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
'Nah, mother, yo dooant know all 'at aw know, but aw'l just let yo into
a bit ov a saycret. Nah, aw've nooaticed 'at Bessy allus blushes when
shoo comes to buy owt o' me, an' shoo luks onywhear else rayther nor
shoo'll luk at me; an' shoo strokes th' owd donkey's nooas an' maks a
fuss on him, an' even gies him th' carrot tops, an' he munches' em up
an' luks at me as mich as to say--'This is her Joa; spaik up like a man
an' tha'll win;' an' latly he's begun to rawt as sooin as iver we've
getten into th' end o' th' street, an' aw tak that for a gooid sign, for
yo know Jerusalem wod do owt for me. An' nah as aw've finished mi supper
aw'll be off.'
'Well, lad, aw wish thi weel, but awm feeard. Aw think if aw wor thee aw
should want summat moor nor a donkey rawtin to set me off o' sich a
eearand as that. Listen! does ta hear it nah? It's a rawtin agean. Can
ta tell me what that means?'
'Nay, by gow, aw dooant know. Aw think it must meean 'luk sharp.''
'Aw think it meeans tha'rt a choolter heead, that's what aw think.'
'Neer heed, mother; yo'll see when aw come back.'
Soa off Joa went, full o' faith. When he gate aghtside, th' mooin wor
just risin, an' th' stars wor sparklin up i'th' sky, an' all wor clear
an' still. It wor a gooid two miles to Bessy's, an' he'd time to think a
bit; an' he kept turnin over in his mind what his mother had sed abaght
gooin cracked, an' he began to have some daats as to whether he wor
altogether square or net. 'A'a,' he sed, 'aw've missed it this time, for
aw mud ha browt her a heearin or some oonions for her supper, but it's
just like me, aw allus think o' thease things when it's too lat--aw must
ha been born a bit to lat; but what awm to do, or what awm to say when
aw get to owd Stooansnatche's aw connot tell. But fortune favors th'
brave,' an' aw have been lucky befoor, soa aw'll hooap to be lucky
agean.'
Joa wor fast lessenin th' distance between hissen an' th' haase whear
owd Stooansnatch lived, an' it worn't long befoor he stood peepin in at
th' winder. He couldn't see owt, for all wor as dark as a booit inside.
He then began tryin to mak up a speech, or frame some mak ov excuse for
comin, but he wor clean lick'd, for moor he tried, an' th' farther off
he seemed to get, an he began to think 'at if he went on studdyin mich
longer it ud end in him gooin back baght dooin owt, soa he screwed up
his pluck an' knocked at th' door. He could hear a mumblin an' scufflin
inside, an' somdy strike a match, an' in a bit he heeard somdy unlock
two or three locks, an' shooit five or six bolts, an' then th' door
oppened abaght two inch, an' a nooas 'at iverybody knew belang'd to owd
Stooansnatch bobbed aght.
'What does ta want at this time o'th' neet?' sed th' owd man.
'Nay, nowt particlar; but didn't yo give me hauf-a-craan amang that
copper this mornin, think yo? Aw shouldn't like to wrang onybody, an' aw
did get hauf-a-craan somewhere.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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