‘He puts on airs, scrapes his tongue, skews aboot, an’ fancies hissel’ that mich, whahl he’s mair leyke yan ’at’s nicked i’ t’ heead, an’ clean daft, ’an owt else; he maay aim ’at he’s up ti Dick, bud Ah aim ’at he’s nut wo’th his sau’t, an’ Ah’s reet.’
I am certain of one thing—a Yorkshireman, no matter what his position may be, never quite leaves his Yorkshire behind him. I was standing one day waiting for the steamer which was to bring me once again to old England, when a gentleman quite close to me said to his lady companion, ‘It’s a beautiful sight, is the sea[67].’ I turned to him, and raising my hat, remarked, ‘Ah’s a Yorkshireman an’ all.’ That was enough, we were friends the whole of the voyage. No, we Yorkshire people cannot, if we would, leave our county behind us. And thank the gods for that.
When cultured speech in tones refined
Lead us to dream all others blind,
‘Tis well that we should bear in mind,
Though we may leave all else behind,
Our idiom goes with us.