A vicar once asked his sexton what he thought of the previous Sunday’s preacher. The pulpit had been occupied on that occasion by a clergyman whose oratorical powers are pretty widely known, but whose sermon had been quite over the heads of his congregation on that particular day. The reply the vicar got was certainly to the point. ‘Whya, Ah wadn’t saay bud what mebbe you mud larn summat fra what he tell’d uz, acoz ther’s neea doot ’at he war varra far larnt; bud ez foor me, an’ t’ likes o’ me, wa’d reyther sit an’ lissen ti t’ saam au’d ditties fra you ’at wa’ve heeard ower an’ up agaan. Aye, that wa wad; ya see, wa knaw what’s cuming.’
A neighbour’s third wife lay dead. Said a dame to the husband, ‘Mary’s gone! Dear me, hoo sum fau’k diz ’ev bad luck; thoo’ll ’a’e ti gan ti t’ burying, hooivver.’ ‘Naay,’ said the husband, ‘Ah deean’t think ’at Ah s’all gan this tahm; Ah went ti t’ tother tweea—they’ll ‘ ti mannish bidoot ma this tahm.’ ‘Naay, what, thoo’ll ’a’e ti gan, hooivver; it’ll nivver deea eftther seeing t’ other tweea sahded by, nut ti gan ti t’ tho’d un. Whativver maks tha think ’at thoo weean’t gan?’ ‘Whya, thoo sees, it’s ez thoo sez, Ah’ve seen tweea on ’em sahded by, an’ Ah think ’at it leeaks a bit greedy ti gan ti t’ tho’d un. Thoo sees, up ti noo Ah’ve nivver been yabble ti return t’ compliment, an’ Ah deean’t leyke ti put on a chap, an’ Ah s’aan’t gan.’
A good dame found her husband lying on the chamber floor. ‘Whativver is ta deeaing, ligging on t’ cham’er fleear foor?’ ‘Aa, lass,’ the old chap groaned, ‘Ah thowt Ah war boun ti dee; Ah did, hooivver. If ivver Ah’s ta’en leyke that agaan, Ah s’aan’t cum round na mair; thoo’ll finnd ma deead wheear Ah tumm’ls.’ ‘Whya, let’s get tha inti bed, an’ Ah’ll fetch tha a basin o’ gruel up; an’ Ah’ll put t’ au’d stick byv t’ sahd o’ t’ bed, an’ thoo mun think on ’at thoo mun thump on t’ fleear if thoo’s ta’en queer agaan; whativver thoo diz, noo, thoo maun’t dee unbeknawn. It’s varra inconsiderate o’ fau’k ti tak thersens off i’ that waay,’ said the wife, bustling about. ‘Bud thoo knaws yan caan’t help ’t,’ said the old chap. ‘Whya, thoo mun deea thi best, an’ bear i’ mahnd what a tideea ther wad ’a’e been if Ah’d happened ti finnd tha deead on t’ fleear. Crowner wad ’ev ’ed ti cum’d, an’ all t’ jury chaps gahin in an’ oot ez if t’ pleeace warn’t yan’s awn, an’ leykly eneeaf afoor yan ’ed gitten tidied up, an’ then Ah s’u’d ’a’e ’ed t’ bobby fussing aboot an’ assing all manner o’ quessions, an’ Ah deean’t knaw what else. Noo, thoo mauh’t let ma in foor a gahin-on leyke that. Ah’ve putten tha t’ stick handy, seea mahnd thoo dizn’t drop off bidoot gi’ing yan warning. It weean’t tew tha mich ti thump on t’ fleear, an’ then Ah’ll be up iv a crack. Noo, deean’t forgit thoo ’ezn’t ti dee bidoot thumping.’
Old Sally was dying. On being asked by the vicar if she felt quite happy, the old lady said, with great unction, ‘Oh yes, Ah s’all seean be iv Jacob’s bosom.’ ‘Abraham’s bosom, Sally,’ corrected the vicar. ‘Aye, well, mebbe it is, bud if you’d been unmarried for sixty-fahve year, leyke what Ah ’ev, ya wudn’t be particular wheeas bosom it war, seea lang ez ya gat inti sumbody’s.’
A good story is told in Gloucestershire, which is a fair example that Yorkshiremen are credited with being able to take care of themselves by those of other counties. An ostler at one of the inns in that county in a general way managed to draw a tip from all who put up, even from one or two chaps who were well known as being very greedy. Said a gentleman one day to the ostler, who had just led out of the yard the horse and trap of one of these penurious old chaps, ‘Did you manage to drag a tip out of him?’ ‘Aye,’ said the ostler, ‘he awlus gi’es ma summat, bud it ommaist brecks his heart ivvery tahm he gans away.’ ‘Yorkshire, are you not?’ questioned the gentleman. ‘Aye, Ah’s Yorkshire hard eneeaf,’ was the characteristic reply. ‘Why,’ said the questioner, with a smile, ‘I am a bit surprised, seeing that you have been here so long, that the whole place doesn’t belong to you.’ To which, with a twinkle in his eye, the ostler replied, ‘It mebbe wad ’a’e deean afoor noo, if my maister ’edn’t been Yorkshire an’ all.’
A story is told of two Yorkshire Tykes bargaining—of course this was a case of ’when Greek meets Greek.’ Said one, ‘Whya, noo then, John, what diz ta think if wa mak a unseen swap on ’t? Thoo ’ezn’t seen mah meer, an’ Ah ’evn’t seen tha cob; bud Ah knaw ’at thoo awlus leyked t’ meer, an’ Ah’ve awlus ’ed a bit ov a leaning ti t’ cob, an’ wa’ve knawn t’ ane t’ ither foor a lang whahl—noo, what diz ta saay?’ ‘Whya noo, ez thoo sez wa’ve knawn t’ ane t’ ither ivver sen wa war lads, an’ ez thoo ’ezn’t seen t’ cob an’ Ah ’evn’t seen t’ meer, whya, thoo mun ho’d the han’ oot.’ And so the bargain was struck. Then said one to the other, ‘Whya, it’s owered noo. Ther’s neea backing oot fra t’ bargain noo, bud Ah aim ’at thoo war a larl bit ti keen. Thoo sees it’s leyke this: t’ meer’s geean that deead laam, ’at Ah deean’t think ’at sha’ll ivver gan agaan,’ ‘Oha, why, nivver mahnd,’ said the other; ‘t’ cob’s deead altigither, an’ flayed.’
In the preceding five chapters, I have striven to give you some insight into the character of our people. This, however, has not been my only aim. I have endeavoured—and shall continue to do so—to put the dialect in such a way as to be easily mastered by my readers, even should they be strangers to our county.
Please bear in mind that the North and East Ridings dialectically are the same. Certainly some few words have been retained or dropped, as the case may be, in each Riding, but the pronunciation is identical, or at least almost so. These remarks, however, do not hold good when applied to the West Riding. Ripon (my native place) and Leeds are not very far distant, only twenty-six miles. Ripon, although in the West Riding, is to all intents dialectically in the North, but by the time you have travelled the twenty-six miles all is changed—you have as it were crossed the line.