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