Conrad Bladey's Beuk O'
Newcassel Sangs
The Tradition of Northumbria
Part 14  Directory 18

More works of Joe Wilson

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890.

 
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  Works of Joe Wilson

-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890


 
 
 

WOR GEORDEY'S WELCUM TE GARIBALDI.

 

 

WOR PEG'S INVITAYSHUN!.

DISAPPOINTMENT-FAREWEEL TO GARIBALDI.  RENFORTH, THE CHAMPEIN. 

THE DANCIN HELD AT GYETSID!

 

 

LOSSIN THE LICENCE!

THE DEETH 0' BOB CHAMBERS!  ETTICKITT!  JUST A HAPNEY

MOOR EDGE NELL!

 

 WOR GEORDEY'S LOKIL HIST'RY!
PARSIVEER!

GALLOWGATE BATHS

BOB JOHNSON'S COAT!
 DE YE SAY SE '?
THE DEETH 0' HARRY CLASPER
 THE LIFE BRIGADE.  THE NEYBOR ABUV  JACK'S LISTED I' THE NINETYˇITE!  

WHERE HEH VE BEEN, LASS'?

 

 THE MEUNˇLEET FLIT !  MARRY THE LASS!  MISTRESS THOMSINS LODGER  WHAT WILL THE NEYBORS SAY ? WOR TVNESIDE TALLINT GYEN
 WE'LL NIVVOR INVlTE THEM TE TEA ONY MAlR! HE WES RECKOND GUDˇHEARTED! 
 MY TWENTY-FORST BIRTHDAY! LET'S HEV A ROW, BUT DINNET SULK!
 THAT FACTORY LASS!
 DIVVENT BOTHER US SE!  THE DEFEAT 0' THE COCKNIES!  MARTHA GREY  SNOOKS'S DINAH  AN ACROSTIC TO ROBERT STEPHENSON, THE CELEBRATED MUSICIAN, LORD NELSON INN, TRAFALGAR STREET, NEWCASTLE.
 

MYEK PEACE!

 WHERE IS GEORDEY GYEN?  WOR PEGGY'S ALBUM!  PERFESSHUNAL LODGERS! NEAR THE MANORS STAYSHUN
 MAW BONNY INJINEER  

WE'LL SEUN RER WARK TE DE!

OR, THE STRIKE 0' '71

 
THE CHAPEIN 0' CASSEL GARTH STAIRS!
 

THE DEETH 0' RENFORTH!

CHAMPION SCULLER OF THE WORLD

 THE AUDD KINNOO

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WOR GEORDEY'S WELCUM TE GARIBALDI.

 

(Written on hearing that he intended te visit Newcassel.)

 

WELCOME! maw canny hinny, a hundrid thoosand million times welcum l yor as welcum as the flooers i' May.

It's mony a lang day since aw saw ye noo hinny, whole ten years since, bless me, it just lucks like the day afore yisterday.

Ye've gyen throo a storm 0' trouble since then, hinny;-ye've been cast on the billows ov advorsity, an' thrawn aside wi' the waves ov

ingratitude,-but ye'll pull throo, maw pet,-thor's a gud time cummin, when aw hope we'll see ye seated on the shores ov peace,

cumfort, an' happiness. This piece 0' poatry doon belaw's a Double Acrostic: read the letters doonwards

 

Glorious Garibaldi, noble, brave, an' just,

W undorous gem 0' fame, byeth gud an' true,

A man, iv ivry sense a Man, the world may trust,

E ndear'd tiv honest hearts, the world a' throo;

R ear'd i'sad hardship's scheul, 'mang weary toil an' pain,

L ay for a time aside yor warlike arts,

I mmortal patriot, the wretched tyrant's bane,

C urn rest ye for awhile 'mang Tyneside hearts!

B right be that happy day ye visit Coaly Tyne,

O ppresshun's foe, the star 0' freedom's cawse,

A nxshussly aw wait, an' think ov "auld lang syne,"

M yed dearer since ye've gain'd the world's applawse.

L ang, lang hey aw thowt that awd live to see the day,

E lated, we'll myek glad the joyful morn,

D evoted te the last, we'll strive te cheer yor stay,

I' this, the gallant hero's grand return !

 


 
 
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WOR PEG'S INVITAYSHUN!

 

NOT ACCEPTED.

