First Collection. Summer. Whitsuntide an’ Club Walkèn
Ees, last Whit-Monday, I an’ Meäry Got up betimes to mind the deäiry; An’ gi’ed the milkèn païls a scrub, An’ dress’d, an’ went to zee the club. Vor up at public-house, by ten O’clock the pleäce wer vull o’ men, A-dress’d to goo to church, an’ dine, An’ walk about the pleäce in line. Zoo off they started, two an’ two, Wi’ païnted poles an’ knots o’ blue, An’ girt silk flags,—I wish my box ’D a-got em all in ceäpes an’ frocks,— A-weävèn wide an’ flappèn loud In plaÿsome winds above the crowd; While fifes did squeak an’ drums did rumble, An’ deep beäzzoons did grunt an’ grumble, An’ all the vo’k in gath’rèn crowds Kick’d up the doust in smeechy clouds, That slowly rose an’ spread abrode In streamèn aïr above the road. An’ then at church there wer sich lots O’ hats a-hangèn up wi’ knots, An’ poles a-stood so thick as iver, The rushes stood beside a river. An’ Mr Goodman gi’ed em warnèn To spend their evenèn lik’ their mornèn; An’ not to praÿ wi’ mornèn tongues, An’ then to zwear wi’ evenèn lungs; Nor vu’st sheäke hands, to let the wrist Lift up at last a bruisèn vist: Vor clubs were all a-meän’d vor friends, He twold em, an’ vor better ends Than twitèn vo’k an’ pickèn quarrels, An’ tipplèn cups an’ emptèn barrels,— Vor meäkèn woone man do another In need the kindness ov a brother. An’ after church they went to dine ’Ithin the long-wall’d room behine The public-house, where you remember, We had our dance back last December. An’ there they meäde sich stunnèn clatters Wi’ knives an’ forks, an’ pleätes an’ platters; An’ waïters ran, an’ beer did pass Vrom tap to jug, vrom jug to glass: An’ when they took away the dishes, They drink’d good healths, an’ wish’d good wishes, To all the girt vo’k o’ the land, An’ all good things vo’k took in hand; An’ woone cried hip, hip, hip! an’ hollow’d, An’ tothers all struck in, an’ vollow’d; An’ grabb’d their drink wi’ eager clutches, An’ swigg’d it wi’ sich hearty glutches, As vo’k, stark mad wi’ pweison stuff, That thought theirzelves not mad enough. An’ after that they went all out In rank ageän, an’ walk’d about, An’ gi’ed zome parish vo’k a call; An’, then went down to Narley Hall An’ had zome beer, an’ danc’d between The elem trees upon the green. An’ down along the road they done All sorts o’ mad-cap things vor fun; An’ danc’d, a-pokèn out their poles, An’ pushèn bwoys down into holes: An’ Sammy Stubbs come out o’ rank, An’ kiss’d me up ageän the bank, A saucy chap; I ha’nt vor’gied en Not yet,—in short, I han’t a-zeed en. Zoo in the dusk ov evenèn, zome Went back to drink, an’ zome went hwome.
William Barnes’s other poems:
- First Collection. Winter. Keepèn up o’ Chris’mas
- Third Collection. Comen Hwome
- Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
- Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
- Third Collection. Things do Come Round
955
