Ulverton (21 page)

How faint our hold on this hour of life! How weak our grasp on the throbbing vein of ambition! How fleeting these teeming generations, sunlit by the great god Ra, then blessed by a redeeming Creator!

You may be wondering whether it was indeed I who lifted and dropped the shutter upon this scene, seeing my own portrait amongst the group: a strong thread (visible in my right hand) usually suffices, if correctly attached, and tug

GATE OPE NOW
maunt lope about in Gore patch wi’ they crusty bullocks yeeeeeeeeeow bloody pig-stickin them old hooks jus yowlin out for grease haaf rust look yaa that old Stiff all pinch an screw all pinch an bloody screw aye shut he fast now hup ramshackle old bugger see med do with a stoop spikin onto post wi’ that hang yaa a deal more years nor Hoppetty have a-had boy eh why Mr Perry why ah well they says as old Tom Ketchaside seed his angel a-whiverin over here when he were a-hangin it an en’t no Ulver soul alive as ud take he down an hook a fresh gate like that there clangy newfangled metal bugger over-right to this un hup best foot forrud over road hup yea up stir the dust a bit boy on’t want no fancy gig a-runnin us down now hup Walters land this side o’ road boy haaf witch an a quarter sheep them Walters hup I on’t be tellin thee on that old rag yit awhile now Master Dannul nope see old Freddie Moon’s work this oh he did like to bang out fancy like they butterfly wings look top be no more nor a shepherd’s crook though hup leave the bugger ope they Walters en’t put flock nor herd in here for jus about ten year yea up aye bettermost sunked in buttercup now see like haaf the fields all sour grass all goin to ruin eh heft us up a bit hup yea up whoa about hup stop atop here a breath boy hup whoa haaaaa

aye blackthorn hedge down yonder got no Jack Brinn on her now bloody fussock’s furze-bush like my ’tache see hoi there Jo why dost grow thy tache like that Jo tells ’em I gets a second drink out of it a-suckin all the beer frath out aye grass in Little Hangy way down yonder be bang ripe to cut allus have bin forrud see aye got my first refreshments in her boy in Little Hangy boy old Mary Stroude as makes a catkin stand up proud as we lads did say oh one while past now aye a little bruisin o’ Walters’ corn a touch o’ frath out the bottle top wi’ old Mary Stroude bubbies thee med git lost atween though she be nowt but a scrunchlin now oh age age
you
on’t know arn o’ that yit awhile eh boy though thee’d ax I on it aye thee’d ax I on it yaa they soon git naggin boy they soon git naggin as drays thee to fist thy own refreshments out en’t nowt sinful in that nope en’t nowt sinful in that no ways yaa dang patch down there agin Hangy ater the crab-apple right to Deedy Lane yonder soggy well nigh fall to fall clung old bitch nigh teared the legs off of I when I were no taller nor thee bist boy a-stitchin her up a-follyin they nags as drayed that plough through too click for a chit like I to kip up wi’ save I maunt not nope worser nor a fly in traycle seeeeeeeeeeeee that dern loco puffer as don’t stop for nowt nor narn hollerin agin nope all they navvie buggers a-cuttin through Long Scarp like it were butter gived I brain fag jus a-watchin they cut dern loco line athurt coomb turf all greasy wi’ soot look aye our old May our dame Bunce seed he afore he come when I were still grawin boy law she yowls a gurt monster sorta type o’ dragon breathin fire an smoke maw chock full o’ folk as don’t wait for narn goed straight as a furrer on Gore patch save he don’t turn about at the headlans see nope old May squawkin like a hare in a trap anigh church till old Rev Willy Humbug come twitterin out an us knows now as it en’t no night mare a-thuddin through coomb nope seeeeeeeeeeeeeee firsest time back in ’46 I reckoned as it were early bumbledores out afore the last frast then thunder o’ Doomsday look drat filthy cloud o’ black like Old Gooseberry thrashin all we sinners puff puff puff clicketty clack feel he shake the chaak as minds I on old Jack Brinn hedgin oo he could weave a blackthorn quicker’n cobblin a frock old Jack save narn don’t need he now wi’ this here drat barb wire see thrift thrift eh lay thy gloves up Jack us gone newfangled now look fifty posties bang bang bang an every one o’ they tangs rolled straight athurt Whitesheet Haw yonder nor haaf the day were shot law he says I be no sort nor kind o’ use now they’ve grawed that there tackle aye come the fall he’d allus have a beard full o’ bedwine plume hoi dost reckon on a Heaven wi’ hedgerows Jack allus a nod back fit to bust wi’ clouds in the wind o’ bedwine plume aye nips ud go up to he an blow

