human
Can you continue this poem for me?
  Bi Bill o'th' Hoylus End.
On hearing this, the Haworth foalk
Began to think it wor no joak,
An’ wisht’ at greedy kaa ma’ choak,
’At swallowed th’ plan o’th railway.
countries, for they tuk fearful after em in Haworth i’th line
Come all ye lads o’ high renown
’At wishes well your native town,
Rowl up an’ put your money down
Wi’ Keighla foak we are behind,
An’s hed to wauk agin wur mind;
But soin th’ crookt-legg’d ens thay will find
We’ll keep em wi’ a Railway.
A pair o’ crakt bag-pipes.
Twenty oud wimen nittin’ stockings.
Taan skavengers wi’ shouldered besums decorated wi’ ribbons.
Taan chimla sweeps mounted o’ donkeys wi’ thair face white.
Gather fra Stanbury lads wi’ yor carrot heds,
Come daan fra Lockertaan lads bi thi’ railway;
Come wi’ yor wives, yor dowters, an’ relatives,
Shout, lads, shout for the Worth Valley Railway.
Railway, railway.
Cum an’ hear Oufield mak his oration,
Yo’ll say in yor conshunce he spack it rait fairly,
He’ll say ’at poor Haworth never yet hed fairashun,
But he’ll speak of the thing that will flurish it rarely.
Saw ye Ike Ouden wi’ his mehogany wheelbarrow,
He wheel’d it daan th’ plank as strayt as a arrow,
An’ tipt it as weel as a navvy or delver.
Saw yo the church so anshunt in history,
Read yo the Latin words high in the steeple,
Hear yo the sounds that arose from the belfry,
It seem’d to be shaating along wi’ the people.
shaatin’.
diff’rence it will mak to Haworth, wen shoo can export her awn
Put yor shoulders to work an’ ne’er be danted,
Think yer behint an’ there’s no time to dally,
For na is the time yor assistance is wanted
I’ makkin yor railway along the Worth Valley.
Double, double, toil an’ trouble.
Thay hed a meeting th’ tother neet,
Fair o’th’ top o’ wuthering street,
To see what things thay’d got complete,
Concerning Haworth railway.
Wen Penny Wabbac tuk the chair,
He lukt to be i’ grate despair,
He sez, good foak, are yo’ aware,
Wat’s happened to the railway?
Wi’ persperashun on his bra,
He sez, good foaks, I’ll tell yo’ nah;
Oud Blue Beard’s nasty wizen’d kaa
Hez swallow’d plan o’th’ railway.
Wi’ theas remarks poor Wabbac sat,
Wen Jonny Broth doft off his hat,
His een they blazed like some wild cat
Wi’ vengence for the railway.
He sed, mi blud begins to boil,
To think ’at we sud work and toil,
And even th’ cattle cannot thoyle
To let us hev a railway.
On hearing this the Haworth foak
Began to think it wur no joak,
An wisht ’at greedy kaa ma choak
’At swallow’d plan o’ th’ railway.
For sighs an’ tears an’ doubts an’ fears
Prevails with greatest folly,
For th’ sinagog hez cockt its clog,
An’ th’ parson’s melancholy.
Tunnils sink an’ navvies drink,
An’ chapels are upsetting;
For railway shares nobody cares,
An’ iverybody’s fretting.
The iron horse they curse of course,
An’ fane wud it abondon,
An’ loyer’ fees thair pockets ease,
A thousand pounds i’ Londen.
Misfortunes speed as rank as weed,
An’ puts on such a damper,
Wal th’ foaks declare i’ great despair,
It’s up wi’ th’ iron tramper.
The Volunteers prick up thair ears,
An’ mack a famos rattle;
They want to run to Wimbledon,
Or onny field o’ battle.
Thair black cravats an’ toppen’d hats
Are causin’ grate attraction;
’Gainst Bonepart they want to start,
I’ regular fightin’ action.
