Ammon Wrigley - "Donty's Supperin' Do"

The following is a transcription of a work by Saddleworth poet Ammon Wrigley (1861-1946).

Donty's Supperin' Do

Now if yo’ll mak’ a less noise an’ hearken a bit,
Aw’ll just try an’ tell yo’ an owd Saddleworth skit;
It’s true as the gospel, what Awm going to tell,
But Aw want yo’ to promise it’s kept to yersel:
Well there wur Junter an’ yon’ Jamie o’ th’ Low,
Now those are two warm uns as Aw guess yo’ know;
For eatin’ an’ drinkin’ they’re bad uns to lick,
For they'll tak’ i’ owt oather deeud or wick;
They ne’er do mich wark for it’s nowt i’ their line,
Unless it’s shiftin’ some ale they can manage that fine.
Well one neet at th’ Heights they met Donty o’ th’ Broo,
“Eh lads,” he said, “Awm fain to meet wi’ yo’ two.
“For Aw’ve catched a grand hare as ever a mon seed,
“If yo’ come up to my heause yo’ shall ha’ a good feed.”
“That’s just what we’re wantin’,” said Junter some glad,
“It is that,” said Jamie, “an’ thank yo’ owd lad.
“If we come up at noon Aw guess it'll be o reet,”
“Oh, come to yo’r supper to morrow at neet.”
When neet came next day they were oni’ good time,
“Eh lads,” said old Dont, “now this is just prime.”
“It’s a bit too luscious, Aw think it’s too rich,
“Now yo’ll mak’ yorsel ill if yo’ get too mich.
“Aw’ve skimmed o th’ fat off as weel as Aw could.”
“Ne’er mind th’ fat,” said Junter,”Aw’ll bet it’s good,
“Let’s sample it, owd lad, where is there a spoon?
“By gad Awm some hungry, Aw’ve been trainin’ sin’ noon.”
So Junter dipped th’ spoon in an’ his lips went smack,
“Eh Jamie, Jamie, owd lad, we’ll gie this some whack.”
“Now yo’r welcome,” said Dont, “do th’ best ’at yo’ can
“There’s weshin’ mug full an’ plenty i’ th’ pan;
“Aw havn’t mich ale an’ yo’ll want mony a quart,
“Aw’ll go up to th’ Heights while yo’re makin’ a start.”
So they collared their spoons an’ they off at top speed,
“By the gadlins,” said Jamie, ‘“Aw’ve ne’er had sich a feed.”
But Junter ne’er spoke, for he kept ladin’ it in
Till a stream o’ warm fat ran off at his chin;
An’ Jamie wur puffin’ an’ blowin’ for wind,
For fear he wur gettin’ a spoonful behind:
“Yo’r goin’ to’ fast, lad, go slower,” Jamie said,
“As long as this lasts,” said Junter, “Awm goin’ ahead.”
So they stuck to their work, shifting platefuls of fat,
Till their faces were covered wi’ grease an’ swat:
Jamie looked into th’ pan an’ slapped hold o’ th’ yed
“Aw’ll mak’ this look less in a minute,” he said.
They seawked every boan till it wur white as snow,
“Eh, owd lad,” said Junter, “we never wur i’ sich blow.”
“It’s been grand,” said Jamie, but yo’ know Aw can see
“Yo’ve had a good share, two bowls more than me;
“An’ Aw thowt we wur mates an’ it doesn’t look fair,
“Aw feel a bit vexed Junter, Aw havn’t had my share.”
“Now Jamie yo’d same chance as me,” said Junter some sly
“When there’s hare soup i’ my bowl Aw mak it fly.”
When Dont landed back fro’ th’ Heights wi’ his ale,
Two plateful of bones wur left to tell th’ tale;
He stared at his guests an’ then he ripped eaut:
“Is there nowt i’ that pan, have Aw been left beawt?”
“That’s it,” said Junter, ‘“there’s noather broth nor nowt,
