They hed a meeting tother neet,
Fair o’ t’top o’ Wutherin Street,
To see what things they’d got complete,
Concerning Haworth Railway.
Wen Penny Wabbac tuke the chair,
He lukt to be i grate despair,
He sez, good folk, are yoh aware,
Wat’s happened to the Railway.
We persperashun on his brah,
He sez, good folk, al tell yoh nah;
Oud Blue Beard’s nasty wizened kah
Hes swallowed plan o’ t’ Railway.
Wi these remarks poor Wabbac sat,
Wen Jonny Broth doft off his hat,
His een they blazed like sum wild cat
Wi vengence for the Railway.
He sed my blud begins to boil,
To think et we sud work an’ toil,
And ev’n the cattle cannot thoyle
To let us hev a Railway.
On hearing this the Haworth foak
Began to swear it wur no joak,
An wisht at greedy cah ma choak,
At swallowed t’ plan o’ t’ Railway.
But hasumivver they gat ower this, and wur not long at after afore they hed more disasters, such as tunnils shutterin, and chapels sinkin, and law suits, and so on, wal Haworthers thout be t’ hart at both the fouk and the grund wur soft dahn at Keighley, and threttened to comb sum o’ the crookt-legged ens their heeads if they insinuated; and the Volunteers threttened to tak their part if there wur owt to do; and farther ner that, they vowed that they were ready to go to war wi onny nashun that sud insult awther them or ther railway under the present difficulties.
But sighs and tears and doubts and fears,
Prevails with greatest folly,
For ’t sinagog has cockt its clog,
And ’t parson’s melancholy.
Tunnils sink and navvies drink,
And chapels are upsetting;
For Railway Shares nobody cares,
And iverybody’s fretting.
The iron horse they curse of course,
And fane wud it abandon;
And loyers fees their pockets ease,
A thousand pound e Lundun.
Misfortunes speed as rank as weed,
An’ puts on sich a damper;
Wal t’ foaks declare e grate dispair,
Its up wi’t iron tramper.
The volunteers prick up their ears,
An mak a famos rattle;
Thay want ta run ta Wimbleton,
Or onny field o’ battle.
Their black cravats an toppen’d hats
Are causing grate attraction;
Against Boneypart thay want ta start,
E reglar fightin action.
The raw recuits hev got ther suits,
Thay brag ta wun another:
Ta’t first campaign thay’l tak the train,
Withaat the sliteist bother.
But t’ oud foak thinks thair’l be some stinks,
At menshun of invazhun;
An hopes et taan will ride em daan,
E cabs ta Howorth Stashun.
But hasumiver toime works wonders wi it an perseverance its gotten ta’t last stage na, an foak is varry impashent fer it ta cum up, an tha’re preparin ta give it a grand recepshun; wun oud woman hes a peggy tub full o meyl an’ saar swillins for th’ ingen, and they are preparin another puddin for th’ passengers fra Keighley.
They’re standing i’ groups and they’re living i’ hopes,
And more disappointments they dread,
Wi’ they’re ears touching th’ grand, they’ve harken’d for th’ saand,
Wal they’ve omust gone wrong i’ ther head.
Sez Dick o’ Grate Beckers, just keep up yor peckers,
Yo hevn’t much longer to wait
For blue milk and porridge, yol get better forridge,
Wen the railway gets fairly agait.
For its labour i’ vain to harken for th’ train
When all’s goin on varry steady;
So pray yo be calm its takin no harm,
They’ll bring it as soin as its ready.
For th’ rails are all laid, and there’s nowt to be made,
Nobbut th’ navvies to clear off all th’ muck;
Then all al be goin, for th’ Cowinhead mooin
Is bahn to be browt on a truck.
So Sam o’ Blue Bills, wi’ thi’ pints an’ thi’ gills,
Its bahn to be better for thee,
To Keighley an’ back tha ma go in a crack,
When tha’s bahn on a bit of a spree.
And John o’ Pot Anns tha mun alter thi plans,
For tha nivver can get him i’ force;
For I’m happy to tell at steead o’th’ canal
They’re bahn to try th’ big iron horse.
There’s oud Jim o’ Kyas is bahn to be wise,
An’ th’ folk sez at he’s takkin a hig;
He’ll see it first tried afore he will ride,
He’s dahn abaht the Paper Mill Brig.
He sez he’ll be sure, it dropt in before,
And it might do again for a pinch;
For he sez they’ll be kapt if sum on em trapt,
So he’s blest if he’ll trust it an inch.
