Twisleton II
I remember sitting beside my father Greg listening to him reading our forbear Tom Twisleton’s poetic description of his own bairn ‘Bobby’ and the joys and challenges of having a baby in the house. After the verses above the poem continues ‘Who is it that can scream an’ rooar, or if he likes can laugh like stoor, an’ sometimes make girt dubs on t’ floor? Lile Bobby’. I was intrigued by baby Bobby ‘pooing ‘dubs’ on the floor’! Now Craven dialect is so little used I’m sorry Greg didn’t take up an invitation to read Tom’s poems on the BBC Home Service which preceded Radio 4. He’d certainly have read this one, probably read to him by his own dad and he’d have been pleased at Tom’s Centenary celebration organised two years ago. The power of money to make or break is captured in Craven dialect poet Tom Twisleton (1845-1917)’s poem ‘Brass’ which describes the humiliation that comes when folk run out of it. The poem starts by comparing ‘The chap without brass’ to ‘a cat without claws