An Ode To Dewsbury

There’s a gradely place called Dewsbury,
A fine old Yorkshire town,
For fun and frolicks it’s the very best.
It’s nearly always sunny,
When it isnt’ pouring down.
So if you go you’d better take a vest.

It has an open market
With a covered bit as well,
There’s a stall there that sells elder, beef and tripe.
You eat it up with vinegar
And it makes your tummy swell,
But when it’s hot it can smell rather ripe.

You can buy the latest fashions
Or a new Venetian blind,
Or a fluffy mat for round your lavatree;
Then nip into the café
For a cuppa and unwind
With a sausage butty and a cup of tea.

But for something more substantial
If you’re in a peckish mood
There’s a café down the road to raise morale.
They serve beef and Yorkshire Pudding,
Treacle pudding, really good,
And the hostess is a lady known as Val.

It’s a lovely town for shopping;
As you walk along the street
In the windows all the finest goods you’ll spy.
And you’ll really be astounded
If you’re feeling like a treat
At just how many things a pound can buy.

They’re a champion set of people
Folk you’ll meet around the place,
They’ll always stop and pass the time of day.
They’ll blag you for a ciggy
And then with a beaming face,
They’ll join you for a drink if you will pay.

You will hear the sound of music
Creeping up from underground,
From the underpass, in fact, on Rishworth Road;
It’s a haven for the musical
And the echo dulls the sound
Of the clink of bottles where the drink has flowed.

Now as for public transport
It’s the centre of them all
For catching shining buses here and yon.
The station is a marvel
Where you’ll never see a brawl
Unless’t last bus to Bradford’s been and gone.

The drivers all are cheerful -
Welcome you with beaming smile,
A pleasant chuckle coming from the throat.
They’ll never ever mutter
Or appear to be hostile
When you ask for change from a new twenty note.

The place is full of history
That our grandparents knew,
Some clocks above the rooftops now have stopped.
The times they may be changing,
It’s been a year or two
Since horse hooves o’er cobbles may have clopped.

It wasn’t very long since
Behind that very horse
A lad with spade and bucket ran apace.
To help his father’s roses
He’d run the longest course,
Trip, fall flat, and get it in the face.

So you’ve got to come to Dewsbury
If you have no other treats,
You’ve got to see it once, where e’er you roam.
And when you’ve seen its people,
Markets, shops and mucky streets
You’ll thank your lucky stars to get back home.