An initial w is pronounced oo. “Where is Locke?” “Gone t’ Ools, yer honour.” “What is he gone there for?” “Gone zootniss, yer honour.” The man was gone to Wells assizes as a witness in some case. In a public-house row brought before the magistrates they were told that “Oolter he com in and drug un out.” (“Walter came in and dragged him out.”) Ooll for “will” is simply ooill. An owl doommun is an old oooman. This usage seems to be in accordance with the Welsh pronunciation of w in cwm.
There are other peculiarities that seem to be more or less common to all the Western Counties, and to have descended to them from that Wessex language that is commonly called Anglo-Saxon—a language in which we have a more extensive and varied literature than exists in any other Germanic idiom of so early a date, itself the purest of all German idioms. It is a mistake to suppose that it is the parent of modern English. This has been formed upon the dialect of Mercia, that of the Midland Counties; and it cannot be too strongly impressed upon strangers who may be inclined to scoff at West Country expressions as inaccurate and vulgar, that before the Norman Conquest our language was that of the Court, and but for the seat of Government having been fixed in London might be so still; that it was highly cultivated, while the Midland Counties contributed nothing to literature, and the Northern were devastated with war; and that the dialect adopted, so far from being a better, is a more corrupt one.
The peculiarities to which I allude as common to all the Southern Counties are these: The transposition of the letter r
with another consonant in the same syllable, so that Prin for Prince becomes Purn, fresh fursh, red ribbons urd urbans—a change that certainly is more general and more uniformly carried out in the Langue d’ü district than in the Langue d’oo, but cannot be quite exclusively appropriated by the former.
Under the same category will fall the transposition of s with p, as in waps for wasp, curps for crisp; with k, as in ax for ask; with l, as in halse for hazel.
A hard consonant at the beginning of a word is replaced with a soft one, f for v, as in vire for fire; s with z, as in zur for sir; th with d, as in “What’s dee doing here dis time o’night?” k with g, as in gix, the hollow stalk of umbelliferous plants, for keeks. To be “as dry as a gix” is to be as dry as one of these stalks—a strong appeal for a cup of cider.
Of another peculiarity which our Western district has in common with Norway, I am uncertain whether it extends further eastward, or not; I mean the replacing an initial h with y, as in yeffer for heifer, Yeffeld for Heathfield. One it has in common with Latin as compared with Greek—the replacing an initial hard th with f, as in fatch for thatch, like L. fores for θυρα. A singularly capricious alteration of the vowels, so as to make long ones short, and short ones long, is, as far as I am aware, confined to our Langue d’ü district. For instance, a pool-reed is called a pull-reed, a bull a bul, a nail a nal, paint pant; and bills are sent in by country tradespeople with the words so spelt. Again, a mill is called a meel, and a fist a feest, pebble becomes popple, and Webber (a surname) Wobber. This looks like one of those dialectic peculiarities for which there is no means of accounting.
In the selection of words for their vocabulary I trust that these gentlemen will follow the example of Mr. Cecil Smith in his admirable work on “The Birds of Somersetshire”—not to admit one of which he had not positive proof that it had been shot in this county. Every one
should be taken down from the lips of a native, and such as cannot be identified should be sternly rejected. The task that they have undertaken is a laborious one; but there is no county in England that affords such materials for tracing the influence of a subordinate upon a conquering race—of a Celtic language upon one that was purely German.
I cannot conclude these remarks without adverting to a rich and hitherto quite unexplored mine of antiquities—the names of our fields. There is reason to believe that our country roads were traced out, and the boundaries and names of our fields assigned to them, when these were first reclaimed from the primeval forest, and that they are replete with notices of ancient men and manners that deserve and will well repay our careful study.