I wrote this song about 50years ago. At this time the mill were booming jobs was always available then. To give you an idea how loud it was in the weaving shed try standing next to a jet engine. Not only was it a loud place to be in the temperature was always in the 20c-25c on top of that being a cotton mill we had humidifiers maintain 80%-90% wet place to work good for the cotton but not for the weavers. We could not open any windows or exit door as this would interfere with the controlled atmosphere. Yes a very sticky place to work. Yet as working conditions improved the weaving trade diminished and was coming to an end.
At End ert week
1. At end ert week its July wake
By the Christ I need the break
Its Blackpool by the sea for me
2. While pirns are sluffing of miles of thread
Sea air el be blasting reight threw my head
To hell wi bluddy mill, Ive had my fill
3. While pickers are banging and dobby knocks
Ill be fishing on Fleetwood docks
Away from din and noise. I’ll be poised
4. Wi shuttle being thrown from side to side
I’ll be resting listening to tide.
I’d stuff the shop floor, it’s a bore
5. While gaffers are getting up sumboddys back.
w’ll be strolling ont sand I’ll track.
He’s a bluddy Burk, but that’s work
6. Just two days more I’ll be on beach.
Wit shade ert mill far from my reach.
This place is getting me down, Ive found.
7. Weaving eight loom is reight hard graft.
I’m sure I’m potty or rotton daft
But weaving is mi trade, I’m slayed
8. By Friday I’ll be rather frail.
But a cupple of pints of ale.
Better mood I’ll be, you’ll see
9. Cos end ert week its July Wake.
By the Christ I need the brake.
It’s Blackpool by the sea for me
26 авг 2024
