Lancashire Dialect Society. 
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The last hope for dialect is to try and get it into the Unversity curriculum. This needs to be resolved as quickly as possible. Reason - simple the last of the true dialect speakers of old are all popping their clogs 'deein'
Try this poem by Samuel Laycock entitled 'Bowtons'Yard .
It can be found in his book 'Warblin's Fro' An Owd Songster.
Published in 1893.
At number one, i' Bowtons yard, mi gronny keeps a skoo,
But hasn't mony scholars yet, hoo's only one or two;
They sen th'owd woman's rather cross,-well, well, it may be so;
Aw know hoo box'd me rarely once, an' pood mi ears an' o.
At number two lives widow Burns -hoo weshes clooas for folk
Their Billy, that's her son, gets jobs at wheelin' coke;
They sen hoo coarts wi' Sam-o'-Neds, at lives at number three;
It may be so, aw conno tell, it matters nowt to me.
At number three, reet facin' th pump, Ned Grimshaw keeps a shop;
He's Eccles-cakes, an' gingerbread, an' treacle beer, an pop;
He sells oat-cakes an' o, does Ned, he has boath soft an' hard,
An' everybody buys off him 'at lives i' Bowtons yard.
At number four Jack Blunderick lives ; he goes to th' mill an' wayves
An' then, at th' week-end, when he's time, he pows a bit an' shaves;
He's badly off, is Jack, poor lad ; he's rayther lawm, they sen,
An'his childer keep him deawn a bit-aw think they'n nine or ten.
At number five aw live mysel', wi' owd Susannah Grimes.
But dunno loike so very weel-hoo turns me eawt sometimes;
An' when awm in there's ne'er no leet, aw have to ceawer i' th' dark;
Aw conno pay mi lodgin' brass, becose awm eawt o' wark.
At number six, next dur to us, an close o'th' side o'th' speawt,
Owd Susie Collins sells smo' drink, but hoo's welly allis beawt;
But heaw it is that is the case awm sure aw conno tell,
Hoo happen maks it very sweet, an' sups it o hersel!
At number seven there's nobdy lives, they left it yesterday,
Th' bum-baylis coom an mark'd their things, and took 'em o away;
They took 'em in a donkey-cart-aw know nowt wheer they went
Aw recon they'n bin ta'en and sowd becose they owed some rent.
At number eight-they're Yawshur folk theres only th' mon an woife,
Aw think aw neer seed nicer folk nor these i' o ml loife;
Yo'll never yer em foin' eawt, loike lots o, married folk,
They allis seem good-tempered like, an ready wi a joke.
At number nine th' owd cobbler lives- th'owd chap 'at mends my shoon,
He's getting very weak an' done, hell ha' to leov us soon;
He reads his Bible every day, an sings just loike a lark,
He says he's practisin' for heaven-he's welly done his wark.
At number ten James Bowton lives-he's th' noicest heawse i'th' row;
He's allis plenty o' sum'at t' eat, an lots o' brass an' o;
An' when he rides an' walks abeawt he's dress'd up very fine,
But he isn't hawve as near to heaven as him at number nine.
At number 'leven mi' uncle lives-aw co him uncle Tum,
He goes to concerts, up an deawn an' plays a kettle-drum;
I' bands o' music, an' sich things, he seems to tak' a pride,
An allis maks as big a noise as o i' th' place beside.
At number twelve, an' th' eend o' th row, Joe Stiggins deals i' ale;
He's sixpenny, an' fourpenny, dark-coloured, an he's pale
But aw ne'er touch it, for aw know it's ruined many a bard-
Awm th' only chap as doesn't drink 'at lives i' Bowton's yard.
An' neaw awve done aw'll say good-bye, an' leave yo' for awhile;
Aw know aw have n't towd mi tale i' sich a first-rate style;
But iv yor'e pleased awm satisfied, an' ax for no reward
For tellin' who mi nayburs are at live i' Bowton's yard.
But dunno loike so very weelhoo turns me eawt sometimes;
An when awm in theres neer no leet, aw have to ceawer i th dark;
Aw conno pay mi lodgin brass, becose awm eawt o wark.
At number six, next dur to us, an close o th side o th speawt,
Owd Susie Collins sells smo drink, but hoos welly allis beawt;
But heaw it is that is the case awm sure aw conno tell,
Hoo happen maks it very sweet, an sups it o hersel !
At number seven theres nobdy lives, they left it yesterday,
Th bum-baylis coom an markd their things, and took em o away;
They took em in a donkey-cartaw know nowt wheer they went
Aw recon theyn bin taen and sowd becose they owed some rent.
At number eighttheyre Yawshur folktheres only th mon an woife,
Aw think aw neer seed nicer folk nor these i o ml loife;
Yoll never yer em foin eawt, loike lots o married folk,
They allis seem good-tempered like, an ready wi a joke.
At number nine th owd cobbler livesth owd chap at mends my shoon,
Hes getting very weak an done, hell ha to leov us soon;
He reads his Bible every day, an sings just loike a lark,
He says hes practisin for heavenhes welly done his wark.
At number ten James Bowton liveshes th noicest heawse i th row;
Hes allis plenty o sumat t eat, an lots o brass an o;
An when he rides an walks abeawt hes dressd up very fine,
But he isnt hawve as near to heaven as him at number nine.
At number leven mi uncle livesaw co him uncle Tum,
He goes to concerts, up an deawn an plays a kettle-drum;
I bands o music, an sich things, he seems to tak a pride,
An allis maks as big a noise as o i th place beside.
At number twelve, an th eend a th row, Joe Stiggins deals i ale;
Hes sixpenny, an fourpenny, dark-coloured, an hes pale
But aw neer touch it, for aw know its ruined many a bard
Awm th only chap as doesnt drink at lives i Bowtons yard.
An neaw awve done awll say good-bye, an leave yo for awhile;
Aw know aw have nt towd mi tale i sich a first-rate style;
But iv yore pleased awm satisfied, an ax for no reward
For tellin who mi nayburs are at live i Bowtons yard.
>From the book WARBLINS FRO AN OWD SONGSTER.
By Samuel Laycock 1893
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