Ammon Wrigley - "Owd Puddle's Alehouse"
The following is a transcription of a work by Saddleworth poet Ammon Wrigley (1861-1946).
Owd Puddle’s Alehouse
- Owd Puddle keeps an ale-house ut back o’ Dont’s o’ Ben’s,
- He keeps a feightin’ cock un o, twothri feightin’ hens;
- He shines just like a raven, he mi weel bi in his prime,
- Fur he starts o suppin’ neetcaps everyday ut breakfast time;
- His yed’s just like a puddin’, un his bally’s like a drum,
- He’s awlus chewin’ bacco, un he likes a sope o’ rum;
- He wed “Nan o’ Little Stockings,” hoo’s akin to th’ “Collop” lot,
- Thi’ sen hoo likes her short-stuff, un comes eaut rayther wot,—
- Owd Puddle ses he’ll tome her, hoo’s getten very bowd,
- Hoo toaks eaut ov her turn, un winnot gi’e o’er when towd.
- His tapreawm’s hung wi’ bacon un th’ hams ur teed i’ pokes,
- Thi’ve swung boath gables croot wi’ pooin’ deawn ut boakes,
- Un th’ floor - it’s awlus sanded, un th’ woas un white-wesh on,
- Wi’ a cuckoo clock i’th’ corner wi’ boath o’th fingers gone,
- Un a reet owd-fashioned picture — Aw know it off bi heart,
- “Owd Bullyed” sowd it Puddle for a tanner un a quart,
- Thi’ sen it favvers Jesus, but ther’s nobedy knows fur reet,—
- Its a felley on a boart wi’ sum mop nails throo his feet,
- Thi’re gradely nails un o, if Aw’d a peaund ur two
- Thi’d come in handy fur a cote Aw’m mackin’ op i’th’ broo;
- Ther’s a posnet op i’th’ nook ut’s pown fere eaut o’ shap,
- “Jack o’ Ranter’s” punsed a yer off when Puddle stopped his tap.
- Thi’ coan his fourpenny “Floorum,” he lets its taste o’th’ hop,
- Un he gi’es it plenty o’ boilin’ for it’s never short o’ top!
- Ther’ connot bi noh strunger drink, — just ax owd “Pigeon Jone,”
- Fur it lurried him one day a hunderd yard deawn th’ lone!
- Ther’s plenty o’ foak un swaggered into th’ tapreawn o’ ther’ toes
- Uts gone eaut o’th’ dur agen, sum stylish, o’ther nose!
- Its lowert mony o weighver, un beaunced him on his nut,
- If yo’ll wrastle Puddle’s fourpenny — Aw”ll bet yoh lawse a thrut!
- When “Bet o’ Foo’s” wur wed, thi’ thrut a quart ut wo,
- It fot two yard o’ topstones off un th’ hauve ut fence un o;
- Un “Yollow-collop,” t’other neet, he wur nobbut feelin’ queer,
- He sed — “This gable’s goin’ reawnd, do throw it eaut o’ gear!”
- Its nice un warm ut Puddle’s wi’ a greyt turf fire breet,
- Un mony o owd hillsider comes a ceawerin’ ut neet.
- Ther’s “Billy Blueflea,” that’s a moance, he is sum bad toh nail,
- Yoh han to watch him middlin’ tight ur else he’ll sup yoh’r ale,
- He’s bin jolloped mony o time, — yoh should yer owd “Noggin’” tell!
- He likes his ale does “Blueflea,” un he’s noan bi hissel’.
- Ther’s “Joe o’ Gawpin’ Matty’s,” neaw he’s sum bad to leyse,
- He’s awlus toakin’ o’er his guts, un pestil, broth, un peys,
- Un boils un shuet dumplins,—sum weight o’ thoose he’ll shift,
- Un then he'll loase his singlet eaut un ratch hissel un rift.
- Ther’s “Powcat,” that’s as big a stracklin’ as ever donneéd a shuff,
- As heaw mich drink he swillocks he’s never had enuff,
- He tacks it like a deawn-speawt, Aw’m sure he has noh clack,
- Sumtimes wi’ getten a tundish un puts him on his back.
- “Jack Bledder” sits ut side o’th’ dur, neaw he’s a gradely foo’,
- He used to bi a teycher once ut Ginnel Sunday Schoo’!
- He wur covert o’er wi’ ceaw yure un slutched fere op to th’ knees,
- Un he wur awlus tackin’ snuff un mackin’ th’ scholars sneeze!
- Aw connot tell wot he larnt um, fur he connot read hissel’
- He wur spellin’ elephant t’other night wi’ a h-e-ll.
- Ther’s ‘Ned o’ Farthin’ Candles,” heaw that lives Aw’m capt,
- He keeps pooin’ throo beawt worchin’, — as heaw the dal its shapped!
- Thi’ reckon ut he’s noan reet, he’s noather wit nur shift,—
- He’s soh mich wit he’ll worch noan, he’ll noather poo nur lift.
- Ther’s “Dan o’ Three Pigs” op i’th’ broo, neaw howd off, theer, abit,
- He’s just reet when he’s th’ baileys in un doin’ a moonlit flit,
- If he worches a hauve-an-heaur he’s hangin’ reawnd to draw,
- Un his wife goes eaut o weshin’ when hoo is’nt deawn i’th’ straw.
- Ther’s “Slut,” he catches mowdiwarps, he’s knock-a-kneed un fat;
- Un “Ratcher,” he’s a road chap, un awlus in a swat,
- He reeches like an oon cleaut — he’s never time to cool,
- He wears his singlets o i’ bits wi’ restin’ op o’th’ shool.
