CHAPTER XI

THE MODERN DIALECTS

It has been shown that, in the earliest period, we can distinguish three well-marked dialects besides the Kentish, viz. Northumbrian, Mercian, and Anglo-Saxon; and these, in the Middle English period, are known as Northern, Midland, and Southern. The modern dialects are very numerous, but can be arranged under five divisions, two of which may be called Northern and Southern, as before; whilst the other three arise from a division of the widely spread Midland into subdivisions. These may be called, respectively, West Midland, Mid Midland (or simply Midland), and East Midland; and it has been shown that similar subdivisions appear even in the Middle English period.

This arrangement of the modern dialects under five divisions is that adopted by Prof. Wright, who further simplifies the names by using Western in place of West Midland, and Eastern in place of East Midland. This gives us, as a final result, five divisions of English dialects, viz. Northern, Western, Midland, Eastern, and Southern; to which we must add the dialects of modern Scotland (originally Northern), and the dialects of Ireland, viz. of Ulster (a kind of Northern), Dublin, and Wexford (a kind of Southern).

No map of dialects is here given in illustration, because it is practically impossible to define their boundaries accurately. Such a map was once given by Dr Ellis, but it is only arbitrary; and Prof. Wright expressly says that, in his work also, the boundaries suggested are inexact; they are only given for convenience, as an approximation to the truth. He agrees with Dr Ellis in most of the particulars.

Many of the counties are divided between two, or even three, dialects; I somewhat simplify matters by omitting to mention some of them, so as to give merely a general idea of the chief dialectal localities. For fuller information, see the Dialect Grammar.

I. The dialects of Scotland may be subdivided into nine groups:

1. Shetland and Orkney.  2. Caithness.  3. Nairn, Elgin, Banff, Aberdeen.  4. E. Forfar, Kincardine.  5. W. Forfar, most of Perth, parts of Fife and Stirling.  6. S. Ayr, W. Dumfries, Kirkcudbright, Wigton.  7. S.E. Argyle, N. Ayr, Renfrew, Lanark.  8. Kinross, Clackmannan, Linlithgow, Edinburgh, Haddington, Berwick, Peebles.  9. E. Dumfries, Selkirk, Roxburgh.

II. Ireland.—Ulster, Dublin, Wexford.

III. England and Wales, in five divisions: (a) Northern; (b) Midland; (c) Eastern; (d) Western; (e) Southern.

(a) Three groups:  1. Northumberland, N. Durham.  2. S. Durham; most of Cumberland, Westmoreland, N. Lancashire, hilly parts of W. Riding of Yorkshire.  3. N. and E. Ridings of Yorkshire.

(b) Ten groups:  1. Lincolnshire.  2. S.E. Lancashire, N.E. Cheshire, N.W. Derby.  3. S.W. Lancashire, S. of the Ribble.  4. Mid Lancashire, Isle of Man.  5. S. Yorkshire; to the S.W. of the Wharfe. 6. Most of Cheshire, N. Staffordshire.  7. Most of Derby.  8. Nottingham.  9. Flint, Denbigh.  10. E. Shropshire, S. Stafford, most of Warwickshire, S. Derby, Leicestershire.

(c) Five groups:  1. Cambridge, Rutland, N.E. Northampton.  2. Most of Essex and Hertford, Huntingdon, Bedford, Mid Northampton.  3. Norfolk and Suffolk.  4. Most of Buckingham.  5. Middlesex, S.E. Buckingham, S. Hertford, S.W. Essex.

N.B. S.W. Northampton is Southern; see (e), 4.

(d) Two groups:  1. W. and S. Shropshire (W. of Severn).  2. Hereford (except E.), Radnor, E. Brecknock.

(e) Ten groups.  1. Parts of Pembroke and Glamorgan.  2. Wiltshire, Dorset, N. and E. Somerset, most of Gloucester, S.W. Devon. 3. Most of Hampshire, Isle of Wight, most of Berkshire, S. Surrey, W. Sussex.  4. N. Gloucester, E. Hereford, Worcester, S. Warwick, N. Oxford, S.W. Northampton.  5. Most of Oxford.  6. N. Surrey, N.W. Kent.  7. Most of Kent, E. Sussex.  8. W. Somerset, N.E. Devon.  9. Most of Devon, E. Cornwall.  10. W. Cornwall.