hup aye yea up aye thee be jus no more nor that now boy a cloud o’ bedwine plume yea up hup starboard into Forty Acre tut tut gate ope aready out o’ mead look aye God rest thy soul thee’d like a tale or two out of I oh bloody rigmarole more like massy on us casn’t disremimber boy old Hoppetty Perry knowed it deep thee
shouldn’t
have never goed off to that scholard shop that Eton toff-shop Hoppetty feeled it deep like a shadder in gut a-hoistin thy trunk up strapped down tight like a coffen wi’ thy name on boy could jus about read that Master Dannul eh D. R. HOLLAND big white letters thy face all creamy an teeny atop the collar-starch through the winder then a-rattlin off in that dern carriage till it weren’t no more but a plume o’ road-dust catched I a bit of a wet eye boy now look you ben’t be rollin no hoops athurt no peonies nor strollin athurt no coomb agin wi’ Hoppetty save you be a cloud o’ bedwine plume as I do catch in the corner o’ my optics now an agin aye Dinneford’s Magnesia for the heartburn Jonas that’s my missus I says bugger thy Dinneford’s this en’t heartburn woman this en’t heartburn well kips the wolf from off of our door it do that bit o’ gardenin for thy Mam if so be as it does minds I on thee Master Dannul aye heartbroke aye no Dinneford’s bloody Magnesia for that

bloody buggerin hell it do catch I a bit of a wet now kip to the headlan off that barley aye old Forty Acre thee can take her forty-one thee have got to run allus my patch Forty Acre for forty year nowt more nor a haaf inch out stitchin up them furrers boy thee’d ax I why no more nor a haaf inch dost remimber why no more than that Mr Perry never Jo boy never Jo thy Mam puttin in her finger atween us call me Jo call me gramver bloody hell I knowed thee from a sucklin babby boy thee’d crawl ater I an I ud give thee petals off o’ the blown roses an black currants as ud turn thee gaamy all over thy face Nurse Puff-Guts crass as a windy sow at thy blotched pinner thee’d hang about I boy thee’d hang about I like as if thee were a bit short o’ folk in them days why no more nor a haaf inch out Mr Perry why no more eh a deal straighter nor that dern loco line boy layin the top top furrer well thee hadsn’t nowt other choice boy stitchin wi’out a crinkle seein as I were head horseman them days see aye aye head horseman bein as old man Barr were a stickler sherp an tight aye sherp an precious tight at Barr’s down yonder thatch an brick there yonder aye we’d call him Barley old man Barr as tied I in aye wonnerful faddy sort o’ chap please God face like a windfall yit one copper-fine heart boy aye tips an nails o’ my boots Jonas ye be the tips an nails o’ my boots on’t never disremimber that boy tips an nails o’ my boots head horse jus afore my leg goed aneath harrer tines see yonder see no never more nor a haaf inch out else the whole bloody lot were
crook
an whole blasted field patchy as a peg-rug shuttin-up time acause the rest o’ them ploughs ud be follyin thee steady as a mill-pond see ten furrer work then boy nowt o’ this newfangled flat-work nope oh hide your head in a bucket full o’ piss ater that no sort nor kind o’ use at all for nowt ater that aye clit a flint or two oo then them handles didn’t haaf dance mind aye a haaf inch out no more an that were bended a haaf inch deal too much so best hold tight athurt the brashy stuff an hum hmmmmmm I allus hummed hmmmmmm see helped I kip all steady aye clit they big flints that en’t no laaf on Forty Acre aye yea up doin a nancy boy athurt this hang as were out to diddle thee proper one time all goed kinketty click clack dang it coulter singin like it were jumped-up on anvil agin they horses all a-twitch whoa about waywut whoa waywut steady steady hooit waywut whoa about well clipped a heap o’ bogglin skulls boy thretty-two horse skulls eh why horse skulls Mr Perry yaa agin the Evil boy aneath the floorboards see weren’t no field o’ corn one time that scholard teacher bloke that Mr Quiller as allus smelled o’ the rose soap telled I as the plague fever did for the old homes up here jus ater the year dot well I’ll be dalled they horse skulls weren’t no sort nor kind o’ use at all agin that afflishun see shed have gived they a sup o’ Bovril apiece boy nope crookt my line astead aye aye toppin a furrer out o’ nowt but a decent eye agin o’ sight o’ that bloody stick in the hedgerow well us never had no specs see age see seed about a hundred white bloody sticks in the laas years an didn’t say nowt nope didn’t say nowt jus prayed Master Dannul prayed for what they call guidance athurt that there they two cruppers heavin afront an droppin they shits yaa more like us knows ’em better nor He do boy they fields yaa every bloody inch aye awmost smelled it if so be as you was off out a quarter inch thy boots telled thee soon enough nope weren’t never Him up there as be hard o’ hearin nope knowed them bloody fields better nor I knowed myself hup please God yit mind you a good docit pair o’ horses were more nor a haaf on it aye aye a haaf on it were that afore thee med reach the turn wi’out a botch behind thee whoa about there steady steady whoa

