Tracks

I wrote this poem for the Millennium celebrations held in Poulton le Fylde.  Many of the Dead  Good poets  came along and read their poems to a huge crowd,  The poetry was all included in an anthology called Pelts to Petticoats.  The poem is written in my attempt at Lancashire dialect and I also se it to music, hence the chorus notation.

Rollin’ back the Railway

Before ‘em village walks were ‘ere,
Before your days and mine.
Before the Blackpool railway brought
Wakes-weekers down ‘t line,
When Poulton was a boom town
Fer market trading folk,
Wi’ streets lined wi’ thatched cottages
That all went up in smoke,
The longhouses they lived in
Had nowt but earthen floor,
And saying, “Put ’t wood in ‘th hole”,
Meant ‘kindly close the door’.
They slept up in the attic
On rough matting for a bed’
Under coverlets of dogswarn,
wi’ a log under their head.
We’re rollin’ back the railway,
Rollin’ back the line,
Delvin’ into ‘t history
Of Poulton’s earlier time.
John Garrick wi’ ‘is brood of ten,
Earned only ten and six,
Pickin’ ‘t landlord’s crops
At harvest time an’ gath’rin’ sticks
To keep a warm fire in the grate,
To stop ‘em getting’ crook.
They knew as sure as egg is eggs
That where there’s brass there’s muck.
Henry de Haydock owned
Stately Cottam Hall,
M.P. elect for Preston,
The local voice for all.
‘t estate ran down and playing fields
Lie in its place today,
Wi’ a bonfire lit to celebrate
ev’ry Guy Fawkes day.
Chorus
Back in t’ time of Doomsday’
‘Arold’s army had to yield
And t’ land was strong with Saxon folk.
They called this land ‘the field’,
‘cause from the top o’ Bleasdale Fell
T’ ole o’ it was flat,
Windmills stood as testament
That oats and wheat grew fat.
But when the penny post came in
The letters went astray,
And so ‘le Fylde’ was added
And remains up to this day.
It gives a certain elegance
That Windsor Woollies knew
Would help them sell their knitwear
To the nation’s well-to-do.
Chorus
And ‘ere we are a revelling
Outside t’ Old Town Hall,
The Thatched House tavern still
On t’ tuther side o’ St Chad’s wall.
The Golden Ball, Tom Lockwood kept,
‘best landlord of ‘em all’
The Bull, where t‘ tithes were gathered
And the gentry liked to call.
The stocks, the cross and whippin’ post
Adorn the street outside,
The fish nab a reminder
Of the creek we live beside,
That brought the flax ‘n spinn’ twine
That gave us industry
An’ sailcloth manufacture
And the Low Cross tannery.
Chorus
Join us ‘ere, enjoy a stroll
Roll back and take some time.
Poulton le Fylde’s far more refined
Than further down the line.
Wi’ pretty shops and cafes,
Wi’ charmin’ vintage tea,
We’ve restaurants and flowers
An’ sights for yer to see.
Te churchyard in t’ springtime
Is just beyond compare
Or stroll along the River Wyre
And find me sitting there.
 
Gorgeous isn't it?  Thanks for reading. Adele Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook

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