This audio file comes courtesy of the British Library and features a Durham hill farmer talking about his work. He speaks in a classic dialect, once common in Weardale but now unfortunately now becoming a rare occurrence – at least among younger people.
GADGIES, hinnies, lads and lasses, are invited to put pen to paper for a geet canny writing competition.
The Word, National Centre for the Written Word, at South Shields, is calling on adults and those aged from 12 to 19 to submit short stories which celebrate the North East dialect.
And there will be cash prizes for the winners of the adult category with vouchers for the best entry in the junior section.
Earlier this year The Word unveiled its Word Bank of Lost Dialects – a collection of 2400 words and phrases donated by the public, which would once have been part of everyday language in the shipyards, mines and in street games and social gatherings.
Competition entrants are encouraged to use the Word Bank (which is available online by clicking here) to construct a contemporary short story between 500 and 1000 words in length.
The competition opens on 28 October and closes on 28 February 2020 and the winning entries will be announced at a celebratory Wor Dialect Day event during The Word’s WRITE Festival in June 2020.
Tania Robinson, Head of Culture at The Word, National Centre for the Written Word, said the competition is a continuation of the venue’s mission to “celebrate the words, sayings and expressions that are unique to us here in the North East.
“We were amazed and delighted with the response to our Word Bank of Lost Dialects project,” she said.
“It’s quite clear to us that our dialect is as relevant and important to us now as it has ever been and we hope as many people as possible will take part in the competition – and bring these unique, funny and much-loved words to a wider audience.”
The Word’s dialect short story competition, alongside celebratory events and new commissions scheduled for Wor Dialect Day, is being funded by and delivered in partnership with The Northumbrian Words Project, which aims to instil a sense of pride in the use of dialect by encouraging people to embrace its heritage.
Andy Bogle, of The Northumbrian Words Project, said: “Our dialect is as important to our heritage as Hadrian’s Wall or Durham Cathedral.
“We should not allow it to die and the only way that’s going to happen is for us to understand its ancient roots and to lose our fear of using it. We are therefore delighted to be able to encourage its use by supporting The Word in launching this dialect writing competition.”
As well as funding support from The Northumbrian Words Project, the adults’ category of the competition will also be in partnership with Morpeth-based Northumbrian Language Society, which promotes, preserves, researches and publishes work about the North East dialect.
The young writers’ category, targeting 12-19 year olds, will be will be delivered in partnership with New Writing North, which runs young writers’ groups across the North East.
For more information and to enter the competition, click on the category below:
Most Tynesiders are familiar with the “The Keel Row”, a popular song dating back to the early 18th century and perhaps the oldest in Tyneside’s song anthology. But what was a keel and why is the name so special?
“Weel may th’ keel row that maw lad’s in!
Before the mid 1800’s, the River Tyne was neither dredged nor equipped with the staithes and chutes necessary for loading colliers that carried the coal to ports around Britain and beyond. The shallow river shoreline meant that ships had to anchor in deeper water, mid-river. It was then the job of the keels to ferry the coal from shore to the waiting ships. A humble task to be sure, but for over six hundred years, keel boats performed an important part in the success of Tyneside’s coal industry; the men who manned them forming colourful communities that were largely closed to outsiders.
Keels provided a critical transportation link for the coal industry, enabling mine owners to sell their product to customers around the world. The first written record of coal keels on the River Tyne was made in 1266 and for the next five centuries, mention of the humble keel boat continues to pop-up in various official records, clear evidence of their continuous use on the river. By the late 18th century there were an estimated 500 keels working on the River Tyne, employing close to 2,000 men. But the advent of steam-driven tugs able to tow a number of unmanned keels at a time, as well as improvements to the river allowing ships to quickly load from shore-based coal staithes, spelled the decline of traditional keel boats and the men who crewed them. By the second half of the nineteenth century, the last of the Tyneside keels had disappeared, taking with them an unbroken tradition stretching back at least 600 years.
“As aw was gawn thro’ San’get aw he’rd th’ lasses sing-
Keelmen and their families lived in tightly knit communities centred mainly around the Sandgate area of Newcastle. The crew of a typical keel was usually comprised of family members, close friends or neighbours and it was common practice for jobs to be passed from father to son; outsiders would find it difficult to enter the trade. A fitting example of the closeness of the keelmen and the bond they had with their community, was exhibited in 1701 when the Keelman’s Society opened a hospital on Newcastle’s City Road, built with money raised through weekly contributions from their wages. The Keelman’s Hospital building is still standing to this day, although sadly, it remains unoccupied.
Keelmen were comparatively well-paid, earning between 11s 8d and 13s 4d for each trip, in addition to a beer allowance, called a “can”. To get an idea of their value, this was roughly equivalent to three to four times the daily wage of the average tradesman at the time. However, work in the winter was often scarce and even in summer, a successful round-trip was still dependent on fair weather that would otherwise prevent ships from entering the river.
“He wears a blue bonnet, a bunch of ribbons on it, He wears a blue bonnet, a dimple in his chin.
The colourful shore attire of keelmen was unique and quickly identified them as such. They wore a short blue jacket over a yellow waistcoat, the jacket coming down to within an inch or two of slate-grey trousers which hung on their hips, leaving a margin of white shirt between the two. Topping off the ensemble, was a black silk hat with a flat brim, adorned with two black ribbons each tied in a bow with a streaming five- or six-inch long tail.
