Bob Cranky's Account
Of the Ascent of Mr. Sadler's balloon from Newcastle, Sept.1 1813(9?)

Ho'way, a' me marrows, big, little, and drest,
The first of a' seets may be seen;
It's the Balloon, man, se greet! aye, faiks! it's ne jest
Tho'it seems, a' the warld, like a dream.
Aw read iv the papers, by gocks! aw remember,
It's to flee without wings i' the air,
On this varry Friday, the furst of September,
Be it cloudy, wet weather, or fair.

And a man, mun, there means, in this varry Balloon
Above, 'mang the stars to fly,
And to haud a converse wi' the man i' the moon,
And cockwebs to soop frae the sky.
So we started frae hyem by eight i' the morn,
Byeth faither and mother and son,
But fand a'wor neighbours had started before,
To get in good time for the fun.

The lanes were a' crouded , some riding, some walking.
Aw ne'er see'd the like iv my life;
'Twas bedlam broke oot, aw thowt by thair talking,
Every bairn, lad, lass, and the wife.
The folks at the winders a' jeer'd as we past,
An' thowt' a' wor numbers surprisin;
They star'd and they 'gloweer'd and axed in jest,
Are all of ye pitmen a rising?

Aw fand, at the toon, te, the shops a' shut up,
And the streets wi' folks were sae flocken;
The walls wi' Balloon papers sae closely clagg'd up,
Be cavers! It luckt like a hoppen.
A fellow was turnin it a' into a joke,
Another was a' the folks hummin,
Whil a third said, it was a bag full o' smoke,
Thatower wor heeds was a cummin.

To the furst o' these cheps says aw, Nyen o' yur fun,
Or aw'll lay thee at length on the styens,
Or thy teeth aw'll beat oot, as sure as a gun,
And mevies aw'll chowk ye wi' byens.
To the beak o' the second aw held up my fist,
D--mn! aw'll bray ye as black as a craw,
Iw'lll knock oot yur e'e, if aw don't aw'll be kist.
'An mump a' the slack o' yur jaw.

Aw pat them to reets, an' onward aw steer'd
An' wonder'd the folks aw had see'd,
But a' was palaver that ever aw heard,
So aw walk'd on as other folk did.
At last aw gat up on the top o' sum sheds,
Biv the help  of an au'd crazy lether;
An' woeer the tops o' ten thousand folks heads,
Aw seun gat a gliff o' the blether.

D--mn, a blether aw call it! by gocks, aw am reet,
For o' silk dipt iv leadeater melted
A's myed of, an Lord! what a wonderful seet,
When the gun tell'd that it was flated.
Twas just like the boiler at wor Bella Pit,
O'er which were a great cabbage net,
Which fasten'd, by a parcel of strings sae fit,
A corf  for the mannie to sit.

As aw sat at me ease aw cud hear a' the folk
Gie their notions about the Balloon;
Aw thowt aw shud brust when aw heurd their strange talk,
Aboot the man's gaun to the moon.
Says yen, if a whisper, Aw think aw hev heurd
He is carrying a letter to Bonny,
That's ower the sea to flee like a burd;
The whowt, by my jinkers! was funny.

A chep wiv a fyece like a poor country bumpkin,
Sed the heurd, but may hap tisent true,
That the thing whilk they saw as a great silken pumpkin
By my eye, what a lilly-ba-loo!
Another said Sadler ( for that is the nyem
O' the man) may pay dear for his frolic,
When he's up iv the clouds ( a stree for his fame!)
His guts may have twangsof the cholic.

The man a' this time the great blether was filling,
Wiv stuff that wad myed a dog sick,
It smelt just as though they were garvage distilling,
Till at length it was full as a tick.
The nextstrain'd the ropes to keep the thing steady
Put colley and drams iv the boat;
Then crack went the cannon, to say it was ready,
An' aw see'd the blether afloat.

Not a word was then heurd, a' eyes were a starin,
for the off ganen moment was near;
To see sic a crowd se whisht was amazen,
Aw thowt aw fand palish and queer.
Afte waitin a wee, aw see'd him come to,
Shaken hands, as aw thowt, wiv his friend;
Of his mountin the corf aw had a full view,
as he sat his ways down at the end.

The ropes were then cut, and upwards he went,
A wavin his flag i' the air;
Ev'ry heed was turn'd up, and a' eyes wur intent
On this comical new flying chair;
It went it's ways up like a lavrick sae hee,
Till it luckt 'bout the size of a skyate;
When in tiv a cloud it was lost t' the e'e,
Aw wisht the man better i' fate.
 

W.Midford-In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.