* * * HULLY THUSTY WARK! With his regular grave digger ill, the vicar was struggling to find someone to dig a grave. Eventually, he went to see old George who was a bit reluctant to take on the task. "Oi dun't know as Oi can dew it," he told the vicar, "greave diggun an' the loike ent rarely up moi street!" "Come come, George,' said the vicar, "it's not too much to ask – all you have to do is dig the grave and get the bier." With that, George's face lit up! "Well now, vicar, thass diffrunt. Dew yew mentioned the beer fust orf, Oi'd a dug it afore now." * * * SPELLING MATTERS "Oi sent my little ole mawther to a good skule an' she cum home an' spell Tearter wi' a 'P'!" * * * FAIR EXCHANGE IS NO ROBBERY "Yew jist carn't trust anybody these day, can yew?" Ida Smith complained to Martha Blowers, her next door neighbour. "Ony this mornin' the grocer gev me a dud shilling, would yew believe?" "Go yew on," replied Martha. "Can Oi see it?" "Oh, no, Oi hent got it no more. Oi paid it to the baker!" * * * "Go yew on, Bob," replied Charlie, "not ol' Albert frum the bowels club?" "Yis, thass as trew as Oi sit hare!" Bob replied. "Well, thass a rummun ent ut?" said Charlie, supping on his beer. "Oi wus ony mardlin' wi' him larst week – dew yew know when his fewnral is, bor?" "That on't be yit, Charlie," Bob replied, finishing his beer, "on account a him heving' to hev a portmanteau examination, accordlie to his doctor!" * * * Thass bin a rummun ole week, hent ut? Well, that hev hare, that hev: fust that blew, then that snew, that friz anorl, that did, then that thew!
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His neighbour asked him what he meant. "Wuh," George replied, "Orl them thare chearns and things. Oonly trouble Oi hed afore wus the handle cum orf, an' a few hooles in the buckit...!" * * * SILENCE IS GOLDEN A middle-aged couple were having lunch in a Norwich restaurant in a little establishment just off the Gentleman's Walk. All through their meal the wife was constantly nagging her husband, who seemed unable to get a word in apart from the occasional grunt. Eventually, after getting no response, the wife said: "Did yew hare me speak?" To which her husband was heard to reply: "Well, Maw – Oi hent heared yew be silent yit!" * * * SUFFEN IS A-COMIN' A recently-widowed woman happened to meet the local parson in the village street. "Parson," she said, "Oi fare hully worried. Ony yesterday Oi see moi ol' man a-comin' down the loke – plain as plain cood be that wus – what kin that mean? " "Well, Mrs Bumfrey," the vicar replied, "what do you yourself think it portends?" The old lady thought about it for a moment before answering, then said: "Oi reckon that mean thass gornta rain!" * * * CONCENTRATION I was walking through a Norfolk village recently when I noticed one of the locals, not known for his liking of hard work, sitting on the grass next to a road sign. "Hello, bor," I said to him, 'what are you a-doing on sitting hare a-doing nothing?" "Oi ent a-sittin' hare doin' nourthin'," he replied, a bit savage-like. "Oi'm a-sittin' hare tryin' tew remind m'self of suffin' I're gotta remember – but the more Oi remember, the more Oi fergit." * * * TEARKIN' TARNS Old Tom walked into his local, The Fox and Hounds, looking very tired and thirsty. "Why hello, Tom bor," said Charlie. "Yew look worn out, bor – ware'r yew bin?" "Why, Charlie, bor," replied Tom, "I're bin to Norridge markit wi' the marster an' foive bullocks." "No wonder yew look tired Tom, bor, thass a hully long walk," said Charlie. "Well that woontsa bad," said Tom. "We hed the marster's hoss and cart and took tarns in roidin' onnit. Fust the marster rid and Oi walked, then Oi walked and the marster rid." * * * PENNIES FROM HEAVEN
Fred Blyth, one of the parishioners at St Peter's in Sheringham, asked the local vicar to say a prayer for Sarah Grey and so, that Sunday and the Sunday after, the vicar mentioned her in his prayers. Before the service the following week, Fred told the vicar his prayers weren't required anymore. "Has the poor dear passed away – or is she better?" the vicar asked him. "Oh no," replied Fred. "She won the 3.30 at Fakenham last week!"
