Gronfayther's Days.

A poem by John Hartley

'A, Johnny! A'a, Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee!
But come thi ways to me, an sit o' mi knee;
For it's shockin to hearken to th' words 'at tha says; -
Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronfayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then;
But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen;
For they smook, an they drink, an get other bad ways;
Things wor different once i' thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went cooartin a bit, -
An walked aght thi gronny; - aw'st nivver forget;
For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze; -
It wor noa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days,

Ther's noa lasses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed;
They've false teeth i' ther maath, an false hair o' ther heead;
They're a mak-up o' buckram, an waddin, an stays, -
But a lass wor a lass i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi' th' poor,
But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door;
He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays;
Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an factrys i' ivvery nook nah,
But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah;
An ther's telegraff poles all o'th' edge o'th' highways,
Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're tell'd to be thankful for blessin's 'at's sent,
An aw hooap 'at tha'll alius be blessed wi' content;
Tha mun mak th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays,
But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.

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