Hasta hed a grand Easter? Ahs put Pache Egg dumping rules ont' Recipes pyage riddy fur nixt yer.
Wid fowk gitten oot un' aboot, ah thowt ahd tek thu tu East ovt'Coounty un tell thu aboot garns on whin Kendal und Windermer Railway opened.
Ah was diwen a lile job fer Mr. Braithet amang hands, when yah day he sed ta me rayder sudden-like, “Ye’r bi t’ way o’ bein’ a middlin scholer, Thomas, Ah racken”. “Nay, Ah doot Ah’s hardly that”, Ah sed, “but Ah can finnd mi plaes i’ t’ Sarvice Book, an’ Ah can write a letter if Ah hev tul, an’ Ah can kest up a lile account aw reet”. He was efter summat, Ah cud see, but what it mud be – nay, Ah hedn’t a inklin. But he seeun cam oot wi’ it. Ye’d nivver guess what it was, nut in a week o’ Sundas, sae Ah’d best tell ya an’ be done. He wanted ma ta write summat i’ t’ dialect, as near as Ah cud ta oor way o’ tokin. It mun be natral-like, he sed, but barin’ that he wasn’t paticlar; owt ‘ud sarra, he sed; a bit o’ sense er a bit o’ daftness, it was aw t’ saem ta him. Ah turn’d it ower i’ mi mind a tidy while. Happen Ah cud mannish, Ah thowt, if Ah fun summat ta write aboot, but fer t’life o’ me Ah cudn’t think of owt as ‘ud diw. But efter a bit Ah bithowt misel as it was a twelve-month just an’ sae sen t’ railway fra Kendal ta Windermer was oppen’d. Ah cud write aboot that, aboot t’oppenin’ Ah mean; an mebbe it ‘ud suit Mr. Baithet as weel as owt. Sae Ah mention’d it tul him t’next time Ah sah him.”Capital”, he sez, “capital!” Efter that Ah gat started, an’ yance Ah’d begun Ah prow’d away at t’ job till Ah’d med a end tul it. Mr. Braithet halpt ma wi’ t’ spellin’ an’ that.
Twentieth o’ April, eighteen hundert an’ forty sebben. That was t’ day as t’ Kendal ta Windermer railway was oppen’d. The’d bin mekkan it, t’ engineers an’ t’ navvies hed, for t’ best part o’ three yeear. T’ maist on ‘em was fremd foke ‘at wrowt on t’ track, an we didn’t tek tul ‘em varra weel at first. Mind ya, some on ‘em was dacent an’ mannerly iniw, an’ nut bad compny when ya kind o’ gat used t’l’em. But ther was a lock o’ kilter amang ‘em as ‘ed nayder mense ner manners; girt gawmless fellas, mainly-what drucken, an’ as like as nut wanten ta feit. Ah can’t say we ivver taek ta them; but the’ didn’t hev it aw ther ahn way, Ah can tell ya; ther was awlas some i’ t’ nebberah as sah ta that. Ta give ‘em ther due tho’, t’warst taestrels an’ gomerels amang ‘em wrowt hard when the’ wer at it. If the’ hedn’t the’d seeun a gitten t’sneck posset; t’ gangers wadn’t put up wi’ any but warkers. But as Ah was gaan ta say, t’ line was ruddy, aw barin’ t’ stations, which was nobbut hawf finisht seeminly. T’yan at Birthet was gitten forret nicely, but ya cudn’t say maer ner that for it. Hawivver, t’line was ta be oppen’d, an’ ivverybody was gaan ta see t’first trains come in fra Kendal; that is if the’ gat throo aw reet. Some thowt the’d stick cumen up ta Black Moss, udders ‘at t’ ingines ‘ud blah up er summat, er t’ trains run off t’ lines. But anyway, t’ main on us agreed, ‘at t’ best spot ta be at was somewhar aboot Black Moss er a bit belah. It was a fairish poo up fra Ings Haw, an’ if ther was gaan ta be any bodderment wi’ t’ ingines siwer inuf yon’s whar it ‘ud be.
