The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #19963   Message #205977
Posted By: Conrad Bladey (Peasant- Inactive)
03-Apr-00 - 08:25 AM
Thread Name: Lyr Add: The Sooth Medomsley Strike
Subject: The Sooth Medomsley Strike
The Sooth Medomsley Strike

If you're inclined to hear a song, aa'll sing a verse o two
An' when aa's dune ye're ganning to say that every word is true.
The miners of Sooth Medomsley they never will forget
Fisick an' his tyranny, an hoo they have been tret;
For in the midst of danger these hardy sons did toil,
For te earn their daily bread so far beneath the soil;
Te make an' honest living each miner did contrive,
But ye shall hear hoo they were sarved in eye-teen eyety-five.

Chorus
O the miners of Sooth medomsley they're gannin te make some stew;
they're gannin to boil fat Postick and his dorty candy crew;
The Maistors should hev nowt but soup as lang as they're alive.
In memory of thor dorty tricks in eyeteen eyety-five.

Below the county average then  the men was ten per cent,
Yet Fisick the unfeelin cur, he couldn't rest content;
A ten per cent reduction from the men he did demand,
But such a strong request as this the miners couldn't stand.
The notices was all sarved oot, an' when they had expired.
Aal the gear was brought to bank, an' the final shot was fired.
His honest workin men this low-lived man did strive.
He'll often rue for what he did in eyteen eyety-five.

Fisick was detarmined still for tyranny to show;
For to got some candymen he wandered to an ' fro
He made his way to Consett, an' he saa Postick the bum,
He knew he liked such dorty jobs, an' he was sure to come.
Fisick tolled him what to do, an' where to gan an' when,
So at the time appointed, Postick landed wiv his men;
Wi' pollises an' wi candymen the place was aal alive,
Aal through the strike that Fisick caased in eyeteen eyety-five.

commander Postick gave the word an' they started with their work.
But they wor done at fiveo'clock; they dorsen't stop till dark;
An when they'd done aal they could, an' finished for the day.
The bobbies guarded Postick an' his dorty dogs away.
Fisick was a tyrant, the owners was the syame;
For the torn-out o' the strike that wor the men to blame,
Neither them nor Postick need expect they'll ever thrive,
For what they did to Dipton men in eyeteen-eyety-five

-Tommy Armstrong