CHAPTER XII

A FEW SPECIMENS

There is a great wealth of modern dialect literature, as indicated by the lists in the E.D.D. Some of these dialect books are poor and inaccurate, and they are frequently spelt according to no intelligible phonetic principles. Yet it not unfrequently happens, as in the works of Sir Walter Scott and Charles Dickens, that the dialectal scraps indicate the pronunciation with tolerable fidelity, which is more than can be said of such portions of their works as are given in the normal spelling. It is curious to notice that writers in dialect are usually, from a phonetic point of view, more careful and consistent in their modes of indicating sounds than are the rest of us. Sometimes their spelling is, accordingly, very good. Those who are interested in this subject may follow up this hint with advantage.

It is impossible to mention even a tithe of the names of our better dialect writers. In Scotland alone there is a large number, some of the more recent bearing such well-known names as those of R.L. Stevenson, George Macdonald (Aberdeen), J.M. Barrie (Forfarshire), and S.R. Crockett (Galloway). Dean Ramsay’s humorous Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character must not be passed over. For Ireland we have William Carleton’s Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry, and the novels by Lever and Lover. Cumberland has its delightful stories of Joe and the Geologist, and Bobby Banks’ Bodderment. Cornwall has its Tales, by J.T. Tregellas. Devon can boast of R.D. Blackmore, Dorset of Hardy and Barnes, and Lincoln of Tennyson. The literature of Lancashire is vast; it suffices to mention John Collier (otherwise Tim Bobbin), author of Tummus and Meary, Ben Brierley, John Byrom, J.P. Morris, author of T’ Lebby Beck Dobby, and Edwin Waugh, prose author and poet. Giles’s Trip to London, and the other sketches by the same author, are highly characteristic of Norfolk. Northamptonshire has its poet, John Clare; and Suffolk can boast of Robert Bloomfield. According to her own statement, printed in the Preface (p. viii) to the E.D.S. Bibliographical List, George Eliot, when writing Adam Bede, had in mind “the talk of N. Staffordshire and the neighbouring part of Derbyshire”; whilst, in Silas Marner, “the district imagined is in N. Warwickshire.” Southey wrote T’ Terrible Knitters e’ Dent in the Westmoreland dialect. Yorkshire, like Lancashire, has a large literature, to which the E.D.D. Booklist can alone do justice.

Scottish (Group 3): Aberdeen.

The following extract is from Chapter xviii of Johnny Gibb of Gushetneuk, by W. Alexander, LL.D., fifteenth edition, Edinburgh, 1908. One special peculiarity of the dialect is the use of f for wh, as in fat, what, fan, when. The extract describes how the speaker and his friends went to hear a bellman make a proclamation about the appointment of a new minister to a church.

It’s a vera stiff brae, an’ ere we wan up to the kirk, it was gyaun upon eleyven o’clock. “Hooever,” says the mannie, “we’ll be in braw time; it’s twal ere the sattlement begin, an’ I’se warran they sanna apen the kirk-doors till’s till than.” So we tak’s a luik roun’ for ony kent fowk. They war stannin’ aboot a’gate roun’ aboot the kirk, in scores an’ hunners, fowk fae a’ the pairis’es roun’ aboot, an’ some fae hyne awa’ as far doon’s Marnoch o’ the tae han’ an’ Kintore o’ the tither, aw believe; some war stampin’ their feet an’ slappin’ their airms like the yauws o’ a win’mill to keep them a-heat; puckles wus sittin’ o’ the kirk-yard dyke, smokin’ an’ gyaun on wi’ a’ kin’ o’ orra jaw aboot the minaisters, an’ aye mair gedderin’ in aboot—it was thocht there wus weel on to twa thoosan’ there ere a’ was deen. An’ aye a bit fudder was comin’ up fae the manse aboot fat the Presbytery was deein—they war chaumer’t there, ye see, wi’ the lawvyers an’ so on. “Nyod, they maun be sattlin’ ’im i’ the manse,” says ane, “we’ll need a’ gae doon an’ see gin we can win in.” “Na, na,” says anither, “a bit mair bather aboot thair dissents an’ appales bein’ ta’en; muckle need they care, wi’ sic a Presbytery, fat they try. But here’s Johnny Florence, the bellman, at the lang length, I’se be at the boddom o’ fat they’re at noo.” And wi’ that he pints till a carlie comin’ across the green, wi’ a bit paper in’s han’, an’ a gryte squad o’ them ’t hed been hingin’ aboot the manse-door at’s tail. “Oo, it’s Johnny gyaun to read the edick,” cries a gey stoot chap, an’ twa three o’ them gya a roar o’ a lauch.... “Speek oot, min!” cries ane. “I think ye mith pronunce some better nor that, Johnny,” says anither; an’ they interrupit ’im fan he was tryin’ to read wi’ a’ kin’ of haivers, takin’ the words oot o’s mou, an’ makin’ the uncoest styte o’t ’t cud be.

