A Victorian BalladThough his name was Will Warley, they called him Will WagFor his tongue hung so lesson and ready to brag.He couldn't help talking, he'd jaw at the bossAnd wi' nobody else by, why he'd talk to his 'oss.He was steerer for Pickfords, which meant he was mateOf their boat number nine thousand four twenty eight.He collected round Smethwick and took to the stationAll the axles and iron, the bolts, nuts and screws, the rivets, the castings, glass, sizes and gluesIn fact any Smethwick things med as folk useIt wor none of Wag's duty to pick nor to choose.It chanced in the winter, one dark, foggy dayWag had got a big load and was hurryin awayFrom one o' them plaerces, though which I cor sayBut I fancy it was somewhere up West Bromwich wayI know 'twas a plaerce where th boat loading wharfRuns up twixt the forges and cuts 'em in halfSo a line wor no good, there wor no room to towAnd the boats with an hooked shaft was worked to and fro.Well, he shoved at the starn and he heaved at the bowTill the work, 'spite of cold, made him sweat puff and blowAnd the fog med him foul every boat in the rowAnd he ' fun he was movin out uncommon slowSo as summat was wrong, what it was he day knowHe jawed at his helper, for loading so slowWag's underhand naturally answered him backlIn a style as med Will holler. " None of thee clack!"He borrowed a lantern and searched round the sideTo see if by chance 'er'd got chain logged or tiedNow nothin' he fun till the mid beam he raychedWhen like a daft chap, of a sudden he scrayched..."Yo' con shove till yo'm bostin the shaft in ter twoOr crush in' yer coller bone, then it wo' dewFor wi' all yer hard swearing, rostling and rush in'It's agin yer own beam yo' bin all the time pushin'" Dave Moore contributed this song to the Canal World Discussion website with the following description : In the late 60s Peter and Paula White lived aboard 'Calstock' in Gas Street. I became friends and did a bit of boating with them. In those days I was learning to play guitar and interested in folk music. One day Peter came back from work with a copy of a ballad he'd found in Birmingham Library. The entire thing was a long moralistic piece intended to keep readers on a proper course in life, what excited both of us was that the first part had a boating theme. I sort of set it to the tune 'Villikins and his Dinah' a popular folk melody. Here are the lyrics as I remember them from nearly half a century ago. I hope some Black Country vocabulary is intelligible to non native readers!