Ethel's favourite... Footprints

One night, a woman had a dream.

She dreamed she was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from her life.

For each scene she noticed two sets of footprints in the sand.
On belonged to her, the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of her life flashed before her,
she looked back at the footprints in the sand.

She noticed that many times along the path of his life
there was only one set of footprints.

She also noticed that it happened at the very lowest
and saddest times of her life.

This bothered her so, and she questioned the Lord:
"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,
that I you would walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times of my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I wanted you most, you would leave me."

The Lord replied:
"My daughter, I love you and would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was there that I carried you."

  
Ethel, at 100 years of age, sat on a bench commissioned in celebration of her birthday and bought by her family and many friends.

T'Messiah

Ted Buckley wer a smart lookin chap, yer naw,
When ee donned issen up a courtin ta goa.
E courted a lass a little bit soft, 
Bu'rree warn't much better, cos ee went middlin oft.

E went fower times a week, an sometimes moor,

E got there in good time, but he din't know when ter goa.

But ther once come a neet when he were rather la,
T'poor lass din't know whether ee'd got lost er wat.

It were't Sunda afoor Christmas, ah well remember t'day,
Cos early snow ad fallen an reight thick it lay.
Nine o'clock struck an ther wer no sight a Ted
But she's noan 'ev expected him, if shoo'd been reight i'er 'ed.

Owivver shoo edn't much longer ta wait
Afoor sh'erd somda rettlin' at t'gate.

In a jiffy t'doar oppened an Ted walked straight in
Sher looked as farl as sher could, burr'ed same old grin.

"It's a rough neet," He said as ee sat dahn i't chair.
"Ther's bin many a war," shoo said wi a sneer.

"Ther's naw need ter blame it all o't snow.
Wheer tha bin callin, that's wharr Ah'd like ter know!"

He said, "Thah think Ah've bin ter t'pub suppin ale,
But tha'll change thi tune when Ah tells yer mi tale."

Ah've bin tert chepil t'arken to t'choir,
Ther've bin givin selections through 'Andel's Messiah.
T'new parson were theer burree dint speak long,
Cos ee wanted t'arken to this service o'song.

Ah can't remember each item just as it went,
But Ah'll try t'explain what Ah thowt it meant.

Ther sang o' some sheep as ad gotten astray
An bi what Ah understand ther'd all gone a different way.
Ah don't naw ah many or ah much ther cost,
But that dunt matter - main thing is, ther wer lost.

Then a young man gorrup an sung bi issen
Whether ther wer 'is sheeep at were lost, Ah sure ah can't tell.
Cos he sed ivvery mahntain an 'ill bi med low,
An Ah thowt - aye-up - ther bahn ter find t'sheep, choos weer ther goa.

Then a young lass gorrup an in a reight clear voice
Shoo said the'd no need ter sorrow, but greatly rejoice.
It wer a stiff piece - Ahm shoor it wer 'ard wark,
But shoo sang it as easy as if shoo wer a lark.

Ah axed oo sher wer, so's Ah could eer er again some day,
(Shoo's leadin serpranna an ther call er Miss Ray)
Then up jumped a chap - ee, an e wer cross,
Ah wondered if ther'd ta'en is sheep fer't them that wer lost!

E said ther'd imagined a vain thing an, ee, an e wer in a rage,
An t'organist banged as if e wer in for a wage!
T'audience wer fair suited - yer could tell bi ther face,
When 'id finished 'is piece an sat dahn in 'is place.

T'other singers were that mad at 'im bein sa clever,
Ther gorrup an sang it'd rain fer ivver an ivver.
So ah med fer t'doar as fast as Ah could,
Ah thowt Ah mun be off if ther's bahn ter be a flood."

So when e'd finished tellin 'er abaht t'Messiah,
E sed, "Nah then - attah satisfied, Sofia?"
Shoo sed, "EE, Ted, that sahnded fair grand."
An shoo'd go see it ersen next time it kem rahnd.

Th'Inkeeper's Story

Breakfast? Nay lass, Ah'm not 'ungry.
Ah nivver thowt abaht owt ter eat.
An Ah'm as breet as a button this morning,
When Ah thowt Ah'd bi deed on mi feet.

Last neet! Ther'll nivver be owt like it
If Ah live ter bi 'undred an ten.
Ah've bin changed owerneet somehow, Mary,
An Ah'm capped how it 'appened an when.

