At last the long night dawn arrives,
the cold is bitter through and through,
above the threadbare blanket now
my breath curls up to meet the dew.
The body aches the strife is worn
another day of life is born.
I hear the slow clicking clogs go by,
make a sound so dull the pavements cry
the clogs and shawls trudge down the hill
towards the mighty cotton mill.
The lights ablaze the great looms roar
we shout above the noise once more
the shuttles fly from row to row all day long and how
until we hear that whistle blow –
it’s time to stop for now.
The end of week brings light relief, we leave the dark behind
No trudging for the next few days, life suddenly feels quite kind
Bury is the market place where Radcliffe people go
the bright lit shops, the Odeon, the trolleybus and snow
to eat warm black pudding with mustard on
then off to see a show.
Coronation park on Sunday, the very place to be
high on the hill looking down on the mill
gives a huge sense of pride which is hard to disguise
when you’re all dressed up to kill
we pout and we preen as we want to be seen
in our very best clothes, what’s more
It is no matter now to us one small jot
if we are one of the rich or the poor
Then I hear a bird sing as it flies on the wing, away, away over the hill
One day I will go, I’ll come back and I’ll show them
that there is life beyond Radcliffe Mill