Th' New Railrooad. (Prose)

A poem by John Hartley

Yo've heeard tell abaat th new railrooad aw dar say? It's an age o' steeam is this! Smook nuisance and boilers brustin are ivery-day affairs, an' ivery thing an' ivery body seem to be on at full speed. Aw wonder 'at noabdy invents a man wi a drivin pulley at his back soa's they could speed him up as they do a loom to soa mony picks a minit; th' chap 'at get's a patent for that ul mak a fortune.

But after all, they dooant seem in a varry gurt hurry abaat th' new railroad; but we mun remember Rome wor'nt built in a day, nor a neet nawther, an' soa we mun have patience. They've nobbut been agate two or three year, an' although it's hardly likely at' we shall live to see it finished, happen somedy else will, an' that's a comfort. But bi what aw hear, ther's some fowk at Ovenden fancy it'll be finished befoor soa varry long, an' they've started what they call "a railway trainin class," to taich some oth' young chaps to be railway porters, soa's they'll be ready when th' time comes. They meet in a cottage haase twice a wick to practice, an' they say they're gettin on furst rate. Ther's owd Billy 'at wor once a firer-up for a veal pie shop, an' he's th' president, an he's getten th' asthma soa bad wol if he sturs he puffs war nor a broken winded horse, soa they call him puffin Billy. When they're practisin', they stand o'th' side o'th' oven door i' ther turns, an' when Billy whistles one on 'em oppens it an' shaats aght "Change here for Bradford Beck, Halifax, Hull and t'other shops!" then he bangs it too ageean an shaats "All reight!" an another comes an' does th' same. When they began at th' furst they borrowed a Tom cat o' th' old woman, an' used to put it i' th' oven for a passenger, but one o'th' chaps wor soa fussy, 'at he bang'd th' door too befoor it had getten reight aght, an' chopped its tail clean off. Niver mind if th' owd woman didn't mak a crack - shoo declared shoo'd sue' em for condemnation. Billy tell'd her it ud be a Manx cat after that, but shoo sooin tell'd him shoo wanted nooan sich lik manx; soa they have to tak ther lessons nah withaat passenger. Two on 'em 'at's passed ther examination are studdyin nah for ticket collectors, an' they promise to mak varry gooid uns. When they practise that, they call th' haase door th' furst class, th' cubbord th' second class, an' th' oven door th' third class, an' they start at th' haase door furst, "Gentlemen, your tickets please," then they goa to th' cubbord door, "Tickets," an' then to th' oven door, "Nah then, luk sharp wi' them tickets."

But they'd a sad mishap one neet, for it seems th' owd woman had been bakin, and shoo forgate to mention it, soa when th' furst chap gate hold o' th' oven door hannel he burn'd his fingers, an' becos tother students lafft he sed they'd done it o' purpose; an' it led to a reglar fratch, an' he gate into sich a rage 'at he sed he'd swallow one on em, if he did'nt hold his din, an' it wod'nt be th' furst porter he'd swallow'd nawther! Soa th' taicher tell'd him 'at sich like carryin on wor varry unporterish, an' if he brake th' rules that way he'd have to be taken before th' inspector. But nowt could quieten him till he gate his fingers rubb'd wi sooap an' they gave ovver smartin, soa as th' oven door wor hot they had to practice another pairt. One on 'em borrowed a wheelbarrow, as they could'nt get a luggage lurry, an' they had to wheel it up an' daan th' haase floor i' ther turns, callin aght "By leave!" An' them 'at could manage to run ovver one o' th' tother's tooas, an' goa on as if nowt wor, gate one gooid mark, but him at could run buzz agean a chap an' fell him wor th' next on th' list for a guard. It used to be warm wark boath for him at wor wheelin' an' for tothers, but they wor all on 'em bent o' bein' porters, soa they tew'd at it, detarmined to maister all th' ins an' aghts abaat it. Whether all ther trouble will be thrown away or net aw connot tell, but ther's one gooid thing, it keeps' em aght ov a war turn an' saves th' police a deal o' bother.

But th' owd fowk dooant like th' idea; they see noa use i' bringin sich gurt stinkin things into their district, an' they've detarmined to do all they con to stop it; when a body's been able to live 60 or 70 year withaat sich like nonsense, they see noa reason why they shouldn't be let finish their bit o' time aght quietly. Ther wor one young lad went to ax his gronfayther if he mud join th' class, an' th' owd chap went varry near into a fit, he luk'd at him for a minit, an' then he says,

A'a, Johnny! a'a, Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee!
But come thi ways to me, an' sit o' mi knee.
For it's shockin' to hearken to th' words 'at tha says; -
Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronfayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then,
But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen;
For they smook, an' they drink, an' get other bad ways;
Things wor different once i'thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went coortin' a bit,
An' walked aght thi gronny; - awst niver forget;
For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze; -
It wor nooa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's nooa lasses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed;
They've false teeth i' ther maath, an' false hair o' ther heead:
They're a make-up o' buckram, an' waddin', an' stays,
But a lass wor a lass i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi th' poor,
But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door;
He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays;
Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an' factrys i' ivery nook nah,
But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah;
An' ther's telegraff poles all o'th' edge o'th' highways,
Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're teld to be thankful for blessin's 'ats sent,
An' aw hooap 'at tha'll allus be blessed wi content:
Tha mun mak th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays,
But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.