Ammon Wrigley - "Grenfilt"

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


You may go from Delph to Hades,
From Stanedge to the sea,
But the good old road to “Grenfilt”
Is the only road for me.
So it’s round by Frenches corner,
And round the bend at Nook
Where you'll meet a score of comrades,
And never need to look.
Though the waters run to Mossley,
It will never trouble me
If they keep enough in “Grenfilt”
For making “cinder” tea.
And they brew—but this is telling—
And hang me if I will,
Unless some “Grenfilt” mother
Refuses me a gill.
When the wind is over Willcat,
And it’s cold enough to snow,
There are many homely hearthstones
That are jolly good to know.
Oh! it’s merry going to “Grenfilt,”
But its “gruel” coming back;
But it keeps a man from moping
And giving life the “sack.”
Now, most men, if they're human
Are happy with a lass,
And most men, if they’re hearty,
Are ready for a glass.
So the best of all I’m thinking
Is to go and get the pair,
And you'll get as good in “Grenfilt”
As you'll meet with anywhere.
If I had my way of living,
Though some might call it poor,
I would go and keep a gamecock
And live by Alphin moor.
I would have a hound for hunting,
A garden for my crops,
And a little kitchen loomhouse
For weaving malt and hops.
I’d have home brewed in the cellar,
And bacon on the hook,
A fiddle in the corner
And Omar for a book.
For pomp and pride and fashion
I would not care a rap;
I would go on living gradely
And never want to “swap.”