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Owed Jim e' were a clogger,  Wi'a workshop, up some steps.

Ther'l be lots o'folk a warin,   those fancy clogs'e meks.

'e cuts the soles from wooden blocks,  wi a fancy shaped machine,

An clever folk'ave coed it,   A clogger's guillotin


. An when e’s finished shapen' soles,  An tacked'is leather round,

'e's ready then fer buckle on,    An pattin'toe-caps down.

A can see'im now a shapin'   Some very pointed soles,

'e sez ther for a clog-dancer,   'who puts on special shows.


An'then thers bread and butter clogs,  which Jim meks by the score,

An'when ther blacked and polished up,  Ther ready for the store.

But one thing's sure, ther is no doubt,  For warin on yer feet.

  Yo canna beat Jim's wooden clogs, becoz ther med just reet.

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Good one about a part of life almost gone.  Bet that shop reeked of atmosphere.


Happy days

I'm sure I have said this many times Harry, the family do say I have developed the trait!, but I always say i've never had problems with my feet due to wearing clogs up to the age of five when I had to wear shoes on starting school.

PS, more Lancashire dialect poems coming up.

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