There's a mon who lives eawt Bowton way, he's a chap of great renown

But you'll seldom see him that I say, for he works above the town

Three hundred feet means nowt to him, as he toils and sweats up theear

Strong in booath wind and limb, bi gim he knows no fear

He fettles weather cocks and such, and chimbleys when in need

Of pointin, for he hez the touch of this very special breed

He leets them fires 'neath the chimbley' s bum, then they breathe their final gasp as smook pours eawt as them tyres brun, until supportin props finally brast.

Then T' creawd ul gasp as cracks appear, then Fred ul blow his horn

and on monny a face you'll see a tear, as their yed away they'll torn

Success in one thing that's bin geet, which held failure in its wake

For wi never will forget the seet of death for progress sake

For gone is yet another ghostly finger, as once pointed up tut sky

Yet its fond memory will still linger amongst fooak like you and I

He likes a sup of ale does Fred when chimbley toppling's done

For he is Lanky born and bred, liking work weeal mixed wi fun

His work puts butties on Fred's table, and it keeps t'wolf away fra't dooar and he'll scrat up aloft whil'st he is able, for there's nowt in being poor

Fred also preserves eawr heritage, restoring rare beauty cast in stone

Architectural gems of a bygone age as he toils up theear alone.

Craftsmanship and pride in him you'll see, wrapped up in a single mon

There's nooan so monny left like he, long may t'lad carry on

There's yet another facet to Fred's dream, that hez browt him fame and glory

For he is wrapped up in a world of steam, but that's another story. J Atherton

Waterfield Avenue, Darwen

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.