Scottish (Group 7): Ayrshire.

The following lines are quoted from a well-known poem by Robert Burns (1759-1796).

The Twa Dogs (Cæsar and Luath).

Scottish (Group 8): Edinburgh.

The following stanzas are from The Farmer’s Ingle, a poem by Robert Fergusson (1750-1774), a native of Edinburgh.

Northern (England); Group 2: Westmoreland.

The following extract is from a remarkable tract entitled A Bran New Wark, by William De Worfat; Kendal, 1785. The author was the Rev. William Hutton, Rector of Beetham in Westmoreland, 1762-1811, and head of a family seated at Overthwaite (here called Worfat) in that parish. It was edited by me for the E.D.S. in 1879.

Last Saturday sennet, abaut seun in the evening (twas lownd and fraaze hard) the stars twinkled, and the setting moon cast gigantic shadows. I was stalking hameward across Blackwater-mosses, and whistling as I tramp’d for want of thought, when a noise struck my ear, like the crumpling of frosty murgeon; it made me stop short, and I thought I saw a strange form before me: it vanished behint a windraw; and again thare was nought in view but dreary dykes, and dusky ling. An awful silence reigned araund; this was sean brokken by a skirling hullet; sure nivver did hullet, herrensue, or miredrum, mak sic a noise before. Your minister [himself] was freetned, the hairs of his head stood an end, his blead storkened, and the haggard creature moving slawly nearer, the mirkiness of the neet shew’d her as big again as she was... She stoup’d and drop’d a poak, and thus began with a whining tone. “Deary me! deary me! forgive me, good Sir, but this yance, I’ll steal naa maar. This seek is elding to keep us fra starving!”... [The author visits the poor woman’s cottage.] She sat on a three-legg’d steal, and a dim coal smook’d within the rim of a brandreth, oor which a seety rattencreak hung dangling fra a black randletree. The walls were plaister’d with dirt, and a stee, with hardly a rung, was rear’d into a loft. Araund the woman her lile ans sprawl’d on the hearth, some whiting speals, some snottering and crying, and ya ruddy-cheek’d lad threw on a bullen to make a loww, for its mother to find her loup. By this sweal I beheld this family’s poverty.

Midland (Group 1): Lincoln.

I here give a few quotations from the Glossary of Words used in the Wapentakes of Manley and Corringham, Lincolnshire, by E. Peacock, F.S.A.; 2nd ed., E.D.S., 1889. The illustrative sentences are very characteristic.

Beal, to bellow.—Th’ bairn beäled oot that bad, I was clëan scar’d, but it was at noht bud a battle-twig ’at hed crohlëd up’n his airm. (Battle-twig, earwig; airm, arm.)

Cart, to get into, to get into a bad temper.—Na, noo, thoo neädn’t get into th’ cart, for I weän’t draw thee.

Cauf, a calf, silly fellow.—A gentleman was enlarging to a Winterton lad on the virtues of Spanish juice [liquorice water]. “Ah, then, ye’ll ha’ been to th’ mines, wheäre thaay gets it,” the boy exclaimed; whereupon the mother broke in with—“A greät cauf! Duz he think ’at thaay dig it oot o’ th’ grund, saäme as thaay do sugar?”

Chess, a tier.—I’ve been tell’d that e’ plaaces wheäre thaay graw silk-worms, thaay keäps ’em on traays, chess aboon chess, like cheney i’ a cupboard. (E’ in; cheney, china.)

Clammer, to climb.—Oor Uriah’s clammered into th’ parson’s cherry-tree, muther, an’ he is swalla’in on ’em aboon a bit. I shouldn’t ha tell’d ye nobbut he weänt chuck me ony doon. (Nobbut, only.)

