, and nimble as a india-rubber bouncer taw; and wat wur t’ best on’t it happened to be a fine day; for if it hed been made according to orders it cudn’t a been finer. Shops wur all closed and ivverybody, oud and young, hed a haliday aht o’ t’doors, for they wur all flade a missin the Grand Processhun, wich formed itsel at the top o’ Wuthren, when it wur messured, it turn’d aht to be two miles six inches long – it moved as follows: —
ORDER OF PROCESSHUN
The Spring-head Band wi their hat-bruads turn’d up so as they mud see their way clear
Lord et Manor i full uniform a fut back bearing Coat of Arms for Haworth, a gert wild cratur wi two tails on, one et awthur end
Two citizens wi white cravats raand their hats
The Members et Corporashun one-abreast singin “a nuttin we will go, brave boys.”
Big Drums and Triangles
A Mahogany Wheelbarrow and a silver trowel on a cart trail’d wi six donkeys, and garded wi ten lazy policemen all sober
A pair of crakt bag-pipes
The Contractor in a sedan carried wi two waggoners i white smocks
All the young maidens fra fourteen to thirty-nine, six-abreast, drest i sky blue, and singin throo combs
Twenty oud wimin knittin stockings
Twenty navvies i their shirt sleeves weeling barrows, wi workn tooils
Taan skavengers wi shoulder’d besums decorated wi ribbons
Bellman and Pinder arm-i-arm drest I full uniform, and the latter now and then bawlin aht wats bahn to tak place
All scholars at female line laking at duck-under-watter kit, and the males laking at frog-loup, and jumping o’ one another’s backs
Taan chimla sweeps maanted o’ donkies wi their face white
All the furiners fra the continent o’ Haworth, and crookt-legged uns fra Keighley followed up
Bulk o’ the inhabitants wauking wun-abreast, wi their hats off, and singing and shouting
“The Railway! the Railway!”
In fact, the Railway wur e ivverbody’s maath, what we singing and shouting, them at cud do nawther whisper’d in wun another’s ears – Railway! But getting to where the ceremuny wur to tak place the processhun halted and formed itseln into a raand ring, and cheers wur geen wi shakin hats and handkerchiefs, which lasted wal their showders and arms warkt wal they’d hardly strength to shut their maaths and don their hats on. But hasumivver they manijed to get reight agean, and then a parson called Ned Oufield gat up and made the following narashun —
Fellow countrymen and citizens o’ Haworth, – It gives me gert plezur to see such a gert event as this tak place i the city o’ Haworth, namely, digging t’ furst sod o’ wat’s called Grand Trunk Line between Keighley and yor native element, and reight pleased I am to offishiate as chairman on this occashun. Perhaps sum on yo maint naw what I mean wi yer native element; but I mean yer oud mountain side, and aw naw yor like yer forefathers, yo love it dearly, tho’ yor ancestors wor nowt but barbarians in the fourth and fifth sentries, yet they were the furst to embrace Christianity, which they did it yer 600, be the Latin inscripshun on the church steeple. – (Loud cheers). – And although yo been behind we yor Railway, ye been up i different arts and sciences. Wat nashun, my frends, can boast of a majishun like yor oud Jack K – . – (Loud cheers). He wur a credit to yo all, and yo wur sadly indebted to him; he proffesied twenty yer sin at this event wud cum to pass (a voice, – ha wish he wur alive he sud be contractor), and if he’d been livin to this day, its a hundred to wun but the Railway wud hev been made to some where else ner Keighley, for ha feel convinced et Keighley is not worthy of amalgamashun wi a respectable city like Haworth. – (Hear, hear.) For look wat insultin langwidj they’ve used to yo at different times. – (Groans.) Furst, they said yo muckt church to mak it grow bigger. Then yo walked rahnd tahn’s post office at Keighley and thout it wur the cemetery, and to make up for the lot, they call us wild craturs and mock wur plezant dialect, which is better English ner theirs. – (Groans, wich lasted for ten minits.) Yes, my fella citizens, you’ve hed to put up wi a deal o’ slang fra theas uncultivated rascals. – (We have.) And wat’s war nur all, yah’ve hed to wauk wet and dry, thro thick and thin, i all sorts o’ weather to Keighley, wen you’ve wanted to go on the continent or Lundun. But soin yo can wauk slap to the train in a jiffey. – (Loud cheers.) Mr. Oufield then thenkt his fella taansmen and wimen and ended his speech wi expressin his delight in the loyalty of the people for the railway, and as the time was fast waxin, he begged leave to sit dahn, wich he did t’ midst lahd enthusiastic shouting.
