JARN
WILLER BECOMES IN’TRISTED IN WATER – NOT BEER!
AS
HEARD BY ‘BOR’ IN THE LOCAL
“Mornin’,
Tarm.”
“Mornin’,
Jimma. Yar lookin’ thusty this mornin’, bor. Hev
yew bin hurryin’?”
“Yis,
that I hev. I wuz laate.”
“How
wuz that, Jimma? Yew usualler give yarself plenter of time.”
“Yis,
but I allus starp to rid them ol’ notices in the Post
Office winder, an’ that taaks a larng time todaay,
’cos I hen’t gart my glasses wi’ me. I coulda
saaved myself the trouble, though. There warn’t narthen
partickler there todaay. Suffen about a Wimmin’s Bright
Hour, an’ suffen about a rummage saale – oh, yis,
then there were a bill what talk about a meetin’ to
form a chaamber o’ commerce, whativer that is.”
“They
hev ’em ivrerwhere now, Jimma. Tha’s a lart of
ol’ fallas what git tergather.”
“What
for?”
“Will,
that seem as if when bis’ness is a-goin’ right
they maake it go a bit batter, an’ when that hen’t
a-goin right they taake the necessary steps.”
“What
steps will them be, Tarm?”
“Ah,
will, that I hen’t sure of, bor. But they taake steps
all right. Sorta maake complaaints an’ that, tergather.”
“That
sound siller ter me. We din’t hev sich things in my
young daay, an’ bis’ness went alarng jist the
saame. An’ what's more, beer wuz a divil of a sight
batter then – an’ cheaper.”
“Yar
right, bor. An’ talkin' o’ beer, hev yew another.”
“Thankee,
Tarm. Yew wuz saaying they maake complaaints an’ that.
I rackon if they maake a few complaaints to the brewers
that wouldn’t hurt. An’ if they’re as good,
as yew saay, we might git an improvemint in the beer. Tha’s
one thing, that couldn’t git ener wuss.”
“That
that couldn’t, bor. But cheer yew up, Jimma. Yew seem
right poorler todaay. Is suffen upsittin’ yew?”
“Yis.
Tha's my gel Sarah’s boy, Jarn Willer.”
“What’s
wrarng wi’ him?”
“Why,
he-a bin an’ gart a writin’ bug in his hid. ‘Lit’ry’
my missus call it. She saay that ought to be encouraged,
but I doan’t rackon she’s right, tergather.”
“Yew
niver know, Jimma. What’s Jarn Willer bin up to?”
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HILL, COLKIRK: B.C. BIRD |
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“He’s
a-writ a bit o’ werse – pertry, he saay that is,
but tha’s werse to me. Ivrerboder saay that show prarmise,
but I hen’t satisfied. They saay noboder iver maade
a livin’ outa writin’ werse, an’ I hen’t
keen on keepin’ Jarn Willer for the rist o’ his
life.”
“Niver
mind, Jimma. I rackon that won’t come to that. He’ll
probler grow out of it. Wha’s the werse about?”
“Ah,
now tha’s what knarcks me over completler. I can’t
remimber how that go, but tha’s called an ‘Ode
to a Stream’, an’ that saay a lart about sweet
warter an’ bubblin’ brooks an’ all that mucker
talk. I niver woulda believed ener relaation o’ mine
would be so in’tristed in warter. That hen’t nat’ral,
I saay.”
“I
doan’t know about that, Jimma, but he en’t what
yew’d call runnin’ true to form. Here, hev yew
another to cheer yarself up a bit.”
“Thankee,
Tarm. Yar a good falla. But y’know, when I think of
it, perhaps young Jarn Willer hen’t to blaame altogather
for his likin’ for warter. There hen’t much to
maake a boy in’tristed in beer these daays. These young
fallas hen’t like us, Tarm; they doan’t know what
real beer taastes like, tergather. An’ come to that,
if the brewers go on turnin’ this stuff out much larnger,
we shall soon hev forgartten, as will.”
“Yar
right, bor. I gart a larng mim’ry, but that can’t
go on gittin’ stritched for iver.”
From
The Norfolk Magazine, Jan–Feb 1949
