Heyd market’s changed a lot tha knows
Sin a used goo when a were smowe.
Owd cobbles, gas leets an wooden stalls av o’gone
A dunna know what’s appened to em owe.
Now a conna remember like mi owd Granddad did
About tooth-puller who sat in a tent.
Wi a brass band outside to drown out screams
Were it true, or just summat he dreampt.
There were other tales a yerd as weel
Like Harry Gilbert, an owe watches he sowd.
An Mrs Goodwin wi her big pile o’ pots
They’d allus attract a good crowd.
Mrs Crossley were famed for her curtins
There were cotton, velvet and lace.
And you could get veg from Riskit Riley
Now he were a top dirt-track ace.
Next to pie stall gathert ‘market committee’
From all ower town they came.
And when they weren’t arguing politics or pigeons
They’d pick Heyd’s team for’t next game.
Now on Saturday neetes, so av often bin towd
Market were late to wrap up.
And folks ud usually hang around
So they could get thi Sunday lap-up.
Now a con remember dobby horses
Swing boats, an owd Jock’s stall.
An a con remember Mester Nightingale
Meckin toffee int thowd market ’all.
Wi ’is little stove an thowd copper pan
Tha could wach him meckin his stock.
Ther’d bi cough candy, pear drops an humbugs
Bur his best wert Godley Rock.
He’d pull and raunch it ower a big hook
An cotch it afore it could sag.
Then he’d rowel it out an chop it up
An tha could buy it fer a penny a bag.
Every September Wakes ud come
Now a allus thowt it funny.
No matter ow easy games ud look
Tha could count on losin thi money.
There wert caterpillar, spider and jungle ride
Dodgems, waltzer ... it could cost thi a mint.
An after black puddin an pays, if tha didn’t end up sick
Tha could be sure thad bi gooin wom skint.
But thowd days ave gone an market’s bin dun up
It’s owe becum modern, hygienic an clean.
It’s getten paviours, an planters and colourful stalls
But thi sell nowt nobber trainers an jeans.
© Bill Lancashire December 1998