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  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

  a bit o’ hush now Jonas hup aye hup pit-a-pat over they leaves first light o’ mornin starch-stiff boy poachin thi
s were allus my patch don’t fret too bloody old for it now that Ebby Wall yaa knows he backerds never no keeper at this time o’ aternoon never changed his beat one step old Ebby Wall Swilly Copse Bayleaze Will’s Field Longcroft Clean an Hansome Draggle Ley Six Mild Clump Grigg’s Breach Wood back up Dolman’s Lane by ten in the mornin bang on as a sun-dial boy his lad do High Ridge Wood he do love a scrap aye best not scrunch about wi’ he jus wait for peep o’ day that numbed an quiet you feels like couch-grass more’n the image o’ God when that damn bunny comes athurt an thee med let fly boy leastways thee don’t make no scrunch now Master Dannul thee’d make the toppermost poacher now boy aye reckons you goes plum through they tree-trunks like they be pillars o’ mist jus like old Shepherd Willum deep athin this green aye lookin for his lost lamb haaf ram haaf man tuppin wi’ a witch one while see tuppin wi’ a ewe see what is tuppin Mr Perry aye well what thy Mam an Dad done to get thee together boy leastways I reckons fine folk do it same as we aye well reckons as old Shepherd Willum were jus short of hole aye weren’t no witch boy shepherds git poke-starved out on they old downs casn’t damn they for it aye don’t know as they be arn big folk in Heaven anyways save nips like thee why is this Will’s Field Mr Perry it’s a jolly thick wood well didn’t used to be no copse here jus a scarp bare as thy knuckles save the grass an sheep till one o’ they Lordyshits wants to bang away wi’ his highty-tighty mates atween trees an sets to a-plantin yit old Shepherd Willum sees nowt but turf and sky look nowt but turf an sky aye rain rain pit-a-pat agin the beechen leaves boy I seed it were gettin all cluttery now thee maunt fret boy thy Mam do make a splut about thee gettin wet didn’t never do us no harm oh she did yang about thy constitushun like as if thee en’t no more nor a leaf in the wind boy blowed about like that teeny leaf in the wind there now reckons as she thinks as I got thee dowsed laas time deliberate like aye jus afore thee goed off to that scholard shop save she can’t rightly say to my head jus gives I the look from the drawin-room winder all creamy-faced an still like aye when I be doin her lawn well us allus reckoned she had coddled thee a deal too much Master Dannul an that old Eton shop jus broke thee a-two nowt to do wi’ that laas stroll nope thee runned athurt field in the storm laafin like old King George boy like thee en’t never runned wi’ the rain a-blowed agin thy face afore tip-top that be in the warm aye coddlin en’t never done a soul no good boy en’t never done a soul no good my Dad laced I summat terble never did narn no harm Master Dannul a-whackin nips to larn ’em right a bit o’ strap aye my Dad didn’t never fiddle us though like some on ’em though oh no he didn’t never filthy us nips no he never done that nope jus a dustin o’ the jacket like

  well now hup yea up straight athurt ride here aye towart that edge hup hup aye thy Mam on’t abide I now I knows it that en’t Christern boy please God on’t be doin wi’out that bit o’ gardenin like it do kip the wolf from off of our door I says to my missus it do kip the wolf from off of our door hey up best foot forrud Master Dannul aye no dish o’ bloody tay eh you make sure he’s back at home by luncheon now please Mr Perry well that dang storm didn’t haaf dowsh us good an proper boy oh dost remimber that whoa ho we didn’t haaf cotch it athurt Louzy not a bloody tree about like a pair o’ drownded rats boy don’t thee fret I’ll tell thy Mam as I have spent haaf my born days a-squelchin about an not a stick for no dern fire in the bad old days boy in from the field wi’out a blink in the hearth boy aye that shrammed an dog-tired thee’d go straight to bed all sogged an nowt but a sobblin o’ crust in thy belly boy nips yowlin wi’ hunger as thee’d have to snoozle down agin to git warmth they plough lines dancin about in thy head as though thee weren’t nowt but a talkin acre o’ clag wi’ the gripes a-stirred an a-stirred by they drat bitin coulters as ud wake thee click out o’ thy dreams an weren’t no more’n belly yangin at thee to git poachin like git poachin y’bugger aye nice bangin lot o’ wind an a bit o’ moon see waitin by the net thee’d stitched in an out out an in in an out a-dreamin on all they fat rabbets as ud shake it dodgin that keeper bang bang bang hup well a decent dog were more nor a haaf on it blowed his brains out they did blowed his brains out old Ketch afront of I well fuck they buggers an fuck the lot on ’em worsest thing they did to I they Lordyshit’s blokes an teared my old net up to tatters well aye that ruffled I summat yit had to kip smug like weren’t never pulled up boy weren’t never cotched in the act like bless my soul hup yea up whoa soft out o’ the trees boy don’t want narn spottin us bright agin the dark now soft into Ewe Drop whoa about hooit whoa

