My Grandma who art in Bradford

Water rhymes with batter, Cook rhymes with duke Your pantry is a cathedral Of desiccation and sprinkles We call the glory ‘ole. Your wisdom is linguistic joy You’re not forced to know the answer In hope there’s two chances Not many T’s in your language When I’m with you I talk like you My grandma […]

Harold Wilson, Bradford boy

Strong, silent grandad. Head a grey Elvis quiff. Far away eyes. Always ready for a cuddle. So quiet. So still. But ask him about his youth? Eyes twinkle, lips smack, Made a fishing rod from scrap, Manhandled onto a trolley bus, Old ladies tutt tutt, Off fishing with a mate Down Bradford beck Out till […]