My Owd Case Clock
This wonderful poem was written by Sam Fitton. My copy is published in 'A Lancashire Garland of Dialect Prose and Verse' selected and edited by G. Halstead Whittaker, second edition, 1936, published by Geo. Whitaker & Sons, Eclipse Works, Stalybridge. I can highly recommend this volume, which should be available via the Internet.
Sam Fitton is one of the favourite Lancashire dialect writers. He lived from 1868 to 1923 and though born in Congleton, Cheshire, is mainly associated with Rochdale. He started work in the cotton industry but then went to art school and developed his skills as a writer cartoonist and reciter of dialect poems and prose. He wrote of towns and people, not the countryside.
My Owd Case Clock
By Sam Fitton
We o’ han cherished things no doubt,
We somehow feel we cornt do ‘bowt:
Some furniture we value heigh,
We’n things ‘at money couldna’ beigh.
I have an owd case-clock a’ whoam
I wouldna’ sell for any sum;
It stood i’ th’ corner, so I’m towd
When first I coom to live i’ th’ fowd ;
It stons theer yet, an’ neet an’ day
It measures time an’ ticks away –
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
Its cheery dial seems to say:
“Let’s laugh to while the time away,”
An’ though it hasno’ changed its chime
It’s sin some changes in its time;
It’s gazed on o our household crew,
It’s watched ‘em come, it’s watched ‘em goo.
When little Jack were ta’en one day
It watched us side his things away,
An’ when our tears began to flow
It said “Cheer up, Time heals, I know;
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
It’s like a sentinel i’ th’ nook;
Th’ owd lad con read me like a book,
An when I’ve had an extra glass
It seems to know, it does bi’ th’ Mass!
That clock’s both human an’ divine;
One neet I geet a bit o’er th’ line;
It chuckled, as it winked one e’e:
“Tha’s had a drop to’ mich I see,”
It hiccupped, “Well tha art a foo”;
The beggar seemed to wobble too: –
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
When little Bill were born, th’ owd clock
Seemed fain to have one moor to th’ flock,
But while it smiled it little knew
His mother wouldna’ live it through;
It watched ‘em lay her in her shroud
An’ somehow didna’ tick so loud;
It seemed to say: “There’s trouble here,
They’n lost their main-spring, too, I fear;
I’ll howd my noise till th’ trouble’s o’er.”
But now it ticks on as before: –
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
It’s sin some marlocks in its time,
When I were young an’ in my prime
It watched me courtin eawr Nell;
It seed us kiss, but winno tell;
It seed me smile on th’ weddin’ morn,
An’ swell wi’ pride when th’ first were born;
It’s sin o th’ childer in their pomp;
It’s watched ‘em laugh, an’ sing, an’ romp,
An’ when I’ve joined ‘em in their play
It’s said “I’m fain I’m wick today –
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
Alas! There coom a time when trade
Were bad an’ I felt much afraid
I’d ha’ to sell my dear owd clock
To pay for corn to feed my flock.
I felt distracted. Things grew worse,
An’ when a chap’s an empty purse
An’ hawf-a-dozen meawths to feed,
If he’s a heart it’s bound to bleed.
I sowd th’ owd couch to buy ‘em bread,
An’ th’ owd case-clock looked on an’ said:
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
I axed th’ owd clock: “What mun I do?
I welly think tha’ll ha’ to goo;
I’m loth to part wi’ thee, owd lad,
But th’ childer starve, an times are bad.
Say shall I sell thee, too, owd friend,
Or does ta think ‘at times ull mend?
I know tha’d raise a pound or two,
So mun we part? Come, tell me true.”
I welly thowt it shook its yed;
It seemed to frown on me an’ said: –
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”
I didna’ sell th’ owd clock at o’,
For times improved. It seemed to know.
It’s like a dog, for wark or play,
It knows quite every word I say.
When times are good it looks so glad;
Its dial drops when times are bad.
Then, like a sage, it ticks an’ sings,
Remindin’ me ‘at time has wings;
An’ when I’ve gone to – God knows wheer,
Th’ owd clock ull still be tickin’ theer:
“Tick, tock; tick, tock.”