Yorkshire For Off-Comed-’uns Poem by C Richard Miles

Sum off-comed-’uns ’ev mithered mi
An’ nagued mi wi’t’ barmy wee-a ah speyk
So ah’ve putten this dahn ter defen’ missen
An hoo-ap mi ca-ase is strang, nert wee-ak.

Ah’ll use sum language rich an’ rare
An’ appen tha’ll reckon that ah’m tapped
But think on, sithee, ’earken well
Fer if tha does, ah’ll bi reight capped.

I’ Yorksher, wunce wer used ter laik
Wheear awther barns nah simply plee-a
As playin’ wor when fowk’d tek
A dee-a off wark fer a holidee-a.

When schooil’d lose at hawf past three
Wheear wi wor bahn wor dahn bi’t’ beck;
Wi’d tek off us coits ter mak a gooal
An’ gooa laik foo-itball on t’ rec.

Wi’d appen loss bi one or two
An’ goa ter’t’ shop ter choose sum spice
Or spoggs ter eeat like penny chews
Or kali wot wor twice as nice.

Tha’d pass bi’ t’ chip-hoil fer a bite:
T’ special or jus’ scone an’ scraps
Wi’ fizzy pop ter wesh it dahn
Or duck wine – Adam’s ale fra t’ taps.

A sup o’ watter slaked thi thirst
Or at t’pub mebbe a gill of ale
Might suit thi if it wor up thi stree-at
Till, drukken, thi wandered whoam up t’dale.

If tha wor starved, tha wor cawd
An’ nobbut hungered fowk’d eyt,
Till strigged or brussened, kaffling
Tha’d leyve thi jock upon thi plee-at.

Tha’d tek thi snap ter wark wi thee
And appen ’ev thi lunch ter munch
At hawf eleven or hawf ten
Afore thi dinner, nah called lunch.

Ah’ve tellt thi this jus’ as it wor
An’ tho’ thi mayn’t mek moss ner sand
Of all that ah ’ev spokken ’ere
Ah reckon that tha’ll understand.