It was a rare mornin’; cudn’t a bin finer fer t’ time o’ yeear. “A sowern fine day!” Ah caw’t oot ta Jossy Black as Ah pass’d by t’ station. He was laberan fer t’ woers, Jossy was, an’ seemingly he wasn’t tekken a halida fer’ t’ oppenin’. “It varra likely will be”, he shoots back, “but thoo can’t reetly say maer ‘an that as yet”. True inuf, Jossy, Ah thowt; sae when Ah leeted on Bob Denny a bit farder on Ah sed tul him varra careful-like, “It offers ta be a fine day, Bob”. “Offers”, he says, “drat it, man, it is a fine day, a sowern fine day”. That’s t’ way wi’ foke, awlas contrairy whativver ya say. T’ triwth is it was as fine aw day lang as a April day can be, an’ warm fer t’ time o’ yeear. Ther was some Potters campen atop o’ Alicehow, an’ t’ menfolk was liggen aboot t’ grund as if it ‘ed bin summer. T’ barns kept on whingen an’ beggin’ off us, an’ sae did a ahld woman. T’ men was diwan nowt bi t’ leeuks on ‘em, but Ah’ll warrant the’ wer tekken nooatice o’ t’ foke passin’, an’ kent well iniw wha was fra hyam. An’ efter a bit the’d likely hev a sprogue, an’ see what the’ cud pick up whar t’ maister and missus was oot. Ther was maer on ‘em aside o’ t’ road ta Black Moss an’ Whasdyke efter we’d left t’ turnpike. I kent yan er two o’ this lot bi head. Millers the’ war, John Wilson o’ T’ Cahsa tellt ma, t’ saem lot as t’ ahld body bileng’d tul ‘at he yance fun liggen bi t’ rooad side i’ t’ snah, an’ like ta freeze ta death. He was cumen back fra Kendal at t’ time, an’ seeun gat her int’l t’ cart an’ weel happed up. She’d partly-what cu’ roond bi when he reach’e Staevla, an’ telt him whar some o’ her foke leev’d. They cudn’t thenk him inuf fer what he’d done. “An’ noo”, he sez, “the’ll diw owt for ma, owt i’ reason, except bide away, which is what Ah’s like best of aw”.
T’ Cahsa foke ‘ed lows’d oot i’ Black Moss fahld, an’ was gitten ther drinkin when we landed; them an’ t’ Langmires fra Far Orrest, an’ Ben Broon fra T’ Boot, an’ t’ Hutchisons fra T’ Lah Common. Sae we hed oors an’ aw – a bite o’ havver breead an’ bliw-milk cheese, an’ a sup o’ ale er buttermilk. Young Geordie fra T’ Cahsa ‘d cum on t’ lile gallowa he’d bowt hissel wi’ his ohn addlins, an’ lad-like he was showin’ it off a bit t’ udders. “Why thoo mun see if thee can’t beat t’ train, Ben Brown caws oot t’l him. “Aye”, says ahld Isaac Hutchison, “it’ll puff an blah a bit up t’ incline (as the’ caw it). That’s whar thee sud tek it on. Cum noo, Ah’ll tell tha what Ah’ll diw: Ah’ll gi’ tha a croon if thoo beats it”. Geordie was just gaan ta say he’d hev a try, when yan o’ t’ Potter lads puts his spoke in. He’d raece t’ train fer a croon, he said; an seeun git a horse. “Nay”, sed Isaac, “nayder thee ner any o’ thi mak ‘ll git a hawp’ny off me”. But John Wilson sed he’d give him a croon if he bet t’ train up t’ incline an’ bet Young Geordie an aw. Afoore lang it gat roond what was i’ t’ offin, an’ udders wanted ta be in at it as weel. Sae t’ elder foke hed a bit of a parley, an’ settle’d ‘at nobbut lads under twenty mud join in, an’ ‘at t’ raece sud be agen t’ second train sae as the’ cud see hoo t’ horses taek it when t’ first cum past. John Grizedale [of Black Moss] an’ Ben Broon offer’d ta fix a saefe cooarse, net ower near ta t’ line, an’ ta start t’ riders off at t’ reet time; and Jimmy Langmire an’ Joe Grizedale was ex’d ta be t’ judges at t’ finish. An’ last, t’hat was ta be sent roond fer t’ winner.