There’s oud Mally Brook hez been dahn to look,
And shoo’s sore disappointed they say;
Shoo’s omust goan crackt for shoo sez it weant act,
For they nobbut can run it wun way.
Sho sez at high class ats laid dahn all th’ brass,
Just nah they’re beginnin ta craw;
To mak up for th’ trouble they’re bahn to charge double,
For bad speckulashun it law.
So to sattle em dahn, Sir Chrestofer Brahn,
Hez tould em it wur his intent,
If they’d nobbut be quiet till things wur all reight,
He’d give em a trip to Chow Bent.
Yes, and besides a trip to Chow Bent, they gat several more trips promised bi th’ diffrent distingwisht citizens o’ Haworth. Wun promised to give em trip to Bullock’s Smithy, anuther to Tingsley Bongs, wal they wur getting quite up o’ thersels and th’ railway. Or else they’d been for many a year and cudn’t sleep a wink at neet for dreamin abaht th’ railway ingens, boilers, and so on, and mony a time they’ve wakken’d i’ ther sleep shakkin th’ bed posts, thinkin they wur setting th’ ingen on or stoppin it. But they’d gotten reight and thout they wur bahn to hev no more trouble; but alas! it wur a mistak, for on th’ morning of the 14th o’ November an’ oud skyologer went aht a weather-gazin and planet-ruling, and woful news and bad omens he browt back wi’ him, for he sed at th’
Stars wur shoiting in and aht,
And gravel ratches wur abaht,
And th’ folk, he sed, they little knew
What mischief it wur bahn ta brew.
And news he spred abaht the tahn,
What lots o’ rain wud tumble dahn;
And like his anshent sires he spoke,
The shockin news withaht a joke.
For soin the rain i torrents fell,
And O what awful news to tell,
It lookt as th clahds wur bahn to shutter,
For every dyke, and ditch, and gutter,
A reguler deluge did resemble,
Which made Haworth folk to tremble.
Some tried to stop its course wi’ stones,
And some dropt on their marrow bones,
And hoped at if the wurld wur drahnd,
The railway wud be safe an’ sahnd;
But prayers like these hed no avail,
For th’ waters deluged all the dale;
And th’ latest news et I hev heerd
Th’ railway’s nearly disappeared;
But if its fun withaht a flaw,
Wha, folks, I’m like to let yo know.
CHAPTER III
“Work boys, work, and be contented.”
Ha, its all varry weel for the poit to sing that, but if he hed a railway at stake he wud happen alter his tune, an espeshully if he wur an eye-witness nah, for th’ storm wur ragin at heyest, and the folks wur waiting wi’ pashent expectashun to knaw whether they wur bahn to be at an end or not, for th’ flooid wur coming dahn thicker an’ faster, and there look’d to be monny a hundred mile o’ watter in the valley. Hasumivver they muster’d all t’ energy they cud, for they wur determined to knaw th’ warst, so they went to see if they could find th’ oud weather gazer at hed proffesied th’ flooid; and after a good deal o’ runnin abaht, they fan him peepin thru summat at shap of a tunnel. Sum sed he wur lookin at th’ mooin, others sed he wor looking into futurity, hasumivver they asked him to come dahn an’ look at the railway, and tell em whether th’ flooid wur bahn to tak it away or not, but th’ saucy oud hound refused at first, for he said at he wur flaid at sum on em wodn’t be able to stand th’ shock if he tell’d em th’ warst, so th’ oud lad sed
If my advice yoh want, poor things,
An cannut do withaht it,
Go arm yor seln to th’ teeth, he sed,
An’ doant be long abaht it;
Both rakes an’ powls an’ props an’ ropes
Yo cannot get ta sooin,
An’ take the Cowinheeader’s plan
When they discuver’d the mooin,
Doant gape abaht, but when yor arm’d
Take each a diffrent rowt;
And let yor cry be ivvery man,
Th’ poor railway’s up the spout.
It wurnt long afore they gat arm’d – sum wi clothes props, muk forks, ropes, and so on, and there wor some competition yo mind, for they wur all trying which could mak best movement so as they could immortalise their names it history of Haworth, for there wur one Joe Hobb, a handloom weaver, browt his slay boards, and as he wor going dahn th’ hill he did mak some manœvures, an’ talk abaht fugal men it army when they throw their guns up into th’ air and catches em again, they wur nowt to Joe, for he span his slay boards up an’ dahn just like a shuttlecock. But wal all this wur going on the storm began to abate, and th’ water seem’d to get less, but still they kept at it. Wal at last a chap at they call Dave Twirler shahted aht he saw summat, and they look’t way at he pointed, and there behold it wur won o’th’ ribs o’th’ railway sticking up (here a dead silence tuk place which lasted for abaht three hours) for nobody durst open their mahths, flaid a’th’ wind wud mak th’ current stronger, and sum at wimen held their tungs to that pain and misery wal their stockings fell dahn ower their clog tops; but hasumever th’ silence wur broken by a Haworth Parish chap at they call Bob Gimlet, he happened to be there and he said nah lads, look down th’ valley for I think I see th’ skeleton at onny rate, and Bob wur reight for it wur as plain to be seen as an elephant in a shop window.