This been dun and ivverybody gotten their maaths shut agean, Ike Ouden gat up and made a speech, and a grand un it wor yo mind, for if the arkangel hed dropt streyt dahn fra heven and let o’ t’top o’ t’platform, it cuddant a suited t’ folk better, for he began as follows: —
Fella-citizens and tahnsmen o’ Haworth, – Wen I see before me so many smiling faces and so many distingwisht citizens, I awn ha felt a pang as to my unfitness for appearing afore yo on this occashun; but yor committee wor so urgent in their appeal to me that I wor certainly induced to akcept the honnor of diggin the furst sod o’ the Grand Trunk Railway, wich will be the gratest blessin that ivver will be i Haworth. But yet its not for me to say wat is kalkulated or unkalkulated for the people o’ Haworth to do in the 19th sentry, yet I may ventur to say at this glorious muvment nah bahn to tak place will shortly prove the gratest blessin ivver witnessed it city o’ Haworth. – (Loud applause). Look at the export and import of the city, and compare the spaven’d horse and cart wi the puffin willyams and all the fine carriages. Look et difference between wen it tuk a week to go to Liverpool, and a month to Lundun, in a oud coach, and hev to mak wur wills afore we went. – (Enthusiastic cheering.) Yes, my frends, we stud good chance e being robbed and plundered if net summat war. Besides wat an immense diffrence it will mak to Haworth, wen shoo can export her own mannifacturs to all the civilised and uncivilised wurld, and by means o’ steam find their ways into rejuns nivver trod but by feet o’ wild craturs and beasts o’ prey. But to mak t’ story short ha mean to say it will be a grate cumfort and a blessin to both the lame and lazey, and speshally to the latter. But as the time was gettin on fastish, as it allus dus when there’s out to be dun, so Mr. Ouden finisht his speech as follows: —
Put yor shoulders to work, lads, and ne’er be danted,
Think yer behint and there’s no time to dally,
For nah is the time yor assistance is wanted
I makin yor railway along the Worth Valley.
The Spring-heead Band then played sum of their favorite tunes, “Oud Rosen the Bow,” “Jessey’s Pig,” and ended wi “God save the Queen,” and all departed to their homes wi smiling faces.
CHAPTER II
Gather fra Stanbury, lads we yor carrot heeads,
Cum dahn fra Locker tahn, lads, be the railway;
Cum we yor wives, yor dowters, and relatives,
Shout lads, shout for the Worth Valley Railway.
Heard you Ned Oufield mak his noration,
Yoh’l say in yohr conshunce he spak it reyt fairly,
He said poor Haworth nivver yet hed fairashun,
And spak of the thing that will flurish it rarely.
Railway, &c.
Saw yoh Icholden wi his mahogany wheelbarrow,
Cum dig the first sod wi his trowel o’ silver,
He wheeled it dahn t’ plenk as streyt as an arrow,
And tipt it as weel as a navvy or delver.
Railway, &c.
Saw yoh the church so anshent in history,
Read yoh the Latin words high in the steeple,
Hear to the sounds that arise from the belfry,
It seems to be shaating along wi the people,
Railway, &c.
Nah then, lads, for wark; nout but wark al do, and these at can’t work mun plan. This wor the cry all up and dahn Haworth next mornin, and for weeks all wor vary bizzy. Won man made a weel-barra it chamber but it wor so big wal it couldn’t be gotten aht withaht takin the haase side dahn. Another invented a koulin-masheen to koul t’ muck up both sides to save wheelbarras and work tooils for the navvies. Some started a practicing for porters at the railway, wi oppenin and shutting the oven doors wi a bang, shating aht at the same time, “All aht for Haworth.” Wun man wor trying the dodge on, and the cat wor it ovan, and poor thing, expecting that it wor it the wrong place, jumpt aht just at time at he wor whistling to start, and wor catcht bi the tail and the poor thing lost it, for it wur cut off as clean as a whistle. A crookt legg’d pedlar com fra Keighley wun day wi winter-edges, and they tuke him for a sapper and miner et hed cum to mezhur for the railway, and mind yoh they did mak summat on him, they thout that the winter-edges wur the apparatus to mezhur by. But hasumivver, the reyt uns com at after, and a sore disaster they hed yo mind, for they laid the plans o’ t’railway dahn at green swarth, and a oud kah belanging to Blue Beard swallowed t’ job; they tried ta save em but all i vain: a sore do wur this for both folk and the railway, for it put em a year or two back, and folk wur raging mad abaht t’ kah, and if it hednt a been a wizzen’d oud thing they’d a swallowed it alive – the nasty greedy oud thing.