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John Hartley (poet)
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 64 pages of information about Yorkshire Ditties, First Series.
like milk sops.  “What do yo call all thease things at’s swimmin’ abaat?” aw says.  “O, that’s yeast, young man; it’s a varry gooid thing for ther inside; aw’d a doctor once call’d for a bottle, an’ he wodn’t let me tak a bit aat:  it does fowk gooid.”  “Well but wodn’t he let yo tak some o’ theas pieces o’ cork aat?” aw axed.  “Net a bit! for he said they acted tother rooad, an’ it wor th’ best to sup th’ lot.”  “Do yo sell a gooid deal o’ this, maister?” “A’a bless yo! aw do that.  Ther wor a real lady coom here o’ Sunday afternooin, an’ shoo supp’d seven bottles, an’ shoo said shoo’d ha supped seventeen but her stumack wor varry kittle, an’ shoo wor feear’d e’ upsettin it.”  “An’ wor ther as mich yeast in ’em as ther is i’ this?” aw said.  “E’ea! an’ moor i’ some.”  “Why, then,” aw said, “aw should think shoo’d rise early i’th mornin’.”  “Ther’s nowt noa better for gooin’ to bed on, nor for gettin’ up on, nor that pop.”  Just then somdy coom in for a hawporth o’ mustard, an’ woll he turn’d raand aw emptied it daan th’ sink, paid mi penny, an’ hook’d it.  Soa mich for Briggus, aw thowt.  Aw’ve oft heeard it spokken on as a risin’ place, an noa wonder if they swallow yeast at that rate.  But aw dooant see what all this has to do wi’ haymakkin’, soa aw’ll rake up noa moar sich like things, for fear yo pitch into me.

Holinworth Lake

Th’ mooast remarkable thing ‘at aw’ con recollect abaat this time last year, wor a trip to Hollinworth Lake.  Ther’d been a collection made at the Longloin Sunday Schooil for a new gas meeter; an after they’d getten th’ brass, they bethought ’em ‘at th’ old en could be made do, an’ soa th’ taichers agreed to have a trip wi’ th’ funds.  They argued a gooid deeal abaat ha to spend it, an’ at last it wor decided they should walk all th’ rooad, an’ spend it as they went on.  They started aat at four o’clock one Setterday mornin’ i’ furst rate fettle.  Ther wor six men an’ seven women; but as th’ superintendent wor as big as two, they considered thersen weel paired.  They trudged nicely on till they gate to Bolton Brow, an’ then two or three began to feel faint, an’ Swallow (that’s th’ superintendent’s name) propooased ’at they should have a drop o’ drink to revive ’em.  Noabdy had owt to say agean that, soa as th’ public haase wor just oppened, one on ’em went in an’ browt aat a quart pitcher full an’ handed it to Swallow to sup th’ furst.  An’ he did sup—­for when he left lause ther wor nowt left but th’ froth on his upper lip to tell at ther’d iver bin ony.  “Well” said Lijah, “aw’ve heeared swallows called burds of passage, but if they’d all a passage like thee, they’d sup th’ sea dry.”  “Tha sees, Lijah,” he said, “awm unfortunate, for aw’ve a thirst on me ’at aw cannot quench, an’ aw darn’t sup watter for fear o’ havin’ th’ dropsy.”  All th’ women agreed’ at he wor reight, an’ soa after another quart amang em they went on.

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