And this wur a fact this wur th’ railway they saw,
And at th’ first sight o’ th’ spectre they all stood in awe,
For it wur smashed all i’ pieces ashamed to be seen
As tho’ it hed passed thro’ a sausidge masheen;
Wi horror some fainted, while others took fits,
Aud these at cud stand it wur piking up t’bits.
But after a while when they all becum calm,
They gathered together like bees in a swarm,
Resolvd to pick up all fragments and th’ wood,
And splice ’em together as weel as they cud,
Hasumever thay started a putting it streyt,
And wi’ spelking and braying they soon made it reight.
Six months nah elapsed and th’ gert job wur done,
And th’ next thing to argue wur wen it sud run,
So they sent Joe a-Stirks arahnd wi’ his bell,
And gave him strict orders at he wur to tell,
At th’ inspector hed been and examined it thro’,
And cum to th’ conclushun et th’ railway wud do.
So to wark wi a vengance, the bellman set to,
To warn up a meeting to meet a’th’ Black Bull,
It wud dun yo all good to hear Joey shaht,
For they heard him distinctly for miles all abaht,
And i’ less ner ten minits, they flockt in so fast,
While Jonny Broth horses they couldn’t get past.
So they fram’d on wi’ th’ meeting an’ th’ chairman spak first,
And tell’d ’em at th’ railway wur finish’d at last;
And declared at th’ inspector hed passed when he com,
Both viaducts and bridges as sahnd as a plum;
As for sinkin agean they wud do nowt et sort,
For they sailed thro’ the arches i’ Marriner’s boat.
So he hoped i’ this meeting they all wud agree,
And settle when th’ oppening o’ th’ railway sud be.
He thout for his part tho’ he nobbut wur won,
At first day o’ April wur fittest to run,
Wen a voice sed, sit dahn or I’ll pelt thee wi’ spooils,
Duz ta think at wur bahn to be April fooils?
Then up on to th’ platform jump’d Red Dicky Brook,
Along wi’ his uncle Black Tom at Dyke Nook,
Determined to sattle and bring things arahnd,
As th’ railway wur finished both proper and sahnd;
So they pitched on a day – this wur April the fourth.
To oppen th’ grand railway fra Lunden to Haworth.
It wur carried as usual, bi’ th’ showing o’ hands,
Amidst grate rejoicing and playing o’ bands,
Both oud men and wimen hed a smile on their face,
For all wur dead certain this wur bahn to tak place,
So they fled to their homes like bees to a hive,
Impashent and anshus for th’ day to arrive.
Hasumever th’ day com at wur menshun’d before,
And folk wur all flocking fra mahntan and th’ moor,
And little they thout when they set off that morn,
Anuther disaster would laff ’em to scorn;
For Joe Stirk wur sent out to tell ’em to stop,
For poor Haworth Railway hed gotten i’ pop.
Nah this wur a damper and th’ biggest i’ th’ lot,
And th’ folks they declared this wur a Keighley plot,
But one Jack o’ Ludges sed he’d stop ’em their prate,
He’d learn ’em i’ Keighley to insinuate,
They’st hev no excurshuns for nout but their lip,
And Shipley and Bradford should hev the first trip.
He sed he’d been quiet, but he’d nah interfere,
He’d wauk up to Derby and tell em up there,
Hah they hed been skitted, sin first they begun,
And nah when this wur finished they wurnt to run;
But hah he went on I never did hear,
But won thing I’m certain he must a been there.
For th’ tenth day of April bills wur put aht,
That th’ railway wud oppen withaht any daht,
And a famous excurshun fra Bradford wod run,
And call at all stashuns wi’ th’ excepshun o’ won;
For nowt aht o’ Keighley to Haworth sud ride,
For that day all th’ luggage wur left o’ won side.
Scarce Keighley crookt-legg’d ens heard o’ the news,
And wur just bahn to give ’em the gratest abuse,
When a order cum aht fra sum unknawn source,
That Keighley crookt-legg’d ens cud go up of course,
They thowt it wur best, and wud cause the least bother,
For wun sud be welcum as weel as anuther.
