Adam Thorpe - Ulverton

nope I reckons as the smacker on her face wore they hauntins out see never throwed nowt out all my born days see nope smack every one o’ my old coats an britches my missus have a-patched into ourn peg-rug boy aye better nor haaf my born days be aneath my heels afront hearth in peg-rug boy well firsest shirt as Buzly Tuck teared off of I one harvest too much booze wantin a picky-back or summat daft that big shirt be cobbled in somewhere there boy Gumbledons aye in Gumbledons old Buzly Tuck as couldn’t get a well aye us jus wantin our brencheese see dead beat aye yea up look master rabbin redbreast checkin up on us as we ben’t be doin no evil tic-tic nosy little chit look aye well hup brashy piece o’ sponge old Gumbledons yit that drat wheat were thick as ever agin the strike well thee’d have to skin thy shirt like a rabbet’s fleck off anights them reaper gingins have took that away howsomever them old timers ud maunder on about it aye look look buntin boy aye buntin hup aye them newfangled clackettin dos have took haaf o’ the muck an toil away though thee can’t sing no filthy chunes no more an so as the hart doth pant hard in the hunt for the brazen elf queen I do dream on her whoa see aye boy you wi’ all they stiff-arsed angels I’d better minds me now boy who comes here then hmm hmm TIME O’ DAY MISS hmmmmm hm Parkes’ daughter aye they gals don’t ride side-saddle now see gallopy gallopy gallop pleasurin for a gal see pommel knockin her thatch aneath hill jiggetty jiggetty jig aye Littler my cus Littler Moses acause his old Dad were Moses aready see jus there aneath that beech yonder laas o’ the bluebells yonder clanged by a spring-gun in ’25 aye bloody cobweb in here with they trippy wires trip bang worser to hang aye off acornin then scat for two day till one o’ they keepers brung a waggon out o’ Plum Farm Littler in the back aneath a rag sterk dead boy aye sterk bloody dead I remimbers thee’d shiver a bit at that Master Dannul an he were only a nip catched a pound o’ shot in his stumps well bled to a husk bettermost haaf the night they reckoned gawpin up on they starries jus yonder agin them there bluebells some on us weaved a cross out o’ straw now an agin an leaved it there if we was snarin anyways on’t never want to pass away like that boy wi’out narn else to hold thee aye to hold thee an only a nip

dang it bloody buggerin hell this life en’t bin no dish o’ tay jus about a sop in sour grease it be save thee be one o’ they Lordyshits whoa about now you comether an look through here boy you have a peep at palace from the arse-end mind thy soul on this here barb wire don’t want to get harled up like a bloody lamb a-fleckin thy sailor toggery off agin they tangs look there see them chaps a-brevettin about the bowlin green they be lookin for a tall blade o’ grass as have gone aground aye thee’d chuckle at that Master Dannul tall blade o’ grass as have gone aground oh we’d have some laafs boy thy Mam en’t never bin one for laafs now she be like Queen Vic boy like she have a gnawin aye everlastinly rustlin black black as the Squire’s cream knacker as us old Ulver folk do say now riddle the chaff out o’ that boy riddle the chaff out o’ that aye all I remimbers be a clink clink o’ pails an a scuttlin up scarp an a smell o’ burnin gurt glitterin eye aneath moon well haaf asleep I was an only a nip same as thee Master Dannul gettin upsides wi’ all they buggers aye you med have bin in there an played the toff afore but you en’t never seed it this arsy-versy ways about hast thee now look ’ee yonder awmost to village they silver birch they calls it the Wilderness boy acause it don’t have no grass an highty-tighty flowers like a damn carpit well it weren’t no bloody wilderness afore nope my gurt-gurt-gramver were born in there no hedge-bit neither nope took they a mornin my gramver telled I to slap they homes down to a plume o’ chaak dust an faggots jus for a bit o’ garden for they Lordyshits aye an my gramver had it from her own gramver’s mouth herself boy aye oh there be us an others here as on’t never disremimber that till Doomsday boy won’t never disremimber that till the clang o’ Doom aye plough an drill an mow atop the chaak aneath en’t stirred yaa that gurt lake I remimbers nowt but turf an sheep about she now look a man can’t