Time was slippen by, an’ yet t’ first train didn’t land. Happen it started laet fra Kendal, er gat stuck somewhar; else it was terble slah, far slaher ‘an it sud a’ bin. Anyway it was laet, verra laet fer sick a short run, an’ folk was remarkin’ on it. As my Aunt Jennet Wilson sed – “T’ coaches keeps ta time, an’ generally-what t’ carrier does, but this thingamabob doesn’t seem ta be tul an hooer er two”. But afooar sa lang ther was a general stir. It was cumin; ya cud hear it a mile off, mekken heavy wark on it seeminly. Ey, thaer it was. What! ther was three ingines tul it, aw smooken an’ steamin; an’ as the’ gat near the’ bliw ther whisles, aw t’ three on ‘em. “Toke aboot a pig-killin’, whya it’s nowt ta this”, Ah hard Sarah Langmire sayen - she didn’t like pig-killin’s. An’ then it was ahld Mrs. Hutchison Ah hard. “Ower mich fussment bi hawf fer my likin”, she was sayen, but Ah didn’t catch t’rest as t’ carridges was passen noo. Whya, what’s yon? A band o’ music it mun be. Ey, for siwer it is. In aw ther was sixteen caridges, an’ ivry yan foo. It was a gay big lyad ta snig. Ah sed as mich ta Ben Broown; he was standen wi’ ma. “Ey, a big lyad”, he agreed; “but if the’r gaan ta mek owt o’ this railway job the’ll hev ta build some injines fit fer t’ wark. These is lile better ner barn laikins”.
Efter t’ train ‘ed gone by it turn’d oot ‘at lile Betsy Tubman was missin’. Her fadder an’ mudder was in a sad way aboot her. The’d bin that ta’en up wi’ t’ train – the’d net sin yan afooer, mind – ‘at the’d nivver gi’en ‘er a thowt till it was away oot o’ seet; an’ then the’ cudn’t finnd her naewhar. The’d laited up an’ doon, an’ ex’d this body an’ that; but seeminly nin ‘ed sin her ta nooatice sin afooer t’ train com. “But lile Mary fra T’ Cahsa mud knah”, Ah heard somebody say, “As t’ par on ‘em was laiken tagidder then; the’d gitten stoed o’ waitin’, an’ ‘ed started a gem o’ ther ahn, just t’ two on ‘em.” But whar was lile Mary? Net missin’ an aw, was she? Nay, thaer she was, aboot a staen-thrah away, standen stock still an’ watchen summat. She’d her back tul us, but when we caw’d she cum runnen up, an’ seeun telt us that happen’d. Betsy’d net heeded t’ train at first, net till it gat reet near. Then she’d stopt laiken, an’ glopt an’ gloower’d at it, but sed nowt. Then when t’ train whisles bliw, she’d turn’d away, an’ maed off as fast as her legs ‘ud carry her, an’ aimen’ streit fer top o’ t’ fell. Lile Mary run efter her, an’ tried ta git her ta stop; but it was nae manner o’ use; she mud as weel a bin cawin’ ta t’ man i’ t’ moon. Sae she com back, Mary did, but aw t’ time she kept an eye on whar Betsy was gitten tiul, an’ was yabble ta tell her fadder just whar ta gah ta finnd her. Him an’ yan er two maer set off straight away, runnen’ as hard as the’ cud; but Betsy’d gitten varra nar t’ heighest point afooer the’ cud owertek her. She was fer gaan on, but efter a while the’ gat her ta start back wi’ ‘em. She wadn’t say owt tho’, an’ didn’t tul her mudder nayder. But her an’ lile Mary went back ta ther gem later on, an’ her mudder hard Mary tellen’ her as t’ train was nowt ta be flay on. “It can nobbet gah whar the’ put lines for it ta run on”, she was sayen; an’ maer besides nae doot. Anyways, Betsy was aw reet when t’ second train com, tho’s she bided a goodish way off.
We’d a lang wait for it. A lock ‘n us went doon varra nigh ta Ings Haw wi’ t’ lads as was gaan ta raece it, an’ we’d gitten back agen. Some o’ t’ ahlder men, an’ t’ maest part o’ t’ wimmin foke, ‘ed bin hevin’ a rare good chat. We were beginnen ta feel hungry, but didn’t knah wheder ta hev oor andern reet away, er ta wait fer it till efter t’ train ‘ed cum past an’ t’ raece was ower. I’ t’ end t’ wimmin foke settl’d t’ question. The’d wait till twelve o’clock, the’ sed, twelve bi t’ day that is, and then if t’ train wasn’t i’ hearin’ the’d hev ther andern; an’ t’ men-foke mud diw as the’ liked. T’ upshot was ‘at we aw sat doon t’l oor meat at twelve o’clock, er gat it standen up; an’ we’d finisht