The Bugsworth Tipplers

by Ian H Bruce (2009)

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(D)Riding the wagons as they (G)rattle down the way
(D)Dove Holes to Bugsworth, (A)day after day
(D)Lurching from side to side, (G)sparks flying far and wide
(D)Dangers ignored for a (A7)waggoner’s (D)pay

Nipper and me we stand on the lily-pins
Brake hooks in hands for spragging the wheels
Thrown at the right time, to stop forty tons of lime
Make one mistake and we’re head over heels

Men climbing spokes turn the tipplers of Bugsworth
Wagons raised high drop their loads to the ground
Ironwork red with rust, covered in white lime dust
Horse drawn barges leaving – Manchester bound

Steering a pleasure boat, enjoying the sunshine
Marple to Bugsworth, on a Bank Holiday
‘Nice day’ it is the cry as we greet passers-by
Some pints in 'The Sportsman' and then on our way

All’s quiet and serene as we cruise into Bugsworth
Unlike times past with the toil, sweat and din
No more the inland port built for limestone transport
The only tipplers now are in the old ‘Navvy’ Inn

Fair weather boaters meet in the public bar
Beneath faded photos of an industry past
Iron rails and tipplers gone, a basin long overgrown
Now a heritage site neatly laid out to grass

So relax and enjoy the beauty of Bugsworth
But raise up a glass to the tipplers of yore
To the gangers, the nippers, the lime wagon tippers
The boaters and all those who’ve drunk here before