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
'Well, then, to be honest, aw dooan't think this will suit yo, for aw'm
blessed if aw think ther can be much life left i' this considerin what
it's let aght sin aw bowt it. Gooid neet.'
'Gooid neet, owd chap. Cannot ta walk i' th' front an' let it suck thi
fingers? It ud be sewer to follow.'
'Happen it wod; but th' chap aw bowt it on suckt me quite enuff withaat
lettin th' cauf suck me.'
After that he managed to get hooam wi' it withaat ony moor mishaps. It
wor varry lat, an' all th' family wor i' bed, but he detarmined he
wodn't goa huntin up an' daan for a stable at that time o' neet, soa he
unlocked th' door an' tuk it into th' haase an' teed it fast to th'
wringin machine i' th' back kitchen, an' then he went upstairs to bed.
'Tha'rt varry lat, Dawdles,' sed his wife, 'has ta ridden or walked?'
'Aw walked pairt o' th' way.'
'Has ta browt owt wi' thee?'
'Eea, aw browt a bit o' mait an' aw've left it daan stairs.'
He crept into bed as well as he could, an' in a minit he wor asleep. As
th' cauf had had nowt to ait nor drink all th' day it did not feel varry
oomfortable, an' in a bit it went 'B-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!'
'Dawdles! Dawdles!' shoo screamed, an' gave him a dig i' th' ribs 'at
made him jump agean.
'What's th' matter wi' thee?' he sed.
'Matter enuff! Didn't ta hear yond din? Ther's summat flaysome getten
into th' haase.'
'Aw heeard noa din; it's thee 'at's been dreeamin.'
'Dreeamin! Aw've nooan been dreeamin! Ger up an' see what ther is to do!
Thear's a boggard i' th' haase as sewer as aw'm here!'
'Ne'er heed it! goa to sleep an' it'll nooan mell on thee.'
'Sleep! Awst sleep nooan! Awst lig wakken o' purpose to listen. A'a! men
havn't a spark o' feelin! Thear, he's snoarin agean.'
'B-o-o-o-o-o-o-h! B-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!'
'Dawdles! Dawdles! wakken, lad; do wakken! It's th' dule hissen an'
nubdy else. A'a! whativver mun we do, an' ther hasn't one o' th' childer
been to th' Sunday schooil for a fortnit! Do get up lad, do!'
'Aw tell thee aw shalln't get up as what it is; but aw hooap if he's
comed for onybody 'at he'll tak thee furst, an' then aw can get a bit o'
sleep.'
'Tha'rt a brute! an' mi mother allus sed aw should find it aght! But
aw'm baan to have yond childer aght o' bed.'
Up shoo jumpt an' went to wakken 'em, an' he wor soa worn aght 'at he
dropt off to sleep agean. Sich a hullaballoo as ther wor i' that shop
when all th' eight childer wor up, yo nivver heeard, for th' cauf kept
at it, an' ther worn't one i' th' lot dar goa to see what it wor. At
last they threw up th' chamer winder and skriked wi' all ther might. Th'
neighbours wor up in a crack, an' th' poleese coom runnin to see what
ther wor to do.
'Ther's a boggard i' th' haase!' they cried aght. 'Do see what it is,
poleeseman, if yo pleeas.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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