Cottoner, something very striking.—Th’ bairn hed been e’ mischief all daay thrif; at last, when I was sidin’ awaay th’ teä- things, what duz he do but tum’le i’to th’ well. So, says I, Well, this is a cottoner; we shall hev to send for Mr Iveson (the coroner) noo, I reckon. (Thrif, through; sidin’ awaay, putting away.)

Ducks.—A girl said to the author, of a woman with whom she had been living for a short time as servant, “I’d raather be nibbled to deäd wi’ ducks then live with Miss P. She’s alus a natterin’.” (Deäd, death; alus, always; natterin’, nagging.)

Good mind, strong intention.—She said she’d a good mind to hing her-sen, soä I ax’d if I mud send for Mr Holgate (the coroner), to be ready like. (Hing, hang; mud, might.)

Jaup, senseless talk.—Ho’d the jaup wi’ thĕ; dos’t ta want ivery body to knaw how soft thoo is? (Ho’d, hold; soft, foolish.)

Midland (Group 2): S.E. Lancashire.

The following poem is from Poems and Songs by Edwin Waugh; 3rd ed., London, 1870.

Owd Pinder.

Midland (Group 5): Sheffield.

The following extract is from A. Bywater’s Sheffield Dialect, 3rd ed, 1877; as quoted in S.O. Addy’s Sheffield Glossary, E.D.S., 1888, p. xv.

Jerra Flatback. Hah, they’n better toimes on’t nah, booath e heitin and clooas; we’n had menni a mess a nettle porridge an brawls on a Sunda mo’nin, for us brekfast... Samma, dusta remember hah menni names we had for sahwer wotcake?

Oud Samma Squarejoint. O kno’n’t, lad; bur o think we’d foive or six. Let’s see: Slammak wer won, an’ Flat-dick wer anuther; an’t tuther wor—a dear, mo memra fails ma—Flannel an’ Jonta; an-an-an-an—bless me, wot a thing it is tubbe oud, mo memra gers war for ware, bur o kno heah’s anuther; o’st think on enah.—A, Jerra, heah’s menni a thahsand dogs nah days, at’s better dun too nor we wor then; an them were t’golden days a Hallamshoir, they sen. An they happen wor, for’t mesters. Hofe at prentis lads e them days wor lether’d whoile ther skin wor skoi-blue, and clam’d whoile ther booans wer bare, an work’d whoile they wor as knock-kneed as oud Nobbletistocks. Thah nivver sees nooa knock-kneed cutlers nah: nou, not sooa; they’n better mesters nah, an they’n better sooat a wark anole. They dooant mezher em we a stick, as oud Natta Hall did. But for all that, we’d none a yer wirligig polishin; nor Tom Dockin scales, wit bousters comin off; nor yer sham stag, nor sham revvits, an sich loik. T’ noives wor better made then, Jerra.

Jerra: Hah, they wor better made; they made t’ noives for yuse then, but they mayn em to sell nah.

Midland (Group 6): Cheshire.

The following extract is from “Betty Bresskittle’s Pattens, or Sanshum Fair,” by J.C. Clough; printed with Holland’s Cheshire Glossary, E.D.S. (1886), p. 466. Sanshum or Sanjem Fair is a fair held at Altrincham on St James’s Day.

Jud sprung upo’ th’ stage leet as a buck an’ bowd as a dandycock, an’ th’ mon what were playingk th’ drum (only it wer’nt a gradely drum) gen him a pair o’ gloves. Jud began a-sparringk, an’ th’ foaks shaouted, “Hooray! Go it, owd Jud! Tha’rt a gradely Cheshire mon!”

Th’ black felly next gen Jud a wee bit o’ a bang i’ th’ reet ee, an Jud git as weild as weild, an hit reet aht, but some hah he couldna git a gradely bang at th’ black mon. At-aftur two or three minutes th’ black felly knocked Jud dahn, an t’other chap coom and picked him up, an’ touch’d Jud’s faace wi’ th’ spunge everywheer wheer he’d getten a bang, but th’ spunge had getten a gurt lot o’ red ruddle on it, so that it made gurt red blotches upo’ Jud’s faace wheer it touched it; an th’ foaks shaouted and shaouted, “Hooray, Jud! Owd mon! at em agen!” An Jud let floy a good un, an th’ mon wi’ th’ spunge had to pick th’ blackeymoor up this toime an put th’ ruddle upo’ his faace just at-under th’ee.

