My Bonny Lad Wi’ The Apron On 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.
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.
This 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 Jammie is a Mason bold,
His Mother’s Age – Ten Seventy Seven:
His word to me's as good as gold,
His soul – as pure as smile from Heaven.
And when we take our walks at eve,
A smile for him, there’s only one;
Than lose his heart a world I’d give –
My Bonny Lad wi’ the Apron on.
His jewels wears upon his breast
And three upon his brat so white,
And when he’s donn'd up in his best,
Then Oh, he is my heart’s delight.
He says I ought to cautious be
When other lads try on their fun,
But surely he’s no doubts o’ me?
My Bonny Lad wi’ the Apron on.
Why need he say he’s on the square
And true his life to rule and plumb?
There’s few men you’ll find 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 Freemasonry of Home –
Then happy Sister I shall 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