The raw recuits hev got thair suits,
Thay brag to one another,
To th’ first campaign thay’l tak th’ train
Without the slightest bother.
But hasumiver, it’s gotten to th’ last stage na, an’ foak is very
Thayr standin’ i’ groups an’ livin’ i’ hopes,
An’ more disappointments thay dread,
Yo’ hevn’t much longer to wait,
For blue milk an’ porridge, yo’ll get better forridge,
Wen th’ railway gets fairly agait.
For it’s labour i’ vain to harken for th’ train
Wen all’s goin’ on varry steady;
So pray yo be calm, its takkin no harm,
Thay’ll bring it as soin as it’s ready.
For th’ rails are all laid, an’ thair’s nowt to be made,
Nobbut th’ navvies to clear off all th’ muck;
Then all ’ll be going, for the Cowinhead mooin
Is baan to be browt on a truck.
So Sham o’ Blue Bills, wi’ thi pints and thi gills,
It’s baan to be better for thee,
To Keighla an’ back tha ma go in a crack,
Wen tha’s baan on a bit of a spree.
An’ John o’ Pot Anns, tha mun alter thi plans,
For tha niver can get ’em i’ force;
For I’m happy to tell at astead o’th’ canal
They’re baan to try th’ big iron horse.
Thare’s oud Jim o’ Tyas is baan to be wise,
An’ th’ foak sez at he’s takkin a hig;
He’ll see it first tried afore he will ride,
He’s daan abaat th’ paper mill brig.
He sez he’ll be sure, it dropt in before,
An’ it might do again for a pinch;
For he sez they’ll be kapt if some on ems trapt,
So he’s blest if he’ll trust it an inch.
Thare’s oud Mally Brook hez been daan to look,
An’ shoo’s sore disappointed thay say;
Shoo’s omost gone crakt for shoo says it weant act,
For they nobbut can run it one way.
Shoo sez at high class at’s laid daan all th’ brass,
Just na they’re beginning to craw;
To mak up for th’ trouble they’re baan to charge double,
For bad spekulashun it law.
So to settle em daan, Sir Christopher Braan
Hez tould ’em it wur his intent,
If thay’d nobbut be quiet till things wur all reight,
He’d give them a trip to Chow Bent.
Yes, and besides a trip to Chow Bent, they gat several more trips
Stars wur shoiting in an’ aat,
An’ gravel ratches wur abaat,
An’ th’ folk, he sed thay little knew
Wat mischief it began to brew.
An’ news he spread abaat the taan
Wat lots o’ rain wud tumble daan
An’ like his anshent sires he spoke
The shockin news withaat a joak.
For soin the rain i’ torrent fell,
And o what awful news to tell,
It lookt as claads wur baan to shutter,
A regeler deluge did resemble.
Which made the Haworth folk to tremble.
Sum tried to stop its course wi’ stones,
An’ sum dropt on their marrow bones,
An’ hoped that if the world wur draaned,
The railway wud be saafe an’ saand.
But prayers like theas hed no avail,
For th’ waters deluged all the vale;
An’ th’ latest news ’at I heerd
Th’ railway’s nearly disappear’d;
But if it’s fun withaat a flaw,
Wha, folks, I’m like to let you know.
Hawsumever thay muster’d all th’ energy thay could, for thay wur
If my advice yo want, poor things,
An’ cannot do withaat it,
Go arm yorseln to th’ teeth, he sed,
An’ doant be long abaat it;
Both rakes an’ powls an’ props an’ ropes
Yo cannot get ta sooin,
An’ take the Cowinheaders’ plan
When thay discovered th’ mooin.
Doant gape abaat, but when arm’d
Tak each a different rowt,
An’ let yor cry be ivery man,
Th’ poor railway’s up the spout.
