Come Whoam To Thi Childer An’ Me
by Edwin Waugh
From ‘A Lancashire Garland of Dialect Prose and Verse. Selected and Edited by G. Halstead Whittaker. Published in 1936 by Geo. Whittaker & Sons, Eclipse Works, Stalybridge, 2nd Impression, 1936. Link to Glossary.
Come Whoam To Thi Childer An’ Me
by Edwin Waugh
Aw’ve just mended th’ fire wi’ a cob;
Owd Swaddle has brought thi new shoon;
There’s some nice bacon-collops o’th hob,
An’ a quart o’ ale posset i’th oon;
Aw’ve brought thi top-cwot, doesto know,
For th’ rain’s comin’ deawn very dree;
An’ th’ harstone’s as white as new snow; -
Come whoam to thi’ childer an’ me.
When aw put little Sally to bed,
Hoo cried, ‘cose her feyther weren’t theer,
So aw kiss’d little thing, an’ aw said
Thae’d bring her a ribbin fro’ th’ fair:
An’ aw gav her her doll, an’ some rags,
An’ a nice little white cotton-bo’;
An’ aw kiss’d her again; but hoo said
‘At hoo wanted to kiss thee an’ o’.
An’ Dick, too,aw’d sich wark wi’ him,
Afore aw could get him up stairs;
Thae towd him thae’d bring him a drum,
He said, when he’re sayin’ his prayers;
Then he looked i’ my face, an’ he said,
"Has th’ boggarts taen houd o’ my dad?"
An’ he cried till his e’en were quite red; -
He likes thee some weel, does yon lad!
At th’ lung-length, aw geet ‘em laid still;
An’ aw hearken’t folk’s feet ‘at went by;
So aw iron’t o’ my clooas reet well,
An’ aw hanged ‘em o’th maiden to dry;
When aw’d mended thi stockin’s an’ shirts,
Aw sit deawn to knit i’ my cheer,
An’ aw rayley did feel rather hurt, -
Mon, aw’m one-ly when theaw artn’t theer.
"Aw’ve a drum an’ a trumpet for Dick;
Aw’ve a yard o’ blue ribbin for Sal;
Aw've a book full o’ babs; an’ a stick
An’ some ‘bacco an’ pipes for mysel’;
Aw’ve brought thee some coffee an’ tay, -
Iv thae’ll feel i’ my pocket, thae’ll see;
An’ aw’ve bought tho a new cap today, -
But aw al’ays bring summat for thee!
"God bless tho’, my lass; aw’ll go whoam,
An’ aw’ll kiss thee an’ th’ childer o’ round;
Thae knows, that wherever aw roam,
Aw’m fain to get back to th’ owd ground;
Aw can do wi’ a crack o’er a glass;
Aw can do wi’ a bit of a spree;
But aw’ve no gradely comfort, my lass,
Except wi’ yon childer and thee."