The conjuror had been engaged from a nearby town, and it woon’t too long afore he saw in Jarge a likely victim for one of his tricks. He said to Joe: “It would surprise you if I produced a live rabbit from your inside pocket, wouldn’t it?” “That that would, bor,” replied Jarge, “and iverybody else here anorl!” “And why is that, my good man?” “Cos I’re got my ow ferret in there.” * * * NOT PARMANENT? William was over 80, and he'd warked on the farm since the tender age of 10, when he had started as a 'holgee boy'. He’d wintered it and summered it, man and boy, he used to say. One day the young farmer came to him and said: "William, you started on this farm with my grandfather, then you worked for my father and now it’s me. Something like 70 years’ faithful service you've given to our family. "You have your old age pension — not enough, I know. But I have decided to give you a few shillings a week, so that you can retire. How would you like that?" “Orl roight, marster, if yew want me ter give up," replied William. "But, mark yew me, if Oi’d a known that this hare job woon’t parmanent Oi shorn’t a tearkun ut in the fust plearce!” * * *
“It’s the same thing - you have your pipe in your mouth,” she replied curtly. “Ah, yis, that may well be, but that en’t the searme thing. I’re a-got me bewts on, but Oi en’t a-walkin’, am Oi?” * * * THE LORD AND THE GARDENER A gardener at a Norfolk Manor house had to retire owing to age and the lord of the manor, besides giving him a pension, sought accommodation for him as he wanted the garden's cottage for the new gardener. A derelict cottage in the village was bought and restored for habitation, but the garden was knee deep with weeds and needed a lot of attention, although, with much hard work the old gardener cleared the plot and planted it out with many beautiful plants and flowers. One bright summer's evening he was standing by the garden gate when the vicar passed by and happened to stop and admire the colourful display. "The Lord and you have done a fine job here," he said. The old gardener took off his cap, scratched his head and drily replied: "Well, bor, yew shooda seen ut when the Lord hed it orl on His own!" * * * GOATS DON'T MIND!
The Vicar was talking to a farmer one day, who, it seemed, was very fond of the animals on his farm. “I've heard it said, Charlie,” he told the farmer, “that you are extremely fond of your animals. Tell me, if you will, which of the Lord’s animals do you love the best?” “Whoi, Vicar, thass easy – Billy the goat, a ’corse,” replied Charlie. “We mearke quoite a pet onnim and me an' the missus orfen let Billy sleep alonger us in our bedroom…” “But... what about the smell?” asked the Vicar. “Oh, thass orlroight,” replied Charlie, “goats don’t fare ter moind about that!”
