Classic Poem

I

Why , Liz! you've caught me in my disabills!
I've not a deal to do but garden, now;
The taates is lookin' middlin' in their hills,
That frost last night, it missed 'em altogether,
And soon there'll be some new 'uns, anyhow.
What brings you over here this time of daay? —
What saay? —
Looked in to see if I can stand this weather?
And could I do
Wi' a pat of butter and an egg or two?
That's kind!
But when you married Bob — my son — I knew,
I telled him as I'd laay he'd niver find
Noa better manager nor maate not anywheer,
Nor iver could — I'll swear!
Soa sit down on that stump and rest ye — do,
And put your basket there;
That's it! while I'm a finishing this row;
That's better ... so!

II

Do I remember Jim, your youngest lad?
That's a nice thing to ask me!
Wodn't he here last Sunday week to tea?
What's amiss wi' him, then? I hoap nowt bad.
Allers in mischief them young rascals be,
Ayther they're in the pond, or up a tree;
Nothing wrong? I'm glad!
Getting a good stout feller, is he,
And goas to farm work reg'lar nowadays?
That's a fine lad!
You doan't want him to grow up on the land?
But otherways?
A course you'll please yoursen what he'll be doin',
But it's the best and healthiest life a-goin',
And now men's treeated deacent, I'll be bound
As you can't beeat it, tekkin' all things round.
What's that? —
The parson wants him to goa there!
Oh! Does he?
I see!
Gardener and groom —
Hoe and broom —
Dear me!
And you think it'll lead to something better someday
'Coz he's a likely lad?
Well — Liz —
The youngest allers is!
You think as this 'ud be the likeliest way
Two deacant suits of cast-off cloathes a year,
And drive the parson's pony iverywhere,
Two bob a daay —
Providin' —
Allers providin' —
(It's no use hidin')
As he goas to Church on Sundays, reg'lar — — Eh?

III

You think as this maay be a lifetime's chance,
And feared o' me a standing in 'is waay:
You'll saay —
A-course you'll think as me what built yon chapel
Will put it front of him —
Your Jim;
Noa doubt you do,
He belongs to you;
But it's not the matter of one boy less at chapel,
There's evil deeds, there's wickedness and, worse,
There's a curse!

IV

You ask why can't I let bygones be bygones?
I will —
When them what did the wickedness and evil,
What profited by backing of the devil,
Has cleansed theirsen,
Repented — aye! — and made it good agen
To the weeak and the poor —
Then I'll forget — but not afore.
Noabody couldn't what's been through Hell,
Though, mind you — gel!
I'm not for setting men against their mesters,
There must be mesters,
It stands to sense
Somebody must plan the work and set it out,
Somebody must watch and look about,
I'm not soa dense.
On t'other hand, the men must have good food,
Noa more starvation —
That's noa good;
We want a rate foundation,
Proper wages ... and free!
That they must be.

V

'Tis better now, although you can remember
When you was married, when yon parson come,
That's twenty year agoa —
Or more —
What — last November?
Aye! You'll remember
Things wodn't very grand in your new hoam;
I know what living meant to you;
Three bairns, and all the work to do,
The house to keep, the rent to pay,
On waages not two bob a day;
You and the bairns, you lived on ... what? —
On bread and water!
... It's gone, you say?
Noa matter?
Eh?
You doan't remember?
That devil what paid our starving waage,
He died last year,
A ripe old aage,
And it wor found
He'd raaked together forty thousand pound,
All off the land —
This land —
Not by his own hand —
This Church supporter,
This parsons' friend
(What blessed his end) —
But by ours, what lived on bread and water.

VI

Now ... tell me this —
When your fine parson came
To his grand parsonage,
And found, hissen, how matters stood,
Did he sing out for mester's blood?
Did he denounce his sweating neighbour,
What fattened on our starving labour?
Did he stand up in Church and say
As Hell would be his certain pay?
Or did he give the squire a verse
For letting us pig-styes, or worse —
" It wodn't his affair " ?
It wor!
He's paid for it, six hundred pound a year,
He's paid, paid handsome, just to help the poor
What's at his door;
But did he ever?
Noa fear!
" Charitable " ?
Damn his charity!
Niver noa backing for us anywhere;
He shot wi' our mester, and dined wi' the squire,
And left us to starve, while his thoughts was up higher,
He took on our childer to larn 'em their letters,
And preeached as we all must submit to our betters;
That's natural — you saay. A-course it be,
He hangs to his own, does parson — and soa must we.

VII

I've had it all afore, my dear,
In Norfolk, in yon wicked sheer —
When I wor young, 'twas ten times worse,
I hardly mind it wi'out a curse;
But it got too bad at last to bear,
And we tried to begin a Union theer,
To bind us together to help oursens,
To help each other,
One wi' another,
Not to be starved in styes and dens,
Noa more to dress our bairns in rags —
Or taaty bags —
Wi' proper food, not bread and water,
To live like human beings orter;
But ... it niver was done —
We'd hardly begun —
When up riz the farmers all on fire,
Afeeard of waages gittin' higher;
Up riz the squires, red and sweating,
For fear as we should soon be getting —
Us wicked Radicals — in bands —
To seize the power from their hands;
Up riz the parsons, savage and cold,
Afeeard as we should be too bold
And leeave the Church to tend hersen,
Scared at the thoughts of us being free men.

