Wigan Dialect

A Collection of Lancashire Dialect Poems, Phrases & Sayings from around the Wigan Area.





Pick'in Coal
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Pick'in Coal

There's not much peynt in cleanin thess'ole.
Un gerr'in rid er't th'ash.
There's nowt fot mek a fire wi.
Cos mi faythers geet no cash.

Well ! corn't wi get thowd bike eawt.
Un gerr a couple er sacks.
Go on, nana, get yo clogs on.
We'll go deawn railroad tracks.

Trudgin deawn cut bank.
Bikerim in a rut.
We were boyh slutched up ter't th'eye baws.
We var'neer fawd in't cut.

We scrambled up ter't bankin.
Mi nana scrawped her knee.
I slorred deawn un cut mi ond.
It all'us appn't to me.

Soon wi had two sack full.
One nutty slack, un tuther wi coke.
Mi nana took it serious.
I thowt it a joke.

Her'd sling um on her showder.
Her did it on her own.
A feat, that was amazin.
Cos her weighed but seven stone.

Her'd poosh that bike awt road wom.
That too was a gradley feat.
Wi one sack slung ore't peggles.
Un tuther slung ore't seat.

It seems impossible neaw fot think.
Eaw a woman of four foot ten.
Could poosh a bike wi that much weight.
Time un time agen.

Wonc't back wom, her sowd one sack.
There allus was a buyer.
That neet wi ad some jackbit.
Un wi also ad a fire.


Picking Coal

There's not much point in cleaning the ashes.
And getting rid of the trash.
There is nothing to make a fire with.
For my dad has got no cash.

Well, can't we get the bike out.
And get a couple of sacks.
Go on Nana, get your clogs on.
We'll go down to the railway tracks.

Walking down the canal bank.
The bike rim in a rut.
We were both muddied up to the eyeballs.
We nearly fell in the cut. ( canal )

We scrambled up the banking.
My Nana scraped her knee.
I slipped down and cut my hand.
It always happened to me.

Soon we had two sacks full.
One nutty slack and one with coke.
My Nana took it serious.
I thought it a joke.

She would sling them on her shoulder.
She did it on her own.
A feat that was amazing.
She weighed but seven stone.

She pushed the bike all the way home.
That too, a very good feat.
With one sack over the peddles.
And the other over the seat.

It seems impossible now to think.
How a woman of four foot ten.
Could push a bike with all that weight.
Time and time again.

Once back home, she sold one sack.
There always was a buyer.
That night we had some food.
We also had a fire.


Copyright © 1998 Jeff Unsworth wigandialect.co.uk