One year after the publication of Cobbled Together, I was working on one of my poems inspired by my Mum and Yorkshire dialect poet Dorothy Nixon to share with her on her birthday, February 2. Sadly she passed away in Park View Care Home, Bradford, a few days before. She had a good life; a real good innings, folks would say, in Haworth, where she was born and lived for all but the last five of her 93 years.
The poem is about Haworth Cobbler Jim Deakin, who used to run his business from a small, dimly lit shop at the top of Mytholmes. The photograph, featured in the opening to Cobbled Together, shows the clogs that my mother wore as a young woman in her first job after leaving school at fourteen, at a worsted wool mill in Haworth. Yorkshire folk might say, with affection, that she’s popped her clogs for the last time. Rest in Peace, Mum.
The Haworth Cobbler Jim did a lorra work Up at Mytholmes top Owt really med o‘ leather Kem aht of ‘is tiny shop. The' wer shelves up to t’ ceiling Stacked wi’ many a pair The smell o’ tanned cows hide Filled t' cobbler's air. He fettled clogs and boits Put heels back on many a shoe An’ mended satchels for us kids To tek down Butt Lane to t' school.