The boy seemed happy to answer all the vicar’s questions, then, turning to the man of the cloth: “Well, bor, yew’re axed me a hoolly lotta questions, so, Oi hope yew on’t moind if Oi ax yew some?” “Of course not, my boy,” the vicar replied, “what would you like to know?” “Well, fust of orl who dew yew wark for?” “Oh, that’s easy,” relied the vicar, “I work for the church, as I’m in the service of God!” “Wark fer the chutch, dew yew; so wha's yar wearges?” “Actually, I don’t receive wages,” the cleric replied, “I get what is known as a stipend.” “So, Father, whadder yew hatta dew fer that?” “I visit the sick, comfort the bereaved and preach a sermon in church of a Sunday,” replied the vicar, becoming a trifle exasperated by the boy’s continuing questioning. “And I try to show people the way to heaven.” “Show people the way t’heaven, dew yew?” the boy laughed. “An’ thare’s me a-thinkun yew dorn’t even know the way to Booton!” * * * TIME TO MOVE ON? A country parson, having spent many years without making much impression on his people and feeling that he had not got to know them nor they to understand him. thought it his duty to accept another living. On the way home from posting his letter of acceptance he met the oldest inhabitant and thought he would break the news to him. “Good morning. John.” “Good morning, your reverence.” “You may be surprised to hear that I shall soon be leaving you to go to another parish,” said the vicar. “What? Yew leavin’ us arter orl these yares? Oi’ll be suffin' sorry to hear that, wicar,” said John. A gentle glow began to pervade the frame of the man of the cloth. Had he been hasty in accepting the new living? Was it possible these people appreciated his years of devotion in their rough way and he had not understood? “So you will be sorry to see the last of me, John?” “That Oi will, Sar, and not on’y me but the parish anorl. In fact, they on’t loike it at orl, they on’t. They’ll be suffin' upset. Arter orl, w allust look to BURY our wicars in this hare parish!” * * * THASS MOINE, THAT IS! Giles had had a loss from his pigsty and being averse to spending good money on newspaper advertisements he took the advice of some of his cronies and went to see 'parson' about it. "Well. Giles," said the vicar, "what can I do for you? I don't often have the pleasure of a visit from you." "Oi know that, yar worship, but Oi'm in a bit o' trouble. Oi're lorst moi little pig and Oi wunnered whether yew'd be good enough to put a notice out o' charch o' Sunday?" "Well," said the reverend, who was a bit of a sport, "we rarely see you in church but if you promise to come next Sunday morning I'll ask whether any person has found your little pig." On Sunday morning. Giles cleaned put on a fresh dickey and off he went to church. Although he was a trifle deaf, he would not go too far inside but sat near the door. As he said to himself: "Oi arn't tew useter this sort o' thing." The service went on as usual and Giles began to think his business was forgotten, until he noticed the vicar opening a book from under the pulpit. "Here that come," he says to himself, "here that come." And sure enough the parson turned to the congregation with the open book in his hands. "I publish the banns of marriage between John Smith and Jemima Pigg." As soon as he heard the name 'Pigg,' Giles leapt up and hallered: "Thass har, thass har. And if she're got black spots on her rump she's moine." A FEW PICTURES OF BOOTON CHURCH
The man stopped cutting his hedge and turned to face the lost motorist. “Well, now, less hev a see. Thetford, you say?" he replied, pointing back up the road with his shears. "No, yew’ll hatta tarn round an’ go yew back about a moile till yew cum ter Bodger’s barn. Then yew hatta tarn left an’ go yew down that there rud about tree o’ four hundred yards, then tarn roight and then - oh, no, Oi tell yew wrong - yew can’t git threw that way." The man put down his shears and began scratching his head. "Well, less hev another see," he continued. "Ah, yis. Dew yew go down this rud till yew cum ter the pit and tearke the left hand tarn and then … No, no – that on't dew that'll blarsted-well tearke yew streart inter Morgan’s orchard . . .” “Why, man,” replied the driver, becoming exasperated, “you are a fool! If YOU were to start from here to go to Thetford, which way would YOU go?” “En’t me thass a fewl. Thass yew. If Oi wus a-gorn ter Thetford Oi won't start from hare, No, that Oi woon’t. Oi’d start frum moi house." * * * WELL - OI BE DAWG GORN! Speeding around a hairpin bend in the countryside, a motorist just missed a farm labourer, but, sadly, ran over the little mongrel by his side. The car driver stopped immediately, apologised profusely, and offered up a couple of quid saying he hoped the money would recompense for his bad driving and replace the poor animal. “He wus a werry noice little dawg,” answered the countryman. “So hoolly affectionate he wus. Man's best friend, he wus anorl!” Realising there could be trouble ahead, the motorist produced another pound note, which the countryman quickly pocketed. “Yew hoolly miss a dawg woss allust bin a-followin’ yew,” moaned the labourer. “He wus such a masteruss noice little ole dawg, he wus, that he wus." “Here, my good man,” said the driver, take five pounds, will you?” The countryman held out his hand and took the money in a dazed manner, muttering: “Oi on’t git another little dawg loike that in a hurry, no, Oi on't!” As the motorist hurried away, the labourer said to himself: “Oi wunner whose little ole dawg that wus?” * * * BE LOIKE DAD - KEEP MUM! Three ole men ware a-settin' on the willage green seat when a car drew up and the posh man inside he say: “Can you tell me the way to Cromer, old man?” The old boys shook their hids coarse thet wuz wartime and yew weren’t spuzed ter tell anyone the way ter anywhere, not then. Then the man in the car he say: “Well, then, can you tell me the way to Sheringham” They all say: “No, bor, that we can’t” So the man in the car flew orf the handle and he say: “You lot don’t know much do you?” One a the ole boys stared straight ahid and he say: “No, Bor - but we en’t lorst loike yew!” * * * HOMEWARD BOUND - ONLY TO FALL BY THE WAYSIDE!