“We'd licked it o up before we gav’ it a thowt;”
“It’s o reet” said Donty, “if there wur noan to spare,
“But Aw could ha’ liked a spoonful o’ that brown hare;”
“It wur Junter,” said Jamie, “he wur two bowls i’ th’ front,
“Aw tried to catch up but Aw wur never i’ th’ hunt;”
‘Well how’s it gone down lads?” Dont said a bit rough,
“Wur it middlin’ tender, had Aw boiled it enough?”
“Like a chicken,” said Junter, “we’d no need to cut,
“It melted i’ th’ mouth mon as sweet as a nut;
“Aw shall do a three week an’ ne’er want to bite
“It’s a while sin’ my singlet wur half so tight.”
An’ how’s Jamie,” said Dont, “has he had a tuck in?”
“Feel here,”said Jamie, “yo’ll know where Aw bin.”
Then they drew up to th’ fire an’ th’ ale went round
An’ they sat like two kings ’at wur just new crowned;
Then Jamie said, “Dont, Aw’ll tell yo’ what owd lad:
Yo’r cur dog’s getten th’ mange an’ getten it bad.
He wur scratchin’ i’ th’ fowd tother day when aw passed,
“Well he’s done wi’,” said Dont, “he’s finished at last;
“An’ nowas yo’r talkin’ Aw'll just show his skin,
“Aw been thinkin’ o’ curin’ it but th’ yure’s a bit thin;
“Aw would do,” said Jamie, “ne’er heed it being bare,
“It'll look very weel thrown o’er th’ back o’ yer chair;
“He’s been a rare tenter, never a better i’ th’ broo,
“An’ for sheep an’ ceaws he wur worth onny two.”
“Eh Laddie,” said Junter, so gentle an’ soft,
“Thou’s followed me down th’ meadow some oft;
“An’ thou’s capered about an’ run at mi side,
“Awm sorry, owd dog, that Awm strokin’ thi hide.”
“Did yo’ drown him,” asked Jamie, “wi’ a stone in a seck,
“Or hanged him i’ th’ barn wi’ a rope round his.neck?”
“An’ where’s he buried, let’s be knowing his fate?”
‘“What’s left o’ owd Laddie are those bones o’ that plate,
“Yo’ve hetten him between yo’, yo’re full o’ good keep,
“So wesh him down lads, drink hearty and deep.”
But Junter turned yollow an’ Jamie turned blue,
An’ yed first out o’ th’ durhole both of ’em flew;
They lurched across th’ fowed both pumpin’ th’ ship,
Till there wur heawks under th’ fence like a Council tip;
An’ they stuck to th’ rails for o wur goin’ round,
An’ lumps o’ owd Laddie kept leetin’ on th’ ground;
An’ Jamie wur heaving as if he wur ne’er goin’ to stop,
“Oh Lord o’ me, Aw wish this owd cur dog wur op;
“Aw’ll bet i’ th’ morn Aw shall be deeud as a nail,
“An’ what labber Aw made i’ seawkin’ its tail.”
“He’s done us,” said Junter, “It tasted a bit strong,
“Aw’ve ne’er seen a brown hare wi’ a tail so long,
“An’ look at its yed mon it wur as big as a ceaw,
“Aw wish that damned Donty had a bally full now.”
“Oh dear o’ me,” said Jamie, “Oh Lord, Aw connut abide,
“To think Aw’ve an’ owd cur dog i’ mi’ inside;
“A mangy owd cur dog an’ blind o’ one ee,
“How Aw piked its greyt yed, O good Lord o’ me.”
When Junter gat wom he wur lookin’ some queer,
“Hello,” said his wife, ‘“th’ owd leatheryed’s here.”
‘Wherever hasto been thou drunken owd foo?”
“Eh Mally,” he said, “yond cur dog o’ Dont’s i’ th’ Broo
“It’s finished me, owd lass, Awm cockin’ mi toes,
“Aw’ve been a good husband to thee thou knows;
“We’ve hetten yon cur dog, me an’ Jamie o’ th’ Low
