Ned the carter.

Ned the carter.

When first I went a Carting
from the villages departing down the rough and rocky roads of Westmoreland
I'd drive me team of horses
past the rowan trees and gorses
watching  sunlight gleam on Morecambe's Silver sand .
*
You forget about your  trouble
where the curlews softly bubble near the rushes and the springs up on the tops
with the forelocks softly bobbin'
on the brows of Roan and Dobbin
and the crunching of the wheels down mountain tracks.
*
We would grind through rain and mud
down wet lanes and through the wood with me oilskin buckled tight up to me neck
while the rain ran of in courses
down the flanks of both me horses
as we splashed along beside the swollen beck.
*
In the market we stand waiting
 while the wool is sold and taken off to mills in Lancashire for ready cash
then its to the inn for drinking
With the horses bridles clinking
as they wait outside and munch their steaming mash.
*
On the sacks and bits of lumber
in the cart I lie a slumber as the fuming whiskey round me head does roam
but I lie there safely sleeping
to the waggon's gentle creaking
Cos' the tired old horses know their own way home
*

Now the carting days are gone
for the motor car has come and me horses went to pull haytiming rakes
And up against the wall
lies the cart and shafts and all
and the wheels adorn a townies cottage gates
*
Now I'm old and failing
and the lost days i'm bewailing as I think on how the old ways used to be
In my head I wander back
to the winding mountain track
with the curlews on the breezes flying free. ©mike locke


This is a song about Uncle Ned Bentham a carter/carrier from Helks in Dent. He also had the White Hart , Dents 'Lost' pub which was behind Sedgewick's memorial. There are many anecdotes about Ned and his quirky ways which will follow in the form of tall tales and ribald rhyme!