Paintings & Poetry by
ALAN DICKSON
MAJIK PRODUCTIONS Number 1 Issue 2015
Collected & Compiled by J E Ashford
Alan Dickson Alan has a way with words and paintings that takes us back to an era that we lived. Illustrating the times miners and their families lived in the North East Of England. Simple uncomplicated ways of getting by, for some it was hard, but we all still call them “Happy Days�
Sleep Tight I,m sorry little lass, you have,t a cot But I promise you this,I,ll love you a lot. I,ll guard you and shield you safely from harms You,ll always be safe ,in your Mothers arms And when you grow up and remember ago You,ll realise I loved you, as I watched you grow. I,ll always do best,as a mother can give And as always your sins will forgive. And when years ahead, and time has past Your Mother loved you til the last, But just for now I,ll safely keep And sing to you softly Til your asleep
My Father John My father John Was tall and thin, Kinda stooped through the door When he came in.... Hoyed his cap and his coat On the back of a chair Went for a tab with the back door open A quick sit doon, on the bottom stair. He sat doon for his dinner with the pit in his eyes Another day ower With no blue skies A hard days work, for a meagre pay It would be the same the morning And the next and the next ivvry day!! He was my Dad ,with his big rough hands My forever hero His big tall stories And taking me To wonder lands. And I would kiss the ground To hear the sound Of him saying, howay Hinny come in. My Dad.
Foreshift Week. Us kids didn,t like foreshift did we? Lad am that tired,a hevn,t slept a bliddy wink!! Was said on many a summers day. With us kids outside away to play. They,ve been stottin that Baal For hours on end Against that bliddy netty Waal!! A telt before I went to bed Divvent mek a noise now, that's what I said. And me Mothers reply to aal this gloom With a smile and a wink to us across the room. Ye grumbly bugga were ye not once a little kid? They,re only doing the same as you once did. So sit doon man and get your tea. Just shut your gob man, that,ll de. So with a promise to be quiet the morn We trod a path already worn. But no doubt before the week was out We,d here his angry shout Woman, will ye tell them sods I,ll mek them flee If I get up again before me tea!! It was just part of a real life pantomime A canny few years ago and lost in time But these things kinda stick in the mind. That time has past and left behind!! But we divvent forget do we??.
The Outside Netty Wor outside netty, was just ower the street. A coal hoose attached, White weshed oot, with a wooden seat. It was a place of solitude, ye cud be aal alone When you were sat upon that China throne. You cud read yesterday's papers from behind the pipe, Nivvor the guardian mind!! More likely or the Journal ,y,naa the type. Though I did mek an exception once! There was a picture in the paper of Thatcher grinnin and stannin. And a thowt I knaa where that Lady,s gannin. Man it was champion, ye cud sit there in peace With your feet on the floor. The snib firmly locked on the netty door. Though sometimes the peace was broken And a voice floated in, Usually wor Billy who was still quite little Howay Dad am dancing aboot oot here, a cud do with a pittle.!! Still it wudn,t be lang before I went back in When that woman I married, Y,naa man, the corlers, Hor with the gob!! Was bliddy insistent , On givvin is a job.
I forgot to mention these!! Àm sure you aal remember, And the day that was The long back gardens in the Colliery raa,s There was Mothers sweeping and swilling, Back lanes swept.The Methodist chapel just doon the road, With its scrubby stoned step. Sunday night wud see the preà cher stannin, Neatly kept. Mondays, !!! Ah hated weshing day. Me Mother scrubbin the arse oot me Father's shirts!! Had to be white at any cost, Nivvor grey. Black leading the fire my Father's job. Aim of the Mothers ,the cleanest hob. Dark nights wud see Grannies,working away at their proggy mats Remember the weddings,? Aal the wimmin in fanciest hats. Divvent forget the hawkers and coalmen And ragmen with carts. And us lot Gannin ower the pond!! Usually came yem, covered with clarts. Wor Father's daddin their pit pants oot , for work the morn He started sharp see, first thing at dawn. Then there was Jarmin measles, divvent forget mumps A once had these and was doon in the dumps. Whey man I,ll hev to put the pen doon I cud gan on forrivva But the place I grew up in!! Forget aboot nivva.
Lonely Lonely is that me... When all I ask for Is a friend in thee, Just someone there to share my cup And if I should falter To help me up. Just someone to talk about now, The past gone years To make me smile, To forgive the tears. So I listen daily for your tread So please ,do come in And share my bread For all I ask for Is a friend in thee Take me for what I am For this is me.
Get yor weshin in Missus Get yor weshin in Missus shouted the man on the cart A hevn,t got aal day ye knaa So let's get a start. So aal doon the raa There was muttering and grumbling Bah he,s picked a clivvor day For them to be coming. Howay man ye bugga,s av hord it before Cos it winnit be lang til am back with some more
A Pitman's Mother The things we remember,when we were a kid The things we remember that WOR Mothers did. But where do we start from There's that much to say. Was it keeping the hoose running On a Dads meagre pay. And when there was tears, was it healing the hort. Or being houseproud,and fighting the dort. Mebbies its weshdays,with poss tub and mangle Her face streaked with steam, Hor hair in a tangle Or was it the kettle, hot on the hob. In case a neighbour dropped in. Ye remember man.hor with the gob. Or getting in the lang tin bath and cleaning us up, And afterwards a gentle hint Howay bonny lad, its late ye,d better gan up. These are just some of the things on a lang lang list, Just think of your Mother, Ye,ll get the gist. So if your ivvor doon and feeling sad Just think of the Mother That ye once had.
If If just lately, you,ve been doon the road, And you,ve seen an owld chep, Seems to be looking for something ye cannit see, Tek no notice,!! I guess that's me. Been there lots of times lately, Looking for something that isn,t there Just looking for yesteryear. Daft isn,t it ? Looking for something for something ye cannit hold, For the place when young, and stories told. Of course a always wear some rose tinted glasses Thinkin back to places, faces The folk that a knew,!! The Lads and lasses. The hoose where we were fetched up in, were happy!! That is always yem. I get sad sometimes, remembering them. But it disn,t do any harm to reminisce Thinking sometimes of the place I miss. But ivvry now and again, but just sometimes!! I I get a smile on me face, When somebody mentions my boyhood place.
The Kitchen Sink Bath!!! Jimmy howay in, get yorsel in here But Mother man, Ye knaa am ower little, to climb right up on there. Now listen ye little bugga Your Gannin to get clean. Àm not having you runnin around black Now ye knaa just what I mean. Ah howay Mother, am hardly even Dorty And besides its only Sivvin thorty !! Now ye knaa you need a damn gud steeping, And am determined its clean That ye,ll be keepin. Cos the morn your gannin back to your school class, You shud knaa you cannit put one ower this canny lass. And when yor oot Ye can get strite up to bed Cos you,ve argued with ivvrything Av bliddy said