and GAMMON RASHER and CATCHING STONES and RACE FOR A LEAF and CARRIAGES and ALL SORTS and PULLING UP FATHER’S RHUBARB and HAYSTACK and KING’S DINNER and MOUSE IN THE TRAP and PUNCTURED TYRE and COBBLER and DRUMS and FOOT AND LEE and FINGER IN THE BIRD’S NEST and BABBLE and OVER GARDEN WALL and THREE AND ON and HOW FAR CAN YOU RUN and BUNG THE BARREL and PICKING THE BLOATER and SIFT THE GRAPES and HOT ROLLS and WARNIE I’M A COMING—and that’s just a few of them.
Warnie has to be played against a wall, and this is what they say to it:
Hi Jimmy Nacko, one, two, three—Obobé,
Obobé-all-y-over!
Warnie, I suppose, means “I warn ye”, because they say it just before they jump. But I can’t even make a guess at Obobé—wish I could. It’s quite possible that it never meant anything at all, to begin with. The boys sometimes call it High Bobbery—it’s a way they have, of working the old names round into a sort of sense, when they’ve forgotten their real meaning. I must write and ask Aunt Eliza; she knows everything (thinks she does). As to Jimmy Nacko—they sometimes call it Jimmy Wagtail, but one of the lads tells me it means “Neck, ho!” which only shows how they like twisting the names about. (That’s why they now say shuttlecock instead of shuttlecork, because they forget it’s played with a cork). What I think about Jimmy Nacko is this: judging by his name, he was just an old shonk[E] of some kind....
And now I must tell you about RELEASE. There is one game of this kind played by small children, and not worth talking about. But the real RELEASE (or ROBBERS AND COPPERS) is quite another thing altogether. In release you take sides and catch prisoners; you have to touch their heads and “crown” them; that’s what makes them prisoners. And that’s what makes them so wild—because the other chaps can’t always release them; and that’s why the old people bar the game—because you always get your clothes torn; and that’s why it’s also called BEDLAM—because there are so many rows while it’s going on. You see, they don’t like being made prisoners and being “crowned” and having their heads touched—not at all, at all. Just mad, it makes them.
“D’ye want a claht over the jor?” says one. “’Cos yer never did touch me ’ead, so there.”
“Ole Ikey see’d me doos it.”
“Liar. ’Cos ’e wos t’ovver side o’ the street.”
“’E never. Yer wos on the grahnd when I crahned yer napper.”