Reminiscences of Rotherham
by G. Gummer, J.P.
« « prevTall Wynn from out the Station,
Where glittering tankards bright,
Of juice of grape and foaming malt,
Eternal drinks invite.
And Hattersley, the roper
Who throws aside his twine;
And Wade who casts away his goose,
And Teddy from the sign
Whereon a Dusty Miller swings
Run hurrying up the street;
And soon old Westgate’s time-worn flags
Sound loud and trampling -feet.
Committee-Men arrange themselves,
Brave Jervis in the Chair;
And one and all to Abraham
Allegiance faithful swear
Advertisements are written out,
And then with bated breath,
Each hero stands in readiness
To struggle to the death.
PART I
Now marshal each their forces,
Now each review their ranks;
Now each address supporters,
Each tenders them their thanks;
And now for deadly conflict,
Prepares each valiant chief.
And deep laid schemes devises,
For his opponent’s grief.
Bold Binghâm leaves his cleaver,
To join the Bombardier;
With Reynolds from the Westgate,
Known as Tubby, far and near.
Brave Rupert quits his raisins,
And Hanby leaves his till:
While Henry quits The Feathers
The ranks of Bibbs to fill.
From each dull court the Irish
Come fast with out-stretched arms;
And lend sweet Erin’s well-known brogue
To swell the contest’s charms;
And when on sultry summer day,
Full in the lurid sun’s fierce ray,
The carcase of an ox doth lay.
And flies buzz round in swarms.
So alway come the Irish,
That in sweet Westgate dwell
When they hear the sound of contest
Or scent of whisky smell.
At last arrives the day of fight,
And through the open doors
Of Rotherham’s finest building
Voters enter by the scores;
First one for Bibbs then three for ‘Taff,
One more for Bombardier;
Then cab on cab for Taflinder
Are hailed with rapturous cheer;
And faster now and still more fast
Opposing chariots drive;
And load on load crowd through the doors.
As bees swarm through the hive.
In vain, oh gallant Bibbs,
Thy friends try every art,
Yet once again in public,
To let thee play a part;
Thy comrades of the Board
Will miss thy blooming face;
Throw up the sponge, bold Bombardier,
Lost is the hard fought race.
Hark to the sound of cheering!
Hark to that long loud shout!
Proclaim thee, Bibbs, defeated,
As councillor thrown out;
In seclusion hide thine anguish,
To Moorgate’s shades retire,
And on thy woes in stern repose,
Sit brooding o’er the fire;
Tear down the signs of contest
From off thy ancient walls,
For Abraham’s victorious
O’er the triple golden balls,
And as lot’ thee old Pendulum,
The conqueror in the fight,
Long shalt thou live and try to do
Thy daily duty right;
And when thy mortal watch shall stop,
Thine old heart cease to beat,
Don’t fear thy name and lasting fame
Shall perish from the street
For in the nights of winter,
Long after thou’rt no more.
When bitter blasts howl loudly,
Around each cottage door;
When Bentley’s ale is flowing
In the happy Christmas times,
When children play upon the hearth,
And bells ring merry chimes.
When they carve the largest sirloin.
And cut the largest pie,
And the good man and his good wife,
Sink blindly idly by;
Then with jesting and with laughter,
They’ll drink to thee in beer,
And tell thy glorious victory
O’er the gallant Bombardier, » next