a tidy while afooer ivver t’ train was hard i’ t’ distance. It was bringan t’ second class passingers, this ‘n was, an’ was like ta be bigger ‘an t’ first, an’ happen t’ ingines net as good. Bi what we cud mek oot it was nobbet varra slah when it cum ta collar wark. But here was t’ lads o’ horseback. T’first was Dick Armistead, t’ staeble lad at Ellera. He’d gitten wit o’t raece somehoo, an’ mannisht ta borra yan of his maister’s ridin’ horses. It was ower good fer t’ rest, an’ he wan varra easy. T’ second was t’ Potter lad; t’ third yan o’ t’ Wilsons fra Fairbank; t’ fowerth a lad fra Creeak ‘at cum wi’ t’ Borrick Fahld foke; an’ t’ fifth Geordie Wilson fra t’ Cahsa. Ther was a two er three maer as bet t’ train; in fact the’ aw did as gat properly started. But what ! the’d nowt ta beat; it cud hardly git up t’ incline at aw. Eighteen coaches ther was this time, an’ maer foke i’ each; an’ t’ ingines seemingly hed less pooer. “The’ varra nigh stuck”, Ben Broon telt us when he com back, “an’ wad a done, Ah diw bileev, if a lock o’ beeas hedn’t gidder’d roond an’ bawl’d at ‘em, as if the’ war tellen’em ta git on”. T’ hat went roond fer t’ winner, an’ tho’ he wasn’t a local lad he gat a tidy sum. John Wilson gev t’ Potter lad his croon, an’ Isaac Hutchison was gaan ta give Young Geordie Wilson his when he bithowt hissel as Geordie was wanten a cawf. “Will ta hev t’ croon, Geordie”, he ex’d him, “er wad ta raider hev that lile wye cawf o’ oors asteed?” “If it’s aw t’ saem”, sez Geordie, “Ah’ll hev t’ cawf”. “Thoo sal, mi lad, thoo sal”, sez Isaac. “Ah’ll bring it ower for tha ya day seeun; sae think on ‘en hev t’ hull ruddy fer it”.
Some bided ta watch t’ first train gah back. The’ pass’d t’ time away wi’ spooarts; ther was wrustlin’, a raece ta t’ top o’ School Knott an’ back, t’ lang lowp, an lowpen wi’ pows. But Ah didn’t see varra mich on it, as we thowt we’d gah an’ hev a leeuk at t’ stirrins doon at Booness. Aboot six er sebben hundert foke ‘ed cum i’ t’ two trains tagider, an’ t’ main on ‘em ‘ed gone doon ta Booness ta start wi’. “The’ve itten us oot o’ hoose an’ harbour”, Jin Atkinson telt us. “Ey, an’ varra near drunk t’ plaece dry”, sez Geordie Gregg. “Let’s hope it waint happen offen”, he sez. But Will Suart was rare an’ set up. “T’railway ‘ll be t’ mekkin’ o’ this spot”, he sez. “Ther’s bin a mint o’ money spent here ta-day awreddy; an’ seeun, the’ tell us, it’ll be happenin’ reglar, foke cumin bi’ t’ hundert, an’ leavin’ ther brass behint ‘em when the’ gah back”. The’ wer terble thrang on t’ lake. T’ steam boats was baeth runnen, an’ t’ men wi’ rawin’ boats fer hire was diwn sowern well. A lot o’ t’ foke ‘ed gone ta Amelsed er Newby Brig; but ther was inew santeren aboot ta mek t’ plaece leeuk crooded. T’ quality an’ t’ bettermer end was thinken aboot gaan back, as their train was ta start aboot fower o’clock fra Birthet. Ther was nowt like inuf carriges ta tek’em ta t’ station, an’ a tidy few on ‘em hed ta walk up. We seeun gat stoed o’ Booness, an’ med fer hyam. But Ah hed a strowl as fas as t’ station later on ta see t’ second train gah oot; aboot six o’clock that was, Yah thing capt ma, an’ that was ‘at sae many as sud a gone by it manisht ta miss bein’ thaer a’ time; just ower laet the’ war, three mahpen aboot when the‘ sud a bin gitten’ ta t’ station. It ‘ud a sarv’d ‘em reet if the’d hed ta stop aw neet, an’ sleep whar the’ cud finnd owt ta lig on. But ther was a train aboot nine o’clock fer t’ hyed men an’ sick like, an’ the’ let these mafflins gah back on that.
Next day, Ah ex’d Jossy Black what he thowt on it aw. “Nay, Ah can’t racken it up”, he sez, “Whar’s t’ sense, does ta think, i’ skiften sa many foke fra ya spot tul annuder aw at t’ saem time?” Ah didn’t knah, Ah telt him, An’ Ah don’t yet!
Barfin - A horse collar. A grand thing is a barfin ta gurn throo. (see Braffam - Braugham below)
Brim - Top
Brossen-full - Hed mair to eat than’s easy er good.
Dowin - Lunch, ten o’clock.
Aye! aye! thoo allus manishes ta land up aboot dowin time.
