Ah'm no' dreamin' reet noeauw o' t'wihte Chrismus,
Ah'm dreamin' uv dehs lung agaw:
Uv Chrismusses back in owd Blowick --
Uv sutchlihke us doan't see naw maw.
Awl werkin' class famblies lihke us weer
Dirrent 'ave sa mooch brass, dosta knaw?
Wen Ah weer a lad t'weer t'Depreshun
In Lancasheer joos afaw t'war.
Weer reet problum fer moast mams 'n' dads then,
Wen childer 'ung socks oop at neet,
'N' 'awped Father Chrismus'd cum bah
'N' leave 'em sum prezzie aw treat.
Li'l uns dirrent 'speck mooch then --
An oringe, sum nuts, stoof lihke that;
Aw 'appun sum Uncle Joe's Mint Balls,
'N' if looky, a nihce pehpa 'at!
Sum looky kids went t' t'grottaw
Weer owd Father Chrismus wud be
T' ast worrem wontid fer prezzies
In t'stockin' aw oonda t'tree.
Well us lads awl wantid t'Meccano
(Bu' knew tharrit wudden be new!)
Wihle t'lasses wud ast fer a dolly,
'N' 'appun a whip 'n' top too.
Wun Chrismus Ah got warra wantid --
A secun'and wihnd-oop toy trehn.
(T'lad crost t'street 'ad a 'leckie --
Ba gum, 'e weer a reet pehne!)
'N' wen Ah weer sevun t'war cehme,
Wi' t'blackoeaut 'n' rashionin' too.
'N' awl t'lihtes went oeaut acrost England,
'N' goodies becehme very few.
Oringes, lemuns, bananas,
Weer things o' t'past, us cud tell.
Theh sed it weer "fer t'durehshun",
Saw Chrismus it suffud as well.
Me mem'ry noeauw rehces ahead lihke
T' 'appia tihmes lehta un:
Uv Chrismusses theer in t'fifties --
Ah'll tellee reet noeauw, them weer fun!
Ah've reet preshus mem'ries uv them dehs --
Uv t'lasses 'n' t'lads Ah knew well.
Us nevva thawt theh wud end then --
Ba 'ecky, wot tehles Ah cud tell!
Theer weer allus t'big dance Chrismus Eve then,
'N' tickets wud sell reet aweh.
Us'd lihne oop fer 'ours joos t' gerrem,
'N' inflehtid prihces t' peh!
Burrus dirrent cur -- norrat Chrismus --
This 'ere dance weer a "moost" bah awl means.
Us'd dance moast t'quicksteps 'n' foxtrots,
Then 'crost fer t'quick pihnt at t'Queen's.
Then back t' th'awl fer moor dancin'
'Til baht 'alf past 'leven Ah s'pawse;
Then run fer t'last bus t' Blowick
Fer t'Midnihte Communion, tha knaws.
Well, awl yon's lung gun Ah'm a-thinkin',
'N' things 'ave awl chehnged yet aggen;
Bu' wenneva Ah think abaht Chrismus
It be them as Ah think uv, back then!
Bu' sum things doan't chehnge Ah con tellee.
T'real meanin; o' Chrismus stehs t'sehme:
God sent us 'Is Son fer t' sehve us --
T'purpus fer witch Jesus cehme.
Saw Ah'll end naw, 'n' send this 'ere greetin'
T'awl me gud mehtes un t'Net:
'Ere's wishin' thi awl evry blessin' --
Meh tha Chrismus be t'gradeliest yet!
With apologies to Annie for taking up so much space!
Blowick (aka Cunning Fiend)
Camrose, Alberta,-
Wednesday, December 08, 1999 at 16:07:14 (EST)
If you have any archived material suitable for inclusion in the Chronicles, please email it to me: digger@corrie.net