Betty Lightfoot
Harry Craven Cup - Best PIECE OF PROSE in Lancashire Dialect
Vicar Shaw Trophy - Best OVERALL ENTRY in Classes 1 - 5
ABSENT FRIENDS .... NODDLE YED'S TALE
“Tha’t a fause un, a reet fause crate egg Billy Birchall” sez Ah. “An tha’t a noddle yed mardy bum, Albert Burton!” Weeal, Ah wur aw wun up an Ah rownded on ‘im; “Tha wur cheeytin’ Ahm noan partin’ wi’ mi best murp so theear... ” An’ afore ee cud say owt Ah set abowt ‘im. Hecky thump it wur like Battle o’ Hastings an Trafalgar rowlt inta wun. Pur on us kicked an punced til we topplt o’er. Durnt tut tut thi Grondfayther Ah’ve nooan growd another yed – Ah met bi as owd as Stanley Matthews bur Ahve forgetten mooar abowt owden days an yon battles than thy’all larn wi’ yon computher in a month o’ Sundays!
Didst tha know them theear foncy green wellies tha wurrs tek dog owt wur christent afther th‘iron Duke aye, and yon beef butty yer gollopin’ wur another on ‘is ideas so’s sowdyers didn’t keel o’er fra lack o’ grub. Wheear wur Ah, aye th’Iron Duke wur awreet, a gradely mon. Trayted men as family, kept in check, geet thur respect 24/7 as yer met sey. Feyt to win wur Wellington’s motto – er so’s Ah wur towd at Schoo. Nooan o’ that theear ponsy stuff – signin trayties that arnt worth papper thi writ on an ar brokken afore th’inks dreys. Lesson wun done, lesson two. Billy Birchall cawd thi Grondfayther a Noddle Yed wunce an wunce only. Yon feyt tha’ll bi plessed to larn wur furst an last. We shuck onds, cawd a truce an it still stonds – er wud, if Billy weren’t six foot under. Ah’ll miss him, tha knows, ee wur awreet, we’d sit theear, in’t snug, chewin owr baccy an mekkin plans, aye, pur on us ‘ad big ideas. Neear crosst owr minds thur wur war brewin. We cud a done wi th’Iron Duke back then. Aye, th’Iron Duke wud a med a wakes on Hitler, jest as ee did wi Boney.
Seventy six yer, six wick and three days best mates wi wur; five yer o’ that under Monty – ee wur brave, a gradely sowdyer, nowt pur im off. Sem as Wellington, dogged, determined. Thurs nowt wrung wi’t owd noddle box, eeh, Ah weesh Ah cud sey sem fer’t rest o’ mi! Weear wur Ah – oh aye, Wellington. Best sowdyer, best planner, best mon fert job. Duke stopped Boney’s antics. Like as not tha’s sin oyl paintins o’ yon lardie daa Frenchmon on ‘ orseback but Ah bet tha’s ne’er sin ‘im wi a white flag – no that wurnt, lad. Seems Boney wur as mard as –
weal, fert wont on a bether word – ‘orsemuck – freetent stiff on owr duke, givvin orders fra rear, on ‘orseback, top o’t’ hill, sun in his een, teks owt onky – white, wi Belgian lace. Aye lad, thurs no need rowl thi een, Ah yerd aw abowt it fra mi fayther’s pal, Jonty Mathews –Distant relative to Stanley as it ‘appens. Picture yon Froggie eytin a beef bagget –butty to likes on us – sun in is een, missin ‘is cake ole, buther er mustard – er both – aw o’er gowd braid an breeches. Boney teks owt onky, mops isself off, wipes sweat off is yed and bingo – Duke showts “THE FRENCH HAVE SURRENDERED,-‘ ONWARD AND UPWARD MEN!” er summat er sort. Battle wur o’er in a fleysh. Thure wur nowt Boney cud sey er do t’alter outcome.
Wavin a white flag fra then on meant surrender. Naw ee wur fause, wur th’Iron Duke, ee wurnt freetent o’ Boney – ee wurnt freetent o nowt. Duke thowt it wur time an pur on end to senseless killin. A gradely mon, a statesmon an Ah’d raise mi cap if Ah cud. Maybe tha’ll do it for thi owd Grondfeather – chuck it hegh an catch it. Ta, lad. Weeal Ah reckon Ah cud manage wun er two beef butties wi a gill. Yon feyt o’er a murp- marble to thee – mi best un, mind , turned owt awreet. Durnt sey owt to thi Grondma – hoo ne’er wur fond on ‘im – bur if it wur thi Grondfayther they’d plonted today, Billy Birchall wud bi sittin wi thi now, eytin fer England. Aye an sup thee under t’ table. It met seem daft t’ thee, feytin o’er a murp – bur that theear truce wert mekkin o’ Billy. Birchall’s wur ruff yeds – incummers t’Bowton- aw family wur Owdham born n’bred. Onyroad Ah wur sem age as Billy, sem seyze – peas in a pod teychur sed on a gud dey- bad deys Turrible Twins! Aye, an Turrible Twins nickname stuck aw thru war.....
It wur Thursday wick Billy played double five, won twenty pee off thi Grndfayther, so Ah thowt it wur about time t’cum clen abowt youn murp. Billy winked at mi, sed ee knowd aw along Ah’d bin fibbin, shuck mi ond, then keeled o’er. Seventy six yer, six wick an three days, best mates. That theear murp fell dewn a grid day afther ower feyt. Seems Ah’ve bin tipped t’wink bi Billy’s dowter fert sey summat..... Weeal Ah’m nooan wun fer prattlin er praisin er upsethin fowk.... “CUD YER BE UPSTONDIN, LASSES AND LADS FER A TOAST TO............ ABSENT FRIENDS.”
