An' I doffed my cap an' my coit.

I'd gien ower wark at seventy,
But I gat agate once more;
"I'll live for my country, not on her"
Were my words on t' fettlers' floor.

Shoo's putten her trust i' us workers,
We'll save her, niver fear;
Feight for her, live for her, dee for her,
Her childer that loves her dear.

Eight o' my grandsons has fallen,
My youngest lad's crippled i' t' arm;
But I'll give her choose-what(5) shoo axes,
Afore I'll see her tak harm.

T' war is a curse an' a blessin',
If fowks could understan';
It's brokken my home an' my childer,
But it's made me an Englishman.


1. until 2. Starve 3. Arrogant
4. Patches 5. Whatever




THE BELLS OF KIRKBY OVERBLOW