  narn abouts Master Dannul aye fetch our breath a bit agin this here stump here haaaa that river down there ben’t be no more nor a trickle out here now dry see dry aye oh thy Mam yanged at I she did dost thee remimber didn’t take more nor a jiff for I to knuckle under her like she capped I proper an you all biverin like I be awful sorry Mrs Holland it come clap on us Mrs Holland he’ll be all right Mrs Holland jus a lick o’ rain an jabberin on like a dicky-bird till the door were shut on I knockin off my hat as rolled athurt the lawn like thy bloody hoop boy now her face through the winder like the face o’ death lookin on I gardenin aye a face as I had a hankerin for one while past a-bogglin at I like the creamy face o’ doom jus like they say old Agnes Plumm looks out o’ that cow-house where she dandled herself up there yonder jus about sees the roofs atop Ewe Drop aye they old timers as were in there ater the Trouble clapped up in chains like a bloody herd o’ cows as I have telled thee afore now Master Dannul they old timers says as she did come old Agnes athurt the cow muck tiddy as quaker-grass to gie ’em comfort strokin they brows in the middest night an layin they worrited heads in her lap as weren’t death-cold no ways aye all on ’em as come back to their homes they sweared as that were true an old Tom Ketchaside as weren’t spared nowt though he were past eighty then boy well he sended us a letter from that Australy Demon’s Land as readed as he knowed God’s truth as Agnes was raaly there a-treatin they poor buggers like they were her own childern an she looked ezackerly like a angel med look like accardin to him God rest he an my gurt-uncle as was took out wi’ old Tom God rest ’em all oh Mr Perry they were felons an vagabonds aye boy aye you kip t’other side o’ hedge boy on’t be splotched by passin finery there boy oh Mr Perry my mother says you should never spit in public well hawkin boy hawkin out all the hate in us afore it burn I up look don’t tell I as fine genneman don’t hawk I’ve feeled it chit afore the toll-house once stone-pickin anigh the highway up by Malt Shovel crossroads show-off type o’ scarlet coach spanks past wi’ a young gent on the far end of a glove as have a hackin cough an the winder bein ope out flies this gob as spluts athurt my cheek bright as what you fine folk calls a poppy well don’t reckons as he had long to go poor chap yit nowt more to they than summat to hawk on us weren’t yaa a thousand acre o’ maiden downs won’t bolt my hate boy though it burn I up in hell’s fire as they tries to frit thee with them oh oh old Jemps Cullurne be a-comin up the path another queer un boy lie low a tic lie low hmm hmm TIME O’ DAY JEMPSY AYE AYE MIDDLIN WEATHER AYE hmmmm hm allus down in the mouth old Jemps Cullurne on account o’ tilthin wi’ a missus as be mawkier nor a dung can boy aye hmmmm she have had a babby boy jus now as be chursened Percy Percy well first an laas time a Percy in Ulver I spect yit old Martha Cullurne have allus bin a bit posterin like newfangled ways aye oh old Jempsy rippin wheat one harvest one while back year o’ ’59 same year as I got hitched up wi’ all that marriage lark see aye out Bursop way Bobs Slad wi’ the gang anigh the turnpike end when old Jemps he do squeal like a pig an keck up all his brencheese onto the greensard blaaa well why Mr Perry oh thee’ve heard this norration a good few times afore boy oh I like the fingers pan Mr Perry yaa well we scambles through the crop up to Jempsy’s line an lo behold a stink an a heap o’ flies an when they flies rised off a human face aneath aye jus about stripped o’ meat an cut some more abouts an lo behold oh Master Dannul you on’t want to be hearin this one agin look Brimstone boy you cotch that little feller an tickle thy mitts wi’ the wings oh please Mr Perry go on the
re’s a fellow Mr Perry eh yaa well lo behold that poor bugger were a-layin in the corn like he were slumberin ater booze wi’ one mitt aspraal as have two fingers a-missin clean off it an a pair o’ brass specs wi’ no eyeballs aneath fancy silk coat sterch collar an whatnot see a genneman see well us knowed what it were straight off look though they flies an maggots were in a proper old fizzle a-cleanin he up well at that time there were highway robbers on the big roads athurt downs as ud pop folk on the head an chuck ’em over hedge into corn come summer time so as nam en’t findin they till hoi look look down there boy waggon in the river they be tightenin an cleanin her up for the hay load tomorrer I reckons they be cuttin the hay tomorrer aye start o’ harvest well Heaven for I boy Heaven be no more for I nor the rattlin o’ laas load o’ corn home ridin atop that waggon boy well look now lark o’ massy if that en’t the same bloody waggon out o’ Barr’s as I remimbers thretty year ago see they letters I medn’t read boy yit I knows they letters EDWARD M. BARR ULVERTON clear as daylight EDWARD M. BARR ULVERTON though