Authors: Adam Thorpe
a bit o’ hush now Jonas hup aye hup pit-a-pat over they leaves first light o’ mornin starch-stiff boy poachin this were allus my patch don’t fret too bloody old for it now that Ebby Wall yaa knows he backerds never no keeper at this time o’ aternoon never changed his beat one step old Ebby Wall Swilly Copse Bayleaze Will’s Field Longcroft Clean an Hansome Draggle Ley Six Mild Clump Grigg’s Breach Wood back up Dolman’s Lane by ten in the mornin bang on as a sun-dial boy his lad do High Ridge Wood he do love a scrap aye best not scrunch about wi’ he jus wait for peep o’ day that numbed an quiet you feels like couch-grass more’n the image o’ God when that damn bunny comes athurt an thee med let fly boy leastways thee don’t make no scrunch now Master Dannul thee’d make the toppermost poacher now boy aye reckons you goes plum through they tree-trunks like they be pillars o’ mist jus like old Shepherd Willum deep athin this green aye lookin for his lost lamb haaf ram haaf man tuppin wi’ a witch one while see tuppin wi’ a ewe see what is tuppin Mr Perry aye well what thy Mam an Dad done to get thee together boy leastways I reckons fine folk do it same as we aye well reckons as old Shepherd Willum were jus short of hole aye weren’t no witch boy shepherds git poke-starved out on they old downs casn’t damn they for it aye don’t know as they be arn big folk in Heaven
anyways
save nips like thee why is this Will’s Field Mr Perry it’s a jolly thick wood well didn’t used to be no copse here jus a scarp bare as thy knuckles save the grass an sheep till one o’ they Lordyshits wants to bang away wi’ his highty-tighty mates atween trees an sets to a-plantin yit old Shepherd Willum sees nowt but turf and sky look nowt but turf an sky aye rain rain pit-a-pat agin the beechen leaves boy I seed it were gettin all cluttery now thee maunt fret boy thy Mam do make a splut about thee gettin wet didn’t never do us no harm oh she did yang about thy constitushun like as if thee en’t no more nor a leaf in the wind boy blowed about like that teeny leaf in the wind there now reckons as she thinks as I got thee dowsed laas time deliberate like aye jus afore thee goed off to that scholard shop save she can’t rightly say to my head jus gives I the look from the drawin-room winder all creamy-faced an still like aye when I be doin her lawn well us allus reckoned she had coddled thee a deal too much Master Dannul an that old Eton shop jus broke thee a-two nowt to do wi’ that laas stroll nope thee runned athurt field in the storm laafin like old King George boy like thee en’t never runned wi’ the rain a-blowed agin thy face afore tip-top that be in the warm aye coddlin en’t never done a soul no good boy en’t never done a soul no good my Dad laced I summat terble never did narn no harm Master Dannul a-whackin nips to larn ’em right a bit o’ strap aye my Dad didn’t never fiddle us though like some on ’em though oh no he didn’t never filthy us nips no he never done that nope jus a dustin o’ the jacket like
well now hup yea up straight athurt ride here aye towart that edge hup hup aye thy Mam on’t abide I now I knows it that en’t Christern boy please God on’t be doin wi’out that bit o’ gardenin like it do kip the wolf from off of our door I says to my missus it do kip the wolf from off of our door hey up best foot forrud Master Dannul aye no dish o’ bloody tay eh you make sure he’s back at home by luncheon now please Mr Perry well that dang storm didn’t haaf dowsh us good an proper boy oh dost remimber that whoa ho we didn’t haaf cotch it athurt Louzy not a bloody tree about like a pair o’ drownded rats boy don’t thee fret I’ll tell thy Mam as I have spent haaf my born days a-squelchin about an not a stick for no dern fire in the bad old days boy in from the field wi’out a blink in the hearth boy aye that shrammed an dog-tired thee’d go straight to bed all sogged an nowt but a sobblin o’ crust
in
thy belly boy nips yowlin wi’ hunger as thee’d have to snoozle down agin to git warmth they plough lines dancin about in thy head as though thee weren’t nowt but a talkin acre o’ clag wi’ the gripes a-stirred an a-stirred by they drat bitin coulters as ud wake thee click out o’ thy dreams an weren’t no more’n belly yangin at thee to git poachin like git poachin y’bugger aye nice bangin lot o’ wind an a bit o’ moon see waitin by the net thee’d stitched in an out out an in in an out a-dreamin on all they fat rabbets as ud shake it dodgin that keeper bang bang bang hup well a decent dog were more nor a haaf on it blowed his brains out they did blowed his brains out old Ketch afront of I well fuck they buggers an fuck the lot on ’em worsest thing they did to I they Lordyshit’s blokes an teared my old net up to tatters well aye that ruffled I summat yit had to kip smug like weren’t never pulled up boy weren’t never cotched in the act like bless my soul hup yea up whoa soft out o’ the trees boy don’t want narn spottin us bright agin the dark now soft into Ewe Drop whoa about hooit whoa
narn abouts Master Dannul aye fetch our breath a bit agin this here stump here haaaa that river down there ben’t be no more nor a trickle out here now dry see dry aye oh thy Mam yanged at I she did dost thee remimber didn’t take more nor a jiff for I to knuckle under her like she capped I proper an you all biverin like I be awful sorry Mrs Holland it come clap on us Mrs Holland he’ll be all right Mrs Holland jus a lick o’ rain an jabberin on like a dicky-bird till the door were shut on I knockin off my hat as rolled athurt the lawn like thy bloody hoop boy now her face through the winder like the face o’ death lookin on I gardenin aye a face as I had a hankerin for one while past a-bogglin at I like the creamy face o’ doom jus like they say old Agnes Plumm looks out o’ that cow-house where she dandled herself up there yonder jus about sees the roofs atop Ewe Drop aye they old timers as were in there ater the Trouble clapped up in chains like a bloody herd o’ cows as I have telled thee afore now Master Dannul they old timers says as she did come old Agnes athurt the cow muck tiddy as quaker-grass to gie ’em comfort strokin they brows in the middest night an layin they worrited heads in her lap as weren’t death-cold no ways aye all on ’em as come back to their homes they sweared as that were true an old Tom Ketchaside as weren’t spared nowt though he were past eighty then boy well he sended us a letter from that Australy Demon’s Land as readed as he knowed God’s
truth
as Agnes was raaly there a-treatin they poor buggers like they were her own childern an she looked ezackerly like a angel med look like accardin to him God rest he an my gurt-uncle as was took out wi’ old Tom God rest ’em all oh Mr Perry they were felons an vagabonds aye boy aye you kip t’other side o’ hedge boy on’t be splotched by passin finery there boy oh Mr Perry my mother says you should never spit in public well hawkin boy hawkin out all the hate in us afore it burn I up look don’t tell I as fine genneman don’t hawk I’ve feeled it chit afore the toll-house once stone-pickin anigh the highway up by Malt Shovel crossroads show-off type o’ scarlet coach spanks past wi’ a young gent on the far end of a glove as have a hackin cough an the winder bein ope out flies this gob as spluts athurt my cheek bright as what you fine folk calls a poppy well don’t reckons as he had long to go poor chap yit nowt more to they than summat to hawk on us weren’t yaa a thousand acre o’ maiden downs won’t bolt my hate boy though it burn I up in hell’s fire as they tries to frit thee with them oh oh old Jemps Cullurne be a-comin up the path another queer un boy lie low a tic lie low hmm hmm TIME O’ DAY JEMPSY AYE AYE MIDDLIN WEATHER AYE hmmmm hm allus down in the mouth old Jemps Cullurne on account o’ tilthin wi’ a missus as be mawkier nor a dung can boy aye hmmmm she have had a babby boy jus now as be chursened Percy Percy well first an laas time a Percy in Ulver I spect yit old Martha Cullurne have allus bin a bit posterin like newfangled ways aye oh old Jempsy rippin wheat one harvest one while back year o’ ’59 same year as I got hitched up wi’ all that marriage lark see aye out Bursop way Bobs Slad wi’ the gang anigh the turnpike end when old Jemps he do squeal like a pig an keck up all his brencheese onto the greensard blaaa well why Mr Perry oh thee’ve heard this norration a good few times afore boy oh I like the fingers pan Mr Perry yaa well we scambles through the crop up to Jempsy’s line an lo behold a stink an a heap o’ flies an when they flies rised off a human face aneath aye jus about stripped o’ meat an cut some more abouts an lo behold oh Master Dannul you on’t want to be hearin this one agin look Brimstone boy you cotch that little feller an tickle thy mitts wi’ the wings oh please Mr Perry go on there’s a fellow Mr Perry eh yaa well lo behold that poor bugger were a-layin in the corn like he were slumberin ater booze wi’ one mitt aspraal as have two fingers a-missin clean off it an a pair o’ brass specs wi’ no eyeballs aneath fancy silk coat sterch
collar
an whatnot see a genneman see well us knowed what it were straight off look though they flies an maggots were in a proper old fizzle a-cleanin he up well at that time there were highway robbers on the big roads athurt downs as ud pop folk on the head an chuck ’em over hedge into corn come summer time so as nam en’t findin they till hoi look look down there boy waggon in the river they be tightenin an cleanin her up for the hay load tomorrer I reckons they be cuttin the hay tomorrer aye start o’ harvest well Heaven for I boy Heaven be no more for I nor the rattlin o’ laas load o’ corn home ridin atop that waggon boy well look now lark o’ massy if that en’t the same bloody waggon out o’ Barr’s as I remimbers thretty year ago see they letters I medn’t read boy yit I knows they letters EDWARD M. BARR ULVERTON clear as daylight EDWARD M. BARR ULVERTON though it en’t ezackerly right that