'Twere getting dusk, one winter's night,
When up the clough there came in sight,
A lad who carried through the snow,
A banner with this 'ere motto...
His face was glum as he did pass,
His eyes were shiny... just like glass,
And as he went upon his way,
He nobbut this 'ere word did say...
And people sitting down to tea,
They heard him plan, as plain can be,
They thowt 'twere final football score,
As this 'ere word rang out once more...
A policeman on his lonely beat,
He stopped the lad up t' end of t' street,
He said, "Where't going wi' that theer?"
The lad just whispered in his ear...
"Don't go down t' clough." the policeman said,
"It's mucky road for thee to tread,
Canal's at bottom... deep and wide."
"That's not my road." the lad replied,
A young lass stopped him further up,
She said "Come in wi' me, and sup."
He said, "I'm takin none o' yon,
Besides... I must be getting on...
Next day some lads had just begun,
To tak' their whippets for a run,
When dogs got scratching in the snow,
And found flag with this 'ere motto...
That set them digging all around,
And 'twasn't long before they found,
A lad whose name they never learned,
Whose face was white, whose toes had turned...
'Twas very plain for to behold,
The lad had ta'en his death o' cold,
He'd got his feet wet early on,
And from his feet the cold had gone...
This story only goes to show,
That when the fields is white wi' snow,
It's inadvisable to go...