- Ther’s “Tom o’ Fratchin’ Moll’s,” he sits o’th’ side.o’th’ oon,
- Thi’ reckon he goes cranky every time ther’ comes a moon!
- He weighves abit fur “Joe o’Dont’s,” he’s awlus mackin’ strife,
- He’s livin’ tally neaw, thi’ sen, wi’ owd “Red Breeches’” wife.
- Ther’s “Sawtbag,” he’s a pigeon chap, un keeps a rattin’ dog,
- He’s bin laddert mony o time fur givin’ th’ wife sum clog,
- He likes to borrow a shillin’ — but he’d rayther borrow ten,
- Un ony foo’ ut larns it him ull ne’er see th’ brass agen.
- Ther’s “Ballybant,” to yer that toak ther’s nobedy bin as gam,
- He broke hissel’ wi’ pooin’ th’ cat throo owd “Flock Jamie’s dam!
- When thi’ burried “Blubber’s” wife he’d a bran new suit o’ black,
- Un he waded throo a lime hole fur a gallon comin’ back;
- He wrastled “Roamper’s” donkey t’other Friday neet, thi’ sen,
- Thi’ gate a thrut a piece, — un Aw yerd they’re matched agen!
- Aw never sit ut side o’ him, Aw think he carries fleas,
- Un his wife brings foak little babbies fro’ under apple trees. _
- Ther’s “Crootleg,” he’s a Co-op. chap, once as poor as ony crow,
- Neaw he’s a row o’ heauses un brass i’th’ bank un o!
- He gets sum dryin’ deawn, thi’ coan him howt uts bad,
- Thi’ connot see heaw he’s done it eaut o’th’ wage he’s had!
- Aw’m sayin’ nowt, yoh known, nawt he doesn’t get mich drink,
- He keeps gettin’ howd does “Crootleg,” ne’er mind what naybors think.
- Ther’s “Bob o’ Dan’s o’ Foomerts’,” that’s a brawsen lump o’ stuff,
- Yoh con smell him strung a mile off, he’s covert o’er wi’ snuff!
- He peddles tea un papper birm, un ostles abit fur foak,
- But he’s bothert wi’ his nangnails wol he’s a job toh woak.
- Ther’s “Dick ut Top o’th’ Hedges,” he deeuls i’ cauves un slink, |
- He’ll goh ten mile ony day to get a quart o’ drink!
- He tacks his veal toh Owdham in a little donkey cart,
- Un it gets soh thin wi’ jowtin’ ut he sells it eaut bi* th’ quart.
- Ther’s “Joe o’ Fatty Fussock’s,” he’s cronkt theer every neet,
- He goes to th’ Ceawlone Chapel neaw, wheer things are noan so sweet,
- They’re fratchin’ o’er ther’ parson, — ther’ is sum weary wark,
- They’n pown his yed wi’ Bibles fro’ Sunday morn till dark,
- They’n kilt a hauve-a-dozen, they'll kill sum moore Aw'll bet!
- They'll punce o’th’ gravestones eaut ut yard un level th’ Chapel yet,
- Thi’ sen its o fur love o’ God, but heaw, Aw cannot tell,
- Fur if sich like are beawn to heaven, Aw’d rayther go to hell.
- Ther’s “Ab o’ Jack’s o’ Ceawpap’s,” he con nother write nur read,
- But he awlus votes fur th’ Tories, same as o’ his fayther breed,
- He’s awlus cadgin’ ’bacco, un he’s full o’ little tricks,
- He’s just reet when he’s fratchin’ o’er wark un politics.
- Ther’s owd “Twangtoe,” he’s keen bitten, un ever op o’th’ twitch,
- Thi’ reckon he’s a Radical, he winnot part wi’ mich,
- As lung as ther’s chep ale abeaut he’ll sit un slotch i’th’ nook,
- But when it comes his turn to pay he’s awlus ta’en his hook.
- Ther’s “Jamie Peephole,” that’s kicked op mony a shine!
- Yoh con tell him, becose his feet ur allus a “quarter past nine!”
- When ther’s plenty o’lowance flying yoh’ll find him op to’ th’ mark,
- But he’s awlus getten rheumatic if sumdy mentions wark.
- Ther’s “Sam o’ Bussert Ned’s,” he’s a greedy piece, shusheaw,
- He'll barge fro’ Wakes till Kersmus o’er a tanner in a ceaw!
- He kept a big red bull when he farmed ut Lowermire,
- Wol every cauve i’th’ country wur as red as Puddle’s fire!
- He awthert that one neet when he’d getten a bit too far,
- He fot th’ bull eaut o’th’ cote un blacked it o’er wi’ tar,
- By gum! its true as gospel! there wur sum weary toak,
- But neaw o’th cauves i’ Ringwood ur as black as berrin’ foak.
- Ther’s “Bill o’ Broody Duck’s,” he’s huggin’ bund un skens,
- He’s peylin’ reawnd o’th’ Sunday o’er truckin’ cocks un hens!
- He gropes his pullets every neet, he says he’ll mack um lay,
- Un he tees um fast to th’ neeses when he thinks thi’n laid away.
- Ut Kersmus Puddle treats um, un thi’ han a riving neet,
- He lets um ha’ sum whisky — un its noan soh lung i’ th’ seet,
- Ther’s beef un hunters’ puddin’, un brandy dip un o,
- Un owd “Poopap” kusses Puddle under th’ mistletoe!
- Thi’re daincin’ reawnd th’ tapreawm un caperin’ op un deawn,
- Un “Jack Powcatt” wrastles “Nodder” fur a gallon un a creawn,
- Thi’ gruntun op o’th floor wol thi’ getten wedged i’ th’ nook,
- Un then it ends i’ fratchin’ un a gradely muck-a-rook.