NORFOLK DIALECT
Norfolk dialect is a slow drawl, 'broad Norfolk' as it is described. Some words, such as 'ow' for 'old' are clipped, and there are many words understood only in Norfolk e.g. 'mawther' (sometimes abbreviated to 'maw') which is a word used to describe any woman, not just a mother. "I am not going' is usually "I en't goin", "If you go to Norwich' is "Du yu be goin' to Norridge'. It takes a book to fully describe the peculiarities of broad Norfolk.
Title: Mary hed a Titchy Lamb
Author: Anon
Town or County of Dialect: Norfolk
Message from Author:
I was born & lived in Norfolk to the age of 23. Though a long time away I still lapse into the old way of speech sometimes. Recently at a writing group we were given 30 minutes to write the poem 'Mary had a little lamb' in 4 different ways, one of which was, for me, in the Norfolk dialect as I remember it phonetically.
Mary hed a little ow titchy lamb
With wool thass white as snow
Din't matter where that mawther went
Thet lamb allus kep in tow
That follered har to skule one day
Tha teacher she wus riled
Git that duzzy cree'tur out o' here
A'cors, them kids went wild
So teacher slung thet ow lamb out
But thet din't go hoom, no fear
Thet snuck around outside the skule
Till the gal Mary did appear
Why the heck du thet lamb love Mary so
Them littul ow kids all cried
I reckon cos Mary love the lamb
An' thet hen't got no Mum, beside.
Title: The Storm
Author: The Boy Albie
Town/County of Dialect: Norfolk
Now, I wu’t afreard o’ noo-one,
An’ they wu’t afreard o’ me,
But I never loiked a thunderstorm,
What come in orf the sea.
Mother’d cover up the mirra,
Put away the forks an’ knives,
I’d git all fraught and flummoxed,
Under the tearble I would dive.
From the searfty o’ that ole tearble
I’d stay ’til the storm hed gorn,
Peepin’ out from under the tearbleclorth,
With its edges all freard an’ worn.
Mother larfed: “Now, dun’t yew worry,”
An’ just to alay my fears,
She’d tell me: “Tha’s on'y that there ole man,
Wha’s movin’ farniture upstairs.”
“Oh boy; yew are pathetic,”
She sear t’ me one day,
“For when yew’re old enuff fur skule,
They’ll larf if yew act that way.”
Now I hen’t bin at skule a half a week,
When a storm cearme in orf the sea,
That loightnin’ flashed, that thundered loud,
An’ hooly froightened me.
On addin’ I coon’t concentrearte,
Nor tearkin’ away too,
I wus gittin’ in a parlous stearte,
But I knew what I hatta dew.
Shovin’ my hand up in th’ air,
“I feel sick,” I began t’ shout,
The teacha wearved her hand at me,
An’ sear: “Dew yew git out!”
I ran acrorst the plearground,
Gittin’ sodden by the rearn,
My breath all cearme a-gaspin’,
Until I wuz home agearn.
The mirra wus all covered up,
The knives and forks hed gorn,
But I wuz searfe under the tearbleclorth,
Who cares if that wuz worn!
Mother sear: “What are yew doin’?”
“Yew’re nothin’ but a fule,”
She clipped my lug, that hoolly smart,
An’ clawed me back t’ skule!