An’ this wur a fact, it wur th’ railway thay saw,
An’ at th’ first o’th’ spectre thay all stood in awe,
For it wur smashed all i’ pieces ashamed to be seen
As tho it hed passed throo a sausidge masheen,
Wi’ horror sum fainted while others took fits,
An’ theas ’at cud stand it wir piking up th’ bits.
assistant
Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  But after a while when thay all becum calm,
Thay gathered together like bees in a swarm,
Resolved to pick up all th’ fragments an’ th’ wood,
An’ splice ’em together as weel as thay cud,
Hasumever thay started a putting it streight,
An’ wi spelking and braying thay soin made it reight.
Six months nah elapsed, an’ th’ gert job wur done,
An’ th’ next thing to argue wur wen it sud run;
So thay sent Joe a Stirks araand wi his bell,
An’ gave him strict orders at he wur to tell
At th’ inspector hed been an’ examined it throo,
An’ cum to th’ conclusion at th’ railway wud do.
So to wark wi’ a vengeance, the bellman set to
To warn up a meeting at th’ Black Bull,
It wod a dun yo all good to hear Joey shaat,
For thay heard him distinctly for miles all abaat,
For i’ less ner ten minits, thay flockt so fast,
While Jonny Broth’s horses thay cudnt get past.
So thay framed on wi’ th’ meeting an’ th’ chairman spak first,
An’ tell’d ’em at th’ railway wur finish’d at last,
An’ declared at th’ inspector hed passed when he cum
Both viaducts an’ bridges as saand as a plum;
As for sinkin’ agean thay wud do nowt o’th’ sort,
For thay sailed throo th’ arches i’ Marriner Boat.
So he hoped i’ this meeting thay all wud agree,
An’ settle when th’ oppening o’th’ railway sud be,
He thout for his part tho he nobbut wur one,
At first day o’ April wur t’ fittest to run,
Wen a voice sed, sit daan or I’ll pelt thee wi spoils,
Duz ta think at wur baan to be April foils?
Determined to sattle an’ bring things araand,
As th’ railway wur finished, both proper an’ saand;
So thay pitched on a day, it wur April the fourth,
To oppen th’ grand railway fra Lundon to Haworth.
It wur carried as usual, bi th’ showin’ o’ hands,
Amidst great rejoicin’ an playin’ o’ bands,
Both oud men an’ wimen had a smile on thair face,
For all wur dead certain it wur baan to tak’ place,
So thay fled to thair homes like bees to a hive,
Impashent an’ ankshus for th’ day to arrive.
Hasumever th’ day at wur menshun’d before,
An’ folk wur all flockin’ fro maantan an’ th’ moor,
An’ little thay thout wen thay set off that morn,
Another disaster wud laff ’em to scorn,
For Joe Stick wur sent out to tell ’em to stop
For poor Haworth Railway hed gotten i’ pop.
Na this wur a damper an’ th’ biggest i’th’ lot,
An th’ folks thay declared it wur Keighla plot,
But one Jack o’ Ludges sed he’d stop ’em thair prate,
He’a learn ’em i’ Keighla to insinuate,
Thay’st hev no excurshuns for nowt but thair lip,
And Shipla an’ Bradford shud hev the first trip.
He sed he’d been quiet, but he’d na interfere,
He’d wauk up to Derby an tell ’em up thear,
Ha thay hed been skitted sin first they begun,
An’ na wen th’ wur finished thay wurn’t to run;
But ha he went on I never did hear,
But one thing I’m certain he must a been thear.
For th’ tenth day of April bills wur put aat,
That th’ railway wud oppen whithaat any daat,
An’ a famous excurshun fra Bradford wod run,
An call at all th’ stashuns wi th’ excepshun o’ won,
For nowt aat o’ Keighla to Haworth sud ride,
For that day all tha’ luggage wur left o’ won side.
Scarce Keighla crookt legg’d ens hed heard o’ the news
An’ wur just baan to give ’em the greatest abuse,
Wen a order cum aat fra sum unknawn scource,
That Keighla crookt legg’d ens cud go up of course,
Thay thout it wur best, an’ wud cause the least bother,
For one sud be welcum as weel as another.
