Re: Accrington Poets.
 

I don't know kesrelx. I wasn't alive in the 30s. I may be getting on a bit but I'm not that old :)

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Stanley played at Peel Park in the lower divisions of the football elague (Third Division North, Third Division, Fourth Division) from 1921-1962 when they were forced to resign because of financial circumstances. They then struggled on at Peel Park in the Lancashire Combination - a local league - until they finally gave up the ghost completely (if you'll pardon the expression) in 1966. The "new" Stanley returned to a decimated Peel Park to play one match in March, 1973 when the Crown Ground was unplayable due to drainage problems.

Stanley's most successful period was 1954-58 when they almost achieved promotion in four successive seasons and regularly attracted crowds of 9,000-10,000 and this is the era I am trying to evoke in my poem.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

We moved to Accy in November 1957, to Sultan Street so you must have evoked the 1957/58 season for me! lol

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Thanks for the information - but why was the team called Stanley?

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

In 1892, two patrons of the Stanley Arms in Stanley Street organised the young lads of the area into a team called Stanley Villa. At this time, the original Accrington FC ("th'owd reds") who played at Thornyholme Road cricket ground were still one of the 12 founder members of the football league. However, a year later they resigned and as they slipped into obscurity, Stanley Villa replaced them as the town's senior football club, changing their name to Accrington Stanley in the process.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Thanks Wynonie I never knew that,makes sense now!


Changing the subject slightly I only heard that Fred Dibnah passed away on Saturday,no he wasn't Accrington born but Bolton.His programs give a great insight into how the industrial age developed!

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

I meant to post this yesterday,a poem I wrote this week,but forgot the disk ....








They built this town on nori bricks,from burning coal from down’t pits,

On windy days up Whinney Hill,us men and boys plied our skills,sweated hard like molten iron.



On Saturday noons we drank our ale and watched the football at Stanley’s ground…

Come rain or shine we loved the sport,coz we real men,we sweat hard - like molten iron!



When Sunday come,we change our game,and meet up with Nori John of Nori fame,he got more brawn than brain…he John – Iron John!

Then we wandered oar’t field and hill,to hunt our dogs for rat and game.



Down Huncoat tip – Jack Russels sniffed,the smell of rat - to them was bliss.The dogs tail wagged and she whimpered, with nostrils flared at rodent scent…

Out came the spade and down we dug,Joey put the ferret in,when suddenly the lightening hell,sent adrenaline…the rat flew out it’s murky pit n’t dogs flew,yapping after it.

In split seconds all it took for’t death to steam from that rodent beast – then off we marched again – cross the field,down’t pub for a bit of grub!



Aye was fun with Nori John,down’t canal till’t sun went down.Even if we caught nowt the day was right,with out a doubt -------------- coz Nori John was the one,who made the bricks this towns built on!














Concerning the poetry book I mentioned - it could happen but I don't have the time - it was just an idea - so I suppose we will just leave it at that!:engsmil:

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Oh I forgot blood sports ain't hip anymore - from next week hunting with dogs will be banned and you may be introuble with the law if your dog kills a mouse.

But years back many folks used to hunt rats and so on...


:wave8: :wave8:

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

wow your poetry should be published
get a record deal or something
save the talent

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Cheers Sarnieboy,I was watching that film Pandaemonium the other night about Wordsworth and Coleridge - just a bunch of hippies or what:confused: :rolleyes:


http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0210217/

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Ah'll never forget mi early life, when ah were up theer livin' i' Bash,
Mi mum and dad were workin' folks we never 'ad no mounds o' cash,
But there were aullas coal for't fire and right good food on our owd table,
I were aullus clothed in gradely stuff but never owt wi a fancy label.
Wi ad some fun in them owd days especially me and my mate Ratty,
Alec McKnight, Melvyn Yates and Leslie Berry (wi called him 'fatty').
Ah fell in love when ah were six, wi Valerie Wise, she were a smasher,
A real grand lass who were born in't village a proper down-t'-earth real Basher.
When ah were ten we moved away and went to Southport town to live,
Ah can remember every minute, though now mi memory's like a seive.
Southport's flat, and for many a year I missed all th' hills and fields and streams,
I missed the Laund and down't Shoe Mill, but always kept 'em in mi dreams.
As soon as ah were owd enough to pedal far enough on't bike,
Ah'd go and stay wi Uncle Bob i' Nuttall Street any time ah'd like,
Ah'd stay for weeks in't summertime when school were out and days were great,
An' ah'd pedal that bike up Manchester Road te spend some time wi my owd mate.
Course, now ah lives in Florida four thousand bloody miles away,
But ah wouldn't miss comin' o'er to Bash when ah come flyin' o'er te stay
When ah were theer some weeks ago, ah met up in't village wi Ratty and Val,
It were great te see em theer a't church, my best mate and my best gal,
Wi never forget where wi were born, the roots 're buried far and deep,
Ah'm a Basher, born and bred, that's summat ah can aullus keep.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

That's not a bad one...more memories coming out...I wonder is Basher - slang for Baxenden?


Cheers:engsmil:

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Basher with a capital 'B' is a citizen of the great village. If it's spelled with a small 'b', I guess it could be a violent type. I suppose there could be a Basher who is a basher eh?

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

I hope this poem is appropriate. It was written by a local Accy man as far as I know. I can't remember if I took it with me to Aussie or whether it was sent to me by a friend much later. It was printed in the observer I think. so I can't claim it. I am sure some of you have seen it before. I can recite this off the top of my head and in my original untainted 50's Accy accent. Whenever I feel sentimental I recite this poem to myself.

T'coppie

Tha mus be cowd i thi winter
thi grassy cooats thin
it's nod as green naether
as wod id wur long sin

And th'air tha breathes is smooky
thy arnt so far fray 'town
and when id rains day afther day
tha seems to weer a fraewn

Thart noan as big as Pendle yon
Tha doesn't reytch to t'stars
thas no songs sung about thi
and o thi face thas scars.

But then thas music o thi own
Thas no need to despair
when t'wind comes whistlin oer thi
an't larks sing up in th'air

Th'art bonnie too owd coppie
when t'thorns are white i may
or when tha blushes pink as sun
gets low near thend at day

and then Ive sin thi smilin
when t'skys all blue aboon
or when tha watchint'coarters
bi gentle leet at'moon

As owt be thart noan lonely
when all is said and done
all t'childer come to si thi
fro daewn i Accrington

and when tha bears i oly week
up o thi top a cross
and meks foak think of calvary
fer words i'm at a loss

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

I have a copy of this poem! If I can find it I'll tell you who wrote it.

Sadly, it's an image of t'Coppie which no longer applies since the trees were planted and totally transformed the appearance. I used to love to see "the eagle" as I was coming back home along Blackburn Road but alas now it's gone.