A beautiful poem about Saddleworth:
Home to old Saddleworth, home once more,
How my heart is stirred to its innermost core;
For I’ve been roaming and it’s a joy to go;
Up the hillside lane by the fields I know.
Home to the hamlet where my own folks bide,
To the old armchair by the hearthstone side;
To the neighbour folks and my boyhood’s friends;
Who oft played with me at the old lane ends.
Home to the throstle on the high ash tree
When its throat is full of the springtime glee;
To the upland fields where the skylarks sing;
And the rough brown moor with its grouse and ling
Home to the meadows in the morning time,
To the high barn now that I used to climb;
To the windrows turned on a howling day;
And the laneside trees hung with whisps of hay.
I’ll go to the village not far below,
To the quaint old street and the folks I know;
I know what they’ll say as they’ve always done;
“Put it theer, owd lad, if it weighs a ton.
The little sweet shop where I sued to stare
At the parkin pies and toffy sticks there;
How I pressed my nose ‘gainst the window pane;
And longed for a penny but longed in vain.
Home to old Saddleworth what more do I need,
Than the hills I love an’ the men they breed?
And I’ll roam no more for I ne’er have found
More kindlier hearts or a dearer ground.