Yer'll recall that young couple through Nazareth?
We'd noweer ter put em in t'inn.
Well Ah fun 'em a place dahn in t'cowshed
But t'weather wer awfully thin.

So when Ah'd gor all't visitors settled,
An you wer asleep in yer bed,
Ah loisened owd Jess through 'er kennel
An wended mi way dahn ter t'shed.

It wer clearer than dayleet in t'farmyard
Almost midneet it wer - t'moon at full.
Not a glimmer from t'houses in't village,
An snow covered t'ground soft as wool.

They'd ed nowt ter eat, ter mi knowledge,
So ah took 'em a bite an a sup,
An some oil in case t'lamp wanted trimmin,
An swaddlin ter lap t'bairn up.

Then Ah fended ter t'cows an ter Jenny,
...Ah've nivver know t'cattle ser calm...
The Ah browt some clean straw dahn fer t'manger,
Just ter mek sure t'bairn wer warm.

Ah don't think they noticed mi scare like,
As Ah roamed abaht sidin't place through,
They were ta'en up wi looking at t'bairn
An 'is mother 'as same name as you!

Such a bonny wee bairn he is, Mary,
Poor thing almost lost among't straw.
But Ah couldn't disturb 'em much longer,
So Ah left 'em an stood aht in t'snow.

A still neet it wer, strange an quiet,
As Ah leaned up agen doar jamb.
Then Ah fancied Ah heard t'sound o' music
As though t'star wer singin a psalm.

At fust, well, Ah thowt Ah wer dreamin!
But they heard it on t'illtop an all.
An Ah seed 'em come running daht t'illside
An mekkin ther way dahn ter t'stall.

It wer Reuben an Shep an young Jimmy,
They'd bin up at t'top, tendin t'sheep.
Ther wer telled ter com dahn inter t'village
Weer ther'd find t'little bairn asleep.

Nah't strangest of all wer owd Rueben,
Leavin t'lambs nobbut yesterday born,
But all e would day when Ah asked 'im
Wer "T'Lord'll tak care on i's own."

Well, sommat wer drawin mi, Mary.
So Ah went in wi Reub an 'is men.
Wi stood a bit just lookin at t'bairn,
But Ah 'ardly know what 'appened then!

Wi went dahn on ahr knees, ther in t'stable,
While t'mother took t'bairn on 'er knees,
An she crooned a soft lullaby ower it,
While we knelt Reuben, Shep, Jim an me.

Nah, God's bairns, all on 'ems lovely,
Why ahr own wer a bonny wee thing,
An wi play wi 'em, nurse 'em an love 'em,
Yet we knelt ther like wi would to a king.

So that's why Ah'm noan varry 'ungry,
Ah's like ter walk t'ills all day long,
But we've t'visitors' meals ter see ter,
Varry soon we'll both on us bi throng!

But fust, walk wi mi ter t'cowshed,
Cos Ah've a feelin at someday, when we're owd,
We'll bi glad we looked after that bairn ther,
An fun it a place out o't cowd.

Ah'm Heavy on Cloas

Ah'v rivven mi britches!
Mi Mam'll play 'eck...
Ah wer just climin't gate
when ah copped 'em o't sneck.

Summat snagged on mi jumper
when Ah crawled i' mi den
nah't wool under't armoiles
'as unravelled itsen.

Ah've torn mi best coit,
an if that warn't enough,
Ah'v loisened all't stitches
arahnd mi shirt cuff.

Ah've lost a new glove -
nah ah'v only got one.
An ah put mi thumb through mi sock
when Ah were pullin it on!

Mi Mam's allus naggin'
but shoo didn't arf shrike
when Ah used mi shirt flap
fer cleanin' mi bike.

Ther's a split in mi booit -
it shows all mi toas.
No, ther's no doubt abaht it,
Ah'm 'eavy on cloas.

To Catch An 'Erring

'Ther's nowt so queer as Yorkshire Folk!'
is an adage as old as time.
So I 'ope yer find amusin'
this true tale Ah tell as rhyme...

Mi Grandad loved 'is garden -
ther wer nowt 'e couldn't grow.
An' ivvery year, when summer cem,
'e always stole the show.

'Is pals wer not malicious,
they just meant ter pull 'is leg,
An so devised a little scheme
ter tek 'im dahn a peg.

