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Time Stands Still at 'Aggate
This pitiful story, 'tis sad to relate,
Is concerning the clock in the tower at Haggate
For on Monday it stopped and there isn't much doubt,
It's 'eadin for t' scrapyard, not deard but worn out.
Abairt three i'th afternoon, I sensed summat wrong,
An old crony were missin' - I axed "weers 'ee gone?"
They said "Gone to mend t' clock, tecken tools it entails,
A ladder, a hammer, a chisel and some nails."
When 'ee coom back later, "It's hed it," 'ee said,
"It needs nowt nair, on;y for t' last rites to be read.
I can't get a murmer, not even a wheze,
It's summat else ut they'll blame on Ted 'eath and 'is freeze."
To my way o' thinkin', if truth be towled,
That clock must be at least a hundred yer old.
When I were a youngster, and this I would swear,
The chap ut won't clock up were next on to be mayor.
One chap I knew, and this is for sure,
When t' clock stopped 'ee'd started it wi' kickin' at door,
Another chap a tackler, when ah were a kid,
Said, 'ee'd made a new spring frae a traykle tin lid.
But at last it looks oer wi', sooer says the old mon,
It needs a transplant o' some soort if it's bairn carry on.
From 'Th' Owd Syker Looks at Life.'
_________________
Mel
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