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Anon
What
sez Lancasheer to thee?
Is
it Blackpoo' by the sea?
Is
it wet an' muggy days,
Ships on t' Mersey through the 'aze,
Blackpuddin’s on a plate in’ t’ shops,
Industry
as never stops?
Is
it shawls or whippet dogs?
Or
is it just the ring o' clogs?
Tha
maybe thinks o' Pendle 'ill,
Or
weavers turnin’ out fro' t 'mill,
'appen
t’ Rovers or North End,
Weekend
when tha's brass to spend.
It's
'appen t 'pits an' slag 'eaps grey,
Shrimps
an' Southport, Morecambe Bay,
Or
gorse, an' millstone grit an' bogs,
It
brings 'em back does t' ring o' clogs!
Th
'owd windmill tall on Lytham Green,
Fact'ries
an' th 'ouses in between,
Clangin’
trams on cobbled streets,
T'
market lit wi' flares at neets,
Gracie
when hoo's singing "Salley",
Rivington,
or t’ Ribble Valley,
Mill
lodges thick wi' newts an' frogs,
Mem
'ries flood back wi’ t’ ring o’ clogs!
Brass
bands on Sunday into t' park,
Cooartin'
in t'lamp leet after dark,
Treats
on Knucknowles, Whit processions,
"Lakin",
"Wuchert", owd expressions,
These
mem'ries rise up sharp and clear,
When
the sound o’ clogs Ah 'ear,
It
sweeps away the mist and fogs
Fro' memory, does the ring o' clogs!
