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I include these two verses, written as a pair, for the insight they give us into how Laycock saw that problems of domestic discord could lead to drink and ruin, whereas a joint effort of husband and wife could lead to harmony and prosperity. Clearly here we feel something of the ethos of self-reliance and self-control.

I note that the verses are another example of a male poet writing from the point of view of a female. Laycock again uses ‘fictitious’ names for little more purpose, it seems to me, than to get a rhyme. Also, the planned outing to the church is a ‘boys outing’ and seems to exclude the protagonist’s wife! Notwithstanding these criticisms I still find the two verses very nicely written and well worth presenting.

Part First

“He’s just come whoam fuddle’t ogen,

An’ flung hissel deawn on th’ bed;

One’s sick o’ such low drunken men,

An’ aw’m sure ther’s noan worse nor eawr Ned;

For he spends nearly o he con get;

What to do, aw’m as fast as a thief;

Ole th’ cubborts an’ drawers are “to let,”

An’ eawr Jane’s gone to ax for relief.

As for good, dacent clooas, we’re o beawt,

An’ we’ve nowt to stond up in but rags;

To tell th’ truth, aw’m ashamed to turn eawt,

If it’s nobbut when swillin’ eawr flags.

An’ he knows heaw we are very weel,

But he’s getten so harden’t wi’ drink,

’At it’s eawt ov his nature to feel,

He gets madder nor ever, aw think.

When he’s drunk, he’ll come in ov a neet,

An’ ceawer like a pig upo’ th’ floor;

Then aw wish he’d get eawt o’ mi seet,

An’ never come near me no mooer.

Yo’ may think me a hard-hearted wife,

An’ tell me aw’m sadly to blame;

But aw think ut iv yo’ lived my life,

Yo’r actions would be abeawt th’ same.

Look! he ceawers wi’ his yead upo’ th’ hob;

For a pillow, he’s getten his cap;

An’ is face is as black as a cob;

Dear-a-me, neaw, whatever’s yon rap!

It’s lon’lord, he’s comin’ for th’ rent,

But we haven’t a farthin’ i’th’ hole;

Th’ last three-haupence we had has been spent

On a quarter ov a hundert o’ coal.”

“Howd on, lass aw’ve summat to say

Abeawt th’ blame bein’ thrown on to me;

Aw know aw’ve bin drinkin’ to-day,

But it’s ole on it owin’ to thee.

Aw’m not th’ only sinner i’th’ place,

Tho’ aw’m willin to own aw’ve done wrong;

Let me tell thi straight eawt to thi face,

’At tha’s done it thisel’ wi’ thi tongue.

Tha’ knows ’at tha’s scores o’ times said

’At a sup o’ whoam-brew’d would do good;

Tha’s made th’ spot ’at should shelter mi yead,

Well, as mitch like a hell as tha could!

When aw come in at neets fro’ mi wark,

It’s a job for me t’ get in at th’ door;

An’ tha’s th’ heawse very often i’th’ dark,

An’ th’ wesh-tub an’ th’ clooas abeawt th’ floor.

Aw know aw’m a bit of a foo’,

An’ aw know we’ve no bread up o’th’ shelf;

But aw know this, – an’ so does that too, –  

Tha’s bin th’ cause o’ this misery thyself.

When aw took thi as bride fro’ thi whoam,

I’ that bonny breet month of May,

Does t’ think aw intended t’ become

Th’ drunken sot ’at tha sees me to-day?

Not I! an’ aw tell thi what, wife,

This longin’ for drink is so strong,

’At ther’ll soon be an end to mi life;

Aw shall noan be i’th’ road on thi long.

Ther’s just one little favour aw crave; –

Aw hope tha’ll be able to see

’As th’ drunkard ’at’s gone to is grave,

Atributes his deawnfall to thee!”

Return to index of Lancashire dialect poems

Part Second

He’s just signed a pledge, has eawr John,

An’ for once he’s just done as he said;

Whey, to see him a reet dacent mon,

Welly mak’s me feel wrong i’ mi yead.

If th’ lad brings o his wage wi’ him whoam,

It will be a wonderful seet:

Heawever, aw want it to come,

An’ wish it wur th’ reckonin’ to-neet.

Eh, aw wonder what th’ neighbours ’ll think,

When they see mi new bonnet an’ cap;

Aw con fancy aw see a sly wink,

’At may meon ’at aw’ve had ’em on th’ strap.

They’ll wonder what’s up wi’ th’ owd lass,

Wearin’ silk, where hoo once wore rags;

Won’t aw look at misel’ i’th’ glass!

But aw hear John’s clogs up’ th’ flags.

Well, tha’rt here, lad; aw thowt it wur thee:

But bless us! theaw art some an’ weet;

Is it rainin’ like that? dear-a-me!

Get these warm carpet shoon on thi feet.

Aw’m just thinkin’ heaw Skinflint ’ll stare,

When aw co at his shop for some beef;

He’ll say he’s no bones he con spare,

For he’ll think aw’ve co’d in for relief.

What’s th’ lon’lord at the’ “Angel” to do,

Neaw tha’s turned a teetotaller, John?

They’ll be gradely surprised deawn at th’ “Q”

When they find eawt the’r customer’s gone.

Won’t thi grey-yeaded feyther be glad!

Ah, an’ th’ owd woman too, when hoo’s towd;

But aw’m sure tha’ll be hungry, mi lad,

Get thi baggin’, thy tay’ll be cowd.

Ther’s some nice buttered toast on th’ hob,

An’ th’ hawve ov a herrin’ theer, see;

Aw browt it to pleos eawr Bob,

But aw’ve saved a bit on it for thee.

Neaw, tha’rt owd enough t’ get what tha needs;

Ther’s some celery, see, an’ some sawt;

An’ some nice curran’ loaf witheawt seeds,

If tha’rt short it’ll be thi own fawt.”

“Ther’s plenty, mi lass, an’ to spare;

An’ aw’m sure it o looks very nice;

Tha’s provided some capital fare,

An’ ther’s no need for axin’ me twice.

Wheer’s eawr lads? Are they o gone to bed?

Has t’ put some warm breek to the’r feet?

Aw feel rather uneasy o’er Ned,

But let’s hope ’at he’ll soon get reet.

Aw wish tha’d bring th’ taypot this way,

An’ teem me a sope i’ mi cup;

But ther’s summat gone wrong, lass, eh!

Whatever i’th’ world is the’r up!

Ther’s a waist button gone, bi the mass!

Why, aw must ha’ bin atin’ to mitch:

Well, it conno be helped neaw, mi lass,

Get thi needle an’ give it a stitch.

Ther’s mi haliday shirt i’th owd chest;

Aw shall want it next Sunday, does t’ know:

Tha mun mak’ it reet nice abeawt th’ breast;

Starch th’ neck weel, an’ th’ wrist-bands an’ o;

For owd Turner, an’ young Jemmy Birch

Are co’in for me an’ eawr Ned;

Tha may stare, but we’re o beawn to th’ church;

Bless me, lass, aw ne’er been sin’ we’rn wed!”