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An Owd Maid’s Lament From ‘A Lancashire Garland’, Selected and Edited by G. Halstead Whittaker, Second Impression, 1936, printed at Elipse Works, Stalybridge by Geo. Whittaker & Sons.
Joseph Burgess (1853 - 1934) is another son of Failsworth who suffered a hard upbringing that in his case turned more to politics than art. At six he was working 60 hours a week and grew up as a hard kid, ready to take on larger boys.
He coursed through journalism and politics, becoming a founder member of the Independent Labour Party, a forerunner of the present Labour party.
He published two books, one autobiographical to which my grandfather, William (Billy) Dunkerley subscribed, and one – ‘A Potential Poet?’ – of poems. I have a copy dedicated to my grandfather, also a Failsworth man. Both Joseph Burgess and my grandfather have residential roads in Failsworth named after them. Click to link to Glossary. An Owd Maid’s Lament
by Joseph Burgess
(November 1, 1873)
It’s terribly cowd
I’ this wintery weather;
Bu’ aw’ve lat’ly bin towd
Two lie warmer together.
I’ fact, folk so oft
Takken th’ trouble to tell,
Aw’ll no lunger be soft,
Bu’ try it mysel’.
It runs i’ mi yed,
If aw;ll nobbo’ be bowder,
Aw’st happen get wed
Afore aw’m mich owder;
So aw’ll promise yo’ this –
No matter who blacks me –
Aw’ll up an’ say “Yes,”
To th’ fost at ‘ll ax mi.
Aw know aw’m noan noice
Loike that brazant snicket
Aw’ve seen one or twoice
Wi’ yung Jammie Rickett;
Bu’ when aw’re nointeen,
It’s allus bin sed
Aw’d two as breet een
As her i’ mi yed.
By’ sowin’ an’ trimmin’,
An’ bein’ industrious,
Thoose jewels are dimmin’
At onct wur so lustrious;
Heaw mich they’n decloint
Aw’ll alleaw yo’ to gex,
For yo’ seen aw’m so bloint
Aw’m forct to wear specs.
Yet aw durn’t want to dee
A lonely owd maid,
Wi’ nob’dy to see
Wheer mi booans are laid;
Wi’ nob’dy t’ erect
A bit o’ stone o’er me
To show their respect
Un heaw they deplore me.
An’ if amb’dy ‘ll ha’ me
Ut isno’ too feort
O’ losin his mammy,
He’ll be “darlint” an’ “deeort.”
An’ there’s som’d’dy beloike
Noan so fond o’ his titty
Bu’he’ll say “dunno’ scroike,
Aw’ll wed thee for pity.”
Soa if ther’s a mon here
Is willin’ to try me,
He’s no need to fear
‘At mi deeds ‘ll belie me.
What! Noan a reply?
Unfortunate elf!
Aw’m gradely laid by
Un shoved upo’ th’ shelf!
Well, aw’ll bid yo’ good neet;
It’s toime ‘at we parted;
Mi heart’s noan as leet
As it wur when aw started;
Mi pride’s had a fo
Or else aw’d ha’ tarried,
Bu’ by gum! Neaw aw know
Aw’m too owd to be married.
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