(In memory of John Heyes)

When skoo' bell rung and day wuz done

We'd 'omeward run awt way

An' after tekkin off er cooarts

We's swaller dahn er Tey.

Then off tert backs wi' bat an ba'

We'd upward wend er way

Ter put up box, or wicket like

Then ready stert to play.

T'pitch were nowt to shate abeawt

Wi' bricks an' sods awreawnd

But ee we'd sooner play on theer

Than ony gradely greawnd.

Er Ba' were a sixpenny corky

New frer woollies awt ert teawn

By Gow! We were more preawd of it

Than queen her jewelled creawn

Fost bat was Peter, which was fair

As far as we could voice

Becos yer see it was 'is bat

An' so he 'ad fost choice.

Er Joe wert bower, an' owd man

'twas like a lightning streak

The ba's he used to bow at us

Wud leave us cowd an' weak.

An' me, I were but sma' fry

Bein' littlest ert lot

But I tried mi best, an' naw an' then

I'd hit a gradely shot.

We took I' turns ter wicket mind

Well back, away fert box

In case the ba'd miss the bat

An' hit a two-thri rocks.

Fer then it flew most ony roads

An' so they hed bi quick

Fer if thsa missed it in thi hond

I'd leave thi reyther sick

Thoose days ha' gone an' na there's fields

An' nets an' pads an' aw

But ah'll bet they don't 'ave hafe the fun

We had when we were sma'