What croods o’ foak i’ Pateley Toon,
Fra roond an’ square, beeath up an’ doon,
All starin’ – see em!
Thar’s ivvery shap and ivvery mak,
Beath gert an’ lile, heath white an’ black,
Wal ivvery street an’ ivvery track
Is block’d up wi’ ’em.

Fra t’Reeaven Nest, an’ t’Middle-toon,
Fra t’Steanbeck Up an’ t’Steanbeck Doon
An’ fra t’Hoalboddom;
Ramsgill an’ t’Wath, ther quota send,
Harcasle youths i’ drooves attend,
Sike lots fra Greenha an’ t’West End
T’toon winnot hod ’em.

Oade men ‘at’s fowerscoore summers seen,
Wi’ hairless heeads an’ sparkless een,
Cum toddlin thither ;
Thar’s lots ov barns at just can woak,
I’ brats an’ frocks as white as choak,
An’ fulgrown lads and lasses stawk
Aboot togither.

A hunderd different voices rise,
Sitch bawlin, hooarse, discoordant cries,
A preist wad maddle;
Greengrocer Jamie praised his fruit,
Nut Harry tried to follow suit,
An’ Dicky Dee bowt fer his brute
A brand new saddle.

Ower t’Brig they gan be’y scoors at yance,
To Bewerley Park to watch ’em dance,
An’ lake at creckit;
Thar’s kissing rings, an’ twos an’ threes,
They skip an’ jump aboot like fleas;
T’Victoria Band maks under t’trees
A bonny racket.

Neea matter hoo wer time we spend;
Thar’s ne’er a day bud what mun end
Time keeps advancin’ ;
At Feast ‘ir fast it moves away,
An’ money a yan were thar that day,
At winnot (ah’ll be bun to say) ;
T’next Feeast be’y dancin.

They toke o’ Feasts, Wakes, Tides, an’ Fairs,
Whar graceless lads up t’street i’ pairs,
T’yung lasses follow ;
Begin an’ lait all Yorkshire throo,
An’ then yeel finn’d my words cum true,
At Pateley Feeast a’ll quite ootdew
All t’others hollo.

Fra ivvery part o’ t’Deeal they’re tharr
An’t Covil Hooses ;
Girt stridin’ chaps o’ milk weel fed
Like Bewerley Bill, an’ Hearfield Ned,
‘At’s used to nowt bud wark an’ bed,
An ‘lile carooses.

Strang lasses cum fra t’Folly Gill,
Heights, Thornfert, an’ Hardisty Hill,
Wi’ reudy feeaces;
Fra t’Smeltas, Wilsil, an’ New York ,
I’ ‘lastic boots weel heeled wi’ cork,
Seea pleeased this day to miss ther wark
Fer t’seeak a’t reeaces.

Whar yance t’bold Roman Eagle flew,
Noo floatin’ see t’red, white an’ blue,
Freedam’s gay standard ;
Fra Knarcsbro’, Harrogate an’ Leeds,
Pair efter pair to Guyscliffe speeds,
Whar Mowbray’s noble prancing steeds
Lang sin had wandered.

Wi’ joyous smiles as neet drew on,
They start i’ droaves (nut yan be’y yan);
Doon t’street to straddle;
Thar’s monny a lass wokes street and brant,
An’ at her sweetheart leaks aslant,
As. arm i’ arm fra Pateley Rant
They heeameward paddle.

Thomas Blackah