Gallases - Braces ta hod yan’s britches up.
Gurn - Gurn, an’ bide ’t. It’s good philosophy when ye ca’t run away frae ’t. Ah yance saw a fella gurnen throo a barfun fer a pun o’ bacca, an’ he gat it.
Haver - Oats.
That field o’ haver liuks weel.
Howk - To scoop out;
howk a whol; howk t’ inside oot.
Kisened - To dry out (and I've heard kissend being used for burnt too).
As kisened as a kill stick. Noo Ah nivver saw a kill stick, but it’s summat varra dry wi’ neea natur left in’t, acos owt ’at’s kisened’s mortal near withoot any sap er owt worth niamen.
Lick-pot, Lang-Man - The first and second fingers.
Roke - Scratch.
That barn’ll roke ivvry mortal thing i’ t’hoose wi’ that nail if tho’ll let it, ’at will ’t.
Shive - Slice
A slice of bread. To cut a neat swathe.
Braffam, Braugham - A collar for a horse.
Clev. bargam. Referred by Wedgwood with much probability to the same origin as the word hamberwe, or hanahorough, a coarse horse-collar, made of reed or straw, from beiwe or borough, protection from the hames, the two words of the compound being in this case reversed. (See Barfin above).
Hag - To chop
Dutch:hakken, Old Norse: hiacka, Swedish: hagga, German hacken, to chop, hack.
Kizzent - adj. Parched or shrivelled.
Crav. kizzened. I think the author of the Crav. Gloss, is right in taking the word to be the same as guizened, which Ray gives as applied to tubs or barrels that leak through drought. The origin, then, is evidently to be found in Old Norse gisinn, leaky (of tubs and vessels.) (see Kisened above).
Lick - To beat.
Welsh llachio, to beat, cudgel, Suio-Goth, laegga, to strike.
Lonnin' - A country lane
Frisian Lona, Laan a lane or narrow passage. Perhaps from Old Norse leyna, to hide.
Mislikken - To neglect or forget.
Dut. misselick, ambiguus, dubius, in quo errare, aut de quo dubitare potest.
Poddish - Porridge of oatmeal.
In common use throughout the agricultural districts, especially for breakfast, and though irreverently compared by Dickens to "diluted pin-cushions without the covers," a very wholesome article of diet. Welsh potes, Manx poddash.
Smeeth - Smooth
Ang.-Sax. smzthe, smooth.
Snerp - To contract, tighten, as a knot or snare.
Dan, snerpe, to tighten, contract, Dut. snerpen, to nip.
Teanel - A Basket (West and Cumberland Dialect)
Ang.-Sax. teanel, a basket, from tan, a twig.
Similarly swill, (contraction of swigel,) from Old Norse svigi, a twig.
Waits - Nightly musicians who used to play in the streets at Christmastide.
"Wayte, waker, vigil" Old Norse vakta; Old High German wahten; German wachten - to watch or keep awake.
Brek - Fun; a practical joke. A good story, generally of the sporting type; an amusing incident.
Curly kue - G. a flourish in writing, &c.
Fash - G. trouble ; inconvenience.
Fasten eve - Shrove Tuesday evening or the eve of the feast before Lent.
'At Fasten eve neet
Ceuks find cannel leet.'
After this night the cooking is to be done by daylight for the season, or the cooks must provide candles.
Frosk - The Frog (back in 1878 the author noted that the word was nearly obsolete!)
Gowpin - A handful; or the two hands full
Lang-end - The final end.
Pissibeds - The flowers of the dandelion plant.
Rossel,
(1) v.t. to heat, to roast. "To rossel one's shins."
(2) vi. To bask over a fire.
Thible,Tibel
n - a stick to stir porridge
(this is an interesting variation to me. In Billy Brannan, a tyale fra t'Abbey Holme Billy used Thivel).
Yalla Pumps
n - very young calve; so called from their hoofs being yellow when calved.
Yallow-yowring
n. the yellow-hammer
Beckie - (Workington) A water bailiff who makes sure that the fisherfolk have permission to tickle the trout and salmon!
Brossenful - (sometime Brussenful) To be pleasantly full after after your meal.
Blackite - A bramble, A blackberry.
(Efter picking this yer' crop, ah telt the t'Cumberland Blackite Broonie Recipe)
Button Sticks - (Whitehaven) At the start of the Industrial Revolution poor country folk coming to work in the mines may have used sticks rather than buttons to hold their clothes together.
Chittering - Cold. Linked to shivering or trembling.
Kaylieghed - Supped ower much. Inebriated
Kersmas - Christmas
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