Friday, 13 February 2015

Its a Bonny place so knock It Daaern!

It's a bonny place so knock it daaern"

It's a bonny place so knock it daaern,
So all can watch with a drooping fraaern.
There's tons and tons of Hassy's best,
Millstone grit can't be seen to rest!
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

Vicarage that stood up on that bonk!

In its shadow was Martins Bank,
Grammar School was a buried Road,
Good few ton did mek that load,
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

Major, would turn over in his grave if he knew,

What had happened to his Highfield view,
Lions at Carter Place have gone with rest,
We're left with a porch without its crest,
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

Town Hall! Council will have a Ball,

With all thi hard earned cash,
So lets get shut for once and for all,
Before they have their Annual bash.
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

Its only a building is yon Con Club,

For some I suppose it was their hub,
Another fine place was Workhouse past,
Who needs a hospital on yon hill,
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

And now another bites the dust,
Which once a brewer’s dream abode,
And later a place where prayers were said,
And now all but memories are read,
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern.

Even the "mighty" can fall but we'll not have a ball!

Salem, Trinity, Primitive and John Wesley preached!
but all went down with a "bang"
and no more did the bells ring or did the people sing"
 so Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

Nah! don't let it stand still,

Or tha'll get a bill,
Knock it daaern!

(Poem by Bryan Yorke - written 25th Feb 2015 with later additions)

The Vicarage - St. James Church (Photo by: unknown)

Martins Bank on Regent St (Photo by unknown)
Grammar School (Photo by: Clifford Hargreaves)

Highfield off Grane Road (Photo by unknown)
Carter Place Hall (Photo unknown)

Haslingden Municipal Buildings (lets call it Town Hall)

Con Club (Photo: Fred Scott)

Workhouse then Hospital (Photo by: Bryan Yorke) 

St. Veronicas which earlier was the home to Cpt. Baxter
(Photo: B. Yorke 2003)

Salem Chapel was on Regent St opp John St 
Photo: Unknown

Trinity Baptist c1890
Photo: Unknown

Primitive Methodist - Grane Road
Photo: Kindly shared by Chris Kirby

Wesley Chapel, Blackburn Rd on corner with Hud Hey
Photo Unknown




Cridden guards you from the East,
It was that Hill of Stags,
A beacon warns to Hameldon,
Then walk o-er bridge upon a Cloud,
To a point that tips the Crown
Before you came to Play the Deer,
Down and ordered Back – Up again,
No Stags upon them hills away,
No antlers hung by Stags heads 
For riches lie within thy peat,
Hazel shouts whilst birches shine like silver,
Sides with Pinner-ed becks and Cavern’s drip,
Slate-d tunnels of catacombs, and shafts to echo grand,
Breached flatts with peppered pits
Where such lonely wretched moor grass sits
Vibrato cries with Curlew’s mourn,
Gruffs and Roding beats of drumming snipe,
This time when honeydew rushes ripe,
Along this god forsaken place. 
Those becks that sent that gin to bloom,
That helped to power many a loom,
So precious to the marigold,
And sparkles to the stickleback
I can breathe, I can sip, I can rejoice,
To a place what’s given this town its voice
18th Feb 2015.

(Just uploaded the above photo to another site, the photo shows Cribden in the background
and inspired me to put pen to paper) If you do prefer explanation to the poem
please click here 

Cribden's “Iron Watter”

Dose them sties with iron watter lad,
It’ll shift them quickly I know!
Those were the words uttered by my father,
All them years ago, in fact sixty two years ago
And off we’d go o’er Sherfin to find that Brown stuff,

A calls it Brown Stuff or iron watter,
But being honest It was something magic,
And it always worked within twenty four,
It took them sties away and before long
I never had to go no more….

(this is purely another nice memory I have of the past and although the iron water did work for me, I am not advocating that anyone else should try it.")

This is a photo of typical "Iron Watter" which I took up near Slate during 2008.
Please click over photo to enlarge

If you would like to read a follow on blog entitled "Swinnell Brook" then please click here


A was only a lad, a wee nipper mi thinks,
And every Saturday mi father would say,
Are you tekking these bets up to Parkies!
From up Hud Hey and along Blackburn Rd,
To Harry Parkies up on Maudland Bank.

So up them steep steps a went reet to top,
It was corner house was Parkies,
It was called Bank House and poshest house on row.
I was always gret by Mrs. Parkinson a lovely lady,
There were buckets of money under sideboard,
And lots of nooats in big silver dish as well.

I’d seh to Mrs Parky, bets from AT1 and AT2,
Never found owt what that AT business was about,
Always used to bet under pseudonyms them days.
Hush! Hush and all that……tha nuz! (finger tapping nose)
A used to get a tanner off mi father for sorting bets.

All went well for a month or two, then………
One Saturday came along and he gave mi his bets
And off I went, but something or someone caught my eye,
And distraction set in, so much so that I forgot about the bets.
I still never give it a thought and arrived back home for tea.
And guess what? the inevitable always happens!

Did you put mi bets on lad, cos we hit it big this week!
I’ve had a couple of winners and a double come up!
Talk about feel the mental pain! Didn’t know what to say.
But eventually said it I did,  well, well sorry dad but bets never got put on
What do you mean bets never got on………….

A got surprise of my life!
He looked a little sad but to be honest with you
I don’t think he was that cut up.……
Maybe mum had stepped in and sorted it!
But never did get to go to Parkies again.


(Email received from John R Edwards on 26th February 2015)

Harry Parkinson used to have a basement room in Back Pleasant St. near the bottom, behind the Bank accessed via the archway between (incendentally) the bookies and the solicitors on Manchester Rd opp Commercial pub. He also had runners at various places, one of which was the Trades Club, I used to drop off bets there for my boss tackler, Walter Entwistle. That was in the very early 60's. The archway was a favourite spot for the Police Constable to stand to watch what was going on in the town, and he would often say whether Harry Parkinson was in or not.
John R Edwards