Ale Versus Physic
From ‘A Lancashire Garland’, Selected and Edited by G. Halstead Whittaker, Second Impression, 1936, printed at Elipse Works, Staylybridge by Geo. Whittaker & Sons.
Elijah Ridings (1802 - 1872) is one of the earliest writers of Lancashire dialect, and has a wonderful touch. He was the tenth child of a family of fifteen, born in Failsworth to parents who were silk weavers (like Ben Brierley) and at first he followed that trade. Later, however, he became an innkeeper and then a bookstall owner in Withy Grove, Manchester. Like many of the Lancashire dialect poets - perhaps all - he also wrote in standard English. He translated Tim Bobbin's 'Tummas and Meary' into a more readable form of the dialect. [Link to further discussion here].
The poem describes a man suffering a stroke in the street at Newton Heath, fortunately near to a doctors, and describes the highly efficacious treatment received.
Link to explanatory Glossary.
Ale Versus Physic
by Elijah Ridings
Aw’re gooin’ by a docthher’s shop
Ut th’ top o’ Newton Yeth
Un theer aw gan a sudden stop.
Un begun t’ be feeort o’ deoth.
My honds shak’d loike an aspen leaf;
Aw dithert I’ my shoon;
It seemt as dark as twelve at neet,
Though ‘twur but twelve at noon.
Aw thowt aw see’d the gallows-tree,
Wheer th’ yorn-croft thief wur swung,
Un ut’ owd Nick wur takkin’ me,
Un theer he’d ha’ me hung.
Aw grop’d my way to th’ docthur’s heawse,
Un then aw tumbl’t deawn;
The floor, it gan me such a seawse,
Aw welly broke my creawn.
Neaw what wur th’ docthur thinkin’ on,
For t’bring me to mysel,
Un save a sick an deein’ mon,
So feeort o’ deoth, an’ hell!
He used no lance – he used no drug,
Ut strenghthens or ut soothes,
Bur he browt some strong ale in a jug,
Ut ‘ud come fro’ Willy Booth’s.
He put it in my wackerin’ hont,
Ut wur so pale an’ thin;
Aw swoipt it o off at a woint,
Un aw never ailt nowt sin’!
Return to index of Lancashire dialect poems
Helpful explanations:
docthher’s shop – doctor’s house
Newton Yeth – Newton Heath (a place)
feeort o’ deoth – frightened of death
honds shak’d loike – hands shook like
dark as twelve at neet – as dark as midnight
thief wur swung – thief was hung
owd Nick wur takkin’ me – the Devil was taking me
tumbl’t deawn – fell down (suffered a stroke)
seawse – blow
welly broke my creawn – nearly cracked my skull
used no lance – let no blood
browt – brought
wackerin’ hont – trembling hand
swoipt it o off at a woint – knocked it back in one
ailt nowt sin’ – never been ill since