Ha, it’s all varry weel for th’ poit to sing that, but if he hed a railway at stake he wud happen alter his tune, an’ espeshully if he wur an eye witness nah, for th’ storm wur ragin’ at th’ heyest, an’ th’ folks wur waiting wi’ pashent expectashun to know whether it wur baan to be at an end or nut, for th’ flooid wur cumin’ daan thicker an faster, an’ thare look’d to be monny hundred mile o’ watter in th’ valley. Hawsumever thay muster’d all th’ energy thay could, for thay wur determined to know th’ worst, so thay went to see if thay could find th’ oud weather-gazer, at hed proffesied th’ flooid; an’ after a good deal o’ runnin’ abaat, thay fan him peepin’ throo summat at shap of a tunnil, sum sed he wur lookin’ at mooin, others sed he wur lookin’ into futurity, hawsumever thay axt him to cum daan an’ look at th’ railway, an’ tell ’em whether th’ flooid wur baan to tak it away or not, but th’ saucy oud haand refused at first, for he sed at he wur flaid at sum on em wodn’t be able to stand th’ shock if he tell’d em th’ warst, so the oud lad sed, If my advice yo want, poor things, An’ cannot do withaat it, Go arm yorseln to th’ teeth, he sed, An’ doant be long abaat it; Both rakes an’ powls an’ props an’ ropes Yo cannot get ta sooin, An’ take the Cowinheaders’ plan When thay discovered th’ mooin. Doant gape abaat, but when arm’d Tak each a different rowt, An’ let yor cry be ivery man, Th’ poor railway’s up the spout. It wurnt long afore thay gat arm’d—sum wi’ clothes props, muk forks, ropes an’ so on, an’ thare wur sum competition yo mind, for thay wur all tryin wich cud mak best movement so as thay cud immortalise thair names it th’ history of Haworth, for thare wur wun Joe Hobb, a handloom weaver, browt his slay boards, and as he wur goin’ daan th’ hill he did mak sum manœvures yo mind, for talk abaat fugal men i’ th’ army wen thay throw thair guns up into th’ air an’ catches em agean, thay wur nowt ta Joe, for he span his slay boards up an’ daan just like a shuttlecock. But wal this wur goin’ on th’ storm began to abate, and th’ water seemed to get less, but still thay kept at it. Wal at last a chap at thay called Dave Twirler shaated aat at he saw summat, and thay look’t way at he pointed, and thare behold it wur won o’th’ ribs o’th’ railway stickin’ up, here a dead silence tuk place which lasted for abaat three haars, for nobody durst oppen thair maath, flaid at th’ wind wud mak th’ current stronger, an’ sum o’th’ wimmen held thair tungs to that pain and misery wal thair stockings fell down ower thair clog tops; but hasumever th’ silence wur brokken by a Haworth Parish chap ’at they call Bob Gimlet, he happen’d to be thare an’ he said, na lads, look daan th’ valley, for I think I see th’ skeleton at ony rate, an’ Bob wur reight, for it wur as plain to be seen as an elephant in a shop winder.