Yorksher Puddin': A Collection of the Most Popular Dialect Stories from the Pen of John HartleyHartley, John
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Yorksher Puddin': A Collection of the Most Popular Dialect Stories from the Pen of John Hartley
Hartley, John
English language -- Dialects -- England -- Yorkshire; Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
'Yo mun excuse me this time,' aw sed, 'its noa fault o' mine. Come an
help me to catch this chap.' Soa they booath coom up, but that cock had
made up his mind net to be catched, an he'd peearkt up fair at top oth
bed heead, an he set up another crow wi as mich impudence as if he'd
been on his own middin. Sam made a grab at it, an it flew to th'
winder-bottom, upsettin two plant-pots, an we all made a rush for it,
but it slipt past an swept all th' chany ornaments off th' mantel-shelf
an made a dive at th' chimley, an away it went aght oth seet. Th' lass
skrikt wi all her might, an Sam shaated, an aw made as mich din as aw
could tryin' to keep 'em quiet, an th' cock screamed ith chimley wor nor
a railway whistle. Bi this time ther wor a craad o' thirty or forty fowk
aghtside, an they wor callin aght for th' police, for they seemed to
think ther wor one or two gettin' murdered at least, an things began to
luk serious. 'Tha'll have a bonny penny to pay for this,' sed Sam. 'Ha
can ta feshun? Just luk at all them ornaments brokken to bits, an th'
plants an stuff destroyed! Tak that cock aght oth chimley an get aght o'
here as sharp as tha can, an nivver let me see thee nor owt belangin to
thee agean!' Aw sed nowt, for aw saw he wor riled, an aw didn't wonder
at it, soa aw put mi hand up th' flue, an aw could feel its legs, but it
seemed to be wedged fast. 'It's here,' aw sed, 'but awm feeard aw can't
get it withaat hurtin' it.'
'Ger aght oth gate,' he sed, 'aw care nowt abaat hurtin' it! Awl stir
it, or else awl rive it's legs off!' an he shov'd his arm up, an daan it
coom an browt all th' sooit wi it, an flapt it into us faces wol we wor
ommost smoored.
Aw seized hoid oth burd an made th' best o' my way aghtside, an as
sooin as aw showed mi face ther wor a reglar yell, an they all
squandered to let me pass. Th' chaps had getten pooakers an tangs, an
th' wimmen wor armed wi umbrellas an tooastin forks, an then aw turned
raand an axed 'em whot ther wor to do. Just then Sam an his dowter coom
aght, an when they saw me ommost undrest, wi mi face grimed wi sooit an
mi heead whitened wi mail, an Sam an his lass lukkin varry little
better, it set some oth chaps laffin, an aw went inside an festened th'
door, an puffin' an blowin' like a brokken-winded horse, aw sat daan
convinced 'at that chap wor reight when he sed aw knew nowt abaat th'
hen trade.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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