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| A Weighver’s Song by John Trafford Clegg (From Lancashire Miscellany ed. James Bennet, 1960. Published by Hirst, Kidd & Rennie Ltd., Oldham).
John Trafford Clegg (1857-1895)
Clegg was born in Milnrow but the family moved to Rochdale before he was a year old. He was educated at Rochdale Grammar School and composed pure English poems while a young man. He was apprenticed to his elder brother at the Aldine Press in Rochdale, of which he eventually became the foreman, but also knew the ways of the cotton mill as his father bought one in Glossop. He married, had a daughter and two sons but died tragically young. He was hugely admired by Ben Brierley and Teddy Ashton. All his dialect poetry was written in only after 1890. (Notes from 'A Lancashire Garland' published in 1936 by Geo. Whittaker & Sons, Stalybridge). Click here for Glossary. A Weighver’s Song
Deawn i’ th’ shed on a summer’s day,
Th’ owd sun shinin’ through th’ white-weshed top;
Brids on th’ slate are chirpin’ away,
An’ aw whistle a tune to every cop;
Clatterin’ loom an’ whirlin’ wheel,
Flyin’ shuttle an’ steady reed –
This is wark to make a mon feel
There’s wur jobs nor weighvin’ i’ time o’ need.
Straight-drawn alley an’ clen white wo’s,
Picking-pegs noddin’ their yeads o reaund,
Warps bendin’ deawn like wayther-fo’s,
Cog-wheels rattlin’ a merry seaund,
Tidy skips runnin’ o’er wi’ weft,
Snowy cloth windin’ on to the’ byem –
Tak’ a good sniff o’ th’ flyin’ drift,
It’s clay an’ dust, an’ we’re nobbut th’ same.
Lads an’ lasses stonnin’ i’ rows,
Wortchin’ away fro’ morn to neet;
Tenters – Bobs, Sals, Bettys, an’ Joes –
Runnin’ abeaut o’ their nimble feet,
Keepin’ time to a steady tune,
Played bi th’ engine fro’ leet to dark
(Feed him wi’ wayther an’ coal, beaut spoon,
An’ he’s olez reet for another day’s wark);
Weighvin’ cotton o sizes an’ mak’s,
Tablecloths, hanketchers, owts an’ nowts,
Shirts for niggers an’ ‘Merica blacks,
Towels for Chinamen, India clouts,
Dhooties, jacconets, sheetin’s, twills,
Yard-wide, narrow-widths, heavy an’ leet,
Brats and petticwots, fancies, drills –
We con weighve owt, an weighve it reet!
Deawn i’ th’ shed on a winther’s day,
Th’ sun asleep in his cleady bed,
Scores o’ gasleets blazin’ away
On shinin’ pulley an snowy thread;
Clattherin’ loom an’ whirlin’ wheel,
Flyin’ shuttle an’ steady reed –
This is wark to make a mon feel
There’s wur jobs nor weighvin’ i’ time o’ need.
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