The incessant use of “do” and “did,” and the changing of o’s into a’s are two great characteristics of the Gloucestershire talk.  Being anxious to be initiated into the mysteries of the dialect, I buttonholed a labouring friend of mine the other day, and asked him to try to teach it to me.  He is a great exponent of the language of the country, and, like a good many others of his type, he is as well satisfied with his pronunciation as he is with his other accomplishments.  The fact is that

     “His favourite sin
      Is pride that apes humility.”

It is your grammar, not his, which is at fault.  In the following verses will be found the gist of what he told me:—­

     “If thee true ‘Glarcestershire’ would know,
      I’ll tell thee how us always zays un;
      Put ‘I’ for ‘me,’ and ‘a’ for ‘o’. 
      On every possible occasion.

      When in doubt squeeze in a ’w’—­
      ‘Stwuns,’ not ‘stones.’  And don’t forget, zur,
      That ‘thee’ must stand for ‘thou’ and ‘you’;
      ‘Her’ for ‘she,’ and vice versa.

      Put ‘v’ for ‘f’; for ‘s’ put ‘z’;
      ‘Th’ and ‘t’ we change to ’d,’—­
      So dry an’ kip this in thine yead,
      An’ thou wills’t talk as plain as we.”

The student in the language of the Cotswolds should study a very ancient song entitled “George Ridler’s Oven.”  Strange to say, there is little or nothing in it about the oven, but a good deal of the old Gloucestershire talk may be gleaned from it.  It begins like this: 

      GEORGE RIDLER’S OVEN.

      A RIGHT FAMOUS OLD GLOUCESTERSHIRE BALLAD.

     “The stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns,
      The stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns, the stwuns.”

This is sung like the prelude to a grand orchestral performance.  Beginning somewhat softly, Hodge fires away with a gravity and emotion which do him infinite credit, each succeeding repetition of the word “stwuns” being rendered with ever-increasing pathos and emphasis, until, like the final burst of an orchestral prelude, with drums, trumpets, fiddles, etc, all going at the same time, are at length ushered in the opening lines of the ballad.

     “The stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler’s oven,
      And thauy qeum from the Bleakeney’s Quaar;
      And Gaarge he wur a jolly ould mon,
      And his yead it graw’d above his yare.

     “One thing of Gaarge Ridler’s I must commend. 
      And that wur vor a notable theng;
      He mead his braags avoore he died,
      Wi’ any dree brothers his zons zshou’d zeng.

     “There’s Dick the treble and John the mean
      (Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace);
      And Gaarge he wur the elder brother,
      And therevoore he would zing the beass.

     “Mine hostess’s moid (and her neaum ’twur Nell)
      A pretty wench, and I lov’d her well;
      I lov’d her well—­good reauzon why,
      Because zshe lov’d my dog and I.