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, reight enuff, lad, it wor'nt a nice place to be in, an' that suit
o' clooas 'll niver be fit to be seen agean."
"Noa, aw dooant think they will," sed Jack; "but it mud ha' been war,
for they arn't mine."
"Why, whoa's are they? aw thowt as tha coom up 'at tha luk'd varry
respectable."
"Aw dooant know whoa's ther reightful owner, uncle, but mi hont has lent
'em me to put on wol mine gate dried, for, yo know, aw've been i'th'
swill-tub once today."
"Why, then, that's my best Sundy suit 'at tha's gooan an spoiled! aw
wonder 'at thi hont had noa moor sense nor to leean 'em to thee."
"Aw wonder aw'd noa moor sense nor to goa daan that well to spoil 'em,
for it's nooan a nice hoil to be in, an' when aw've a shaar-bath, aw'd
rayther have it withaat onybody's clooas."
"Well, let's lig away, an' get hooam as fast as we can, for thi hont'll
mak a noise aw'll bet, soa we mud as weel get it ovver as sooin as
possible."
They went hooam an' tuk th' uncle's dinner back wi 'em, an' as sooin as
shoo saw Jack shoo rested her neives on her huggens, an lukkin at him
throo heead to fooit sed, "What's ta been doin nah; can't ta stur
withaat gettin into a scrape?"
"Well it seems net, for if aw dooant get into a mess misen, ther's somdy
gets me into one."
"Tha'll keep me dryin cloas for thee, aw can see that; but goa upstairs
an' put on thi own duds, an' awl see if aw can fettle them up at tha has
on."
"Awm sooary to give yo soa mich trouble, but then it mud ha been war, if
awd gooan daan an' niver come up."
"Tha'd ha been noa loss, lad, tha needn't think; but luk as sharp as tha
con, for aw've begun to get th' teah ready."
"Awl net be long," he sed, an' wol he wor changin his clooas th' uncle
tell'd her all 'at had happen'd, on shoo laff'd wol her face wor as red
as a turkey cock.
When Jack coom daan th' table wor set an' all ready for th' teah, an'
th' uncle an' hont had takken ther places at th' table.
"Come sit thi daan," sed his hont; "but before tha
does, just hand me th' tea pot off th' rib; an' mind, for th'
hanel's hot."
"Awl mind," he sed; an' as he began to think he'd had mishaps enuff for
one day, he thowt he'd steer clear ov ony moor, an' soa as he'd been
wan'd th' hanel wor hot, he tuk hold o'th' spaat, an' he'd hardly getten
a yard away throo th' fire wi' it, when a streeam o' boilin teah began
to run daan th' inside ov his jacket sleeve; but he held on like a man,
an' he wor detarmined he'd land it on to th' table, soa he ran wi' it
an' bang'd it into th' middle o'th' tea things, smashin cups an' saucers
an' upsettin th' sugar basin an' th; creeam jug, an' makkin sich a mash
as yo niver saw.
Up jumpt booath hont and uncle. "Just luk at my yollo satin dress," sed
his hont; "it'll niver be fit to be seen agean!"
"If tha doesn't tak thysen aght o' this haase," sed his uncle, "awl
pawse thi aght, for tha's made moor bother sin tha coom in nor enuff."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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