Hasumever their hopes hes not been i’ vain,
For the day’s arrived and yonder’s the train,
And thahsands o’ folks is flocking to th’ spot,
The gent fra his hall, the peasant fra his cot,
For all are determined as th’ weather is fine,
To hev an’ excurshun up th’ Worth Valley Line.
They land up i’ Haworth, and sports et is seen,
Wur nivver yet equalled it reign o’ the Queen,
Such processhuns wi music yo ne’er saw the like,
They wur bands fra all nashuns excepting Black Dyke,
And Sham o’ Blue Bills sed he’d kick up a shine,
For nah they hed oppen’d the Worth Valley Line.
There wur Jim o’th’ Damems, and Will o’ th’ Gooise Coit,
And the lads at wur in that puddin exploit,
There wur Ned dahn fra Oakworth, and Ike fra Loin Ends,
Along wi their aristocratical friends,
They repair’d to Black Bull, of sahnd puddin to dine,
That day at they oppen’d the Worth Valley Line.
I’ all nooks and corners and chimla tops,
Wur floating gert banners wi’ mighty big props,
And stamp’d on each flag i’ figures so nice,
Sum an’ inscripshun and sum a device;
But th’ nicest i’th’ lump at swung on a band,
Wur welcum to Haworth fra ivvery land.
Yor welcum, yor welcum, all men upon earth,
Yor welcum to the valley of Worth,
Fra th’ Humber to th’ Mersey, fra th’ Thames dahn to th’ Tyne,
Yor welcum to travel the Worth Valley Line.
CHAPTER IV
“Th’ last Scene of all that ends this strange eventful history.”
Fra th’ Corrispondent o’ th’ Hoylus End Mercury.
Good folks you’ve inkwired at home an’ abroad,
Ha we’re gettin on wi wur famous railroad;
And when I’ve tell’d yo the disasters we’ve hed,
Yo’ve greeved monny a time wal yo’ve tain to yor bed,
But ha yo will gape when yo read farther dahn,
What famons big stirrins we’ve hed up i’th’ tahn.
I knaw yo’d be mad as soin as yo heard,
Abaht that oud kah at belong’d to Blue Beard,
For I like as I saw yo just hod of its tail,
And braying it rump wi’ the end o’ yor flail;
For I wisht monny a time at yo hed been here,
For swallowing the plan yo’d a geen it what cheer.
Ha ivver good folk I’ll try to be breef,
For I knaw you’re i’ pain and I’ll give yo releef —
So to tell yo the truth in a plain, honnest way,
The railroad is finish’d an oppen’d to-day;
And I’ve tain up my pen for ill yo’d a taint,
If I hednt a geen yo a truthful ackahnt.
Hasumivver this morning, as I tell’d yo before,
I wur wakken’d wi hearin a awful uproar,
What wi’ the prating o’ wimen and the shahtin o’th’ folk,
And the bells at wur ringin, they wur past onny joke,
For ivvery two minnits they shahted hurrah,
We are nah bahn to oppen the Haworth Railway.
So I jump’d up i’ bed, an’ I gat on the floor,
I slipt on my cloas and ran out at door,
And the first at I met, it wur one Jimmy Peg,
He cum’d up fra Bocking and brout a gert flag,
And just at his heels wur the Spring-headed band,
Playing a march – I thout it wur grand.
So I fell into the step for I knaw how to march,
For I’ve been stiffen’d up wi’ guvernment starch;
And first smell o’ music it maks me fair dance,
And I prick up my ears like a trooper his lance,
Hasumivver, I thout as I’d gotten i’ th’ scent,
I’d follow this music wharever it went.
Then I march’d up erect, wal I come to the grand stand,
And that wur a’ th’ stashun where the train hed to land;
There wur flags of all nashuns fra the Union Jack
To Bacchus and Atlas wi’ the globe on his back,
For the Inspector and conductor and all sorts o’ fray
Wur expected directly to land at the railway.
So I star’d wal both een wur varry near bleared,
And waited and waited – at last it appear’d,
It wur filled full o’ folk as eggs full o’ meat,
And it tuk four ingens to bring it up reight,
Two hed long chimlas and th’ tuther hed noan,
But they stuck weel together like a dog to a bone.
They wur gruntin and growling wur the folks at gat aht,
So I made some inquiries what it wur abaht;
And i’ all my born days I ne’er heard nout so call’d,
For three or four times they sed it hed stall’d,
Wal some o’th’ crookt-legg’d ens bethout of a scheam,
And they went back to Keighley for a hamper o’steam.
