‘Tha’ll ’ev a gran view, onny road.’
‘Thoo dizn’t meean ti saay, John, ’at thoo’d leyke ti gan, diz ta?’
‘Whya, mebbe Ah wad! sha’s a neycish leeaking lass.’
‘Whya, then, Ah’ll tell tha what, if ivver Ah catch thee gahin’ inti t’ cloods, dengling belaw a b’loon iv a bee-skep wiv a straange lass, thoo’d better stop up wiv her altigither, foor thoo’ll ’a’e larl peace if thoo ivver darr’s ti cum doon agaan. Beear i’ mahnd, noo, when thoo leeaves ma for t’ cloods, it’ll ’a’e ti be ez an angel, or thoo’ll rue ’t.’
Mrs. Waddleton travels by train for the first time to see her daughter, residing at Whitby, to whom she gives a full description of her journey.
Whya, noo, Ah’ll tell tha all aboot it reet away fra t’ starting. Thoo knaws Ah went ti what they call t’ station, an’ Ah seed a young chap stannin’ at t’ back ov a thing leyke a ratten trap, an’ Ah sez tiv him, ‘Noo, then, what’s thoo been efter ti git thisen stuckken theer foor?’ An’ he sez, ‘Naay, nowt; Ah’s nobbut here ti sell t’ tickets, that’s all.’ ‘Oh, whya,’ sez Ah, ‘if that’s all, let’s be ’evving ho’d o’ yan.’ An’ he sez ti me, ‘All reet, wheear are ya gahin’?’ ‘Stop a bit,’ sez Ah; ’that’s neea business o’ thahn.’ ‘Whya,’ sez he, ‘Ah caan’t gi’e ya a ticket if ya deean’t tell uz wheear ya gahin’ tul.’ ‘Well,’ sez Ah, ‘Ah s’all deea nowt o’ t’ sort; an’ if Ah’ve onny mair o’ thi impidence, Ah’ll tak tha byv t’ hair o’ thi heead an’ Ah’ll pull tha thruff t’ larl hoal—that’s what Ah’ll deea.’ An’ then a young lady cam up, an’ sha sez, ‘If Ah war yow, Ah’d tell t’ young chap wheear ya’re gahin’ tul, an’ it’ll mense things up a bit, an’ ya’ll git yer ticket an’ git awaay neycely.’ ‘All reet,’ sez Ah. ‘Noo, then, cu’ thi waays back, impidence; Ah’s gahin’ ti Whidby ti see my dowter. Sha lives on t’ cliff, an’ sha’s gitten a pianner, an’ bowt a pig, an’—— ’ ‘Naay, what!’ sez he; ‘Ah deean’t want ti knaw all t’ family history, hooivver.’ ‘Well,’ sez Ah, ’thoo seeam’d that ’quisitive aboot it, ’at Ah thowt Ah’d best tell tha t’ lot whahl Ah war at it.’ ‘Whya, noo then,’ sez he, ’theear’s yer ticket, an’ it’s yan an’ fow’pence.’ ‘Whya,’ sez Ah, ’thoo needn’t be seea chuff aboot it; theer’s thi yan an’ fow’pence.’ ‘That’s reet,’ sez he; ‘an’ ya mun tak care on ’t.’ ‘Thoo gert dunder-nowle!’ sez Ah; ‘Ah’s nut gahin’ ti fling ’t awaay when Ah git ootsahd. Ah s’all tak care on ’t ti t’ end o’ mah daays.’ ‘Naay,’ sez he, ‘bud ya weean’t.’ ‘What foor?’ sez Ah. ‘‘Coz theer’s a chap ’at t’ tother end ’ll want it.’ ‘Oh, is theer?’ sez Ah; ‘whya, then, he weean’t git it.’ ‘He’ll tak it fra ya,’ sez he. ‘Nut if he’s leyke what thoo is,’ sez Ah, ‘or hauf a dozen on ’em.’ An’ then Ah went ootsahd, on ti what tha call t’ platform. ‘Noo, then,’ sez Ah, ‘is this t’ traan thing?’ An’ a porter chap sez, ‘Aye, that’s it.’ ‘Oh! an’ wheer’s t’ hoss?’ sez Ah. ‘What hoss?’ sez he. ‘Whya, t’ hoss ’at’s gahin’ ti drag t’ thing ti Whidby?’ ‘Bud,’ sez he, ‘it dizn’t gan wiv a hoss.’ ‘Then what diz it gan wiv?’ sez Ah. ‘Whya, that thing ’at’s at t’ front end on ’t.’ ‘Hoo can a thing leyke yon knaw t’ road ti Whidby? Ger away wi’ tha.’ ‘Oh,’ sez he, ‘ya’re gahin’ ti Whidby, are ya?’ ‘Ah is,’ sez Ah; an’ wi’ that he gat at t’ back o’ mah, an’ afore Ah knew wheer Ah war, Ah war hauf lifted an’ hauf thrussen inti ti carridge. An’ ther war nowt bud a young chap sitting up i’ t’ far corner; an’ Ah sez tiv him, ‘Ah, saay, ’ev yow ivver been iv a train afoor?’ ‘Aye, monny a tahm,’ sez he. ‘Is this all reet?’ sez Ah. ‘Aye, it’s reet eneeaf,’ sez he. An’ seea Ah sat ma doon. Ah thowt it ’ud be seea neyce ti leeak oot o’ t’ winder an’ see Tom Robison’s coddy fooals an’ John Williams’s pigs, bud it’s ez trew ez Ah’s sitting byv thi fire-sahd, t’ fo’st thing ’at Ah seed war a chetch run reet across a field, an’ t’ next minit ther war tweea coos, three pigs, a man, an’ a haystack flew past that quick, whahl ya c’u’dn’t keep yer e’es on ’em at all, an’ then ivverything went ez pick dark ez neet. ‘Noo, then,’ Ah shooted, ‘what’s up noo?’ ‘Naay, nowt,’ sez he; ‘wa’ve nobbut gane insahd ov a funnel, that’s all.’ ‘Insahd ov a funnel!’ sez Ah; ’then s’all wa be dragged oot o’ t’ narrer end on ’t?’ ‘Noo, it’s all reet,’ sez he. ‘Ah deean’t knaw sae mich aboot its being all reet,’ sez Ah. ‘Ah’ve neea reet ti be locked up i’ t’ dark wiv a young chap ’at Ah’ve nivver seen afoor.’ ‘Whya, noo, sit ya still,’ sez he; ‘Ah isn’t gahin’ ti mell on ya.’ ‘Thoo’d better nut,’ sez Ah, ‘or else tho’ll git thi hair combed foor nowt.’ An’ then wa flew inti dayleet, afoor Ah knew wheer Ah war. Efter a bit wa began ti slack up a piece. ‘Noo, then,’ sez Ah, ‘what’s up noo?’ ‘Nowt,’ sez he; ‘wa’ve nobbut gitten ti Whidby, that’s all.’ ‘Oh! well,’ sez Ah, ‘if that’s all, that’s wheear Ah want ti be.’ An’ Ah oppen’d t’ deear an’ stepped oot, an’ afoor Ah knew wheer Ah war, Ah war laid flat o’ mah back on t’ platform. When Ah’d gitten mysen upended agaan, Ah seed a chap at t’ far end o’ t’ station clicking ther tickets frev ’em leyke all that, an’ Ah thowt ti mysen, ‘Thoo’ll finnd thisen wrang when Ah cum up.’ Hooivver, he nobbut tried ti git hauf o’ mahn, an’ seea it didn’t matter; bud Ah’ve ta’en ’em in, foor all that. Ah wadn’t ’a’e deean ’t if they’d nobbut behaved thersens, bud tha didn’t, chucking yan in an’ potching yan oot. What diz ta saay, thoo wants ti knaw hoo Ah’ve mannished ti tak ’em in? Whya, noo, Ah’ll tell tha—Ah’ve bowt a return ticket, an’ Ah isn’t gahin’ back. Tha caan’t git t’ best o’ me.
WENSLEYDALE NICKNAMES.
Ov all the straange plaaces ’at ivver wur knawn,
Wensleydale bangs ’em all, ez noo s’all be shown,
Fur naams ’a’e been gi’en ti women an’ men—