Hi Olive, Loved Aniseed balls, and horrible little boys loved gobstoppers. Just found this poem by dialect poet Samuel Laycock. He was a Stalybridge Poet who wrote this roundabout the time of the Cotton Famine, when lots of people from the cotton towns were emmigrating to America: It mentions pobbies (pobs) in the first verse. Welcome, Bonny Brid! Samuel Laycock (1825–93) THA ’rt welcome, little bonny brid, But should n’t ha’ come just when tha did; Toimes are bad. We ’re short o’ pobbies for eawr Joe, But that, of course, tha did n’t know, 5 Did ta, lad? Aw ’ve often yeard mi feyther tell, ’At when aw coom i’ th’ world misel Trade wur slack; An’ neaw it ’s hard wark pooin’ throo— 10 But aw munno fear thee; iv aw do Tha ’ll go back. Cheer up! these toimes ’ull awter soon; Aw ’m beawn to beigh another spoon — One for thee; 15 An’ as tha ’s sich a pratty face, Aw ’ll let thee have eawr Charley’s place On mi knee. God bless thee, love, aw ’m fain tha ’rt come, Just try an’ mak thisel awhoam: 20 What ar ’t co’d? Tha ’ rt loike thi mother to a tee, But tha ’s thi feyther’s nose, aw see, Well, aw ’m blow’d! Come, come, tha need n’t look so shy, 25 Aw am no’ blackin’ thee, not I; Settle deawn, An’ tak this haup’ney for thisel’, There ’s lots o’ sugar-sticks to sell Deawn i’ th’ teawn. 30 Aw know when furst aw coom to th’ leet Aw ’re fond o’ owt ’at tasted sweet; Tha ’ll be th’ same. But come, tha ’s never towd thi dad What he ’s to co thi yet, mi lad— 35 What ’s thi name? Hush! hush! tha munno cry this way, But get this sope o’ cinder tay While it ’s warm; Mi mother us’d to give it me, 40 When aw wur sich a lad as thee, In her arm. Hush a babby, hush a bee— Oh, what a temper! dear a-me, Heaw tha skroikes! 45 Here ’s a bit o’ sugar, sithee; Howd thi noise, an’ then aw ’ll gie thee Owt tha loikes. We ’n nobbut getten coarsish fare, But eawt o’ this tha ’st ha’ thi share, 50 Never fear. Aw hope tha ’ll never want a meel, But allus fill thi bally weel While tha ’rt here. Thi feyther ’s noan bin wed so long, 55 An’ yet tha sees he ’s middlin’ throng Wi’ yo’ o: Besides thi little brother, Ted, We ’n one up-steers, asleep i’ bed Wi’ eawr Joe. 60 But though we ’n childer two or three, We ’ll make’ a bit o’ reawm for thee— Bless thee, lad! Tha ’rt th’ prattiest brid we han i’ th’ nest; Come, hutch up closer to mi breast— 65 Aw ’m thi dad. Persevere with the dialect - it's rather beautiful, GAY Gay J Oliver, Stalybridge, Cheshire www.members.aol.com/victoroly/genealogy.htm www.members.aol.com/gayjoliver/Tameside.htm _www.fhsc.org.uk/fhsc/dukinfield.htm_ (http://www.fhsc.org.uk/fhsc/dukinfield.htm) _www.tamesidehistoryforum.org.uk_ (http://www.tamesidehistoryforum.org.uk/)

And just to add Barley Sugar, Jubbly`s, Lucky Bags and Flying Saucers. My son came home with a bag of Flying Saucers not long ago and left them in the kitchen .......... far too tempting so we decided to try one for old times sake. Ooops, we ate most of them! Maureen

Wonderful All my favourite food and now my favourite poem A'm o'ercum Pamela -- No virus found in this outgoing message. Checked by AVG Anti-Virus. Version: 7.0.344 / Virus Database: 267.10.21/96 - Release Date: 10/09/2005

First time I've ever heard Lanky called beautiful, Gay, though I agree in spots. I remember my Nan and Grandads talking much like that, even hearing my Grandad reciting that poem; since coming to Bolton have heard it still from the older generation (listen me, I'm 58!). It isn't quite as strong now, but it is still there! Have you ever heard of another Dialect poet, Tim Bobbin? He came from near Shaw, where I used to live. My grandsons laugh when I lapse into "dialect", "Thi wain't tha' knows!" or "Worrart doin', thee?!" which I sometimes do to kid them. I have a copy somewhere of "Jone's Trip to Owdum" which is supposedly the story of an out of work labourer setting off "Down Brew" to Oldham "for t' join up". Ian Winterbottom

My father came to Canada as a young boy with his parents and grandparents. Although he mostly spoke "like a Canadian" for all of my life he could quite easily lapse into dialect when the mood took him. I was accustomed to hearing it coming very strong from great-grandparents (does that make me bilingual? ;-) ) who lived into their 90s. My Dad's brothers were all born here in Canada (the next to him is 11 years younger). When they were small they would be quite puzzled by my great-grandmother who generally spoke broader the angrier she got - and you can imagine her dealing with her brood of young grandsons. One day one of my uncles actually got the nerve to ask her, "Grandma, when you were in England, did you know how to speak English?" He is well into his 70s now and still chuckles at her going after him down the street with the broom. ;-) Katie Ontario