Carryin’ On!

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Carryin’ On! (September 30th, 1939) by Sal Tregenna.

Well, me deers, I wunder ‘ow you’m all veelin’ be this time? Las’ time I ‘rote to’ee th’ war ‘ad’n sterted, an’ us wuz all pryin’ it would’n cum. But now us be into’t bant us, an’ zimmin to me tiz gain to be a big thing. Course, like I zed to Jane, us doant knaw nort ’bout it down yur in our li’l village. Cum ‘pon that nobody in this c’untry heb zeed their men go away. But wot ’bout th’ pore vokes out there in Poland? Pore old Jane ‘er cums in every day to talk ’bout th’ war, an’ th’ wust o’t iz er wont talk ’bout nort else. ‘Er still reckons us ‘ad’n got no bizzens to be in it, an’ I can’t git ‘er to zee no other. “Time enuff to vight ole ‘Itler of ‘e wuz tryin’ to cum vore yur,” ‘er zes. “Jane,” zes I, “I bant gain waste no more wind tryin’ to argey wi’ you! Yer ole haid’s made o’ bone vur zartin, an’ nort can’t be knocked into’n. All I can tell’ee is this, twould’n be long avore ‘e would be vore yur if ‘e wuz left go! An’ anether thing, Jane, nobody wi’ no noshuns o’ wot’s right an’ wot’s wrong could’n stand by an’ laive thikky ole varmint do wot ‘e mine to.” “Well,” ‘er zes, “I can’t zee it your ‘t’all, Sal. If us do bait ole ‘Itler wot’ll ‘appen then? Shell us hev Poland?” “Jane,” I zes, lostin’ all me pashense, “you’d bedder ‘rite up to Maister Chimberlain an’ ax’n wot plans ‘e’ve made. But vur pity’s zake laive me go! If you heb’n got nort bedder than that to talk ’bout tiz time vur’ee to shut up.” Zo off ‘er goes in a brave ole huff. But th’ minnit I put me tay to zawk in th’ arternune in ‘er cums agane! “Sal,” zes she, “wot be”ee gain do ’bout yer winders? Ole Sly’s cumin roun’ every aivmen, zo they’m tellin’, to zee that there idden no lights shawin’ nowhare” “Well, I’ver put up zum thick curtains, an’ they’m answerin’ alrite,” zes I. “But you can git vitty paper vur makin’ blines if you heb’n got nort zootable, I b’leeve. Willyum Jan zed ‘er wuz hevin’ zum in a day or two.” “Aw, iss, an’ a purty penny tha’s gain cost, I’ll warn,”zes she. “I mus zay your boy’s lucky, Sal, to be kippin’ a bloomin’ shop, ‘E’ll make a vorchin’ vur ‘izzel out c’ this yur war.” Well, I can tell’ee I veeled mad ’nuff to haive th’ taypot right at ‘er haid, tay an’ all! But avore I could think wot to zay in walks Jim Snell.

Jim’s Devise!