“ABSENT FRIENDS”
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“Tha’t a fause un, a reet fause crate egg Billy Birchall” sez Ah. “An tha’t a noddle yed mardy bum, Albert Burton!” Weeal, Ah wur aw wun up an Ah rownded on ‘im; “Tha wur cheeytin’ Ahm noan partin’ wi’ mi best murp so theear... ” An’ afore ee cud say owt Ah set abowt ‘im. Hecky thump it wur like Battle o’ Hastings an Trafalgar rowlt inta wun. Pur on us kicked an punced til we topplt o’er. Durnt tut tut thi Grondfayther Ah’ve nooan growd another yed – Ah met bi as owd as Stanley Matthews bur Ahve forgetten mooar abowt owden days an yon battles than thy’all larn wi’ yon computher in a month o’ Sundays!
Didst tha know them theear foncy green wellies tha wurrs tek dog owt wur christent afther th‘iron Duke aye, and yon beef butty yer gollopin’ wur another on ‘is ideas so’s sowdyers didn’t keel o’er fra lack o’ grub. Wheear wur Ah, aye th’Iron Duke wur awreet, a gradely mon. Trayted men as family, kept in check, geet thur respect 24/7 as yer met sey. Feyt to win wur Wellington’s motto – er so’s Ah wur towd at Schoo. Nooan o’ that theear ponsy stuff – signin trayties that arnt worth papper thi writ on an ar brokken afore th’inks dreys. Lesson wun done, lesson two. Billy Birchall cawd thi Grondfayther a Noddle Yed wunce an wunce only. Yon feyt tha’ll bi plessed to larn wur furst an last. We shuck onds, cawd a truce an it still stonds – er wud, if Billy weren’t six foot under. Ah’ll miss him, tha knows, ee wur awreet, we’d sit theear, in’t snug, chewin owr baccy an mekkin plans, aye, pur on us ‘ad big ideas. Neear crosst owr minds thur wur war brewin. We cud a done wi th’Iron Duke back then. Aye, th’Iron Duke wud a med a wakes on Hitler, jest as ee did wi Boney.
Seventy six yer, six wick and three days best mates wi wur; five yer o’ that under Monty – ee wur brave, a gradely sowdyer, nowt pur im off. Sem as Wellington, dogged, determined. Thurs nowt wrung wi’t owd noddle box, eeh, Ah weesh Ah cud sey sem fer’t rest o’ mi! Weear wur Ah – oh aye, Wellington. Best sowdyer, best planner, best mon fert job. Duke stopped Boney’s antics. Like as not tha’s sin oyl paintins o’ yon lardie daa Frenchmon on ‘ orseback but Ah bet tha’s ne’er sin ‘im wi a white flag – no that wurnt, lad. Seems Boney wur as mard as –
weal, fert wont on a bether word – ‘orsemuck – freetent stiff on owr duke, givvin orders fra rear, on ‘orseback, top o’t’ hill, sun in his een, teks owt onky – white, wi Belgian lace. Aye lad, thurs no need rowl thi een, Ah yerd aw abowt it fra mi fayther’s pal, Jonty Mathews –Distant relative to Stanley as it ‘appens. Picture yon Froggie eytin a beef bagget –butty to likes on us – sun in is een, missin ‘is cake ole, buther er mustard – er both – aw o’er gowd braid an breeches. Boney teks owt onky, mops isself off, wipes sweat off is yed and bingo – Duke showts “THE FRENCH HAVE SURRENDERED,-‘ ONWARD AND UPWARD MEN!” er summat er sort. Battle wur o’er in a fleysh. Thure wur nowt Boney cud sey er do t’alter outcome.
Wavin a white flag fra then on meant surrender. Naw ee wur fause, wur th’Iron Duke, ee wurnt freetent o’ Boney – ee wurnt freetent o nowt. Duke thowt it wur time an pur on end to senseless killin. A gradely mon, a statesmon an Ah’d raise mi cap if Ah cud. Maybe tha’ll do it for thi owd Grondfeather – chuck it hegh an catch it. Ta, lad. Weeal Ah reckon Ah cud manage wun er two beef butties wi a gill. Yon feyt o’er a murp- marble to thee – mi best un, mind , turned owt awreet. Durnt sey owt to thi Grondma – hoo ne’er wur fond on ‘im – bur if it wur thi Grondfayther they’d plonted today, Billy Birchall wud bi sittin wi thi now, eytin fer England. Aye an sup thee under t’ table. It met seem daft t’ thee, feytin o’er a murp – bur that theear truce wert mekkin o’ Billy. Birchall’s wur ruff yeds – incummers t’Bowton- aw family wur Owdham born n’bred. Onyroad Ah wur sem age as Billy, sem seyze – peas in a pod teychur sed on a gud dey- bad deys Turrible Twins! Aye, an Turrible Twins nickname stuck aw thru war.....
It wur Thursday wick Billy played double five, won twenty pee off thi Grndfayther, so Ah thowt it wur about time t’cum clen abowt youn murp. Billy winked at mi, sed ee knowd aw along Ah’d bin fibbin, shuck mi ond, then keeled o’er. Seventy six yer, six wick an three days, best mates. That theear murp fell dewn a grid day afther ower feyt. Seems Ah’ve bin tipped t’wink bi Billy’s dowter fert sey summat..... Weeal Ah’m nooan wun fer prattlin er praisin er upsethin fowk.... “CUD YER BE UPSTONDIN, LASSES AND LADS FER A TOAST TO............ ABSENT FRIENDS.”
“ABSENT FRIENDS”
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