A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.)/My Old Wife is a good Old Cratur
My Old Wife is a good Old Cratur.
With this, as with everything else that has proceeded from my pen, there was an attendant incident from which it sprung.
Some years ago, I had occasion to cross the moors that lie between Howsley and Chesterfield. It was in March, and the busy bracing wind was fully engaged in keeping up the character of the month; it was blowing anyhow, and only as a "high-peak wind, in a passion," knows how to blow, when I saw approaching me a horse and cart, seated in which was a hardy, healthy-looking old couple, that it did one's heart good to look upon. Just before we met, the old man, after doing battle bravely with his hat, which evinced an insane desire to leave his head (I may observe the old lady was driving), he suddenly cried, "Wo! my man!" Now, this was not addressed to me, as you may perhaps imagine it was, there being just then no one else about, but to the old chestnut horse; his better half—better half, be hanged—his better three-quarters—was driving. My man didn't want saying "Wo!" twice to, so he stopped, and the old lady, for she acted like one, after tying a small handkerchief over the old man's head and under his chin, thus reducing the refractory beaver to a proper sense of obedience, was in the act of turning up his top coat collar, when I had got near enough to say, "Take care of him, missis—that's right, take care of him;" when, oh! if you had seen the kindly look the old man gave her as he said to me, in his strong Derbyshire dialect, "Hey, maister, my old wife's a good old cratur." The words rang upon my ear until I reached the town of the warped steeple, and there, procuring writing materials, I concocted the following song, which has been set to music by G. Simpson, Sen., and may be had of Messrs. D'Almaine & Co., London.
My old wife is a good old cratur,
Never was a kinder born,
Never did nothing to make me hate her,
Since the wedding ring she 's worn.
And every morning for my breakfast
She gives me good toast and roll
My old wife's a good old cratur,
My old wife's a good old soul.
Then at night when work is over,
She brings my bacca and my beer,
So you see, I lives in clover,
Ain't my wife a good old dear?
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
And when matters run three-cornered,
She sidles up so droll and kind,
Gives me a "buss" and gently whispers,
Did 'um vex it? Never mind.
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
If, as now and then it happens,
I get beery, even then
She never says a cross word to me,
But welcomes me with, Well done, Ben!
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
Some folks live in better houses,
Some folks live on daintier cheer,
But none of them have got such spouses,
Nor such bacca nor such beer.
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
Blest with health and my old cratur,
From all feuds and discord free,
I'm quite convinced throughout all nature
There ain't a happier chap than me.
'Cos every morning for my breakfast, &c.