Poor Pussy by Samuel Laycock
From ‘The Collected Writings of Samuel Laycock’, second edition, issued 1908.
Published in Oldham by W. E. Clegg, in London by Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Ltd., and in Manchester by John Heywood Ltd. and Abel Heywood & Son.
I've included this poem, in spite of the naff title, because it illustrates a callowness of feeling among the youth of the day (towards the end of the nineteenth century) and a slightly surprising humanity in Laycock towards a 'dumb' animal. Perhaps almost inevitably the end of the poem manifests a confidence that God watches over all and will see that our good deeds are counted to us. But Laycock also makes it plain that we should treat a cat that is down on its luck as we ourselves would hope to be treated by our fellows if we found ourselves in similar circumstances.
Link to Glossary.
Poor Pussy
Theaw’rt one o’ God’s creatures, come in here, come in;
Poor Pussy? Theaw art hungry lookin’ an’ thin,
Eawr John’s just bin tellin’ me heaw tha’s bin used;
It’s shawmful is th’ way ’at he’s seen thi abused,
Poor thing! An’ tha’rt nobbut a kittlin’ aw see;
An’ yet th’ nowty lads couldn’t let thi a-be;
But tha’s met wi’ a friend at’ll keep thi fro’ harm,
So ceawer thi deawn here where it’s cosy an’ warm.
It’s th’ wrung time o’ th’ year to be takin’ owt in;
An’ yet aw shall never be guilty o’ th’ sin
O’ turnin’ mi back on a creature i’ need,
Iv it’s nobbut a cat ’at aw’m able to feed.
Lie thi deawn close to th’ hob, an’ aw’ll fot some moor coal;
Tha shall join me at th’ best ’at aw have i’ this hole.
Wheer’s thi mother, aw wonder? Well, that tha can’t tell,
But tha’rt rather to’ young to turn eawt bi thisel’.
Now, then, here’s a sope o’ warm milk in a plate;
Lap it up, an’ be sharp, for tha needs summat t’ate.
Here, John, lad, thee slip into th’ butcher’s, th’ next dur,
For a penn’orth o’ leets, an’ say what they’re for;
He’s a good-natured fellow is Alfred Maclure,
Iv he knows what they’re for he may send rayther moor.
He’s fond ov a dog, is th’ owd lad – he is that; –
Let’s hope he con feel for a poor starvin’ cat.
Here’s John wi’ those leets’ come an’ have a “tuck in,”
An’ we’ll cure thi o’ lookin’ so famished an’ thin.
Hasto getten nine lives? Some cats han, they sen;
Well, stop here wi’ me, an’ tha’ll happen ha’ ten.
Come here, neaw, come here; for tha mustn’t go eawt,
Or tha’ll get welly kilt wi’ th’ bad lads ’at’s abeawt.
They think it foine sport to ill-use sich as thee;
Jump up, an’ aw’ll howd thi a bit on mi knee.
Well, it’s th’ way o’ this world! When one’s powfagg’d an’ deawn,
An’ friends ’at should care for us every one fleawn,
Ther’s allus some ready – Tom , Harry or Dick –
To hurl us still lower, an’ give us a kick.
Like some hungry vulture, ’at hovers areawned,
An’ fattens its carcase ’o meat ’at’s unseawnd,
So these, havin’ passions degraded an’ low,
Can feed upo’ cruelty, revel ‘’midst woe!
Aw’d rather this minute be clemm’d same as thee,
As friendless an’ whoamless tha ceawers on mi knee,
Nor be curse wi’ mean actions, like some aw could name,
’At are soulless, an’ heartless, an’ “glory i’ shame.”
Tha pricks up thi ears, an’ tha howds up thi yead!
Tha met understan’ every word ’at aw’ve said!
Theaw has as mitch sense – an’ tha knows what to do wi’t –
As that wretch ’at wur puncin’ thi up an’ deawn th’ street.
Well’ aw’m thinkin’ we’ve summat t’ be thankful for, John;
It’s grand, lad, to do a kind act when we con;
Aw’ve towt thee a lesson aw want thi’ to heed,
Whenever tha meets a poor creature i’ need.
Let’s allus deal gently wi’ th’ sufferin’ an’ sad,
Then God will deal gently with us, mi dear lad;
An’ iv ever, loike th’ cat here, we get cast adrift,
Ther’s no deawt but what someb’dy ull give us a lift.
Return to index of Lancashire dialect poems