hey up an back an up an back agin till all they drat lines rolls past thy sight though you have shut up the lot bunkin off home at the close o’ journey like thee be haaf in the corner o’ mine Master Dannul massy on us well thinkin it be thy voice then only the
barleyoyles
astir in the breeze nope thee be ten feet aneath young feller thee on’t be nope thee on’t be nope nope thee on’t be dang an bloody buggerin hell no Dinneford’s bloody Magnesia nor no Cockle’s bloody Pills nor no patent bloody embocation woman in the whole bloody Empire on’t be soothin I oh thy Mam on’t have I blubberin don’t look right wi’ a rake I spect telled her I found his hoop Mrs Holland aneath the rhododendrons like that were a botch then certain sure her shriekin like a hare in a trap Dannul Dannul Dannul deep in the rhododendrons Mrs Holland like he’d only jus now rolled he in tssssssssssssss aye thee’d rub thy hands agin this tsssssss why does barley hiss so Mr Perry like the green sey suckin thy hand a-clippin they ticklin oyles atop blouses more like Master Dannul a thousand ladies’ blouses slided off that wind be heartsick for she Mother Nature fattenin up they gals afore the strike o’ our hooks I think it is the action of the ears upon each other Mr Perry yaa I tells ’ee summat thee ud never be talkin to the likes of I ater Eton had a-larned thee to be a toff boy no holdin o’ my hand athurt field ater that boy nope though it don’t make nowt right about that as God did to thee no ways look feather in the hawthorn haafway up like a angel bin through see she throwed out all thy feathers boy thy Mam he were larnin they names Mrs Holland I says she says Mr Perry mind your business all they feathers throwed out jay poker tom-tit jenny-wren buntin peewit mag crow she wi’ her pink hankercher pickin they up one by one whoa I was larnin he Mrs Holland look that be heron Mrs Holland whoa I remimbers he findin that one Mrs Holland like it was yeserday pink hankercher like they was dirt that on’t be Christern pleased as punch he were wi’ the grey heron go away she yowls go away like I were a piece o’ clat in her eye a piece o’ clat that hurted I I smelled they burn boy I smelled they burn

well we on’t be gettin miffy on it aye now thee be a angel upperds one o’ they host wi’ feathers o’ gold flied out o’ this sturvin stinkin world boy leastways best to go afore sins clag thee up a-handlin on they bubbies an furrers an thoughts as get thy soul all clammed wi’ muck or boozin thy way to Old Gooseberry’s throat yowlin every inch o’ the road chock-full o’ sins no hidin that no chizzlin thy way out o’ that nope nope I en’t a-treaded no straight an narrer no ways boy bent as a buckthorn that be why I hobbles an groans see afflishun see hast thou took thy Dr Laville’s
Jonas
I says no doctor’s stuff no bloody gout liquor woman be curin I save it be hell’s fire we all be monkeys now please God I’ve heared that haaf monkeys haaf angels well I be ape all through by now an Doomsday on’t be worser nor my dang rheumatics Master Dannul drat it I en’t hardly able to fetch a breath up some times ater rakin thy Mam’s lawn though it do kip the wolf from off of our door I says to the missus it do kip the wolf from off of our door if so be as she yangs at I to stop aye them Bursop maids were allus yangers an chivviers that were my big botch not fetchin breath afore it eh gie out ye mucky bugger wi’ that slap as don’t mean nowt jus thinkin on her squirted more milk out of I than out her cows now age boy age en’t left I nowt o’ that but a yangin mouth

aye aye well now best foot forrud kip the pot a-boilin casn’t do nowt about it boy casn’t disgouge what thee hast aready cut oh I remimbers thee jus here like it were yeserday thy face clammed tight with these here black berries that firsest time boy on’t never be black an ripe for thee this year now hup flatulence Mr Perry thy Mam says flatulence an summat wi’ a fancy name on the gastrics Mr Perry I says hedgerow fruit be Adam’s meat she says blowflies weren’t in God’s Garden for one Mr Perry for two I says where there be shit there be blowflies Mrs Holland aye she were wonnerful miffy at that nigh lost my bit o’ gardenin on account o’ that but you on’t eat nowt wi’out it come out some place an old Adam ate of every dern tree in the garden it do say wi’out a drop o’ Dinneford’s bloody Magnesia in sight I says he done his shits he done his proper shits well I do remimbers thee chock-full o’ sweetness Master Dannul dang the lot on ’em bloody buggerin Hell it do catch I in throat like a rag in a taypot blind leadin the blind thy Mam’d call it I says Hoppetty en’t that bad Mrs Holland poachin eyes see poachin eyes as ud watch she pass in all her best pink toggery years back now eh jus afore she was wedded to that to your Dad Mr Holland oh lovely an jimp aye jimp an fresh an lovely a-holdin onto her bonnet in that old gig as ud pass I by as en’t worth a brass farden to she nope yet one time a-broadcastin barley seed like the sight o’ she rattlin past towart Church stopped I dead an sended my hands all a-shake like so as I couldn’t git my hands in an out o’ that seed-lip proper for a bit then come grawin time Jonas old man Barr says what be that rumple in crop atop Whitesheet Haw didst stumble over flint when seedin or beest thee gettin too aged for this kind o’ work an back-drappin off a
limp
wrist eh well old Jonas kep tight smug for I couldn’t rightly say as that rumple were a hankerin ater a lady as were makin me maayzy like an thee ud have her eyes an mouth bang in thee sometimes boy then oh I feeled like I did feel like I were strollin on air like I med let they horses dray my plough an have my smoke an no clittin o’ no flints atween here an Doomsday look then yaa howsomever some jawlter-head ud lay into I about summat I en’t done an lo behold it be all druvved deep agin an low