Old George, the village sexton, was known for his partiality for a 'drop of the hard stuff'. Late, one Saturday evening, after enjoying a jar or three in his local, the Dun Cow, he staggered homeward only to fall by the wayside, where he was found sleeping off the demons of drink by the rector. The rector roused him and began to show his disapproval in no uncertain terms. "Oi'm sorry, Rector, but Oi jist coon't help meself," said Old George. "I din't hev no chance. Thare wus two onnem, thare wus, two waarmins who knocked me ter the ground." "Two men, you say?" queried the rector, becoming quite alarmed. "What two men?" "Steward and Patterson, your Reverend!"
“Teapot,” say my ole man, "corse we orl hev nicknearmes where Oi dew cum frum." “Oh, ar - an' where dew yew cum frum then, moi good man?” say St Peter. “Sherinum,” say my ole man. “Wuh – not the Sherinum in Norfick?” say St Peter. “Woi, yis,” say my ole man, "hev yew hard onnit?" “Not the Rev Fitch’s Sherinum?” say St Peter. “Yis, thass roite,” say my ole man. “Dew yew cum on in roite away, bor,” say St Peter. “We don’t git many o’ Rev Fitch’s in hare!” * * * In Norfolk there are four kinds of 'bare': the bare you see in the zoo, the bare you are when you haven't any clothes on, the bare you get in the pub and the bare they carry you on when you are dead. They are all pronounced the same, although they may be spelt: bear, bare, beer and bier! * * * * * * The parson, in willage next to where Oi wus born, useter tearke the bell-ringers for a day's outin' to the seaside, wi' the ringers bein' mainly farm-workers.
Arter arrival at the seaside, the morning wus spent hevin' a gander round, and learter we orl met at a restrunt for the mid-day wittles. As Oi recall ut, the fust course finished and the puddun' cum along, complete wi' spoon and fork. One old boy, nexter me at the tearble say: "Wos the fork for, bor?" "Ter fill yer spoon with," Oi told him. 'Well, there yar, bor," he replied, "an' all moi yares wot Oi're warked on the farm, Oi're nivver evver hed a fork to fill my spearde with afore!"
* * *
*Thass that there Elizabeth Talbot who’s on ‘Flog It’ a lot. Do you watch that, tergather? Do any on yer remember Mr Jeffery from Gaze’s years ago? He went on ter be secatarry of the Royal Norfolk Show, din’t he? Noice chap he wuz. Moi late woife worked fer him when she lived in nearby Royden. Thass a small world, en’t it? A Postcard from Diss
Then he took his pipe out of his pocket, lit it, puffed away, then paused to look at the motorist who, he noticed, had a very large. pronounced nose. “I said which wey would it be it to Hunstanton, old boy?” “Well, tergether,” the roadman replied, tapping his pipe on the heel of his boot, “Oi reckon yew watta falla yar snout, bor!” * * * DIFFRUNCE ATWIN A FEWL AND DUZZY FEWL Fewl: “Bor, if yew kin guess how menner sparrers Oi shot this mornun, O'll gi’ yew the hool six onnem f’yar ferruts.” Duzzy fewl: “Tew?” * * * ON TOP ONLY!
