A Dalesman’s Litany

From Hull, Halifax, and Hell, good Lord deliver us. A Yorkshire Proverb.

It’s hard when fowks can’t finnd their wark Wheer they’ve bin bred an’ born; When I were young I awlus thowt I’d bide ’mong t’ roots an’ corn. But I’ve bin forced to work i’ towns, So here’s my litany: Frae Hull, an’ Halifax, an’ Hell, Gooid Lord, deliver me! When I were courtin’ Mary Ann, T’ owd squire, he says one day: “I’ve got no bield^[1] for wedded fowks; Choose, wilt ta wed or stay?” I couldn’t gie up t’ lass I loved, To t’ town we had to flee: Frae Hull, an’ Halifax, an’ Hell, Gooid Lord, deliver me! I’ve wrowt i’ Leeds an’ Huthersfel’, An’ addled^[2] honest brass; I’ Bradforth, Keighley, Rotherham, I’ve kept my barns an’ lass. I’ve travelled all three Ridin’s round, And once I went to sea: Frae forges, mills, an’ coalin’ boats, Gooid Lord, deliver me! I’ve walked at neet through Sheffield loans,^[3] ’T were same as bein’ i’ Hell: Furnaces thrast out tongues o’ fire, An’ roared like t’ wind on t’ fell. I’ve sammed up coals i’ Barnsley pits, Wi’ muck up to my knee: Frae Sheffield, Barnsley, Rotherham, Gooid Lord, deliver me! I’ve seen grey fog creep ower Leeds Brig As thick as bastile^[4] soup; I’ve lived wheer fowks were stowed away Like rabbits in a coop. I’ve watched snow float down Bradforth Beck As black as ebiny: Frae Hunslet, Holbeck, Wibsey Slack, Gooid Lord, deliver me! But now, when all wer childer’s fligged,^[5] To t’ coontry we’ve coom back. There’s fotty mile o’ heathery moor Twix’ us an’ t’ coal-pit slack. And when I sit ower t’ fire at neet, I laugh an’ shout wi’ glee: Frae Bradforth, Leeds, an Huthersfel’, Frae Hull, an’ Halifax, an’ Hell, T’ gooid Lord’s delivered me!