“Iss, plaize,” zes ‘e, when ‘e catched zight o’ th’ taypot in me ‘and, “I’ll hev a dish o’ tay, Missus!” An’ back ‘e goes to dresser an’ brings vore a cup an’ zosser vur ‘izzel’. Then ‘e lookied to me braave an’ ‘ard, an’ I knawed e could zee that I wuz upzet auver zummin. “Wot’s up, Missus” ‘e axed. Zo I up an’ tells’un wot Jane ‘ad zed to me, an ‘e zoon put Jane in ‘er plaace, iss ‘e did! “Cum ‘pon that Missus,” zes ‘e, “e’ll be lucky if e gits a livin’ out o’ th’ shop. Heb’n ‘ee zeed top th’ paper that there idden gain be no profiteerin’ ‘lowed? Th’ Guver’mint hev vixed th’ prices o’ everything an’ th’ shop-kippers can’r cherge no more. I doant zay things wont git deerer, but wotever th’ prices be, tiz gain be th’ zame everywhere, an’ nobody ‘idden gain make no vorchin. To tell’ee th’ trewth, I jist bin up to Willyum Jan’s wi’ braid, an’ us wuz taalkin’ ’bout th’ same thing. There’s one thing us be boath detarmined vur, though, and, that iz us bant gain laive vokes chait us! Zame’s I zed to Willyum Jan, I bant gain take on no customers that I doant want to zupply. Us knaws our gude customers, an’ our bad ones, an’ us bant gain laive th’ bad ones register wi’ us! Tell ’bout makin’ our vorchuns,” zes ‘e, winkin’ ‘is heye to me, “I reckon us hev got a brave li’l vorvhin owed to us, if aunly us could git it!” I knawed that would shut Jane up, an’ zo it ded! ‘Er drinked ‘er tay an’ left me an’ Jim to do th’ talin’, and’ a purty ole taale ‘e ‘ad to tell! ‘E;d a’bin to zeveral plaaces whare they’d got these yur’ vackuee cheldern, an’ a very purty lot o’ varmints zum o’ ’em be, ‘cordin’ to Jim. Us heb’n got noane yur in out li’l village not ‘et, but I b’leeve there’s zum cumin later on. “My gor, Missus, you’ll wish zer bargen dry, ez th’ zayin’ iz if you gits th’ zaame zort I’ver zeed today! An’ they wuz baistly, too, when they cum, zo th, vokes wuz tellin’.” Coarse, that zet Jane on agane! “I bant gain take in no baistly cheldern,” snaps she, “nor no hooligans nother! they can kip ’em.” “Well,” zes I, “I’ver prommissed to take ’em in, and’ I’ll kip me wurd. Teden no vau’t in th’deer cheldern if they’m baistly, Jane. An’ it may net be th’ vau’t o’ the’r pore Mawthers ayther. Th’ rail trubble, I reckons, iz th’ conditions they bin livin’ in, an’ th’ bigges’ shame iz to think there’s vokes livin’ like it in a zo-called Christian c’untry. No, Jane; if they zends me a baistly cheel, I’ll clain it, an’ if they zends me a li’l hooligan I’ll do me best to taich it bedder. Arter all, us hev all bin wunderin’ wot us could do to ‘elp in the terrible time, heb’n us; an’ zimmin to me yur’s th’ ancer” If us could aunly taich one deer cheel th’ right way o’ living’, th’ value o’ being’ clain in body an’mind, I reckon us should hev dun our share, net aunly towards winnin’ th’ war, but towards buildin’ a bedder England! Cheldern never vurgit, an’ th’ zaids us zow now may bear vroot in yurs to cum when they’m grawed up, an’ cum to take th’r plaace in th’ world.” “Missus,” zes Jim Snell, “you’d make a gude Passen! Tha’s a brave ole zarmon you’ve praiched now. But all th’ zame, I b’leeve you’m right. Well I mus’ git on,” zes ‘e, “or I shell be be-knighted. Tiz a regler noosance travellin’ be night now wi’ all there yer ole black-out reggilashuns.” “An’ a proper ole caper ’bout blackin’ yer winders, idden it?” chimes in Jane. “Wot hev Ann den be ‘er winders, Jim?” “I dunno,” zes ‘e, “I b’leeve ‘er’ve ‘itched up zummin, but I heb’n looked mutch notiss, no tell’ee th’ trewth.” “Well, I heb’n put up nort ‘et,” zes Jane, “but I spoase I got to, cuz they tells me ole Sly’s cummin’ roun’ an’ if you doant put up zummin’ ‘e’s gain paint yer winders wi’ black paint.” “Well, tha’s nort to wurry about, Missus,” zes Jim Snell, ez ‘e waint out th’ dore. “You can vend zummin’ to ‘itch up vur zartin. Wot ’bout thikky ole shert o’ Zilas’s out there ‘pen th’ line? ‘E’s black enuff. I should think, to plaize ennybody! An’ wi’ that ‘e wuz gone like a dog tailpiped, ez th’ zayin’ iz.

 

 

 

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