These unfortunate times can have some compensations, such as looking around your local area. Today I discovered the grave of a modest local poet in Mottram cemetery: the cross has fallen and it took a little time to free it of the weeds, but it's in a reasonable state. As far as I know, these are the only photos of his grave on the internet. I was made aware of his existence from Thomas Middleton's Poets, Poems, and Rhymes of East Cheshire (1908), which is freely available to download and is a wealth of information on local writers and can be very humorous when he speaks of their eccentricities. I can't find anything eccentric about Thomas Barlow, although I was interested in what Middleton has to say about him:
'THE BARD OF LONGDENDALE.
This poet was born at Radcliffe, in Lancashire, on the 17th of January, 1826, but at an early age removed to Hyde, Cheshire, where he became engaged as a calico printer. Afterwards he removed to Dinting, and the remainder of his life was spent in the neighbourhood of Glossop. He was a poor-law guardian for Glossop, a prominent member of the local Co-operative Societies, and was made one of the first working-men magistrates for the borough of Glossop. On several occasions I was in the company of the Bard of Longdendale, and found him an interesting, though somewhat reserved man. A collection of his works under the title of "Barlow's Poems" was published by Messrs. John Heywood and Sons, Manchester, in 1867. It is a volume of 230 pages, consisting of "A Trip to Woodhead," "Scenes Around Castleton" and other poems, and one of the features of the book is the successful way in which the poet describes local scenery. There are many choice gems in his poems on Longdendale.
THE FACTORY GIRL
Though not possessed of golden store,
Nor deck'd in jewels rare,
Sweet Lucy's virtues shine no less,
Nor is she the less fair.
Can gold bestow a kindlier heart?
Can jewels make it rare?
Ah, no! 'tis something richer far
Must hold possession there.
My song is not of titled dame,
Of nobleman nor earl:
I sing of one I love to name
The modest Factory Girl.
Though not so queenly beautiful,
She's fair, yes, passing fair:
She has a pleasing grace of form,
And dignity of air;
And there is that in Lucy's breast
Which beauty never gives
There is a true, a gentle heart,
Which feels for all that lives.
I sing not now of titled dame,
Of nobleman nor earl;
I sing of one I love to name,
The modest Factory Girl.
Too oft your pompous lady fair
Is fickle, false, and vain,
Inflicting wounds in other hearts
Without remorse or pain.
So 'tis not wealth begets respect,
As often hath been proved
And Lucy in a humble way
Is known but to be loved.
I sing not now of titled dame,
Of nobleman nor earl:
I sing of one I love to name,
The modest Factory Girl.
A low sweet voice and manners true
In Lucy are combined,
Which say, although she be but poor
She's riches in her mind;
And though her lineage doth not spring
From nobleman or earl,
She's honoured she's respected as
A modest Factory Girl.
I sing not song of titled dame,
Of nobleman nor earl:
I sing of one I love to name,
The modest Factory Girl.'
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