Part 17

He shut his een and sank to rest, Death seldom claimed a better; They put him by, bud what were t' best, He sent 'em back a letter, To tell' em all haa he'd goan on, An' haa he gate to enter, An' gav 'em rules to act upon If iver they sud ventur.

Saint Peter stood wi' keys i' hand, Says he, "What do ye want, sir, If to go in, you understand, Unknown to me, you can't, sir. Pray what's your name? Where are ye thro'(3)? Just make your business clear?", Says he, "They call me 'Parson Drew,' I've come thro' Pudsey here."

"Ye've come thro' Pudsey, do ye say? Don't try sich jokes on me, sir; I've kept these doors too long a day, I can't be fooled by thee, sir." Says Drew; "I wodn't tell a lie For t' sake o' all there's in it, If ye've a map o' England by, I'll show you in a minute."

So Peter gate a time-table, They gloor'd(4) ower t' map together, An' Drew did all at he were able, But couldn't find it either. At last says he, "There's Leeds Taan Hall, An' there stands Bradford's Mission; It's just between them two--that's all, Your map's an old edition.

"Bud theer it is--I'll lay a craan;-- An' if ye've niver knawn it, Ye've miss'd a bonny Yorkshire taan, Though monny be at scorn it." He oppen'd t' gate; says he, "It's time Somebody coom--I'll trust thee;-- Tha'll find inside no friends o' thine, Tha'rt first at's coom thro' Pudsey."

1. Makes pretence. 2. Beside. 3. From. 4. Stared.

Pateley Reaces 1874

Anonymous

From The Nidderdill Olminao, 1875, edited by "Nattie Nidds" (Pateley Bridge).

Attention all, baith great an' small, An' doan't screw up your feaces; While I rehearse i' simple verse, A count o' Pateley Reaces.

Fra all ower moors they com by scores Girt skelpin'(1) lads an' lasses; An' cats an' dogs, an' coos an' hogs, An' horses, mules an' asses.

Awd foaks were thar, fra near an' far, At couldn't fairly hopple; An' laffin' brats, as wild as cats, Ower heeads an' heels did topple.

The Darley lads arrived i' squads, Wi' smiles all ower their feaces; An' Hartwith youths, wi' screwed-up mooths, In wonder watched the reaces.

Fra Menwith Hill, and Folly Gill, Thorngat, an' Deacon Paster, Fra Thruscross Green, an' t' Heets Were seen Croods coomin' thick an' faster.

'Tween Bardin Brigg and Threshfield Rig Awd Wharfedeale gat a thinnin'; An' Ger'ston plods(2) laid heavy odds On Creaven Lass for winnin'.

Sich lots were seen o' Hebdin Green, Ready sean on i' t' mornin', While Aptrick chaps, i' carts and traps, Were off to Pateley spornin'.(3)

All Greenho Hill, past Coddstone's kill,(4) Com toltherin'(5) an' singin', Harcastle coves, like sheep i' droves, Awd Palmer Simp were bringin'.

Baith short an' tall, past Gowthit Hall, Tup dealers kept on steerin', For ne'er before, roond Middles Moor, Had there been sich a clearin'.

All kinds and sorts o' games an' sports, Had Pateley chaps provided, An' weel did t' few their business do At ower 'em all persided.

'T'wad tak a swell a munth to tell All t' ins an' t' oots o' t' reaces, Hoo far they ran, which horses wan, An' which were back'd for pleaces.

Awd Billy Broon lost hauf a croon Wi' Taty-Hawker backin', For Green Crag flew, ower t' hurdles true, An' wan t' match like a stockin'.

An' Creaven Lass won lots o' brass, Besides delightin' t' Brockils, An' Eva danc'd, an' rear'd and pranc'd; An gif(6) she stood o' cockles.

But t' donkey reace were star o' t' pleace, For awd an' young observers; 'Twad meade a nun fra t' convent run An' ne'er again be nervous.

Tom Hemp fra t' Stean cried oot, "Weel dean," An' t' wife began o' chaffin'; Whal Kirby Jack stack up his back, An' nearly brast wi' laffin'.

Sly Wilsill Bin, fra een to chin, Were plaister'd up wi' toffy, An' lang-leg Jane, he browt frae t' Plain, Full bent on winnin' t' coffee.

Young pronsy(7) flirts, i' drabbl'd skirts, Like painted peeacocks stritches(8); While girt chignons like milkin'-cans On their top-garrits perches.

Fat Sal fra' t' Knott scarce gat to t' spot, Afore she lost her bustle, Which sad mishap quite spoil'd her shap, An' meade her itch an' hustle.

Lile pug-nosed Nell, fra Kettlewell, Com in her Dolly Vardin, All frill'd an' starch'd she proodly march'd Wi' squintin' Joe fra Bardin.