“Hooray, Jud! hooray, owd mon!” shaouted Jock Carter o’ Runjer; “tha’rt game, if tha’rt owd!”

Just at that vary minit Jud’s weife, bad as hoo were wi’ th’ rheumatic, pushed her rooäd through th’ foaks, and stood i’ th’ frunt o’ th’ show.

“Go it agen, Jud! here’s th’ weife coom t’see hah gam tha art!” shaouted Jonas.

Jud turn’d rahnd an gurned at th’ frunt o’ th’ show wi’ his faace aw ruddle.

“Tha girt soo! I’ll baste thi when aw get thi hwom, that aw will!” shaouted Betty Bresskittle; “aw wunder tha artna ashamed o’ thisen, to stond theer a-feightingk th’ deevil hissel!”

Eastern (Group 2): N. Essex.

The following extract is from John Noakes and Mary Styles, by Charles Clark, of Great Totham; London, 1839. Reprinted for the E.D.S., 1895. As Great Totham is to the North of Maldon, I take this specimen to belong to Prof. Wright’s “Division 2” rather than to the S.W. Essex of “Division 5.” The use of w for initial v occurs frequently, as in werry, very, etc.

Eastern (Group 3): Norfolk.

The following extract from “A Norfolk Dialogue” is from a work entitled Erratics by a Sailor, printed anonymously at London in 1800, and written by the Rev. Joshua Larwood, rector of Swanton Morley, near East Dereham. Most of the words are quite familiar to me, as I was curate of East Dereham in 1861-2, and heard the dialect daily. The whole dialogue was reprinted in Nine Specimens of English Dialects; E.D.S., 1895.

The Dialogue was accompanied by “a translation,” as here reprinted. It renders a glossary needless.

Western (Group 1): S.W. Shropshire.

The following specimen is given in Miss Jackson’s Shropshire Word-book, London, 1879, p. xciv. It describes how Betty Andrews, of Pulverbatch, rescued her little son, who had fallen into the brook.

I ’eärd a scrike, ma’am, an’ I run, an’ theer I sid Frank ’ad pecked i’ the bruck an’ douked under an’ wuz drowndin’, an’ I jumped after ’im an’ got ’out on ’im an’ lugged ’im on to the bonk all sludge, an’ I got ’im wham afore our Sam comen in—a good job it wuz for Sam as ’e wunna theer an’ as Frank wunna drownded, for if ’e ’ad bin I should ’a’ tore our Sam all to winder-rags, an’ then ’e ’d a bin djed an’ Frank drownded an’ I should a bin ’anged. I toud Sam wen ’e tŏŏk the ’ouse as I didna like it.—“Bless the wench,” ’e sed, “what’n’ee want? Theer’s a tidy ’ouse an’ a good garden an’ a run for the pig.” “Aye,” I sed, “an’ a good bruck for the childern to peck in;” so if Frank ’ad bin drownded I should a bin the djeth uv our Sam. I wuz that frittened, ma’am, that I didna spake for a nour after I got wham, an’ Sam sed as ’e ’adna sid me quiet so lung sence we wun married, an’ that wuz eighteen ’ear.

Southern (Group 2): Wiltshire.

The following well-known Wiltshire fable is from Wiltshire Tales, by J. Yonge Akerman (1853). I give it as it stands in the Preface to Halliwell’s Dictionary; omitting the “Moral.”

The Harnet and the Bittle.

Southern (Group 3): Isle of Wight.

The following colloquy is quoted in the Glossary of Isle of Wight Words, E.D.S., 1881, at p. 50.

I recollect perfectly the late Mr James Phillips of Merston relating a dialogue that occurred between two of his labourers relative to the word straddle-bob, a beetle.... At the time of luncheon, one of them, on taking his bren-cheese (bread and cheese) out of a little bag, saw something that had found its way there; which led to the following discourse.

Jan. What’s got there, you?

Will. A straddlebob craalun about in the nammut-bag.

J. Straddlebob? Where ded’st leyarn to caal ’n by that neyam?

W. Why, what shoud e caal ’n? ’Tes the right neyam, esn ut?

J. Right neyam? No! Why, ye gurt zote vool, casn’t zee ’tes a dumbledore?

W. I know ’tes; but vur aal that, straddlebob’s zo right a neyam vor ’n as dumbledore ez.