Hasumever thare hopes hes not been i’ vain,
For th’ day’s arrived an’ yonder’s train,
An’ thaasands o’ folks are flocking to th’ spot,
Th’ gent fra his hall, th’ peasant fra his cot,
For all are determined as th’ weather is fine,
To hev an excurshun up th’ Worth Valley Line.
They land up i’ Haworth, an’ sports ’at is seen,
Wur niver yet equalled it reign o’ the Queen.
Such processions wi music yo never saw th’ like,
An’ Sham o’ Blue Bells sed he’d kick up a shine,
For na they hed oppen’d the Worth Valley Line.
Thare wur Jim o’th’ Damems, an’ Will o’th’ Gooise Coit,
An’ th’ lads at wur in that puddin exploit,
Thare wur Ned daan fra Oakworth, an’ Ike fra Loin-ends,
Along wi thair aristocratical friends,
They repaired to Black Bull, of saand puddin’ to dine,
That day at thay oppen’d th’ Worth Valley Line.
I’ all nooks an’ corners an’ chimla tops,
Wur floatin’ gert banners wi mighty big props,
An’ stampt on each flag in figurs so nice,
Sum an inscripshun an’ sum a device;
But th’ nicest i’th’ lump at swung on a band
Wur, welcum to Haworth fra ivery land.
Yor welcum, yor welcum, all men upon earth,
Yor welcum to the Valley of Worth,
Fra th’ Humber to th’ Mersey, fra th’ Thames daan to th’ Tyne,
Yor welcum to travel the Worth Valley Line.
“The last Scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history.”
_Fra th’ Corrispondant o’th’ Hoylus End Mercury_.
Good folks, you’ve inkwired at home and abroad,
Ha we’re gettin’ on wi wur famous railroad;
And wen I’ve tell’d yo th’ disasters we’ve hed,
Yo’ve greev’d monny a time wal yo’ve tain to yor bed,
But ha yo will gape wen yo read farther daan,
Wat famons big stirrins we’ve hed up i’th’ taan.
I know yo’d be mad as soin as yo heard,
Abaat that oud kaa at belonged to Blue Beard,
For I like as I saw yo just hod of its tail,
And braying it rump wi th’ end o’ yor flail;
For I wisht monny a time at yo’d been here,
For swallowing th’ plan yo’d a geen it wat cheer.
Ha iver, good folk, I’ll try to be breef,
For I know yo’re i’ pain and I’ll give yo releef—
So to tell yo the truth in a plain honest way,
Th’ railroad is finish’d an oppen’d to-day;
An’ I’ve tain up mi pen, for ill yo’d a tain’t
If I hedn’t a geen yo a truthful ackaant.
Hasumever, this morning as I tell’d yo before,
I wur wakken’d wi hearin a awful uproar,
Wat wi th’ prating o’ women an’ shaating o’th’ folk,
An’ th’ bells ’at wur ringin, it wur past ony joke,
For ivery two minits thay shaated huray,
We are na baan to oppen th’ Haworth Railway.
So I jump’d up i’ bed, an’ I gat on the floor,
I slipt on mi cloas an’ ran aat door,
An’ th’ first at I met, it wur one Jimmy Peg,
He’d cum’d up fra Bockin an brout a gert fleg,
An’ just at his heels wur th’ Spring-headed band,
Playing a march—I thout it wur grand.
So I fell into th’ step for I knaw how to march,
For I’ve been stiffen’d up wi’ guvernment starch;
An’ first smell o’ music it makes me fair dance
An’ I prick us mi ears like a trooper his lance,
Hasumever, I thout as I’d gotten the scent,
I’d follow this music wharever it went.
Then I march’d up erect, wal I cum to th’ grand stand,
An’ that wur at th’ stashun whare th’ train hed to land
Thare wur flags of all nations, fra th’ Union Jack
To Bacchus an’ Atlas wi’ th’ globe on his back,
For th’ Inspector and Conductor, and all sorls o’ fray,
Wur expected directly to land at th’ railway.
