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!"
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Boy Albie
Norfolk born and bred. Archives
August 2020
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