[talentedbutslow]

Norma Hart

A few years back I found a new chap
I thowt ‘e were love o’ me life,
but we ‘ad what you’d call a language mis’ap
so I never became ‘is wife.
I used Lancashire words like ‘mard’ an’ ‘luv’
but me boyfriend came from down south,
so ‘e thowt as I didn’t speak “as one should”,
whereas ‘e ‘ad a plum in ‘is mouth.
I said ter me boyfriend one day i’ week
“Yer really don’t understand me”.
“Darling”, ‘e said, “that’s rather a cheek,
it is you who doesn’t speak clearly.”
There were all kinds o’ words ‘e didn’t get reet,
‘gradely’s’ just one case in point.
I used it once an’ ‘e sulked all neet,
yet I’d paid ‘im a compliment.
Fer reasons best known, just to ‘issen
‘e thowt I were callin’ ‘im fat.
“Listen yer lummox,” I tried to explain.
“it means som’at good does that.”
“For a lady”, ‘e said, “your language is ripe.”
an’ ‘e really were getting’ quite cross.
“By gum,” I said, “yer do talk tripe.”
an’ ‘e were left at a bit of a loss.
I explained about tripe bein’ offal an such,
but ‘e just took greater offence.
“Look here,” ‘e said, “this is all a bit much,
you really don’t make any sense.”
At this, I must say, I were puzzled,
an’ felt ‘e were bein’ quite ‘ard.
“You’ve simply compared me with offal,” ‘e said,
so I told ‘im, “don’t be ser mard.”
“Mard is a word you’ll have to define”,
‘e said givin’ me the cowd shoulder.
“And what’s more,” ‘e said, “keep taking this line,
and you’ll find our engagement is over.”
I faced ‘im theer fer a minute or two,
about to do what ‘e asked me,
an’ then I thowt about sayin’ “I do”
to a chap who couldn’t speak Lanky.
I knew right then that all wasn’t well,
though we did ‘ave one last hurrah.
An’ when it ended ‘e said “farewell”
whereas I just said “tarrar”!