 

MISTOR GARIBALDI,-Aw's sure aw feel just like as if thor wes

sumthing stickin i' me throat, when aw sit doon to write aboot ye

taw spoilt five sheets 0' paper afore aw started), aw's that pleased

yor cummin back te the" canny toon,"-aw hevent forgot ye,

thor's ne fear 0' that, if aw leeve te the dayaw dee aw'll nivvor

 forget ye. Ye've myed gud use 0' the sword ye got the last time ye

 wor here, Mistor; a lang way mair than war Geordey's deun wi'

his-he's i' the horse noodles, ye knaw, sor. Aw suppose yor gan

up te Stella te see war canny frind, Mr. Cowen,-ye might call at wor hoose,

an' get yor tea, aw's sure yor welcum ;-dinnet be frighten'd, it's war Geordey's

pay, an' aw'll heh sum fine spice kyeck reddy, myed on purpose. Aw bowt a new set 0' Cheeny

 last Seturday neet, an' aw can myek a cup a' tea as gud as me

neybors, an' that's sumthing te say. If ye bring Mr. Cowen wi' ye,

 aw can borrow a chair or two ov Mistress Scott, next door; thor's

plenty room for two,-be sure an' cum.

 

N.B.-Wor Geordey weers nowt but reed sharts,


 
 
 
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DISAPPOINTMENT-FAREWEEL TO GARIBALDI.

 

BAD news aw've heard, flee varry fast,

An' disappointments fond hopes blast,

An' myek us greeve for joys gyen past,

Wi' breest full sair; The news that ye had tyekin bad,

An' order'd hyem,-myed hearts se glad

Dejected, weary, sair an' sad, Wi' grim despair.

 

But truth cums oot,-thor's been foul play,

An' them that myed se short yor stay,

Aw hope may leeve te rue the day,

An' get a thraw! Fareweel I-tho ye gan ower the sea,

They cannet tyek wor luv frae ye!

Wi' acts like these-if England's free, Aw'll haud me jaw!


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RENFORTH, THE CHAMPEIN.

 

TEUN-" the Postman's Knock."

 

TYNESIDE'S lang been fam'd for producin greet men,

Luck at Airmstrang an' Stivvison, tee,

An' Grainger that myed wor fine toon what it is,

An' its bildins thor grand ye'll agree;

But the bildin 0' boats an' boat pullin's wor pride,

An' where, always we try hard te shine,

An' Renforth, a brave hardy Son 0' the North's

Browt the Champeinship back te the Tyne,

 

Korus.

 

Then lang may success an' gud hilth combine

Wi' Renforth, the Champein 0' Thames an' the Tyne.

 

We lost poor Bob Chambers, then sadly we greev'd,

Thor wes nyen but what liked Honest Bob,

An' we sigh'd for anuther te fillup he's place,

Tho' we knew twes a difficult job,

Till Renforth com oot like the man that he is,

For the honour 0' canny Tyneside,

An' te stop him frae tyekin Bob Chambers's place,

The whole world he bravely defied!

 

Then a challinse wes sent, an' a match thor wes myed

Wi' the best Lundun Champein thor's been,

That's brave Harry Kelley, the Pride 0' the Thames,

An' a finer race nivor wes seen;

For wi' confidence pictor'd on each manly broo,

The North an' the South meet agyen,

Thor ready!-thor offl-then the struggle begins,

As the crood roar an' cheer for thor men.

 

Incorridg'd be cheers frae thor frinds all aroond,

Thor byeth strivin hard for the leed,

An' then the North Countrymen shoot wi' delight,

As they see thor pet forgin aheed,

Tho Kelley, as game as man ivor can be,

Spurts hard te catch Jimmy, but nay!

The Tynesider's there wi' byeth corridge an' skill,

Ay, an' strength tee te leed a' the way.

 

The Champeinship's wun, an' it's browt te the Tyne,

A river myed famous wi' men

Like Chambers, the Claspers, Bob Cooper, besides

Jimmy Taylor, an' Perey,-so then

Gud luck te Jim Renforth, lang may he maintain

The honour he noo hauds wi' pride;

An' gud luek tiv his trainer, Jim Taylor, as weel,

An' the boat-pullers a' roond Tyneside !


 



 
 
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THE DANCIN HELD AT GYETSID!


TEUN-"Siventeen cum Sunday."

 

THOR wes Mistress Taylor's club broke up,

An' it eawsed a greet sensayshun,

So what de ye think she did, me lads,

But send us an invitayshun,

For Tom an' me te join the spree,

I' the danein held at Gyetsid!

