The Bard of Ince

I think he had a way with words.


Back in Sixty-four.

Billy Lion clapped his hands
When babies slept in funny prams
And folk would queue in cluttered shops
Happy with their little lots
Among the smokey chimney pots
Back in sixty four.
Back in nineteen sixty four
Two and fifty years ago
Television, black and white
Finished early every night
So we could see the stars so bright
Back in sixty four.
Every public house would close
At three o'clock there on the nose
To open up again at seven
And carry on until eleven
And everybody lived in heaven
Back in sixty four.
Billy Boston scored his tries
When Cains's shop made tasty pies
While Gallaghers and Sutcliff's tripe
Stank the air out day and night
But everything turned out all right
Back in sixty four.
The Wagon Works had ceased to be -
The Beatles sang Please, Please me,
The Great Train Robbers stole the loot
And mini skirts were short and cute
But nobody did give a hoot
Back in sixty four.
We would win the World Cup soon
And rockets aimed towards the moon.
Steam ran down the Whelley Line,
All the buses ran on time
And everything ticked over fine
Back in sixty four.
Cotton from the Empress Mill
Settled on the window sills
Of all the nearby terraced homes
Of weathered brick and crumbling stones
But we didn't hear any moans
Back in sixty four.
We never heard of dope or pot -
Kennedy had just been shot,
The Beach Boys sailed the Sloop John B
And Cassius Clay stung like a bee -
The pace of life was leisurely
Back in sixty four.
There was no need to mug or rob -
Everybody had a job
We all went drinking at weekends
On Friday night with all our friends
And good times seemed to have no ends
Back in sixty four.
Oh to be back there again
Free from stress and free from strain
Among the rock and rolling craze
In the classic vinyl phase -
Ee by gum those were the days
Back in sixty four.



A Cucker is a Cooker!!!
A cucker is a cooker -
I don't care what they say -
I come from Higher Ince I do
And it's always been that way.
A buck has never been a book
For that's a type of deer
And a cuckoo's not a coocoo
That's obviously clear.
When I look I never luck
For that is fortune glad
And when I fish I use a hook
Cos huck sounds just as bad.
It's just these clever southerners
Replacing uck for oo
Trying to get one up on us
Like they always do
But they just can't get beyond it
Oo is just two o's
And muck is dirt and never mook
As everybody knows
So they can carry on with it
Making oo an uck
For I was born in Wigan me
And I don't give a cluck!

The Bard of Ince

Back in nineteen sixty four ....
I come from Higher Ince I do ....
I was born in Wigan me ....

All self-conradictory!

Before I Githi one !

Wost mean my lad's responsible
Et sure thas geet it reet
I'm tellin thi it wasn't him
He's bin at wom all neet
Thowd woman here will tell thi
He hasn't bin ont Bar
He's laid up wi bronchitis
And he's not been out at ah
Tha must be mistaken
I think thas geet it rung
He never uses chelp at ah
He's shy and highly strung
So wilt bi towd - I'm tellin thi
It' wasn't my lad Ron
So tek thi hook and bugger off
Before I githi one.

The Bard of Ince is aka Kevin Holcroft



As well as his website - Link, Kevin regularly posts on the Facebook group - Characters of Ince

I've had a good look through his stuff. Most enjoyable. Brilliant work

From the ‘characters of Ince’ link, I knew the Lee family well.
I worked at Irlam Steel Works with Arthur and his dad Bill.
Sadly, Alfred the eldest son committed suicide several years ago.

I recognise that mon. Seen him knocking about town quite a few times.

Sadly, I’ve just learned that Kevin has died. Fb Characters of Ince - Post

I liked the Cucker poem RIP Kevin


A Cucker is a Cooker!!!
A cucker is a cooker -
I don't care what they say -
I come from Higher Ince I do
And it's always been that way.
A buck has never been a book
For that's a type of deer
And a cuckoo's not a coocoo
That's obviously clear.
When I look I never luck
For that is fortune glad
And when I fish I use a hook
Cos huck sounds just as bad.
It's just these clever southerners
Replacing uck for oo
Trying to get one up on us
Like they always do
But they just can't get beyond it
Oo is just two o's
And muck is dirt and never mook
As everybody knows
So they can carry on with it
Making oo an uck
For I was born in Wigan me
And I don't give a cluck!