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Owdham Wakes by J. T. Taylor
I know nothing about J. T. Taylor, other than that he apparently died in 1926. I found this poem in 'A Lancashire Miscellany', edited by James Bennett, published in 1960 by Hirst, Kidd & Rennie Ltd. in Oldham. He was no mean poet, as this offering will show, and I think he was probably an Oldhamer. The poem appeals to me for several reasons. First, it is about Oldham, which is where the Dunkerleys developed during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Second, it deals with an episode that took place in the 1920s in which my grandfather was intimately involved and that caused great hardship in Oldham. You can read about this in my article on 'The Regent Cotton Mill, Failsworth' in the Family History section of this website and also in the account of my grandfather's life 'Billy Dunkerley & Selina Martin'.
Basically, after the end of the First World War, it appeared that there would be another boom in the cotton industry. On the strength of the optimism then prevailing, several brand-new cotton mills were built and many existing mills were re-capitalized, share capital being replaced by loans. Furthermore, the new shares were 'part paid' so that, for example, the owner of a £1 share only contributed, say, 50p. It was widely believed that the other 50p would never be 'called up'. However, the boom collapsed as it became apparent that overseas competitors, such as the Japanese, Americans and recovering European economies could undercut the high-cost Lancashire mills. Trade collapsed and the banks called in their loans, obliging the owners of the part-paid shares to stump up the outstanding capital in a series of 'Calls'. The process lasted several years and caused widespread despondency as a large proportion of the population had been suckered into taking part in these speculative 'get rich quick' schemes.
Many people, including my grandfather, tightened their belts and paid their calls, thus throwing good money after bad (the alternative was the shame of bankruptcy). Many too, again like my grandfather, were made redundant and forced out of an industry in which they had worked for decades. The Lancashire - and Oldham - mills never recovered and the decline continued - with some ups and down - until Lancashire no longer had any significance in an industry it had once dominated. Such is industrial decline.
For those who don't know, 'Tommyfield' was (and still is) the site of Oldham Market. The whole town used to close down in August for a week of holiday - called the 'Wakes'. At this time a substantial part of the population would go off to the seaside - Blackpool was the most popular destination, or Southport if you were a bit posh. The cotton mills would carry out major maintenance work at this time and it must have been strange to see scores of factory chimneys with no black smoke coming from them. The less well-off stayed at home, but had the option of visiting the fair that came to offer amusements at Tommyfield. The protagonists of our poem are about to go on holiday when the postman delivers another Call. Making the best of a bad job John and Sally swallow their disappointment, put away the holiday cases and have a good day out at the fair. Now read on:
Owdham Wakes
by J. T. Taylor
To stop awhoam this Owdham Wakes
Aw thowt would be as well;
In fact, to tell yo’ th’ gradely truth,
Aw couldno’ help mysel’.
Aw couldno’ boast o’ ready brass,
Though credit’s full an’ free;
It’s chiefly made o’ heavy calls-
That mak’ a wakes o’ me.
Aw’d just completed packin’ up,
And puttin’ th’ label on,
When th’ postman coom an’ rapp’d at th’ dur-
"Another letter, John,"
"Another call," aw said to th’ wife,
"Another call be hanged!"
An’ th’ chap could hardly get away
Ere th’ dur wur shut an’ bang’d.
Of course, aw softly sided th’ things
As though we’d just com’d back,
An’ th’ wife stood by, but never spoke-
But didno’ hoo look black!
Hoo didno’ poo her bonnet off
For sich a lung, lung while,
An’ do an’ say whate’er aw would
Aw couldno’ get her t’ smile.
An’ then hoo vow’d, as wimen con-
Yo’ve yerd ‘em aw’ve no deawbt-
That thoose met share, an’ share ‘at loik’t,
Hoo wish’d that we wur eawt.
Hoo’d had no pleasure sin’ we first
Began to spekilate;
But then aw wanted brass so fast
Aw couldno’ work an’ wait.
"Neaw, dunno’ spake a word," hoo said;
"Thy case needs no defence,
For th’ job is done, an’ here we are
Awhoam, i’ consequence."
"Nay, nay," aw said, "there is no need
To stop awhoam at o;
We’ll go as far as Tommy Fielt,
An’ in a penny show.
"There’s lots o’ folk as well as us
I’ th same predicament;
Besides, we’re savin’ th’ brass, theaw knows,
So rest thysel’ content.
Come, breeten up thy face a bit;
What, though it rains today,
There’ll come a time o’ sunshine yet-
There’s worse things done at say."
Hoo veer’d reawnd i’ course o’ time,
An’ then hoo said to me,
"Well, if we go to Tommy Fielt
Whatever shall we see?"
"What shall we see? Eh, bless me, wench,
There’s circuses an’ shows,
There’s endless fun an’ merriment,
An’ lots o’ folk theaw knows."
"Well, then, we’ll go." An’ go we did,
An’ had a gradely reawnd;
We yerd o sorts o’ dismal chords
Mak’ up a dismal seawnd.
The showman towd us what they had,
They sheawted leawd an’ strung,
An’ swore they’d give us fifty peawnd
If what they said wur wrung.
We went to Howden’s manikins,
An’ rare an’ good they wur;
It fairly capp’ed me heaw they made
Thoose little chaps to stir.
They’rn up an’ deawn i’ double quick,
So nimble wur their shanks,
But th’ worst on ‘t wur, they played at nowt
But reet deawn peevish pranks.
We went to see the goblinscope,
We went i’ th’ circus, too;
In fact, we went i’ ev’ry show
To see what there wur t’ do.
Aw said aw’d ride a hobby horse,
An’ th’ wife said so would hoo;
So on we geet, loike jockeys bowd,
An’ reawnd an reawnd we flew.
Aw see’d eawr Sally turnin’ pale,
Aw shawted for my life,
"Yo’ rascals, stop that engine neaw;
Yo’re beawn’ to kill my wife!"
They stopp’d , an’ deawn aw jump’d at once,
An’ ran across the street;
Aw geet some brandy, nice an’ warm,
An’ help’d her on her feet.
Hoo werno’ lung i’ comin’ reawnd,
It seem’d to do her good,
An’ if aw’d ax’t her t’ ride again
Aw do believe hoo would.
Heawever, th’ time wur getting’ on,
An’ th’ brass wur getting’ done,
"So let’s be goin’ whoam," aw said,
"We’ve had enoof o’ fun."
Glossary
Awhoam - home
Hoo - don't forget that this is a lovely Lancashire dialect word meaning 'She'
Brass - money (of course)
'It fairly capp'd me' - I was really amazed
Beawn - going
At say - at sea
Manikins - puppets
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