Ulverton by Adam Thorpe

Author:Adam Thorpe [Thorpe, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub

* * *

9

Stitches

1887

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 alius 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 am 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

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