it en’t ezackerly right that first name may hap as his son have put his own in what be his bloody name I casn’t remimber nowt o’ the new names Ernest aye Ernest med be he have took out that Edward bit aye made they buggers like their lives were ridin in ’em look look a-splashin into that water aye that have carted I out the field afore now then bless my heart an soul we do sops our head in ale boy e’en the most close damper of a bloke do get cocked an chirpy never filth an shamin mind never filth an shamin oh no laas shock o’ corn throwed up onto that rick well that be another year stitched up see that be another year stitched up an med be as the next year do be aready threddlin its bloody needle but you don’t think on that come Harvest Home night nope thee have to souse thy thoughts in ale or thee be too dog-tired to get rollicky at all so drink boys drink an see as ’ee do not spill hup for if ’ee do ’ee shall drink two for that be Master’s will aye aye I be jus the old codger in corner now but I do remimbers I a-roarin atop o’ table aye throat all roopy from the singin an bellockin aye aye yaa thee dursn’t want to hear about Jempsy an the highway robber blokes now boy no aye us all feelin tip-top not out an out lush though no eh oh no eh well they lopped off they two fingers poor bugger for the rings see the gold bloody rings see now boy you on’t want to hear all that rigmarole agin aye aye that be the waggon all right us a-whoopin it home oh Heaven boy certain sure an sometimes they wheels groanin out of a field that brashy an thin I have seed they harrers a-blizzy off they tangs athurt it come harrerin time aye on’t thee fret about gettin wet boy it be drippin off brim o’ my billy cock like a dang waterfall sometimes I don’t minds it boy sees my hat we be callin it a billy cock sees my boots we be callin they boots aye atween the two be a belly an a willum one for shes to fill an t’other for to fill ’em hup haa hey up thee on’t be gettin too shram an frozed now boy thee’d best run athurt grass there crow’s way back or thy Mam’ll have my hide boy aye aye it be wettin us proper now boy you on’t be gettin too dang cold now eh oh TIME O’ DAY YOUNG FELLER AYE NOPE DON’T FRET THYSELF FOR US A LITTLE DAMP NEVER DID NARN NO HARM EH HAA AYE AYE GETTIN THE WAGGONS OUT AYE haa hmm hm old Steve Trevick’s littlest lad as we allus call Marlers for he couldn’t never say marbles only marlers dang I be a-dry a-talkin it be jus about shuttin-up time boy you shed run home now run home athurt the wet an I’ll be hoppettin ater thee boy shin up Ewe Drop along the scarp then down Chaaky Lane boy Bottom Bridge an home afore thy Mam’s dang luncheon-bell be dingin aye git dry aye hup tomorrer I be takin thee off to cunny hump as you fine folk knows as the Barrow Hill why cunny hump Mr Perry well I’ll larn thee on that little un some day boy I’ll larn thee on that un some day oh bloody buggerin hell Dinneford’s bloody Magnesia woman hup hup aye ’ee sees that bloody old sweet chestnut a-wrestlin wi’ the ivy in lee agin that daddacky lump o’ thatch as was old Aaron Flower’s home one while past afore he tumbled into his hearth aye narn heard him blare nor burn poor bugger finest blower o’ music round abouts on the old eldern pipe mind us’d walk that brow many a time wi’ a rip hook to fields an hear his chunes whiverin doleful over the coomb please God his son have a flock out Fawholt way now well that bloody tree yonder Master Dannul I have stood aneath that Cockle’s bloody Pills eh oh a-clapperin the birds off aye aye eh oh a-blubberin wi’ cold as a nip longer nor I wants to remimber only I casn’t disremimber when I sees owt nope bloody tree never spoke to I only scroop scroop like my dang rheumatics scroop scroop like a blasted gate hinge scroop scroop like mebbe it were sayin summat aye why Mr Perry well mebbe that rag-stabber tailor bogey as be lookin for a needle to cobble he together agin seein as he were claved into more bloody pieces nor be athin ourn peg-rug boy aye a-groanin for a needle see well Poor Pounds Pickle that patch be called where the corn allus have grawed fat on account on it suppin up his red juice accardin to my old gramver as had a heap o’ tales boy yaa bloody embocation no bloody embocation oh I en’t heared nowt there but wind boy en’t feeled nowt but wind pokin in an out o’ my hide like it were wantin to sew my shroud out o’ myself aye en’t never blowed no remimberin off though so who was it then Mr Perry who slew him so cruelly who slashed him up aye well I remimbers old Widder Shail frowsty old fussock ud give I lardy cake an snigger old Becky aye well that’ll do that’ll do them wood pigeons allus tellin I to clap up that’ll do that’ll do till tomorrer boy us’ll top up that bloody rigmarole tomorrer now yea up don’t thee bide in the wet no longer Master Dannul nope nope maunt lope about wi’ this here cluttery weather an you lookin all peeky boy hup yea up bloody buggerin hell oh off wi’ thee back home dreckly minut boy yea up this here dreckly minut