They smashed us, beaten, to the ground,
Our breath all gone and niver a sound,
They got together and licked us well,
They kicked us, savage, where we fell,
Turned us adrift into the road;
" Rebels must reap what they have sowed " —
Our parson said —
(If any man's in Hell, he's there,
Or, if he isn't, God ain't fair,)
Too strong they was for us, them Three,
It was hardly play to them, you see!
We hadn't the money to rooam afield
And look for work, soa we had to yield;
We couldn't watch our childer pine,
So our Union died and left noa sign
As the parson said —
(What's now in Hell
A-burning well!) —
We — that parson said —
We had to reeap where we had sown;
But ... gel! ...
'Twas the wrongest victory iver known.
They'll paay for it yet if the Bible be true,
Squire and farmer and parson too,
For all must paay for the evil they do
They'll have to reeap where they have sown,
The wickedest deed as iver wor known.
To help the poor, the Church should be first;
Of them Three in their evil, the parsons was worst,
By our widows and orphans them parsons was cursed.

VIII

Who says as Britons never shall be slaaves,
He meant the rich, or else he nobbut raaves;
They stamped our Union to the ground, them Three,
Them what I called the " Devil's Trinity " ;
They marked for good (or bad) our men what led,
Their wives and childer had to cry for bread:
But I wor single, then, and hard to beat.
I didn't mean to lick yon parson's feet
(He'd lick mine for a drop of water now)
Soa I come to these 'ere Fens, where men are free —
Leeastways they was, to me;
Chapels about, and men what didn't bow
Or goa in fear and trembling at yon Three;
Waages was bad enough, but ... we was free!
We had to fight, a-course, on ivery hand
For long enough to get a bit of land,
Just half a rood to build our chapel on;
But when th' owd squire died, them daays wor gone,
The young un didn't care, and let us in
In spite of all your parson's threatenin'
We got the land, and soon began to build,
A penny at a time,
A brick at a time,
We managed it all as Providence willed;
Soa up she went till we got her done,
And then our hymns of praaise begun.
Your parson clashed his teeth to hear it,
We sung soa loud he couldn't bear it;
He's yonder in his roab a-preaching,
Wi' crosses and altars and Holy Daays,
And bairns to foller th' organ's screeching,
As if th' Almighty wanted sich waays.
We sing and praay: we all rejoice,
We shout wi' all our heart and voice.
" We could in Church if we'd a mind " ?
Ah — but — you'll find —
As Churches is nobbut for them Three:
They're not the plaace for you and me,
But for them Three and for their kind,
And all what runs and sucks behind.
If we still went to Church to praay,
We should still be getting two bob a daay,
Submitting oursens to birth and aage
And gratefully taking a starving waage
Helped out wi' charity;
Damn their charity!
We're not beggars, we're honest men,
Give us decent waages —
Living waages —
We'll maintain oursen.
But that's not their scheme,
Nor iver has been.
How does it go? —
You know —
" God bless the squire and his relations,
" And keep us in our proper stations. "
They think as we shall bolt that raw!
That's what their precious Church is for.
They're all for God, that God of theirs
What smiles and listens to their prayers!
But there's a diff'rent One, on high,
What hears the poor and needy cry,
What comes to help 'em in distress
Because He loves the fatherless.
Our chapel God, He doesn't smile
Upon yon Three who fattens while
The poor man's childer pines awaay,
He'll mind them at the Judgement Daay.

IX

But still, you reckon bygones should be bygones,
Eh?
In spite of all I saay?
" Them things is long ago " ?
I know.
A-course, you'll pleease yoursen when all be done,
'Coz he's your son,
But yet, that boy as you're agoin' to sell —
What else, then, gel? —
Idn't parson bidding for his soul
Like buying a foal?
" Some deacent cloathes, two bob a daay,
" A goodish price, and all. " you saay —
But yet — this lad, here, who can tell?
This favourite son you want to sell
Might be the one we're waiting for,
The One what's going to save the poor.
To show us how to beat yon Three,
And lead us on to victory.
We're better off down this owd Fen,
But there's plenty as idn't, women and men,
Plenty of slaaves still knocking about,
Plenty of childer " goin' wi'out " ;
Them Three be strong inother parts,
Mighty and strong, wi' savage hearts,
Where the labouring foak laays down in fear,
Same as we did in yon wicked sheer,
Waaiting for someone to come and lead 'em —
Someone wi' faith and hoap to feed 'em —
Someone to lift 'em out of Hell.
... It might be this lad as you're goin' to sell.
Why not?
'Twill be someone's lot —
He has my blood in his veins, your son,
Maybe he'll carry the good fight on,
Soa as his name should be niver forgotten.
Yon wicked Three woan't win alway,
There'll come a daay —
We shall find they're rotten —
Soa ... keep him at hoam,
Doan't sell him now,
Let him stop on the land and foller the plough,
And when the Daay of Reckoning comes
Wi' its thunder and lightning —
Its trumpets and drums —
When you Three has to reeap what they have sown,
Your boy'll be ready to fight wi' his own.