One year on from the publication of Cobbled Together, I was working on one of my own 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
Came aht of ‘is tiny shop.
The’ wer shelves up to t’ ceiling
Stacked wi’ many a pair
The smell o’ tanned cows hide
Filled the 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.
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