Howld yew hard, bor!

[JennyMorgan]

http://www.edp24.co.uk/news/academics_at_odds_over_arthur_ransome_s_masterpiece_of_norfolk_dialect_1_4367944

No doubt that our proper way of talking, both dialect and accent, are fast nearing extinction. We can't have it both ways, back in the 1960's and & 70's, when local people sold their houses they generally insisted that the estate agents advertised in London & Essex. Now you are as likely to hear an Essex whine as you are a local mumble on the streets of Norfolk. My granny 'spook purr dileck', I very much doubt that if she were alive today that her great great grandchildren would understand her! 

[BroadScot]

In the next few weeks up here and across the globe my dialect will be heard at Burns Suppers. There are speakers booked years in advance so they can listen to the words of Robert Burns in an Ayrshire dialect. 

Brave folks they are, as broad Ayrshire even I, as a "Honest Man" townie can struggle when one worked out in the farms.

Where I live now, we are receiving many interloppers from Glasgow and such places!

Iain

[Arthur]

Soon be out chasing your haggis then Iain

 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! 
Aboon them a' yet tak your place, 
Painch, tripe, or thairm: 
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace 
As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin was help to mend a mill 
In time o'need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 
Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright, 
Like ony ditch; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 
Warm-reekin', rich! 

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: 
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 
Are bent like drums; 
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 
Bethankit! hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad make her spew 
Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 
On sic a dinner? 

Poor devil! see him owre his trash, 
As feckles as wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash; 
His nieve a nit; 
Thro' blody flood or field to dash, 
O how unfit! 

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 
He'll mak it whissle; 
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned, 
Like taps o' trissle. 

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 
That jaups in luggies; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer 
Gie her a haggis!

[BroadScot]

The beastie is awe confused wi awe this mild weather Arthur. Saw wan the ither day wi a swimsuit on down Ayr beach!!

Iain

[Arthur]

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

[BroadScot]

41 minutes ago, Arthur said:

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

Och the beasties epitaph Arthur

Iain

[Wonderwall]

O wad some power the giftie gie us 

to see ourself as others see us.

 

 

 

never a truer word written.

[Brian J.]

Dinna tak frit lad, dinna tak frit, tis ony a hieland coo.

[ChrisB]

I was told only this week that a lady from our village had moved to " Poorarm"  it took quite a bit for the penny to drop. : Potter Heigham.

[BroadScot]

Awe this new website Skipper, and nae subtitles fur oor Gracie!

Iain.