Lyr Add: The High Level Bridge

Subject: Lyr Add: The High Level Bridge
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 Jun 04 - 12:59 PM

The High Level Bridge

For long, all that was to be seen of the much-talked of "High Level" was the wherry from which boring operations were carried on.

Tune- "Drops of Brandy."

Aw tyuk the cheap train t' other day,
For wor Mally begun for to fidge, man;
To Newcassel aw hastened away,
To luik at the High Level Bridge, man.
The folks o' wor raw was aflaid-
They tell'd us a brig was purjected
That wad spoil a' the Colliery trade,
For wi' Lunnon, they said, 'twas connected.

But when aw gets oot I' the train,
Aw hows doon the stairs iv a hurry,
And the High Level seun aw seed plain,
It was stuck o' the top iv a whurry.
But, man, when the Garth aw espied,
Aw was nowther to haud or to bind, man,
For translators an' tailors aw cried,
But the deevil a yen cud aw find, man.

Aw seed a chep dress'd up I' black,
For the Garth, the folk said, he was mournin',
Aw ask'd him for Trimmel-leg Jack,
'Cawse he had maw blue trousers in turnin'
He set up a terrible shout,
Aw thowt the poor man was gawn daft, man,
Says he, "He is lost in the rout"-
Aw luik'd at the feul an' aw laughed, man.

Aw dropp'd in at Jude's, o' the Cock,
An' whe de ye think aw seed thre, man?
Billy Purvis, as fresh as a rock,
An' cursin' the brig, aw declare, man.
Says he, "They hae stopp'd the bug breed,
The clocks is a' scrammil'd an' kill'd man,
The snips is clean oot o' thor heeds,
Since the Level they started te build, man.

"The claes-wives lost a' their fine goons,
The silkies was torn in the laps, man;
The shifts sail'd aboot like balloons,
An' they pull'd off the white trouser-flaps, man."
Says aw, "Then maw breeches is gyen!"
Says Billy, "An' Trimmel-leg tee, man;
They've turn'd his sheep-shanks inte styen,
Te striddle aacross the greet sea, man.

"The sweepers was forced for to brush,
They gae the poor deevils the sack, man;
The chimleys cam doon iv a rush,
An' Lumley was laid on his back, man.
The pie-men an' sassage-wives, tee,
Gat notish ne langer te tarry:
The blackin' folks a' had te flee,
An' the hatters was croo'd by aw Harry.

But spite o' their ravish an' root,
Blue-styeny is still te the fore, man;
The apple-wives on her still shoot,
dandy-candy's still sell'd in galore, man.
Let the 'tractors an' beeldors purceed,
An' cramp wi' greet bowlts ivey styen, man,
A secret aw hae in maw heed-
We mun just start an' level agyen, man.

-J.P. Robson, "Bards of the Tyne", 1849.