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Lancashire Songs

Chapter 2: COME WHOAM TO THI CHILDER AN’ ME.
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About This Book

A collection of short songs and ballads written in a regional northern dialect that captures everyday rural and working-class life through domestic scenes, courtship, local characters, celebrations, and moments of hardship. The verse mixes humor and sentiment, employing conversational rhythms, refrains, and vivid local idiom to render communal ties, seasonal chores, and small pleasures. Arranged as brief lyric pieces, the poems alternate playful storytelling, moral reflection, and musical choruses that evoke the sounds and social routines of village life.


COME WHOAM TO THI CHILDER AN’ ME.


Aw’ve just mended th’ fire wi’ a cob;
Owd Swaddle has brought thi new shoon; There’s some nice bacon collops o’th hob, An’ a quart o’ ale-posset i’th oon; Aw’ve brought thi top cwot, doesto know, For th’ rain’s comin’ deawn very dree; An’ th’ har’stone’s as white as new snow; Come whoam to thi childer an’ me.
When aw put little Sally to bed, Hoo cried ’cose her feyther weren’t theer; So aw kiss’d th’ little thing, an’ aw said Thae’d bring her a ribbin fro’ th’ fair; An’ aw gav her her doll, an’ some rags, An’ a nice little white cotton bo’; An’ aw kiss’d her again; but hoo said At hoo wanted to kiss thee an’ o’.
An’ Dick, too, aw’d sich wark wi’ him, Afore aw could get him up stairs; Thae towd him thae’d bring him a drum, He said, when he’re sayin’ his prayers; Then he look’d i’ my face, an’ he said, “Has th’ boggarts taen houd o’ my dad?” An’ he cried whol his e’en were quite red;— He likes thee some weel, does yon lad!
At th’ lung-length aw geet ’em laid still; An’ aw hearken’t folks’ feet at went by; So aw iron’t o’ my clooas reet weel, An’ aw hanged ’em o’th maiden to dry; When aw’d mended thi stockin’s an’ shirts, Aw sit deawn to knit i’ my cheer, An’ aw rayley did feel rather hurt— Mon, aw’m one-ly when theaw art’nt theer.
“Aw’ve a drum and a trumpet for Dick; Aw’ve a yard o’ blue ribbin for Sal; Aw’ve a book full o’ babs; an’ a stick, An’ some bacco an’ pipes for mysel; Aw’ve brought thee some coffee an’ tay— Iv thae’ll feel i’ my pocket, thae’ll see; An’ aw’ve bought tho a new cap to-day,— But aw olez bring summat for thee!
“God bless tho, my lass; aw’ll go whoam, An’ aw’ll kiss thee an’ th’ childer o’ reawnd; Thae knows, at wheerever aw roam, Aw’m fain to get back to th’ owd greawnd; Aw can do wi’ a crack o’er a glass; Aw can do wi’ a bit ov a spree; But aw’ve no gradely comfort, my lass, Except wi’ yon childer and thee.”