Words

Owdam High Street

Oh Dear, they've laid bricks in roads where't bus goes - how queer.
Why bother to move all the cobbles, me mind boggles.
Now - Ah suspects what we knew, owd iron lamps & stumps going down towards Mumps,
What comes next is the tram track comin' back,
Now who appoints - seein as how nature's doin all the seedin', some mon to do the weedin' in all them joints...
And when t'gas-chap comes - Crumbs!

Oh Dear, they won't slot back - neither tight nor slack - how queer.
Oh we'll 'ave more trouble then with t'electric men,
Now - Ah suspects, instead of a herring-bone style - there'll be a crumpled pile
and what comes next'll be water board huts - and loads more bloomin' ruts -
and to who appoints, I see someones's doin all the patchin', that's not quite matchin' in all them joints.
The cement an' stuff - it's none ready 'nough.

Oh Dear, in a year or two it'll all need new - how queer.
They'll have to get Mister JCB fer't dig 'em up, does see?
Now - Ah suspects, when yon mons come, we'shall have loads more fun;
and what comes next, will be another poem - from a whatdy'macallum.
But to who appoints - I must admit, that fer just a bit, all them joints - look awreet on't high street.

Ken Whitehead

From a series of poems by Delph poet Ken Whitehead (1939-2005)
written in the 1980's. This recalls a scene from his boyhood.
Used with permission of the family