Ethel Winterbottom
Ethel was an ugly girl
But this was not her fault;
It stemmed from drinking beer with men
While standing in the 'vault.'
A Winterbottom through and through,
At fighting she was good;
And thick brown stout ran through her veins
Instead of pure red blood.
Yes Ethel was a bruiser,
Just like her dear old dad;
Some people reckoned she
And all her family were mad.
Her tongue was like a bayonet
And she'd cut you to the quick
For any little trifle,
Such as calling Ethel thick.
The town that Ethel came from
Was born of jet-black coal;
A mining town in Lancashire,
A miner every soul.
Where life was hard and cruel
And you needed to be tough;
Where money was hard worked for
Amongst the jet-black stuff.
Men were very lucky
To reach old age round there;
To leave the pit come pension time,
With all your limbs, was rare.
Now Ethel had three sisters,
A father and a brother;
But living hard, and thick brown stout
Had taken Ethel's mother.
She'd had to grow up quickly
And learn to stand her ground;
No funny business was allowed
When Ethel was around.
She gave her brothers blow for blow
And curse for curse as well;
No man would better Ethel
Yes, she gave the miners hell.
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poem by John Carter Brown
Added by Poetry Lover
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