Th' Whit-Frida' Processions Poem by William Baron

Aw've bin watchin' th' Whit-Frida' processions,—
Th' big event uv o' th' year in eawr teawn';
An' aw thowt it might prove interestin'
If aw jotted mi impressions deawn.
Ther wur theawsands on theawsands o' scholars—
Yo'd wonder wheere'er they coom fro';
An', if th' truth mun be spokken abeawt 'em,
They everyone med a good show.

Every creed, sect, an' denomination,
Wur weel represented, for sure ;
Proclaimin', bi th' force o' ther numbers,
'At Religion's howd's firm an' secure.
An' let's hope it allus may be sooa,
For it wilno' be owt to eawr gain,
If th’ Christian faith e'er should diminish,
Or its influence for good ev'er-wane.

But th.' one thing 'at struck me most deeply,
In every procession aw seed,
Wur th' labour bestowed on to th' childer—
God bless 'em !—they wur nice, indeed !
Ther's mony a poor parent, aw'll warrant,
Borne hunger's keen pangs wi' a smile,
'At ther offspring might walk among th' scholars
Clad neatly, for once in a while.

Well, if' sich. things con teych self-denial,
Long live th' good owd customs, aw say!
It's summat to sweeten th' existence
O' th' youngsters, if but for a day.
For months they'll think o'er it wi' pleasure,
An' mek it th' sole theme b' ther talk;
Sooa, tho' it might cost a big effort-
Give th' childer ther Whit-Frida' walk!