During the war, on a Yaarmuth Corporearshun dubble-decker bus, George and his wife wus riding down below and he wus smoking his usual 'Woodbine.' Orl tew sune the conductress cum along an' axed him politely-loike to put his cigarette out as smokin’ wus ony allowed 'up top'. George din’t quoite understand what the mawther meant and kept onner puffing away on his fag. Suffin' savage that har authority hed bin flouted, the mawther tapped George on the shoulder. “Dew yew watta git me into trouble?” she said. Like a flash, George replied: “Blarst, yis, moi bewty - what toime d'yew git orf?”
Billy's mother was greatly upset by this loss (for a waistcoat cost at least a couple of bob in those days). In time, however, it was forgotten — until, the following summer, when Boy Billy went on the annual Sunday school outing again – this time to Cromer. On returning home he came joyfully shouting along the garden path: "Mother! Mother, I're found me wescut!" "Found yar wescut?" said his mother, "Where on arth did you find that, boy?" "Why," said Billy, that wus under me vest orl the toime!" * * * HARE TERDAY – GORN TERMORRER When he left school, Boy Billy went to work for a master who was well-known for his interest in hare coursing and one fine morning, in April, he sent Billy to the railway station to collect a live hare, which had been brought in to improve the local strain. The hare was in a wicker basket, with a lid, upon which Billy sat down on his way back. All of a sudden the wicker basket burst open, under Boy Billy's weight, and the hare escaped. Going like a shot out of a gun, it was. However, being a bit flummoxed by its new surroundings, the hare didn't get far, but, every time Boy Billy approached, it darted off. At last, not really knowing what to do, Boy Billy decided to appeal to the hare's common sense. "Dew yew cum on hare, you duzzy ole fule," he said, ripping the destination label off the basket, "yew don't know where yew're a-gorn to, 'corss I're got the mucky learbel." * * * BOY BILLY GOES A-COURTING Soon after dark, one spring evening, Boy Billy went a-courting, holding a lantern in front of him to show the way. As he was walking along a loke, Boy Billy happened to bump into his master, who called out '="Good evenin', boy" to him. "Good evening, master," Boy Billy replied, courteously. "Is that yew, Boy Billy?" asked his guv'ner. "Yis, that is, master," he replied. "Where on arth are yew a-gorn, this toime a noight?" his guv'ner questioned. Boy Billy replied that he wus a-gorn a-courtin'. " A-courtin' are yew?" laughed his master. "Well, when Oi went a-courtin' Oi never took a lantern alonger me..." "Noo," replied the Boy Billy, "Oi gathered that, the fist toime Oi see yar missus." Some pictures of Wymondham
* * * A very stout countrywoman with full shopping basket was hesitating to cross the busy Prince of Wales Road, opposite the Royal Hotel, but to no avail. Eventually she hailed the policeman on duty: "Hey, bor! Can yew see me acrorst the rud?" "Blarst, missis," the constable replied, "I could see yew a moile away!" * * * An old gardener, a typical Norfolkman, was talking to the local newspaper boy who'd just delivered his EDP.
"Now, boy," he said, "dew yew trow this hare penny up inta that thare ow' ook tree an' see that on't come down no more." The boy replied: "On't come down no more? Corse that will – thare en't nouthin' ter hold ut up." "Dew yew dew as I sear," the ow feller replied. So the boy took the penny and threw that up into the tree and that promptly fell down agin to the ground. "Thare ut is," he say, picking up the penny and holding it up in the air, "an' you reckun that wun't come down no more!" The old countryman laughed): "Nor that hen't, hev ut? Tha's no more is ut? Tha's still ony a penny!" |
Boy Albie
Norfolk born and bred. Archives
August 2020
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