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
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Boy Albie
Norfolk born and bred. Archives
August 2020
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