Local Poetry

Eawr Owd Petty  By Cyril Ashurst

Ah wur thinkin’ back o’er th’ years one neet
To when Ah wur a lad,
An’ Ah did’nt hawf smile when Ah thowt abeawt
Yon small place wot wey had;
Yon place wur eawr owd petty
Neaw th’ wa’ across th’ backyard,
It wur like a butcher’s cowdroom
When th’ winters coom on hard.

Well Ah’ve still a pitchur uv it
Tuck’t theer i’ mi mind,
Wi’ it’s flagged flooers an’ whitewashed wa’s
An’ th’ dooer as rattled i’th’ wind;
Ee, yon dooer wur a pain i’th’ neck
Fer th’ latch wur allus broke,
An’ tha had no chance o’ sneckin’ it
To keep eawt other foalk.

Bud it had two holes i’ one o’th’ booerds
Wheer th’ knots ud bin push’t eawt,
So Ah stuck mi fingers through ‘em
An’ wiggl’t ‘em abeawt;
Sometimes Ah used to sing a sung
Er whistle, grunt er groan,
T’wur another road o’ tellin’ foalk
As Ah wur ceawered o’th’ throne.

Yon throne wur built fer comfert
An’ allus scrubbed like new,
Bud Ah’st ne’er ferget that Set’dy neet
When th’ booerd split i’ two;
By gow, yon booerd shock’t mi,
It really gi’ed mi th’ hump,
An’ th’ road as it nipp’t booath mi cheeks
It didn’t hawf make mi jump.

Neaw wey never had a fancy cheean
Hangin’ deawn fro’ th’ wayter box,
Wey eyther pooed on a piece o’ streng
Er one o’ mi mam’s owd socks;
An’ noather had wey toilet rolls
I’ colours deep er pale
Wey’d th’ Daily Herald cut i’ squares
Hung up behind th’ dooer o’th’ nail.

Ee, some times when Ah think back to th’ past,
Tears run deawn mi face,
Bud Ah allus chuckle to misel’
When Ah think o’ yon owd place;
Well sin’ they’n awter’t yon owd heawse
Th’ owd petty’s no lunger stondin’
An’ neaw when tha wants t’make wayter
It’s upstairs, th’ fust dooer o’th’ londin’.