Marcus’ forefathers were not only excellent woodworkers, but a strong creative streak also runs in the family. His great uncle was none other than H.B. Whitehead, the last of great Lancashire dialect writers.
Below is a piece of verse written by Marcus that is inspired by this family history. The accompanying photo shows Marcus accompanying himself performing this piece, in dialect, at the revived, historic Rawtenstall Annual Fayre, held yearly at the Whitaker Museum in Rawtenstall. This performance was staged by the Lancashire Society, a group of volunteers dedicated to preserving the literary heritage of Lancashire.
TIP: Lancashire dialect is not for the faint of heart! If you are struggling to read this, try reading it slowly, pronouncing the words as they are written. Eventually you will get the gist and drop into it. Have fun!
Joiner’s Lad
Aw’m a joiner’s lad, Aw cum frum Lancasheer.
Tha’ll awlus ‘ear us singing, cos mi’ ‘eart is full o’ cheer.
Bi’ day Aw mek noo wind’ers, fettle rooves an’ mend rip’errs.
Bi’ neet Aw’m singin’ in the pub, an’ supping fruthy beer.
Aw’m a joiner’s lad, Aw cum froo Owdham way.
Us grandad wur a joiner, an’ us fa’ther follerd sway.
As a lad, Aw thowt ee’s warkshop wur a grand owd place toh be,
Wi’ sawdus’ piled up t’ th’ knees, an’ o’ tha leawd machinery.
Aw’m a joiner’s lad. Aw cum frum Saddleworth,
Us fa’ther wur a Dobcrosser, from t’ moment o’ ee’s birth.
We awlus did together, an’ ‘ee larnt mi o’ mi’ wark.
Bi’ th’ Austerland’s owd chimney ‘as weer Aw med mi’ mark.
Neaw, Aw’m full grew’n, mi’ hands are full o’ segs
As Aw’m awlus fitching wood.
Aw luv the touch an’ smell o’ it, theer’s nobbut else as good.
Aw’ve a rule in mi’ fob, Aw’ve a ‘ammer bi’ mi’ side,
An’ a pencil ut back o’ th’ ear.
Fowk have said that Aw’m fair good, an’ Aw’m awlus summat near.
Aw’m a joiner’s lad, Aw cum frum Lancasheer.
Tha’ll awlus ‘ear us singing cose mi heart is full o’ cheer.
Bi’ day Aw mek new wind’ers, fettle rooves an’ men’ rip’urrs.
Bi’ neet Aw’m singing in the pub, an’ supping fruthy beer.
Aw med mi sel’ a ‘at stand fro’ a packing crate Aw found.
Happen it wer real nice wood, it’s th’ best ‘at stand around.
Th’ nails ut war in it, well, Aw bent ‘em up fur ‘ooks.
It’s stands bi’side the shelving that Aw med fur o’ mi’ books.
Aw’ve med tebbles an’ ch’errs, an’ a flight o’ curly st’errs,
An’ a cubbert f’ mi owd guitar,
Gates an’ doo’rs, an’ fences an’ floo’rs,
An’ sum thin’s jus’ fo’ loo’king.
Aw’ll mek a grandfa’ther clock frum th’ owd wood stock,
Wi’ a skirt a t’ bottom, an’ a finial a-top,
An’ theaw‘ll ‘ear me singing if tha’s walking by mi’ shop.
Aw ‘um a little tune as Aw get on wi’ mi’ wark.
Aw scribble words ut noonin, mi’ pencil’s awlus sharp.
Bi’ t’ time Aw’m ‘eaded wohm-ward, Aw’ve a pretty good idea.
O’ what Aw’m going t’ sing t’ neet, f’ them ut’s gathered ‘ere.
Aw’m a joiner’s lad, Aw cum frum Lancasheer.
Theaw’ll awlus ‘ear us singing cose mi heart is full o’ cheer.
Bi’ day Aw mek new wind’ers, fettle rooves an’ men’ rip’urrs.
Bi’ neet Aw’m singing in the pub an’ supping fruthy beer.