They said they'd got some "special seeds"
tha nowbody could grow...
Mi Grandad sed 'ed heard o them,
t'germination rate wer slow.

Convinced that they would grow fer 'im
'e gave a knowin' wink.
If nothin' showed within a month
'ed buy 'em all a drink!

The seeds 'e fed on nitrates, potash,
an' the days went by...
But nothin' cem. Per'aps a mulch
o'fish bits he'd try.

So Gran'ma went shoppin' ter't
fishmongers t'next day.
Two cronies wives wer gossipin'
as shoo passed she heard one say:

Her husband 'ad confided
that the seeds would niiver grow.
For all Grandad 'ad planted was
sum dried up 'errin roe!

At first Gran'ma wer furious,
but then shoo hatched a plan:
in cunning, female, devious ways
shoo wud protect 'er man.

Shoo rose befoar the crack o'dawn
an' down the garden sped.
Shoo 'ad the job completed befoar
Grandad left 'is bed.

The month was up! An 'e 'ad failed.
They'd all bi rahn ter cheer.
What hurt 'im most of all, of course,
wer payin' fo the beer!

At openin' time the men cem rahnd
ter claim their jars of ale.
They'd all swarmed dahn the garden path
while Grandad turned quite pale...

They stopped in blank amazement
at the sight that met their eyes...
For row on row of silver fish
stood pointed ter the skies!

The men collapsed in merriment -
they'd 'ad their bit o' fun.
An as they went, Gran'ma was pleased
that justice 'ad bin done!

Black Leaded Grate

Ah sat t'other neet in front or t'gas fire,
Medditatin' on it's trim, neat glow.
An' likenin' it ta t'black leaded grate
Wi used ta gather rahnd long ago.

Na flickin' it's iron face wi a duster,
Na regulatin' it's fickle flames wi a knob,
It needed grit, spit an' elbow grease
ta put a shine on that 'ard worked hob.

An then wer't ashes ter riddle, flue's ta rake owt
afore't fire could bi reset.
While ivvery week it wer takken ta bits
an geean a Friday mornin's sweat.

Wi jaded joy ya put match ta t'paper, t'stides, an'
big shiny lumps a coal.
Hacked from't pit at' bottom at' street, chucked a ton
at a time in'ta t'coal-ole.

Naa when it gets dark afore teatime, an neats seem
twenty-four hours long,
When't wind rattles rain agean winder pain, an' whistles
a wild wierd wintry song...

Though life's easiest bah't t'black leaded grate,
wi it's soot an' belchin' smoke,
I miss tracin' t'pictures in it's primature hearth
an' hevin' a reight good poke!

Ode Ter T'stove

By Lily Duncan-Birkhead

Aar Ida's hed a Yorkist stove -
30 years a more,
It's bin 'er special pride an joy
since t'day it cem thru't doar.

Together they reached culinary heights
no-one could surpass,
T'stars of any kitchen - this Yorkist stove
an' Yorkshire lass.

T'delights of 'ome cookin -
she shares owt wi a generous hand.
Crusty bread, sponges, apple pies -
they mek t'tastiest food in t'land!

Tho' wi good owd Yorkshire puddin'
they do o'course excel -
They 'av their "exotic dishes"
an secret recipes as well.

A dainty dish fo't invalid,
A banquet served wi wine -
Their table tempt t'most finicky
while't biggest gourmet wouldn't pine.

But time, alas, has taken it's toll,
Wi't "screwmatics" she's naa beset -
While't owd stove he's got just abaht
ivvery thing owd stoves can get!

Still, they struggle on together -
though 'er gifted hands a not sa quick,
And t'owd stove can't work at all,
wi owt it propped up wi a stick!

That's why she meks na promises -
"It depends," is all she'll say -
But when t'winds in reight direction, they'll bake
an then gi' it all away.

They find comfort in a coal fire -
it's warmth soothes their aches an' pains.
While memories sit in it's shadows,
an' pictures glow in it's flames.

But t'owd stove's under sentence naa -
well, it's all wore owt ...an' that...
Sa it's daft ter brek yer 'eart  -
it's not like a dog or a cat!

But wimmin can be funny...
the'll bi no hoddin' back t'tears on't day
they fling it on a dust cart
an' tek aar Ida's stove away.