Samuel Laycock

Samuel Laycock Poems

Samuel Laycock Biography

Samuel Laycock (1826–1893) was a dialect poet who recorded in verse the vernacular of the Lancashire cotton workers. He was born on 17 January 1826 at Intake Head, Pule Hill, Marsden, West Yorkshire, the son of John Laycock, a hand-loom weaver. He had no formal education apart from Sunday school and a few months at a local school. In 1837, when the family moved to Stalybridge, Cheshire, he worked as a cotton weaver. The American Civil War (1861-1864) badly affected the Lancashire cotton towns as supplies of raw cotton dried up. Laycock was one of the thousands unemployed and tried to earn a meagre living by writing verses which the unemployed could set to music and sing in the streets for pennies. In 1864, he published Lancashire Rhymes and in 1866, Lancashire Songs, poems which documented the everyday life of cotton workers. In 1865, Laycock became the librarian at Stalybridge Mechanics' Institute, and in 1867, took up a similar post at The Whitworth Institute, Fleetwood. He continued writing while working as a photographer, while his wife ran a lodging-house. Just before his death in 1893, he published a collection of poems, Warblin's fro' an Owd Songster. In 1850, Laycock married Martha Broadbent, a cotton weaver, but she died two years later, and he remarried in 1858 to Hannah Woolley, who died in 1863. His third marriage in 1864, was to Eliza Pontefract who survived him. He had several children by Hannah and at least two by Eliza, including Arthur, who became a novelist. Laycock died of influenza which developed into acute bronchitis on 15 December 1893, at his home, 48 Foxhall Road, Blackpool. He was buried in Layton Cemetery, Blackpool. 12 Lancashire Lyrics 1864 Lancashire Rhymes 1864 Lancashire Songs 1866 Lancashire Poems, Tales and Recitations 1875 Warblin's From An Owd Songster 1893)

The Best Poem Of Samuel Laycock

Welcome, Bonny Brid

Tha'rt welcome, little bonny brid,
But shouldn't ha' come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We're short o' pobbies for eawr Joe
But that, of course, tha didn't know,
Did ta lad?

Aw've often yeard mi feyther tell
'At when aw coom i' th' world misel'
Trade wur slack;
And neaw it's hard wark pooin' throo-
But aw munno fear thee,-iv aw do
Thall go back

Cheer up! these toimes 'll awter soon;
Aw'm beawn to beigh another spoon-
One for thee;-
An' as tha's sich a pratty face
Aw'll let thi have eawr Charley's place
On mi knee.

God bless thi, love! aw'm fain tha'rt come,
Just try and mak' thisel' awhoam;
Here's thi nest;
Tha'rt loike thi mother to a tee,
But tha's thi feyther's mose aw see.
Well, aw'm blest!

Come, come, tha needn't look so shy
Aw am no' blamin' thee, not I;
Settle deawn,
An' tak this haupney for thisel',
Ther's lots of sugar-sticks to sell
Deawn i'th' teawn.

Aw know when first aw coom to th' leet,
Aw're fond o'owt at'tasted sweet;
Tha'll be th' same.
But come, tha's never towd thi dad
What he's to co' thi yet me lad,
What's thi name?

Hush! hush! tha mustn't cry this way,
But get this sope o' cinder tay
While it's warm;
Mi mother used to give it me,
When aw wur sicha lad as thee,
In her arm.

Hush-a-babby, hush-a-bee,-
Oh, what a temper! dear-a-me
Heaw tha skrikes!
Here's a bit o' sugar, sithee;
Howd thi noise, an' then aw'll gie thee
Owt tha likes.

we've nobbut getten coarsish fare,
But' eawt o' this tha'll get thi share,
Never fear.
Aw hope tha'll never want a meal,
But allus fill thi bally weel
While tha'rt here.

Thi feyther's noan been wed so lung,
An yet tha sees he's middlin' thrung
Wi' yo' o.
Besides thi little brother Ted
We've one upsteers, asleep i' bed,
Wi' eawr Joe.

But tho' we've childer two or three,
We'll mak' a bit o' reawm for thee,
Bless thee lad!
Tha'rt th' prattiest brid we have i' th' nest,
So hutch up closer to mi breast;
Aw'm thi dad.

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