So I stared until both een wur varry near bleared,
An’ waited an’ waited—at last it appeared,
It wur filled full o’ folk as eggs full o’ meat,
An’ it tuk four engines to bring it up reight,
Two hed long chimlas an’ tuther hed noan,
But thay stuck weel together like a dog to a boan.
They wur gruntin’ an’ growlin’ wur th’ folk at gat aat,
So I made sum inquiries wat it wur abaat;
For i’ all mi born days I ne’er heard nowt so called,
For three or four times thay sed it hed stall’d
Wal sum o’th’ crookt-legg’d ens bethout of a scheam,
An’ thay went back to Keighla for a hamper o’ steam.
An’ my word an’ honner, it did mak a gert din,
For I stud by and heard it an’ saw it cum in;
I expected it cummin as quiet as a lamb,
But no daat a’th’ noises wur nobbut a sham;
But wat’s th’ use o’ tellin yo ha it did cum,
I’d forgotten yo’d ridden to Wibsey begum.
Thare wur fifty i’ number invited to dine,
All us at hed acted reight loyal to th’ line;
Sa I thout that I’d go, for I knew weel enuff
’At th’ puddings this time wud be made o’th’ reight stuff
And noan o’ that stuffment that gav th’ Keighla band,
Toan awf on it rubbish and tother awf sand.
For twelve stone o’ flour (3lbs. to a man)
Wur boiled i’ oud Bingleechin’s kaa lickin pan,
Wi gert lumps o’ sewet at th’ cook hed put in’t,
At shane like a ginney just new aat o’th’ mint;
Wi nives made a purpos to cut it i’ rowls,
An’ th’ sauce wur i’ buckets, an mighty big bowls.
They wur chattin an’ tawkin an’ sucking ther spice,
An’ crackin at dainties thay thout ’at wur nice,
Wal th’ oud parson gat up and pulled a long face,
An’ mutter’d sum words ’at thay call sayin’ th’ grace,
But I niver goam’d that, cos I knew for a fact
It wur nobbut a signal for th’ puddin attack.
And I’ll tell yo wat, folk, tho yo maint beleeve,
But yo tawk abaat Wibsey folk heytin horse beef,
Yo sud a seen Locker taaners brandishin’ thair nives,
An’ choppin and cuttin thair wallopin shives,
An’ all on em shaating thay liked th’ puddin th’ best,
For nowt wur like th’ puddin for standin the test.
And while thay wur cuttin an’ choppin away,
The gallant Spring-headers wur order’d to play,
But thay didn’t much like it for every one
Wur flaid at thay’d play wal th’ puddin wur done;
But as luck wur they ticed em, wi a gert deal to do,
To play Roger the plowman and Rozzen the Bow.
Hasumiver thay played an’ thay drummed up agean,
An’ th’ drummer he struck wi his might and his mane,
An’ I’m like to confess I wur niver war flaid,
For thay put such a stress on to all ’at thay played,
But I kept mysel quiet, cos I knew’t wur a sin,
To stop such grand music, if th’ roof tumbled in.
Ike Ouden wur chairman at com to preside,
An’ Will Thompson o’ Guiseley wur set by his side;
Na Will’s a director o’th’ Midland line,
An’ as dacent a chap as sat daan ta dine,
Along wi Jim Sugden at held the vice chair,
And a lot more lads at wur on fur a spree;
Thare wur Nedwin o’ George’s and Pete Featherstone,
They sat side by side like Darby and Joan!
An’ I hardly can tell yo, but yor noan to a shade,
But I knaw thay wur Ingham and little Jack Wade.
Na th’ dinner bein ower thay shifted all th’ tins,
Then th’ chairman stud up like a man on his pins,
And proposin’ a bumper to England’s gooid Queen,
He telled what a kind-hearted monark shoo’d been,
At shoo’d trained up her family in her own loyal way,
’At th’ Crown Prince wur th’ best rider i’ Haworth to-day.
