The Vale Street Weaver
From Vale Street and down to Mill in bottom,
You could hear lots of cloggy noise of wood with steel,
Clipping and thudding those polished setts that shone.
“To mill we’re going to weave the cloth”.
Every day before light, we trod that weary way,
Smoggy haze dimmed the flickering gas street light,
We’d chat the news of who’s courting who,
“Whilst on way to mill to weave the cloth”.
Some had a large brown tuck box under arm,
Which had straps crossing from either side.
Some were carrying their “Billy Cans”,
“Whilst on our way to mill to weave the cloth”.
Were here again at Mill to start up steely loom,
Another long day watching shuttle go past,
With belts, pulleys and deafening noise!
Whilst we weave that ‘plain Jane’ grey cloth
I hope I don’t need tackler today, and weft will be OK,
Until they bring another beam on bogey straight away,
I guess I can sing the weaver’s song to pass the time of day,
Whilst I weave a cloth of plenty to earn another day!
(Bryan Yorke - 20th November 2015)