Printed Victorian handbill poem in Yorkshire dialect, titled 'On the Wing. By John Lawton.', speculating in a humorous style on the effects of successful transport by air.

Author: 
John Lawton, Victorian Yorkshire dialect poet [aircraft; air transport; aeroplanes; fixed-wing flying; manned flight; ballooning]
Publication details: 
Without place or date. [Yorkshire, 1850s?]
£160.00
SKU: 12402

1p., 12mo. Fair, on aged paper, with slight wear and loss at head. The leaf has been trimmed down to 21 x 16 cm., with rounded corners, around the poem's decorative border. The poem consists of 96 lines, in twelve eight-line stanzas; it is arranged in two columns beneath the title: 'ON THE WING. | BY JOHN LAWTON.' First stanza reads: 'I wor thinkin one neet wol sit i mi cheer, | Wot thowts enter sum people's pates; | Wot useful invenshuns they'n plan'd everywheer | To benefit people un states. | Locomotives un steomers I think yol find, | Un hundreds o things I might name, | Fast flitted e fancy throo somebody's mind, | Un war plann'd by sombody's brain.' The second stanza expands on the theme: 'Tho swift wi con travil, on land and on sea, | Discontent is still to be seen; | For sum want to travil o new-fanglt wey | Throo th'air in o flyin machine: | Un shud they succeed, as sum think ut they will, | In thus navigatin the air, | Streets un roads wod soon be desertud un still, | Un oytch thing wod look very quare.' Third stanza: 'One fellow is tryin to make o balloon | To go ogen th'wint, like o ship, | Un wen it is reddy, he'll start very soon, | Un go on o grand trial trip. | Then another I yerd on made sum big wings - | He sed he felt shure he cud fly: | He geet on o barn un adjusted his things, | Determin'd he'd have o good try.' The twelfth and last stanza reads: 'To think wot greyt changes this flyin wod bring | I fashuns, amusements, un trade, | Wod make sum foak deawtful iv onny sitch thing | In this world cud ever be made. | Fur my part, I expect to see flyin foak | Soon after I see flyin pigs; | Ur elephants makin gowd watches ov oak, | Ur crocodiles ridin i gigs.' This poem and its author are entirely untraced, with no record on WorldCat or COPAC.