Th’ toast it being honnered, then the chairman went on,
And tell’d wat gert wonders oud England hed dun;
As for invading armies shoo’d nothing to fear
As long as th’ bold 42nd wur thear,
But he’d leave that aside, for he’d summat to say
Abaat his attachment to Haworth Railway,
So, he says, be silent all th’ folk i’ this hall,
So, as any one on yo can hear a pin fall,
And John o’ Bill Olders, just shut up thi prate,
For I’ve summat to say an I mun let it aat;
For I mun hev silence whatever betide,
Or I’ll cum aat o’th’ loom and sum on ya hide.
Three years hes elapsed an’ we’re going on th’ fourth,
Sin we first started th’ railway fra Keighley to Haworth;
Wat wi dreamin’ by neet an’ workin’ by day,
It’s been to poor Haworth a dearish railway,
An’ monny a time I’ve been aat a patience,
Wi th’ host o’ misfortunes and miscalculations.
Th’ first do at we hed wur th’ kaa swallowing th’ plan,
An’d then wur bad luck an’ misfortunes began;
For before Ginger Jabus cud draw us anuther,
All went on wrong an’ we’d a gert deal o’ bother;
He must ha’ been dreamin, a silly oud claan,
For three fields o’ Doodle’s he never put daan.
But Jack Metcauf put up wi’ that for he sed he’d allah
’At th’ misfortune wur caused wi th’ greedy oud kaa;
So be set all his navvies agate in a hig,
An’ thay upset a chapel at th’ Paper Mill Brig;
Na th’ folk dropp’d thair lugs an wur daan o’th’ Railway,
But we gat ower that bit wi’ hevin’ to pay.
Nah Ike finished off in his dashin’ oud way,
An’ th’ folk wur all shaatin’, hear, hear! and hurra,
For heigher and heigher the band it wur playin’,
An’ nobody cud hear a word thay wur sayin’,
For th’ clappin’ an’ shaatin’ it lasted awhile,
For I clapped wal mi hands wur as sore as a bile.
Nah, I’ll tell yo wat, folk, yo tawk abaat storms,
An’ thunner an’ leetning, an’ dreadful alarms,
But th’ applause thare wur wen he’d dun,
Thare wur niver nowt heard like it under th’ sun,
For wat wi laad music, huraaing an’ cheers,
Th’ folk wur so suited thay gaaped at both ears.
As for thee, Jonny Broth, it’s a pity I knaw
For thart one o’th’ best drivers at iver I saw,
An’ nobody can grumble at wat tha hes dun,
If this bus driven wearisome race it is run;
For who cud grumble ha fine wur thur cloth,
To ride up to Haworth wi’ oud Jonny Broth.
So Jonny, mi lad, don’t thee mak onny fuss,
I’ shutting thi horses, or sellin’ thi Bus;
For if th’ railway hes dun thee, thare’s one thing I knaw
Tha mud mak o’th’ oud Bus a stunnin’ peep show,
An’ if I meet thee at Lunden, tho two hundred miles,
I sall patronise thee if it be in St. Giles.
An’ if any one else hes a complaint to mak,
Doant let em say it behint yor back,
But cum up to th’ front an’ dunnot be flaid,
If he’s owt aat o’ pockets I’ll see at he’s paid;
For all theas small trubbles I want to decide,
An’ them at’s been wrong’d to be satisfied.
For all native exiles are welcum once more
To cum back agean to thair awn native shore;
Even theas at hed hookt it an’ left it i’th’ lurk,
An’ wur flaid at they’d awet if thay happened to work,
Can cum back agean to thair awn native place,
If thay think thay can fashion to show up thair face.
So strike up yor music an’ give it sum maath,
An’ welcum all nashuns fra north to th’ saath;
Th’ black fra th’ east, an’ th’ red fra th’ west,
For thay sud be welcum as weel as th’ rest,
An’ all beyond th’ Tiber, th’ Baltic, or Rhine,
Shall knaw at we’ve oppen’d th’ Worth Valley Line.