walk straight wi’out doin a nancy boy about they flower beds cotched a swan afore now out o’ there splish splish gurt white wings all sooty wi’ our mitts blackened up see flit flit stick her in the gullet well that were a doins an a haaf leastways a stop to thy nips howlin wi’ hunger for a month yaa have to go to shop for arn dalled thing now here be to all his Lordyshit’s jack-rabbets as have biled the pot an kep I off from sturvin well they didn’t do nowt for my old Mam boy bag o’ bones wi’ her givin us young grubs all as she was hern then stone-cartin off Top Field they flints spreethin her mitts I can see they now boy a-strokin us when I were took wi’ the scarlet one time a-foldin theyselves an prayin aye I can see they now all welted an crook tallow flame jumpin up her shadder agin the beam an all that mumblin to God as en’t never gid us nowt but sour sops aye God shed bloody rest her soul boy if so be as He have one then eh kaaaa kaaaa kaaaa hear they rooks kaaaa kaaaa an haaf a stone o’ corn in ivery one o’ they nests old Long Togs Long Togs Whiteacre Ralphy Oadam Titchy Ketchaside old Plashy Pottinger as couldn’t say owt but plash bein as he didn’t hear nowt as a babby but plashin an plashin o’ mill-wheel see an my cus Churlet Griffin more a boy wi’out a willum nor a gal an Jonas shinnin the ellums out on Frum Down dinner o’ rooks corn fluff in cake-hole while they Chammers-Lavery folk well nigh blawed theyselves at dinner us folk chokin on rook-fluff an they eatin their bloody heads off no folk not even they niggers out Africa way never had to live as us done well one while past some blokes among us did get a mite obstroppelus about it clouted a few gingins all to smash like slitted the grain out like a chicken-throat aye tell me about the Trouble Mr Perry what Master Dannul says I the whole lot over agin oh yes Mr Perry it’s topping I think haa yaa thee were allus a bloody good sort boy aye well no better nor ten year I were yit I minds us they men comin out the courthouse like it were yeserday see well my Mam’s brother Giley Griffin hollerin don’t thee be worrited chit tis only fourteen year then Johnny Cap’n Oadam wavin at us hoi hoi tis danglin for me but it shattent hold gal old Shepherd Bunce’s lad as had his flock out Bursop way don’t blubber mother tis only life they on’t be makin away wi’ me an all them fellers come out as were ploughmen an reapers an hedgers an horsemen an shearers an shepherds as you don’t git the likes of now well ploughmen as could draw a furrer plum as that horsemen as maunt turn out a team wi’out a bloom as ud blind thee on they flanks aye blind thee on they flanks an my old Mam an Auntie Ruth screamin fit to bust an all on us yowlin knockin our heads an blubberin an the nips blubberin acause they seed their Mams blubberin an squawlin aye their boots didn’t never touch no Ulver turf no more nor didn’t never squelch up Little Hangy nor go poachin tip-toe in Bayleaze nor get thick nor clamput about the yard nor get thick wi’ crossin athurt Mwile Slad nor dusted on the maiden rudge ways handlin their tools o’ their occepashins no more nor git poorly in their arn beds an have a stone anigh their heads as nips med pick blooms for an all for nowt boy all for nowt recitin thee on this now boy athout thee don’t ezackerly recalls a-lookin on that there fine house an fine garden what they tot-bellies done to kip theyselves blawed galled us with they saddles till the blood come out aye blood come out aye gid us a leg up onto the old cross good an proper boy aye banged they nails in like they were ruttin they highty-tighty wives aye yea up hup best foot forrud Master Dannul lest thee leave a fleck o’ thy soul on their drat tangs on’t never be a toff now thee on’t nope no them buggers on’t cotch thee now boy four an twenty Ulver men ne’er hollered in the coomb though morn was come an sun were up twere silent as the tomb aye so climb the hill hi-ho come climb the hill hi-ho we’ll gie the lads a milk-white steed that they med gallop home an so forth worth a pot o’ bunk an a bit o’ twist in the ale-house that patch o’ singin as shed be ater you be that dry a-roarin it nope on’t never cotch thee an turn thee to a toff now boy thee be old Hoppetty’s own now boy old Hoppetty’s own as med larn thee all to hisself dang the lot on ’em