On the Allotment

B.  It's spitt'n on so let's dee away t' th' 'llotments an' tack cuvva i' th' cree. Mi fathers got some chucky hens in there an' it's arlreet as lang as the gissy an' cushies next door a' not distorbed. Divvent put thi hands o' them fence barks coss th' fulla spelks. Our lad gorra biggen in 'is elby an' had a job howkin it out. It mad 'im duzzy an' 'e hed t' lap 'is hanky rund t' stem th' bleedin' an' 'ad a gammy arm. A thowt he'da cowped 'is boilly, coss 'e was a bit cockerly, burrees champion now.

J.  Canna use th' dibble t' had th' door oppen so we'll not get dunched o' our fingers jarped. Nivva mind here's a stian. Sethee thors a cuppla windy eggs i' th' nuik. The'll be nee good fo' jarping an' th' pittlin little things anyway. Mi father says th' lay th'm when th' broody. Bye it is'nt half loppy in 'ere.

B.  Divvent trip ower th' hogger wi them clod hoppers th's gorron o' th'll hev watta scoittin arl ower. It's arlways higglty pigglty, arv nivven seen it pulled out strite. Th' can see mi father dissent like gardening, it's wick wi pittly beds. T' get rid othem y' hefta dig the ruts out an' that tacks some deein. Nivver mind, th' butterlowies an' bummelers luv 'em. Luck, there's a red arsty, a hevvent seen one since nigh on a yor.

J.  Wiv got cuack fo' tea an' it's fish th' neet so ars away hyam. Did th' hear th' fish wife carlin Calla Herron, sh's gorra chist like a pair o' bellars. Keep a gannin.

B.  Tarrar.

J.  Afor w' haddaway, warra w' deeing th' morn?

B.  Seeing it's sarrada w' could play Buck Stone owersells o' hev a gam o' Relieve O, o' Tiggy On High wi th' lads.

J. Howled, th' nars arv nivva played that.

B.  It's easy man. Ones man an' chases iverybody an' tries t' tig y', burree cannot if y' loup up onto summit an' shout skinsh.

J.  That's arlreet then. Sethee an' keep a had.

B.  When a got hyam mi mar hed hor pinny off an' purrer corlers in an' mi dar was knockin' th' dottle out o' 'is pipe forra refill o' backy. Then 'e combed 'is tash an' a knew th' was summit up. One o' mi dars ard marras was hyam fr' London coss 'is nevvies wifes had a bairn an' t'get th' rest orris divvy fro th' Co-op an' th' wor arl gannin t' th' club fo' th' fiace t' fiace competition an' wet th' babbys heed. Mi dar says 'is marra tarks a lorra twaddle burrees canny enough. Burrar divvent like th' bloke coss 'es got clammy harnds an' useta chow backy an' kept spittin i' th' fire an' mad a mess arl ower mi mars tidy betty, bleazer an' brass fender. An' a could a brayed 'im when 'e carled us hinny, pet or thoos a canny bairn.
Mi mar was a bit fuzzy an' mi dar was femma i' th' morn. But th' arl had a grarnd time. Mi dar says th' was some stuff supped, coss iverybody was singin an' that mad th're clacks dry. Neebody wanted t' gan hyam when it was chucking out time. Cordinlye mi mar, th're was one lot that was palatic an' y' could hev plodged i' the beer th'd spilt, th're tiable was happed up wi' bottles an' cowped ower. Th' best torn on f' th' Gan As Y' Please was a brass fiaced hussey but sh' could'nt half joggle hor voice.
This bloke gets sick o' th'm down south haskin 'im ivery morning t' say Hows The Makkin Out an' Wat Fettle so's they can answer Middlin o' Middlin T' Fair an' th's nought wors when th' want 'im to sing Blaydon Races coss it's nowt t' dee wi' Durrum.

C.T.