“Awm chock full o’ whelps an’ Jamie’s full an’ o;
“Aw’ve been a good fayther to our little Ben,
“Be sharp wi that bucket, Awm startin’ agen.”
She ran into th’ kitchen damprate she swore,
As a pound o’ owd Laddie let soss on the floor;
“Aw’ll rub thi nose in it,” in a passion, she cried,
“Get thi yed o’er th’ bucket thou’ll have it to side.
“An’ upstairs thou foo an’ thou lie bi thisel,
Aw’ve enough of it here, Awm poisoned wi’ th’ smell.”
“If Aw start o’ barkin’ an’ worryin’ i’ th’ bed,
“Thou mun run for th’ doctor an’ th’ parson.” he said.
Well he crope up to bed but ne’er winked o’ sleep,
He kept seein’ owd Laddie round th’ bed chamber creep.
When Jamie lurched wom he catched it some wot,
“Just look at thi cloas, thou ornerary owd sot;
“An’ thou’ll wesh ’em for they’re covered wi’ swill.”
“Aw want doctor,” said Jamie, “Eh Bet Awm some ill,
“Awm some poorly, owd wench’ Awm nearly done o’er.”
“Shut thi mouth,” said Bet, “Aw yerd that tale before,
“It’s owd wench at neet when thou’rt poorly wi’ drink,
‘An’ when thou gets weel Aw con oather swim or sink.”
“Aw’st get weel no more an’it’s o mi own fote,
“For Awm full o’ dog yure to top o’ mi’ throat,
“Just leet that lantern,” he said wi’ a moan,
“An’ go look for mi liver, it’s somewhere i’ th’ lone.”
“Thou’s blue uns,” said Betty, “thou slotchin swet,
“Thou’s left no brains i’ th’ lone Aw'll bet;
“Where asto been, thou’s had summat Aw think?”
“Aw have that, owd lass, Awm noan poorly wi’ drink,
“For Aw’d nobbut one gill but Aw do feel sore,
“It’s yon’ cur dog o’ Donty’s , thou’ll see yon’ no more.”
“Has it bitten thee,” asked Bet, “somewhere to neet.”
“It has that,” said Jamie, “an’ it’s bitten me reet.”
“Thou mun summon owd Dont, an’ mak’ th’ devil pay,”
“Nay owd Laddie’s done for, he’s out o’ th’ way.”
“Asto dreawnt him, for it wur time yond should dee?”
“We've hetten him,” said Jamie, “yon, Junter an’ me.”
“Hetten him,” said Bet, “Aw never yerd sich a tale,
“But foos like thee ’il! do owt when they’re i’ ale.”
“He went deawn our necks but coom back some quick,
“But there’s summat here yet for Aw do feel sick,
“Awst ne’er get weel, Aw wish Aw’d ne’er been born,
“Thou mun say Aw’d jondus if Awm deeud i’ th’ morn,
“Ther'll be a rare din it'll be a country’s toak,
“For yon’ devil, owd Dont. ’ill be tellin’ o’ th’ foak.”
He’d neetmare for weeks he’d wacken an’ shout,
“Get op wi’ thee, Bet, yon’ owd cur dog’s about,
“It’s gone under th’ bed, Aw seed it just then.
“If Donty should catch it he’ll boil it agen.”
They ne’er seed a dog but it gave ’em a start,
An’ very soon both wur heighvin’ at th’ heart;
They cursed owd Donty an’ weel he got coad,
When they’d left their dinner i’ th’ middle o’th road;
They want no chep suppers just neaw yo’ can bet,
It larnt ‘em a lesson they'll never forget;
It cured those two an’ they get a bit wroth,
If sumdy just mentions a bowl of dog broth.

Ammon Wrigley - "Donty's Supperin' Do"

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Poetry
This page was last modified on 14 August 2018 and has been edited by Dave Pattern.

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