My Halifax-born mother, 89 with all
faculties and iPad intact, found this on the internet, JP Hartley’s Yorkshire
dialect greatest hits. She said I wouldn’t understand a word but it all seems
clear enough to me. For example:
As aw hurried throo th’ taan to mi wark,
(Aw wur lat, for all th’ whistles had gooan,)
Aw happen’d to hear a remark,
‘At ud fotch tears throo th’ heart ov a stooan—
It wur raanin, an’ snawin, and cowd,
An’ th’ flagstoans wur covered wi’ muck,
An’ th’ east wind booath whistled an’ howl’d,
It saanded like nowt but ill luck;
When two little lads, donn’d i’ rags,
Baght stockins or shoes o’ ther feet,
Coom trapesin away ower th’ flags,
Booath on ‘em sodden’d wi th’ weet.—
Th’ owdest mud happen be ten,
Th’ young en be hauf on’t,—noa moor;
As aw luk’d on, aw sed to misen,
Next time I have lunch with Peter Bland I will ask him to read this aloud.God help fowk this weather ‘at’s poor!
Fun fact (I have made up but is possibly
true): New Zealand has more name writers born in Yorkshire than from anywhere
else in the UK: Peter Bland, Chris Else, Russell Haley, Craig Harrison, Philip
Temple, Paul Thomas. Let’s not restart the War of the Roses but can Lancashire
say as much? Looking at you, Dorset, Cornwall, East Anglia.
So here is “On Ilkley Moor baht ’at” sung at
Ilkley, West Yorkshire, on Yorkshire Day, 1 August 2010:
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