Ode to the brogue- the ginnel of love.

When I grew up in days of old

And the sun set over yonder

Old folks spoke in northern brogue

It made me stop and ponder.

 

In the backstreets of old Rossendale

Where buxom lasses were bonny

We spoke with a local dialect

And people say we talked funny.

 

In claggy weather we had council pop

Winter woollies when feeling nesh

Mam put our mittens on a string

It made us kids look gormless

 

If we mithered we were clattered

Told to keep our cakeholes shut

They chided us umpteen times

To keep the back door shut.

 

We played hide and seek in ginnels

Cleared snow from neighbours paths

Skriked our way through family traumas

Sweated cobs when’t’sun were’t crackin flags.

 

We spoke a different language

Didn’t give tuppence for what you thought

We’d go t’foot of our stairs

If anyone sold us short.

 

Fresh air and love we lived off,

With Church socials on a Saturday night

We might have not talked proper

But we treated each other right.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

Image Eden Methodist Walking Day- C 1972

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brogue: a way of speaking Englishespecially that of Irish or Scottishspeakers: