Yorkshire Ditties, First Series eBook

John Hartley (poet)
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 64 pages of information about Yorkshire Ditties, First Series.
due, and by that means wronging the public.”  Mr. Christopher Delphian moved as an amendment, “that they should dispose of their consciences, that being a readier way of getting over the difficulty.”  The chairman put the amendment which was carried, and the consciences were sold in one lot, for 7 3/4 d., which was carried to the fund for the entertainment of Mr. Calcraft, the president, whenever he should visit the district on a professional tour.

New Year’s Parties

Its net oft at aw have mich to do wi’ parties.  Th’ fact is aw’m wed, an’ young fowk dooant want me, becoss they say aw’ve made my markets, an’ wed fowk dooant oft ax me becoss aw suppose aw dooant oft ax them.  But this month last year aw did get a invite to a doo, an’ aw went.  Aw’st net forget in a hurry what a fidget my owd woman gate into.  Shoo brushed me daan aboon a duzzen times, an’ turned me raand like a rooastin jack to see ha aw luk’d, woll aw wor as mazy as a wheel heead, an’ th’ childer luk’d up i’ my face two or three times afoor they could believe it wor me.  Aw heeard awr Abram telling Betty ’at “he believed his fayther wor gooin to get kursen’d or summat.”  “Ho eeah! why what are they baan to call him?” shoo says.  “Nay, aw dooant know, but my mother’s been callin’ him ‘gaumless,’ happen that’s it.”

Gaumless enuff aw thowt, an’ after rubbin’ my hat raand wi’ a weet sponge (woll th’ wife declared it wor as hansum as a Japan tea caddy), aw set off.  Aw seized howd o’th’ nob when aw gate to th’ door, an’ aw gave a gooid pawse, same as aw do at hooam, A fine young gentleman oppen’d it, an’ after starin’ at me for two or three minits, he said, “Walk in, sur.”  Aw doff’d my hat an’ did soa; an’ he! what a smell!  “By gow, lad,” aw said, “its enuff to mak my maath watter is this, ther’s nowt awm fonder on nor onions, an’ aw con smell ther’s some cookin’—­they’ll be frying some liver, aw dar say.  Are ta th’ maister’s lad?” aw axed.  “Noa, sur,” he said; “a’wm th’ waiter.”  “Why tha needn’t wait o’ me,” aw said, “aw’ll luk after mysel.”  “Come this way, sur.” he said, “aw’ll introduce yo’.  What name shall aw say, sur?” “Does ta think aw am not known?” aw says; “nah aw’ll tell thi what it is:  if tha keeps diddlin after me like tha has done sin’ aw come in, as if tha thowt aw wanted to stail summat, awst just twist thi neck raand.”  Th’ maister heeard me tawkin, an’ coom to shake hands wi’ me, smilin’ all ovver his face delightedly.  He hook’d his arm i’ mine, an’ walked me into a grand raam full o’ ladies an’ waiters (aw made ’em aat to be waiters coss they wor dressed like him ‘at stood at th’ door.) “This is my old friend, the Almenack maker,” he said, an’ they all gate up an’ sat daan agean.  When aw luk’d raand aw thowt, “Aw’m in for it this time,” for aw could mak it aat to be nowt but a meetin’ to kursen a lot o’ childer’, an’ varry likely they wanted me to stand godfayther for ’em.  Aw saw

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Yorkshire Ditties, First Series from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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