Songs of the Ridings Part 2

1.Oven 2.Empty 3.Darling 4.Waste 5.Ale

THE TWO LAMPLIGHTERS

I niver thowt when I grew owd I'd tak to leetin' lamps; I sud have said, I'd rayther pad My hoof on t' road wi' tramps.

But sin I gate that skelp(1) i' t' mine, I'm w.a.n.kle(2) i' my heead; So gaffer said, I'd give ower wark An' leet town lamps atsteead.

At first, when I were liggin' snug I' bed, warm as a bee, 'T were hard to rise and get agate As sooin as t' clock strake three.

An' I were flaid to hear my steps Echoin' on ivery wall; An' flaider yet when down by t' church Ullets would skreek and call.

But now I'm flaid o' nowt; I love All unkerd(3) sounds o' t' neet, Frae childer talkin' i' their dreams To t' tramp o' p'licemen' feet.

But most of all I love to hark To t' song o' t' birds at dawn; They wakken up afore it gloams, When t' dew ligs thick on t' lawn.

If I feel lonesome, up I look To t' sky aboon my heead; An' theer's yon stars all glestrin' breet, Like daisies in a mead.

But sometimes, when I'm glowerin' up, I see the Lord hissen; He's doutin' all yon lamps o' Heaven That shines on mortal men.

He lowps alang frae star to star, As cobby(4) as can be; Mebbe He reckons fowk's asleep, Wi' niver an eye to see.

But I hae catched Him at his wark, For all He maks no din; He leaves a track o' powder'd gowd(5) To show where He has bin.

He's got big lamps an' laatle lamps, An' lamps that twinkles red; Im capped to see Him dout 'em all Afore I'm back i' bed.

But He don't laik about His wark, Or stop to hark to t' birds; He minds His business, does the Lord, An' wastes no gaumless words.

I grow more like Him ivery day, For all I walk so lame; An', happen, there will coom a time I'll beat Him at His game.

Thrang as Throp's wife, I'll dout my lamps Afore He's gotten so far; An' then I'll shout--"I've won my race, I've bet Him by a star."

1. Blow 2. Unsteady 3. Strange, eerie 4. Active 5. The Milky Way

Our Beck

I niver heerd its name; we call it just "Our beck."

Mebbe, there's bigger streams down Ripon way; But if thou wants clean watter, by my neck!

Thou'll travel far for cleaner, ony day.

Clear watter! Why, when t' sun is up i' t' sky, I've seen yon flickerin' shadows o' lile trout Glidin' ower t' shingly boddom. Step thou nigh, An' gloor at t' minnows dartin' in an' out.

Our beck flows straight frae slacks o' moorland peat, An' gethers sweetness out o' t' ling an' gorse; At first its voice sounds weantly(1) saft an' leet, But graws i' strength wi' lowpin ower yon force.

Then thou sud see the birds alang its banks-- Grey heronsews, that coom to fish at dawn; Dippers, that under t' watter play sike pranks, An' lang-nebbed curlews, swaimish(2) as a fawn.

Soomtimes I've seen young otters leave their holes, An' laik like kitlins ower the silver dew; An' I've watched squirrels climmin' up the boles O' beech trees, lowpin' leet frae beugh to beugh.

Fowers! Why, thou'd fill thy skep,(3) la.s.s, in an hour, Wi' gowlands, paigles, blobs,(4) an' sike-like things; We've daffydills to deck a bridal bower, Pansies, wheer lady-cows(5) can dry their wings.

Young childer often bathe, when t'weather's fine, Up yonder, wheer t' owd miller's bigged his weir; I like to see their lish,(6) nakt bodies shine, An' watch 'em dive i' t' watter widoot fear.

Ay, yon's our brig, bent like an archer's bow, It's t' meetin' place o' folk frae near an' far; Young 'uns coom theer wi' la.s.ses laughin' low, Owd 'uns to talk o' politics an' t' war.

It's daft when chaps that sit i' Parliament Weant tak advice frae lads that talk farm-tw.a.n.g; If t' c.o.o.ntry goes to t' dogs, it's 'cause they've sent Ower mony city folk to mend what's wrang.

They've taen our day-tale men(7) to feight for t' land, Then tell us we mun keep our staggarths(8) full.

What's la.s.ses, gauvies,(9) greybeards stark(10) i' t' hand, To strip wer kye, an' ploo, an' tew wi' t' shool?(11)

But theer, I'll nurse my threapin' while it rains, An' while my rheumatiz is bad to bide; I mun step heamwards now, through t' yatts(12) an' lanes, Wheer t' owd la.s.s waits for me by t' fireside.

1. Strangely 2 Timid 3 Basket 4. Kingcups, cowslips, globe-flowers. 5. Ladybirds 6 Smooth. 7. Day Labourers 8. Stock Yards 9. Simpletons 10. stiff 11. Shovel 12. Gates

Lord George

These verses were written soon after the Old Age Pensions Bill came into operation.

I'd walk frae here to Skipton, Ten mile o' clarty(1) lanes, If I might see him face to face An' thank him for his pains.

He's ta'en me out o' t' Bastile,(2) He's gi'en me life that's free: Five shill'n a week for fuglin'(3) Death Is what Lord George gives me.

He gives me leet an' firin', An' flour to bak i' t' yoon.(4) I've tea to mesh for ivery meal An' sup all t' afternoon.

I've nowt to do but thank him, An' mak' a cross wi' t' pen; Five shillin' a week for n.o.bbut that!

Gow! he's the jewel o' men.

I niver mell on pol'tics, But I do love a lord; He spends his savin's like a king, Wheer other fowks 'll h.o.a.rd.

I know a vast o' widdies That's seen their seventieth year; Lord George, he addles bra.s.s for all, Though lots on 't goes for beer.

If my owd man were livin', He'd say as I spak true; He couldn't thole them yallow Rads, But awlus voted blue.

An' parson's wife, shoo telled me That we'll sooin go to t' poll; I hope shoo's reight; I'll vote for George, Wi' all my heart an' soul.

I don't know wheer he springs frae, Happen it's down Leeds way; But ivery neet an' mornin'

For his lang life I pray.

He's ta'en me out o' t' Bastile, He's gi'en me life that's free: Five shill'n a week for fuglin' Death Is what Lord George gives me.

1. Muddy. 2. Workhouse. 3. Cheating 4. Oven