(In memory of John Heyes)

Yo can aw 'ave yer 'eroes, an' men o' great fame

Who's exploits an' deeds. Moost scholars con name

But in aw t'books o' 'eroes, ah read as a lad

One mon were atestandin', an ee wer mi dad

 

Altho' bi profession, ee'd done quite a bit

Frer farm hond, glasswerker, an' lastly dane t' pit

'is knowledge o' t' country, id leave thi quite pale

Na' no mon could touch 'im wi' t'ommer an' a nail.

 

'Is hen cote in t'backyerd were a marvel to th' een

Tho' ee ne'er 'ad no blueprint. It ed fert bi seen

Mam id send us t'yard fert gi' 'im a hond

But tha hed tp watch ate, weer tha could stond

 

A few seconds later, ee'd snatch th' ommer back

An' if tha should sey owt, id gi thi a crack

An' us needluss tackle id stond like a foo'

Ah thowt ee'd ah made a rare master dane skoo'

 

If a cut er a sprain it met 'appen tha geet

Mi dad'd own owd remedies, id soon mak it reet

Nay nipbone an' iodine were aw that ee 'ad

'T were enough wen ee used um ter drive us fair mad

 

But one thing ee learnt us, abate reet an' rung

An' although nay an' then, wid geet rough eend o't'tung

Ee meant it quite wisely, an ah wish that ah 'ad

Took moor notice o'wot, ah were towd bi mi dad.