 

Korus.

 

When se happy on the floor, the jiggin doon the shore,

Wes nowt te the dancin held at Gyetsid.

 

Thor wes lang-leg'd Billy wiv a broken flute,

What a swell wi' two brass rings on,

An' Geordey, the tailor, went serapin aboot,

On a fiddle wi' just three strings on,

Whey, a jarmin band eud hardly stand

Wi' the band that play'd at Gyetsid.

 

But they say that it's daft te turn oot wise

When igorance shud be bliss, lads,

 So as Geordey an' Bill wes reckind forst-rate,

Gud music wes nivor miss'd, lads,

Ay, an' Davie Dunn swore ivry teun

Wes the best he'd heard i' Gyetsid.

 

Thor wes Charley, the blacksmith, prood asa lord,

Drest up iv his Sunday's fustin;

Ay, an' Mary the tripe wife, twenty styen,

Aw wes frighten'd she'd be brustin,

But they yell'd hooray! as she danced away,

Like a two-eer aud at Gyetsid.

 

Thor wes ne dispute aboot whe wes the belle,

Or they diddent care whe browt her,

"We can think te wor-sels that wara' fine belles,"

Says Janey, the cobbler's dowter.

An' they a' did weel i' byeth sylph an' reel,

l' the dancin held at Gyetsid.

 

Then the Ianlord, a real gud-temper'd sowl,

Sent a gud supply 0' beer in,

An' they lafft an' chafft as the beer they quafft,

For they needed nowt mair cheerin;

Whey ye'd thowt the fun wad nivor been deun,

l' the Pea Straw dance at Gyetsid!

 


 
 
 


 
 
 

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LOSSIN THE LICENCE!

 

TEUN-" The Uppur Ten."

 

THE leets burn'd dimly i' the bar,

The lanlord wassent there,

The tyeble wes a' thick 0' dart,

The koonter had its share;

An' ivrything luckt oat 0' place,

The lanlady her-sel

Wes fair dooncast, an' frev her lips

This doleful ditty felI

 

Korus.

" Thor's nowt on orth me heart te cheer,

Me heart te cheer, aw'm wretched here,

For thor issent a thing i' the hoose but beer,

Throo wor Geordey wi' lossin the Licence!

 

"This used te be a peaceful port,

But noo life's bitter here,

Me temper once wes sweet an' mild,

But noo aw cannet beer

The thowts that myek us w(h)ine a' day,

Me sporrits thor se law,

The Rector cannot keep the hoose,

An' the baccy is ne draw.

 

"The beer 'iIllike the trade turn flat,

Wor nearly sure te fail,

We'll need sum good supporters,

As we heh nowt else but ale,'

The glasses they'll a' gan tepot,

Then bottled up we'll be,

Aw find aw'm not near half as stoot,

It's ne sham pain wi' me !

 

"The sellors nearly empy noo,

An' buyers very rare,

It's rum te think such changes cum,

Such dull times issent fair

An' Geordey, like the sheep he is,

He's gyen upon the spree,

Aw'll punch his heed te think he'd leeve

An ail-in wife like me.

 

"It's true they fined him once or twice,

Or twice or thrice or mair,

Ye'd thowt twad been a cawshun,

But wor Geordey diddent care;

An'throo a quairt 0' penny beer,

Wor trade an' Licence's gyen,

He diddent treat the Bobbies wee!,

Or they'd lettin him alyen !


 
 
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THE DEETH 0' BOB CHAMBERS!

 

AIR-" Come into my Cabin, Red Robin."

 

l' THE gloom thor's aroond bonny Tyneside,

'Mang the greef that's se bad te contain,

When all honest hearts mourn for thor champien,

Wi' breests fill'd wi' sadness an' pain,

Aw'll sing i' the praise 0' Bob Chambers,

The manliest, the gamest, an' true.

He's alive i' the hearts ova' Tyneside,

Tho we've lost wor poor " Honest Bob" noo.

 

 

Fareweel te the days when Bob Chambers

Wes wor idol, wor pet, an' wor pride,

When he set the whole world at defiance-

Brave champein 0' canny Tyneside.

When aw think ov his'sowl-storrin races,

Aw can hardly believe that he's gyen

l' the prime ov his life;-hoo Deeth's hurried,

-But thor's LIFE still iv Honest Bob's nyem.

