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By Ben Brierley

Dedicated to W. Bro. Colonel Le Gendre W. Starkie, Rt. W. Prov. Grand Master of Masons in E. Lancashire. Music by W. Bro. Nat Dumville, P.M., Arthur Sullivan Lodge. The version below is taken from Brierley's 'Spring Blossoms and Autumn Leaves' published in 1893. This is not a poem in Lancashire dialect, so it is not listed on the index page.

Ben Brierley was a man of many parts - and one of those parts was that of a Freemason. In this he was following in the steps of, among others, Robert Burns, perhaps the all-time master of vernacular poetry.

The poem relates to Freemasonry. 'His Mother's Age - Ten Seventy Seven' is the number of Jammie's mother lodge, which turns out to be 'Wilton Lodge', based in Manchester and founded some time before 1874. I think the poem is spoken by Jammie's true-love as she sees him off to his lodge meeting. References to 'on the square' and 'true his life to rule and plumb' relate to masonic morality - to be honest, true and fair in dealing at all times. The poem is not, of course, in Lancashire dialect.

My Bonny Lad Wi' The Apron On

My Jamie is a Mason bold

His mother’s age – ten seventy seven

His word to me's as good as gold

His soul's as pure as smile from Heaven.

Whene'er we take our walks at eve,

A face for him, there’s only one;

Than lose his heart a world I’d give–

My bonny lad wi’ the apron on.

He jewels wears upon his breast,

And three upon his brat so white;

And when he’s donned up in his best,

Oh, is he not my heart’s delight?

He says I ought to cautious be

When other lads try on their fun;

But surely he’s no doubts of me a–

My bonny lad wi’ the apron on!

Why need he says he’s on the square,

And true his life to rule and plumb?

You'll find few young men anywhere,

That virtues such as his become.

He kissed me at the gate to-neet,

And now he to his lodge has gone;

But later on I’m bound to meet

My bonny lad wi’ the apron on.

A day he’s named–a day to come,

When I must take the first degree

In that Free Masonry of home –

Then happy sister shall I be.

His secrets I already know,

And in the grips we both are one;

A spotless vesture soon I’ll show

My bonny lad wi’ the apron on! 

Return to index of Lancashire dialect poems