TARM
AND JIMMA DISCUSS THE ELECTION... AND THE STRENGTH OF BEER
AS
HEARD BY ‘BOR’ IN THE LOCAL
“Mornin’,
Tarm.”
“Mornin’,
Jimma. Yar laate todaay, bor. Ha-yar bin poorly?”
“I
hen’t, bor. I bin a-that ol’ paaper, tergather.
A-studyin’ these here ol’ council ’lections.
That saay a there’s a waacancy in our willage.”
“Tha’s
right, Jimma. One waacancy an’ two fallas a-tryin’
for it. Who yar wotin’ for?”
“I
hen’t decided. My missus she saay we oughta wote for
ol’ Billa Reynolds. He’s a housin’ man, she
saay; an’ she reckon that, arter fifter yer, tha’s
time we gart a new cartige tergather.”
“Yar
right, bor. I could do with a new cartige as well. But ol’
Billa doan’t drink narthin’ but warter, so I hen’t
so sure he oughta be woted for.”
“Tha’s
jist what I saay ter my missus. I doan’t rackon yew
c’n trust an ol’ fella that doan’t drink
narthin’, I saay. But she saay I oughta starp worryin’
about beer and faace up ter the real prarblems of life.
Which shows that these ol’ mawthers hen’t gart
a lot a carmmon-sinse, tergather.”
“That
they hen’t, bor. And talkin’ of beer, hev yew
another, Jimma.”
“Thankee.
Though I doan’t know that ol’ Billa hen’t
jist as will orf with warter these daays. There hen’t
much stringth in this ol’ beer.”
“Yar
right, bor. What we need on that ol’ council is someone
who c’n git us a bit a bardy in the beer.”
“Tha’s
right, Tarm. And larnger op’nin’ hours as will.
I doan’t know what the countrer’s comin’
to, these daays.”
“No,
yit doan’t I, bor. By the way, how’s yar lit’try
find, Jahn Willer, gittin’ alarng?”
“He-a
hed a chaange o’ heart, bor; he en’t writin’
ener more werse.”
“Will,
tha’s a rum ‘un. He-a chaanged his mind suffen
quick, hen’t he? Why, onler a wick or two back yew
wuz tellin’ me how he wuz a-goin’ strarng. What
maade him chaange like that, bor?”
“I
doan’t know, though the Missus saay that wuz the lather-in’
I give him the daay afore yisterdaay, when he writ a frish
werse. All about warter, that wuz agin. ‘The Hillside
Spring’ he call it, and I couldn’t stand it ener
larnger.”
“I
bet yew couldn’t, bor. But what’s Jahn Willer
doin’ now?”
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“He
saay he’s a-goin’ to be an inwentor when he grow
up. He start yisterdaay in the back kitchen, an’ a
pretter ol’ mess he maade, bor. Still, I doan’t
mind that so much – tha’s bitter than waastin’
time writin’ werse an’ that mucker ol’ stuff.”
“That
that is, bor. What’s he inwentin’ now, tergather?”
“Narthin,
as far as I c’n maake out, though he rackon tha’s
a noo kind o’ kittle what bile itself an’ maake
the tea in the marnin’ by the time tha’s time
to git up.”
“Will,
that’ll be useful, bor.”
“That
that will – if he maake it. But all he-a done yit is
blow the tarp off the kitchen raange – so’s I
couldn’t even bile an ord’nry kittle on it todaay.”
“Niver
mind, bor. P’raps when he-a perficted this noo kittle
he’ll be aable to maake us suffen for brewin’
a drarp o’ real beer. An’ talkin’ o’
beer, Jimma, hev another.”
“Thankee,
Tarm, tha’s good o’ yew. Yis, I rackon that might
be bitter if I doan’t discourige Jahn Willer this time.
If he c’n maake suffen that’ll put a bita life
in the beer, that on’t matter about the blowin’
up of a foo kitchen raanges.”
“That
that on’t, bor.”
From
The Norfolk Magazine, Vol. 2 No. 2 Mar–Apr 1949
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