The Tyke has a habit of answering you in a kind of metaphor, which, as before remarked, is almost unintelligible unless something of dialect and idiom has been mastered. As a case in point, I remember after the last general election saying to an old fellow, ‘Now, John! what do you think of this complete change in the country?’ Now, John did not know which side I favoured, neither did he wish me to learn for which party he had voted, and, further, he was determined not to say anything which would either give offence to me or expose his own hand. The question for a moment was a difficult one to answer, but the answer came pat enough: ‘Whya, Parliment’s varra mich leyke t’ land—ya mun chaange t’ crops noos an’ agaan, or it’s ti neea good. Ah s’ ‘a’e ti be gahin noo; good daay ti ya.’ He had answered me, fully answered me. He had let nothing escape him. I was none the wiser as to what his own opinions were, and I might just as well have saved myself the trouble of asking.
The inspectors of our Board schools can recount many true and curious anecdotes of our country scholars; but it should be borne in mind by the department that, although the Yorkshire country-people and their bairns are bilingual, it is only their mother tongue and ordinary English which up to the present they have mastered. The southern twang, pronunciation, and slang is to them as a mystic rune. North-country men, if you please, to examine North-country boys and girls. Very often the questions, as put by South-country inspectors, might just as well be asked in Sanskrit, and very naturally they remain unanswered, whilst the class is voted as hopeless dunces, when the fault really lies at the door of the questioner. At one school in Wensleydale a South-country inspector, when examining a class on the Bible, put this question, ‘Neow tell me something abeout Mouses.’ ‘Cats kill ’em,’ was the prompt reply. Another one said to a promising standard in mental arithmetic, ‘Three packets of pins at a penny each, five hanks of tape penny each, nine reels of thread penny each, five boxes of hair-pins penny each, and six ounces of worsted at three halfpence per ounce. How much does the parcel come to? Quick!’ But the speed with which the question had been asked, the twang, and the unfamiliar sound of many of the words, left the standard almost in absolute ignorance of the question. One thing, and of only one thing, were they clear upon—that they were being asked something about thread, worsted, and hair-pins. But as the inspector uttered that ‘Quick!’ he fixed his eyes on one lad, and the effect of that glance was mesmeric. The lad immediately answered, ‘Pleease, sur, wa ar’n’t lasses.’
But it is not the South-country man alone who receives unlooked for answers from the practical bairns of our dales. After a somewhat lengthy and highflown picture-painting on faith, the teacher, wishing to see if the children had grasped her foolish poetical outburst, said to one of the boys, whose mother, by the way, was a widow and desperately poor, ‘Now, Tommy, if I were to say to you, “There will be a rich plum pudding for your dinner,” and you believed me, what would that be?’ ‘It ’ud be a gert tak in, for wa nivver ’a’e nowt na better ’an a suet dumpling at oor hoos,’ was the unexpected reply.
Again, an inspector asked one of the boys in Bilsdale, or rather commenced to ask, a question in mental arithmetic: said he, ‘If you had in your hand five apples, two oranges, and three pears, and I was to take—-— ’ But he got no further; the practical bairn stopped him by saying, ‘Pleease, sur, Ah c’u’dn’t ho’d ’em all i’ yah han’.’
To conclude this chapter, just one more example. Said an inspector to a little girl, ‘If I knitted twelve stitches in a minute, how many stitches should I have on my needle at the end of five minutes?’ ‘Ya wadn’t a’e neean, ’coz ya deean’t knit stitches; ya’re nut gahin ti catch me i’ that waay.’ He ought to have said ’loops.’
CHAPTER II
WIT AND CHARACTER
Our country-people possess in a very marked degree the faculty of explaining away anything which for special reasons they do not care to admit. Very often they do this in a marvellously subtle way. Sometimes so fine is the point upon which they turn an argument, that that which was to be demonstrated is entirely lost sight of, whilst new issues are introduced in such a seemingly natural way that in the end you find yourself contending for some point in which you have no earthly interest, and which has no connexion with the original argument, but which, owing to this strategical shifting, has put them on sure ground, leaving you at a hopeless disadvantage. Equally conspicuous is their pride and independency; no matter how poor they may be they strongly object to being patronized.
‘Ah weean’t let onnybody clap me on t’ back. Ah paay fer what Ah git, an’ that’s good eneeaf; he’s nowt na better ’an what Ah is,’ said a man one day, who had been spoken to, with the kindest intention, but in that unfortunate way which some of the best-intentioned people have of being familiar, but faintly colouring the same with just a slight whiff of patronizing superiority. And the Yorkshireman won’t stand it. Don’t misunderstand me: although no respecter of person he is quite willing to pay deference to those whom he considers his superiors and who are worthy of it; but he is the one who acts as judge in such a case. If you are a stranger, you will have to earn this deference by good behaviour on your part, or it is quite possible, if you act otherwise, you will be the recipient of some very plain Yorkshire, whether you understand it or not. And also bear in mind the Tyke is always equal to giving an answer, and in his own peculiar way very smart at repartee.
A good example of one of the peculiarities mentioned is made evident in the following story. Master and man were returning from a coursing match, at which the master’s dog had been badly beaten. The man knew it was a great disappointment, and as a faithful servant he felt keenly the adverse result of the day’s outing. ‘I felt sure our dog would win,’ said the master, and then waited for his man to reply. Now, Tom would not say how much inferior their dog really was to the winner; in fact, he would only admit that to himself. So he held his peace. A moment later the master tackled him again, and this time with a question direct. ‘You saw the course, Tom; how do you account for it?’ ‘Whya, sur,’ began Tom, ‘dogs is queer things, an’ hares is queer things; in fact, theer’s nowt na queerer ’an what hares offen is. Noo, they’re varra flighty things is hares, an’ Ah’ve offens thowt ’at sumtahms tha tak mair ti yah dog na what tha deea ti t’ tother. An’ ya knaw leyke, when tha finnd oot ’at theer’s nowt else for ’t bud what they ’a’e ti be killed, tha let t’ dog deea’t ’at they’ve ta’en t’ maist fancy tull. Ah caann’t mak ’t oot onny other road, an’ that mun be it.’