T' ANNUAL CRICKETING MATCH
by
Alan Lavercombe (1981)

T ' were t' day of our annual cricketing match
When the Lord of the Manor an' is staff
Took on t' lads of our team from our village,
We'd bin doin' it for years, just for t' laugh.

Now, 'is Lordship, 'e fancied 'imself as a batsman,
An' t' were all s'posed to be good clean fun,
But, some'ow, 'e always scored century, like
An' 'im an' 'is team always won.

Well, as usual, the Vicar an' Curate were t' umpires,
Tossed up quick as a flash, just like that
An' before 'is 'alf crown 'ad even come down
'Is Lordship says "Right then, we'll bat."

T ' village team's openin' bowler were t' blacksmith'syoung striker,
'Is name it were Sam Postlethwaite.
Now, this lad, 'e were built like a brick chicken-'ouse
An' 'is bowlin' were deadly, an' straight.

Well, Sam comes running up wi' 'is very first ball,
Lordship swung an' just gave it a clip
  An' the ball, more than slightly deflected,
Were easily caught at third slip.

"Owzat?" shouts the team from the village.
T ' Vicar turns their appeal down, dead flat,
Wi' 'is 'ands firmly clasped be'ind backside,
'E says "Nay, lads, 'e never touched that!"

On t' second deliv'ry 'is Lordship steps forward
An' were out of 'is crease by a mile.
When t' keeper whips t' bails off an' t' team shouts "Owzat?"
T ' square-leg umpire says "Nay." ..... Wi' a smile.

When t' third ball come down, 'e stood back in 'is crease
An' took a big swing wi' 'is bat,
Which knocked all 'is wickets clean out of the ground
An' ev'ryone shouted "Owzat?"

'Is Lorship, 'e 's looked 'daggers drawn' at the vicar,
Which made 'im feel ever so small.
T ' were time for some very quick thinkin'.
Then, belatedly, like, calls out "No ball!"

Now, 'is Lordship, 'e 's really 'it t' next 'un,
But knocked the ball up in the air.
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