“WHENNA ger ooerm terneet am gunna gerra tunna coyle in…”
Ah, the good old Barnsley dialect. For three decades, I was a sales manager for my sins, travelling the UK and sometimes the world, energetically trading my wares.
I’ve sold all manner of things in my time; fresh meat products; Korean chewing gum; far eastern beers.
But predominantly brand-leading fishing tackle. No need to laugh – widely recognised as the UK’s largest participatory sport, we’re talking big business here.
A Barnsley lad through and through, the nature of my work meant I was forced to commit the ultimate cardinal sin, dropping my accent a bit. Well, dropping it a lot, actually.
It was either that or I’d never sell anything, because no one would be able to understand me once I got started. You know exactly what I mean, don’t you?
At some point, we’ve all seen tarn folk being interviewed on the telly and thought: do I really sound like that?
Steeped in Anglo-Saxon roots, just imagine an unsuspecting visitor encountering a tarn accent for the first time; a couple of Cudeth or Grimey lads locked in conversation.
“Hey up, ar’s it gooin, pal?” “Nah then, warria, ar a tha?” “Ar, tha nooers, fair t’ middlin, owd cock. We keep gooin, dun’t we?” “Ar, thez no point complainin’, pal. Nobdi ed lissen if tha did…”
Chuck in a few vowel extensions and dropped Hs – while decapitating the HE from the, bequeathing t’, ‘n’ tha’ll gerra bedda idea wor am talkin’ abart. Oops, apologies; there I go again, see – you’ll get a better idea what I’m talking about is what I meant to say.
I’ve got a pal called Denis, a well-known Rotherham coal man, who’s big into his South Yorkshire-ese and openly admits tarn talk is one on its own, laughingly relating how Barnsley footie fans describe long shots as thutty-fotty yarders – a term which, I must confess, sounds more like a mix of Zimbabwean and eastern European than a Dodeth expression.
It doesn’t stop there, though. There are plenty of other mesmerising terms and abbreviations for visitors to get to grips with.
Thee and tha, for a start; plus thy, thine and thissen. Summat, owt and nowt are classic tarn enunciations, as are shurrup, gerroff and nivver. Not forgetting eternal mainstays wi’, gi’o’er, an’all and be reyt.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, there are scores of colloquialisms, words and phrases specific to Barnsley and district that are rarely heard elsewhere.
I mean, try telling someone from outside the area you’re off to the feast, or going away on Barnsley feast week. They’d look at you gone out, doubtless imagining medieval banquets; legs of venison and a roasted pig’s head with an apple in its mouth, all washed down with ale, mead and cider – nothing remotely to do with dodgems, waltzer or hook-a-duck.
Anyone fancy a stick of choddy? Choddy? What’s choddy when it’s at home? It sounds more like a Lundwooder’s nickname or a fishing set up than a stick of gum.
Moving on, I daren’t even mention teacakes. Explaining such a perplexity to the uninitiated would be the equivalent of dumping the poor recipient in an advanced algebra class, or extolling the principles of rocket propulsion.
Another peculiar one is parky. Outsiders think this refers to Michael Parkinson – and they’d be right. But it also has another meaning round these parts, namely chilly or unpleasantly cold. So dun’t forget thi coyt – ‘specially if thar a bit on t’ nesh side.
Tell somebody from down south you used to laik out as a kid. See what reaction that fetches; or that a pal got mardy and took his ball home. Beware initiating violence, though – we’re not having anybody getting brayed up. Not rarnd ‘ere anyroord – savvy?
Before I go, who fancies summat to sup and bit of snap? How abart a mucky dripping sarnie? Or a few spice? Or should I say sweets? Even I’m getting confused now, serre. A bit like the old couple in a Darfield butcher’s shop last week. Is that turkey, duck? No, duck, it’s chicken, duck – decipher that one, our kid.
