Edwin Waugh.

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Edwin Waugh.

Post  teamplayer2 on Fri Jul 26, 2013 10:33 pm

I manage to get a rare letter written by Edwin Waugh back to Rochdale from a dealer in New York. The letter was written in 1870 and in Ireland,

When I first saw it I thought it had to come back to Rochdale. Anyway there has been a fair amount of interest and when I have finished with it I am going to donate it to the local studies at Touchstones for anyone who studies the life of Edwin Waugh in the future. It has been a great addition to my other finds and collections.
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Re: Edwin Waugh.

Post  Hinch on Sat Jul 27, 2013 8:19 am

Well done TP. I love poetry though am not a particular aficionado of dialect. I have a book of Waugh's work. Samuel Laycock's 'Bowton's Yard' is one of my favourites.

To me, the greatest architectural loss in Rochdale was the demolition of his birthplace; the Clock Face.

Bowton's Yard

AT number one, i' Bowton's yard, mi gronny keeps a skoo,
But hasn't mony scholars yet, hoo's only one or two;
They sen th' owd woman's rather cross,—well, well, it may be so;
Aw know hoo box'd me rarely once, an' pood mi ears an' o.

At number two lives widow Burns—hoo weshes clooas for folk
Their Billy, that's her son, gets jobs at wheelin' coke;
They sen hoo coarts wi' Sam-o'-Neds, at lives at number three;
It may be so, aw conno tell, it matters nowt to me.

At number three, reet facin' th' pump, Ned Grimshaw keeps a shop;
He's Eccles-cakes, an' gingerbread, an' treacle beer, an' pop;
He sells oat-cakes an' o, does Ned, he has boath soft an' hard,
An' everybody buys off him 'at lives i' Bowton's yard.

At number four Jack Blunderick lives; he goes to th' mill an' wayves;
An' then, at th' week-end, when he's time, he pows a bit an' shaves;
He's badly off, is Jack, poor lad; he's rayther lawm, they sen,
An' his childer keep him deawn a bit—aw think they'n nine or ten.

At number five aw live mysel', wi' owd Susannah Grimes,
But dunno loike so very weel—hoo turns me eawt sometimes;
An' when awm in there's ne'er no leet, aw have to ceawer i' th' dark;
Aw conno pay mi lodgin' brass, becose awm eawt o' wark.

At number six, next dur to us, an' close o' th' side o' th' speawt,
Owd Susie Collins sells smo' drink, but hoo's welly allis beawt;
But heaw it is that is the case awm sure aw conno tell,
Hoo happen maks it very sweet, an' sups it o hersel!

At number seven there's nob'dy lives, they left it yesterday,
Th' bum-baylis coom an' mark'd their things, and took 'em o away;
They took 'em in a donkey-cart—aw know newt wheer they went—
Aw recon they'n bin ta'en and sowd becose they owed some rent.

At number eight—they're Yawshur folk—there's only th' mon an' woife,
Aw think aw ne'er seed nicer folk nor these i' o mi loife;
Yo'll never yer 'em foin' eawt, loike lots o' married folk,
They allis seem good-tempered like, an' ready wi' a joke.

At number nine th' owd cobbler lives—th' owd chap 'at mends my shoon,
He's getting very weak an' done, he'll ha' to leov us soon;
He reads his Bible every day, an sings just loike a lark,
He says he's practisin' for heaven—he's welly done his wark.

At number ten James Bowton lives—he's th' noicest heawse i' th' row;
He's allis plenty o' sum'at t' eat, an lots o' brass an' o;
An' when he rides an' walks abeawt he's dress'd up very fine,
But he isn't hawve as near to heaven as him at number nine.

At number 'leven mi uncle lives—aw co him uncle Tum,
He goes to concerts, up an' deawn, an' plays a kettle-drurn;
I' bands o' music, an' sich things, he seems to tak' a pride,
An' allis maks as big a noise as o i' th' place beside.

At number twelve, an' th' eend o' th' row, Joe Stiggins deals i' ale;
He's sixpenny, an' fourpenny, dark-coloured, an' he's pale;
But aw ne'er touch it, for aw know it's ruined mony a bard—
Awm th' only chap as doesn't drink 'at lives i' Bowton's yard.

An' neaw awve dune aw'll say good-bye, an' leave yo' for awhile;
Aw know aw have n't towd mi tale i' sich a first-rate style;
But iv yo're pleased awm satisfied, an' ax for no reward
For tellin' who mi nayburs are at live i' Bowton's yard.

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Re: Edwin Waugh.

Post  Hinch on Sat Jul 27, 2013 8:28 am

Todlin' Whoam

Todlin' whoam fro' th' market rant
Todlin' whoam content an' cant
Wi' mi' yed I' mi hat
an' mi feet i' mi shoon
Todim' whoam bi' t' leet o' th' moon
I'm fain to be todlin' whoam

Todlin' whoam for fireside bliss
Todlin' whoam for th' childer's kiss
God bless yon little ingle nook
God bless yon bit o' curlin' smoke!
I'm fain to be todlin' whoam

Todlin' whoam for prattlin' tungs
Toddlin' whoam for twitterin' songs
To fondle an' croodle an' sink to rest
Wi' th' wife an' little brids i' th' nest
I'm fain to be todlin' whoam

Edwin Waugh

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Re: Edwin Waugh.

Post  Hinch on Sat Jul 27, 2013 8:54 am

To The River Roch by Edwin Waugh

The quiet Roch comes dancing down
    From breezy moorland hills;
It wanders through my native town,
    With its bonny tribute rills.

Oh, gentle Roch, my native stream!
    Oft, when a careless boy,
I've prattled to thee, in a dream,
    As thou went singing by.

Oft, on thy breast, my tiny barge
    I've sailed, in thoughtless glee;
And roved in joy thy posied marge,
    That first grew green to me.

I've paddled in thy waters clear,
    In childhood's happy days;
Change as thou wilt, to me thou'rt dear
    While life's warm current plays.

Like thee, my little life glides down
    To the great absorbing main,
From whose mysterious deeps unknown
    We ne'er return again.

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Re: Edwin Waugh.

Post  Atlas on Sun Jul 28, 2013 12:21 am

Very good Hinch. Particularly taken by Bowton's Yard as I know some of the places from some of my former research. Noted the use of 'at bin' as opposed to 'as bin' which was better favoured in my area. Very Happy Smile Smile 
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Re: Edwin Waugh.

Post  teamplayer2 on Mon Jul 29, 2013 9:53 am

Thank you Hinch. In recent months I have taken a keen interest in some of the dialect of Lancashire. I can remember some of my much older relatives speaking some of the local dialect, but much less of it now. I suppose with the mixed cultures we have now I suppose it is bound to happen. Though I would not not like to see the old dialects just go to extinction, but that happens in an ever changing world.

Just taken to buying books on it.
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