That Christmas Puddin.

A poem by John Hartley

Ha weel aw remember that big Christmas puddin,
That puddin mooast famous ov all in a year;
When each lad at th' table mud stuff all he could in,
An ne'er have a word ov refusal to fear.
Ha its raand speckled face, craand wi' sprigs o' green holly
Seem'd sweeatin wi' juices ov currans an plums;
An its fat cheeks made ivvery one laff an feel jolly,
For it seem'd like a meetin ov long parted chums,
That big Christmas pudding, - That rich steamin puddin, -
That scrumptious plum puddin, mi mother had made.

Ther wor father an mother, - awr Hannah an Mary,
Uncle Tom an ont Nancy, an smart cussin Jim;
An Jim's sister Kitty, as sweet as a fairy, -
An Sam wi' his fiddle, - we couldn't spare him.
We'd rooast beef an mutton, a gooise full o' stuffin,
Boil'd turnips an taties, an moor o' sich kind;
An fooamin hooam brewed, - why, - aw think we'd enuff in,
To sail a big ship if we'd been soa inclined.
An then we'd that puddin - That thumpin big puddin -
That rich Christmas puddin, mi mother had made.

Sam sat next to Mary an Jim tuk awr Hannah,
An Kitty ov coorse had to sit next to me, -
An th' stuff wor sooin meltin away in a manner,
'At mi mother declared 't wor a pleasur to see.
They wor nowt could be mended, we sed when it ended,
An all seem'd as happy as happy could be;
An aw've nivver repented, for Kitty consented,
An shoo's still breet an bonny an a gooid wife to me.
An aw think o' that puddin, - That fateful plum puddin, -
That match makkin puddin mi mother had made.

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