* * * POST MORTEM Recently, an old lady who lived in our village and who had been living alone for years was found dead in her cottage. 'Oi hear ol' Mrs Baker hev died,' said one villager to another. 'Dew yew know when the funeral is t' be?' 'Oh no,' she replied swiftly, 'cause you see the doctor says Thursday she's to have a Portmanteau examination.' * * * THE FORECAST As a postscript to the end of February, I would like to quote the description of a Norfolk worthy: 'That blew, that snew, that friz and then that thew.' * * * THE FIERY FURNACE Some years ago, chapels depended largely for their services on local preachers, men with few opportunities for education but of great sincerity and originality. One Sunday morning, a local brother had taken as his subject the story of the three young Hebrews ordered by Nebuchadnezzar to be thrown into the fiery furnace. 'An' he hetted that owd furnace up an' he hetted that up till that was ten toimes hott'r than that ort a bin. Oi wonder what the duzzy owd fule thort he was a-duin' on?' * * * BAD CHANGE Mrs Smith was complaining to her next door neighbour: 'Yew jist can't trust nobody no more. Moi own grocer giv me a dud shillin' this morning.' 'Really?' said her friend. 'May Oi see ut?' 'Oh, Oi hent got that no more. Oi paid ut to moi baker.' * * * THASS A RUMMUN
Joe often helps me in the garden at week-ends and I usually succeed in bringing the conversation round to the subject of past inhabitants of Bale. I have heard about some fascinating people, one in particular, 'Joe's father'. I understand he was 'A maarster one tu boost. He reck'n he once jumped orf Cley charch steeple wi' a jeckdaw in each hand an' he lit orl right'. I gather a favourite occupation of Joe and his father was rabbiting. Joe's father claimed 'he once found a rarebut hoole, and there y'are, that wus so big he cud git in it, stand upright an' swing his rarebutun spaade round without touchun the soides.'
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Boy Albie
Norfolk born and bred. Archives
August 2020
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