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Poem	Somebody's knocking at the door Mother, come down and see. --I's think it's nobbut a beggar, Say, I'm busy. Its not a beggar, mother,--hark How hard he knocks ... --Eh, tha'rt a mard-'arsed kid, 'E'll gi'e thee socks! Shout an' ax what 'e wants, I canna come down. --'E says "Is it Arthur Holliday's?" Say "Yes," tha clown. 'E says, "Tell your mother as 'er mester's Got hurt i' th' pit." What--oh my sirs, 'e never says that, That's niver it. Come out o' the way an' let me see, Eh, there's no peace! An' stop thy scraightin', childt, Do shut thy face. "Your mester's 'ad an accident, An' they're ta'ein 'im i' th' ambulance To Nottingham,"--Eh dear o' me If 'e's not a man for mischance! Wheers he hurt this time, lad? --I dunna know, They on'y towd me it wor bad-- It would be so! Eh, what a man!--an' that cobbly road, They'll jolt him a'most to death, I'm sure he's in for some trouble Nigh every time he takes breath. Out o' my way, childt--dear o' me, wheer Have I put his clean stockings and shirt; Goodness knows if they'll be able To take off his pit dirt. An' what a moan he'll make--there niver Was such a man for a fuss If anything ailed him--at any rate _I_ shan't have him to nuss. I do hope it's not very bad! Eh, what a shame it seems As some should ha'e hardly a smite o' trouble An' others has reams. It's a shame as 'e should be knocked about Like this, I'm sure it is! He's had twenty accidents, if he's had one; Owt bad, an' it's his. There's one thing, we'll have peace for a bit, Thank Heaven for a peaceful house; An' there's compensation, sin' it's accident, An' club money--I nedn't grouse. An' a fork an' a spoon he'll want, an' what else; I s'll never catch that train-- What a trapse it is if a man gets hurt-- I s'd think he'll get right again.
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