 

Fareweel te the canny Bob Chambers,

A man for his honesty famed;

Strite-forward, an' kind, noble-hearted,

Wor champein such qualities c1aim'd.

Ay, an' what's mair, we knaw he possess'd them;

Oh, then, hoo can we help but repine

For the hero that's gain'd wor affecshun,

Like this brave hardy son 0' the Tyne.

 

Fareweel te the world's finest champein;

An' defeated be Deeth tho ye be,

It cannot tyek ye frae wor hearts, lad;

An' yor form lang i' mem'ry we'll see.

We've been prood-ay, an' still wor prood 0' ye;

An' yor brave deeds for ivor 'ill shine

Throo the gloom thor's been myed wi' greet sorrow,

For the Champein an' Pride 0' the Tyne.

 


 


 
 


 
 
 

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ETTICKITT!

 

TEUN-"The Biskit Man."

 

Aw'vs lately studied Ettickitt,

An' think it's sumthing grand

Te knaw hoo te behave yor-sel,

An' when te sit an' stand,

Iv ony kump'ney that yor in;

An' when te myek a boo,

An' the rules 0' gud behavour, whey

Aw's gawn te tell ye noo !

 

Korus.

 

For this is the way te behave yor-sel,

Think 0' me words an' tyek a spell,

Laybror, Mickanic, an' the tip-top swell,

Shud study the rules aw sing!

 

Ye've heerd that manners myeks the man,

Fine feathors myek fine bords,

That dissent say ye heh te dress

Mair then yor means affords:

Dress canny like,-yor stayshun keep,

An' divvent spoil yor breed,

A fact'ry lass wad nivvor seem

Curl-paypors iv her heed.

 

A workin man shud nivvor gan

Te wark i' Sunday's claes,

Withoot he's got nowt else te weer.

 A lass withoot her stays

Shud keep i' doors, an' nivvor show

The real size ov her waist,

An' nivvor put her gluves on when

Her hands all ower pyest!

 

I' convorsayshun, nivvor shoot

Withoot sumbody's deef,

An' nivvor mair then three shud speak

At one time's maw beleef;

An' if ye think ye've tell'd a lee,

Keep't te yor-sel, an' say

Ne mair aboot what ye've let oot,

Repent when yor away.

 

If foaks shud myek a mornin call,

An' ye shud be i' bed,

Just say yor oot an' not at hyem,

Heh ne excuses myed;

An' if they call at dinner-time,

An' ye've not got eneuff,

Just heh yor awn an' let them gan,

Suppose they tyek the huff

 

If ye invite sum frind te tea,

Tell them yor not prepared,

Aw nivvor saw a hoosewifeyit

But just the syem declared;

An' if the tea gets ower strang,

The kettle's on the neuk,

Te let ye knaw thor's wetter there,

If ye wad only luck.

 

At borths an' krisnins say yor glad

Te see se fine a bairn;

At deeths yor sad, yecannet help't,

Ye've nowt i' that te Iairn ;

At weddins jump an' dance wi'joy,

An' let the foaksa' see

Ye knaw what Ettickitt shud be,

Ay, just as weel as me!


 
 
 
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JUST A HAPNEY

 

Music by the Author.

 

"JUST a hapney I-nivvor mind it!

Ye needint say a word,

We'll nivvor let a trashy meg

Between us myek discord ;

It may be yor mistyek or mine,

The change's gettin rang sum way,

But ahapney's neethor here nor there!"

Aw heard this iv a bar one day,

Just a hapney! just a hapney!

Thrawn away-dispised.

 

"Just a meg !-we'll nivvor find it,

It's ower dark the neet,

Te seek for just a paltry hapney

Fallin i' the street;

Then let it gan, we'll nivvor miss'd,

Aw waddent soil ma fingors for'd,

For a hapney's neethor here nor there!"

Aw heard agyen them varry words,

Just a hapney I just a hapney!

Thrawn away-dispised.

 

"Just a hapney !-if awhad one,

A biskit aw wad buy,

For oh, aw's varry hung'ry noo,"

Aw heard a laddy cry.

He got one,-an' his eyes they glissin'd,

Says he-"This hapney's life te me,

But aw'll tyek't hyem, becas me muther

Wants breed just as much as me I"

Just a hapney I just a hapney!

Wi' sum hoo dearly prized!


 
 
 


 
 
 

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MOOR EDGE NELL!

 

TEUN-"Haymaking."