And my word and honour it did mak a gert din,
For I stud by and heard it, and saw it come in;
I expected it coming as quiet as a lamb,
But no daht at the noises wur nobbut a sham;
But what’s the use o’ telling yo ha it did come,
I’d forgotten yo’d ridden to Wibsey begum.
There wur fifty i’ number invited to dine,
All us at hed acted reight loyal to the line;
So I thout that I’d go, for I knew weel enuff
At the puddings this time wud be made at reight stuff,
And noan o’ that stuffment they gav the Keighley band,
Toan awf on it rubbish and the other awf sand.
For twelve stone o’ flour (3lbs. to a man)
Wur boiled i’ oud Bingleechin’s kah lickin pan,
Wi gert lumps o’ suet at the cook hed put in’t,
At shane like a ginney just new aht at mint;
Wi’ knives made a purpose to cut it i’ rowls,
And the sauce wur i’ buckets and mighty big bowls.
They wur chattin and taukin and souckin ther spice,
And crackin at dainties they thout at wur nice,
Wal the oud parson gat up and pull’d a long face,
And mutter’d some words at they call saying th’ grace,
But I nivver goam’d that, cos I knew for a fact
It wur nobbut a signal for the puddin attack.
And aw’l tell yo wot, folk tho’ yo maint beleeve,
But yo tauks abaht Wibsey fooak heytin horse beef,
Yo sud a seen Locker-taaners brandishing ther nives,
An choppin an cutting ther wollopin shives;
An all on em shaatin thay lik’d th puddin th best,
Fer nout wur like th puddin for standin th’ test.
An while thay wor cutting an choppin away,
The gallant Spring-Heeaders wor order’d ta play,
But thay didn’t mich loike it fer ivvery wun,
Wur flaid at thayd play wol th puddin wor dun;
But as luck wor thay tice’d em, wi a gert deeal to do,
Ta play Roger the Plowman an Rozzen the bow.
Ike Ouden wor th chairman at com to preside,
An Will Thompson o Guiseley wor set by his soide,
Na Will’s a director o’th Midland line,
An as deeacent a chap as sat dahn ta dine;
Along wi Jin Sugden at held th Vice-chair,
Wor won Billy Brayshaw, Bradford Lord Mayor.
Their wor Jonathan Craven, Mic Morrell and me,
And a lot o more lads at wur for a spree;
There wur Nedwin o George’s and Pete Featherstone,
They sat side by side like Darby and Joan;
And I hardly can tell yo, but yor noan to a shade,
But I knaw they wur Ingham and little Jack Wade.
So he says, be silent, all the folk i’ this hall,
So as any won on yo can hear a pin fall;
And Jone o’ Bill Olders just shut up thi’ prate,
For I’ve summat to say and I mun let it aht;
For I mun hev silence whativer betide,
Or I’ll cum aht oth loom and some o’ yo hide.
Three years hes elapsed and we’re going on the fourth,
Sin we first started th railway fra Keighley to Haworth
What wi’ dreamin by neet, and workin by day,
Its been to poor Haworth a dearish railway.
And monny a time I’ve been aht o’ patience
Wi’ the host o’ misfortunes and miscalculations.
The first do at we hed wur th kah swallowing th plan,
And then wur bad luck and misfortunes began;
For before Ginger Jabus cud draw us another,
All went on wrong and we’d a gert deal o’ bother;
He must a been dreamin, a silly oud clahn,
For three fields o’ Oud Doodles he nivver put dahn.
As for thee, Jonny Broth, it’s a pity I knaw,
For thart one o’ the best drivers at ivver I saw;
And nobody can grumble at what tha hes dun,
If thi buss driven wearisome race it is run;
For who nah cud grumble, ha fine wur thur cloth,
To ride up to Haworth wi oud Johnny Broth.
So Johnny, my lad, don’t thee mak onny fuss,
I shuttin thi horses, or sellin thi buss;
For if the railway hes done thee, there’s wun thing I knaw;
Tha mud mak ’o th’ oud bus a stunnin peep show,
And if I meet thee at Lunden, tho two hundred miles,
I sall patronise thee if it be in St. Giles.
So strike up yor music and give it some mahth,
And welcum all nashuns fra north to the sahth;
The black fra the east, and the red fra the west,
For they sud be welcum as weel as the rest:
And all beyond the Tiber, the Baltic or Rhine,
Shall knaw at we’ve oppen’d the Worth Valley Line.