first name may hap as his son have put his own in what be his bloody name I casn’t remimber nowt o’ the new names Ernest aye Ernest med be he have took out that Edward bit aye made they buggers like their lives were ridin in ’em look look a-splashin into that water aye that have carted I out the field afore now then bless my heart an soul we do sops our head in ale boy e’en the most close damper of a bloke do get cocked an chirpy never filth an shamin mind never filth an shamin oh no laas shock o’ corn throwed up onto that rick well that be another year stitched up see that be another year stitched up an med be as the next year do be aready threddlin its bloody needle but you don’t think on that come Harvest Home night nope thee have to souse thy thoughts in ale or thee be too dog-tired to get rollicky at all so drink boys drink an see as ’ee do not spill hup for if ’ee do ’ee shall drink two for that be Master’s will aye aye I be jus the old codger in corner now but I do remimbers I a-roarin atop o’ table aye throat all roopy from the singin an bellockin aye aye yaa thee dursn’t want to hear about Jempsy an the highway robber blokes now boy no aye us all feelin tip-top not out an out lush though no eh oh no eh well they lopped off they two fingers poor bugger for the rings see the gold bloody rings see now boy you on’t want to hear all that rigmarole agin aye aye that be the waggon all right us a-whoopin it home oh Heaven boy certain sure an sometimes they wheels groanin out of a field that brashy an thin I have seed they harrers a-blizzy off they tangs athurt it come harrerin time aye on’t thee fret about gettin wet boy it be drippin off brim o’ my
billy
cock like a dang waterfall sometimes I don’t minds it boy sees my hat we be callin it a billy cock sees my boots we be callin they boots aye atween the two be a belly an a willum one for shes to fill an t’other for to fill ’em hup haa hey up thee on’t be gettin too shram an frozed now boy thee’d best run athurt grass there crow’s way back or thy Mam’ll have my hide boy aye aye it be wettin us proper now boy you on’t be gettin too dang cold now eh oh TIME O’ DAY YOUNG FELLER AYE NOPE DON’T FRET THYSELF FOR US A LITTLE DAMP NEVER DID NARN NO HARM EH HAA AYE AYE GETTIN THE WAGGONS OUT AYE haa hmm hm old Steve Trevick’s littlest lad as we allus call Marlers for he couldn’t never say marbles only marlers dang I be a-dry a-talkin it be jus about shuttin-up time boy you shed run home now run home athurt the wet an I’ll be hoppettin ater thee boy shin up Ewe Drop along the scarp then down Chaaky Lane boy Bottom Bridge an home afore thy Mam’s dang luncheon-bell be dingin aye git dry aye hup tomorrer I be takin thee off to cunny hump as you fine folk knows as the Barrow Hill why cunny hump Mr Perry well I’ll larn thee on that little un some day boy I’ll larn thee on that un some day oh bloody buggerin hell Dinneford’s bloody Magnesia woman hup hup aye ’ee sees that bloody old sweet chestnut a-wrestlin wi’ the ivy in lee agin that daddacky lump o’ thatch as was old Aaron Flower’s home one while past afore he tumbled into his hearth aye narn heard him blare nor burn poor bugger finest blower o’ music round abouts on the old eldern pipe mind us’d walk that brow many a time wi’ a rip hook to fields an hear his chunes whiverin doleful over the coomb please God his son have a flock out Fawholt way now well that bloody tree yonder Master Dannul I have stood aneath that Cockle’s bloody Pills eh oh a-clapperin the birds off aye aye eh oh a-blubberin wi’ cold as a nip longer nor I wants to remimber only I casn’t disremimber when I sees owt nope bloody tree never spoke to I only scroop scroop like my dang rheumatics scroop scroop like a blasted gate hinge scroop scroop like mebbe it were sayin summat aye why Mr Perry well mebbe that rag-stabber tailor bogey as be lookin for a needle to cobble he together agin seein as he were claved into more bloody pieces nor be athin ourn peg-rug boy aye a-groanin for a needle see well Poor Pounds Pickle that patch be called where the corn allus have grawed fat on account on it suppin up his red juice accardin to my old gramver as had a heap
o’
tales boy yaa bloody embocation no bloody embocation oh I en’t heared nowt there but wind boy en’t feeled nowt but wind pokin in an out o’ my hide like it were wantin to sew my shroud out o’ myself aye en’t never blowed no remimberin off though so who was it then Mr Perry who slew him so cruelly who slashed him up aye well I remimbers old Widder Shail frowsty old fussock ud give I lardy cake an snigger old Becky aye well that’ll do that’ll do them wood pigeons allus tellin I to clap up that’ll do that’ll do till tomorrer boy us’ll top up that bloody rigmarole tomorrer now yea up don’t thee bide in the wet no longer Master Dannul nope nope maunt lope about wi’ this here cluttery weather an you lookin all peeky boy hup yea up bloody buggerin hell oh off wi’ thee back home dreckly minut boy yea up this here dreckly minut