 

THOR'S a lass aw alwaysdream aboot, for ivor neet an' day,

She's nivvor oat me thowts at a', an' aw hope she nivvor may,

Tho' aw hevvent been owt like me-sel since that eventful day

Aw met me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge.

 

Korus.

 

TEUN-"Bide ye yit."

 

Me Moor Edge Nell, me bonny young Nell,

What aw think 0' that lass thor's nebody can tell;

She's bonny, she's canny,-gud luck te me-sel,

If aw's only the sweetheart 0' Moor Edge Nell.

 

Her greet Shinon shone bright an' reed as a rival te the sun,

Her bonny fyece se roond an' plump cud clean eclipse the meun,

An' her eyes they twinkled like two stars that Sunday efterneun

Aw met me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge.

 

Aw introduced me-sel te her, tho byeth ov us wes shy,

She luckt at me an' aw luckt at her, an' foakslucktpassin by,

But byeth ov us had tungs te speak, an' cud did when we'd try,  

An' we really got quite frindly on the Moor Edge.

 

Aw call her Moor Edge Nell becas aw divvent knaw her nyem,

Tho aw heerd sumbody call her Nell as we war gannin hyem;

Awthowt it soondid bonny, so aw've gein her just the syem,

An' we heh te meet next Sunday on the Moor Edge.

 

The palpitation o'the heart since then aw've refund's me share,

An' aw've got a poor man's plaistor on te try an' stiddied there;

But like a muffled drum it beats, an' will de, aw declare,

Till aw meet me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge.

 

 


 
 
 
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WOR GEORDEY'S LOKIL HIST'RY!

 

TEUN-"Barbary Bell."

 

l' WOR Geordey's hist'ry ye'll find Joolyis Sieze-her

Forst konker'd the Cockneys,-then com te the North,

An' greet Asheycoaler, the pet 0' the Rum-uns,

Bilt wor audist aud bridge when he leev'd i' the Forth;

Then Rum-uns an' Queer-uns got mix'd up tegither,

But Newcassel naytives detarmined an' fit,

Swore they'd nivvor tawk owt but thor awn canny lingo,

An' begox, so they did, ay, an' so they de yit!

 

The Jarrow lads noo show'd the way te bild churches,

An' ships sail'd like skiffs up the fine river Don,

But the Danes wes a cawshun till clivor King AIfey

Got inte gud fettle-te put Tommy on!

Then hist'ry cums next te the Konkerin Billy,

That hammer'd Young Malkim on Gyetsid Law Fell,

An' Bobby 0' Normandy -eager te mense us,

Stuck up i' Newcassel the Cassel itsel.

 

Seun efter they bilt wcr pride, bonny aud Nich'las,

An' walls roond the toon te pertect us frae war,

An' munks, nuns, an' friars, an' pilgrims frae Ne-way,

Te lairn wor grand dy'leckt, com ivor se far!

Then Coals wes discover'd te myek Tyneside faymis,

An' pitmen, the varry best judge 0' thor worth,

Went doon on thor hunkers, byeth thenkful an' cheerful,

Te howk up black diamonds,-the gems 0' the North.

 

It wad bother Bell's Life te rickord a' the battles

That John Bull an' Scotty had just aboot then,

Hoo kings travell'd throo frae byeth sides 0' the Border,

An' wad liked te myed canny Newcassel thor hyem;

Hoo plagues com an' left us like things nivvor wanted,

Hoo bad an' gud times teuk thor torns i' the toon,

An' whe wes the forst 0' the Cassel Garth Cobblers,

Wad actwilly puzzle the man i' the meun!

 

l' them days they hung up aud wimmen for witches,

An' ghosts wes as common as owt ye can see,

An' ony cheps practisin pickin an' stealin

Wes strung up aloft withoot hoo deye dee?

An' things went on this way for eers i' successhun,

An' foaks leev'd an' deed the syem way as afore,

Till Time let us knaw that real sivilizayshun

Wes a garmint i' fashin that varry few wore.

 

Then young Darwintwettor's sad end myed greet sorrow,

Wi' ne thowts 0' bailiffs an' koontisses then;

Sooth Sheels lads triumphint perduced the forst life-boat,

An' press-gangs myed plenty imployment for men;

Byeth keelmen an' pitmen had strikes tee, an' riots,

But Gallowgate Hoppin wiv a' its displays,

An' a' the best scenes