Despite the finery they’d exhibit while ashore, it was a hard life and the job was not one for the weak or feeble. They were reliant on wind and tides, the vagaries of which could easily strand a boat and its crew overnight, forcing them sleep on deck or huddle for shelter in the sparse cabin on the aft deck. Each round trip would take 12 to 15 hours to complete and unless the wind and tide worked perfectly in their favour, the heavy keel would have to be rowed to its destination. A collier would typically carry 25 keels of coal, loading four keels at a time, two each side, with trimmers working in the hold making sure the cargo was level and would not cause any instability once the ship was at sea. As soon as they were alongside, the keelmen would begin the backbreaking work of unloading their cargo – a little over 21 tons of coal – this being the standard load of a keel as regulated in 1635. In fact, a ‘keel’ load became an official measure, each ‘keel’ amounting to eight Newcastle chaldrons which, as a consequence, led to all coal keels being built to the same size.
Like the coal-industry itself, the Tyne keels have given us several archaic dialect words.
The crew of a keel were known as bullies, meaning comrades or brothers, reflecting the tight bond that existed between keelmen and probably stemming from the Anglo-Saxon word, billig, meaning beloved or denoting those that are on an equal footing. The word is not strictly Northumbrian however, and was in common use especially among seafarers.
In addition to a skipper and two bullies, a keel would also employ a boy who was simply known as peedee, or as it was sometimes spelled, P.D. This was a Northumbrian dialect wordprobably derived from the French word petite, meaning small.
On the stern deck of most keel boats was a small cabin, known as a huddick or huddock. It would contain a stove for heating or cooking as well as providing shelter for the crew. It’s another word which seems to be uniquely Northumbrian and is thought to derive from the Dutch word hut, meaning steerage.
Although keels were equipped with a lug sail and were handy sailboats despite their ungainly shape, each boat also had two long oars; one located on the port side for propulsion and one on the stern which acted both as a rudder and a means to propel the boat using a technique known as sculling. This was a skill that required the long stern oar to be moved back and forth in a wide sweeping motion and fittingly was known as a swape, a wordcoming directly from the Anglo-Saxon and meaning, to sweep.
Some of the keelmen’s wives and daughters worked as keel deeters, the name given to those who kept the grimy boats clean. This word was derived from the Saxon word, dihtan of the same meaning.
The word keel, however, has a much longer pedigree and may well be the granddaddy of all Northumbrian dialect words. Its origins date back to the 6th century writings of the Anglo-Saxon historian, Gildas, who tells us of the arrival of the English at the behest of the war lord, Vortigen, to help him in his battles with the Scots and Picts. Gildas, highly resentful of these pagan English interlopers wrote, “Then a litter of cubs issuing forth from the lair of the lioness of Beornicas, in three cyuls, as it is expressed in their tongue, in ours, long-ships.” As Gildas wrote entirely in Latin, the English word, cyuls stands out and at once becomes the oldest recorded word in the English language.
Remarkably, the ancient Angle accent has also been retained, and can be heard in the way Tynesiders pronounce the word. As Oliver Heslop (1844-1916), the Newcastle-born lexicologist and author of ‘Northumberland Words’ noted, “In the Tyneside pronunciation of keel… a fractured vowel sound is heard. This can hardly be better rendered than by the phonetic form – kyul – given by Gilda.”
This 25-minute film by Scott Dobson and Dick Irwin was made in 1975. It features some memorable footage of theNortheast during which we are entertained by several colourful Northeastern characters speaking in their wonderful dialect. This film is courtesy of the Northeast Film Archive whose catalogue can be viewed at: http:/www.northeastfilmarchive.com
Nowt sa true as when wa taakin aboot bilberries.
It teks yonks to fill a basket or pail with enough for a pie or tart. It’s not just that they’re deid smaal or that they hide away from yu; it’s just yu canna stop eatin them. Thiv got a tyest like nee other. The blueberries yu get in the shop are waatery. Bilberries explode in ya mooth. It myeks for slow progress in the gatherin’.
Aa was up with the grandbairns in one o’ the best places for bilberries – the hill up to the Draakstone. Porple handed, porple moothed, we med wa way to the Stone, hunkered doon to watch the cloud scud ower Harbottle. What a bonny place.
We went ower the top to the lough. Dark, deep, ghoustie.
Let alone let alone
or a’ll droon Harbottle
and the Peels
and the Bonny Holystone.
© Paul Mein 19/6/19.
Paul Mein is a poet and writer who has returned to his native north-east after thirty years in the Midlands. He lives in Warkworth, Northumberland.
Paul has published four collections; “Voices in a mystery;” 2015 “Behind every hero;” 2016 “In quiet places;” 2017 “The language of sands” 2018.
Image from a photograph ‘Vaccinium myrtillus’ by Anneli Salo, courtesy wikimedia.org
It wez one of me mam’s favourite sayings, whenever somebody said or did owt that wez a bit unusual. “Eee ower Andy,” she’d say te us, “Ye knaa, there’s nowt as queer as folk!” Aa can still hear hor noo and ye have te knaa that it’s as true the day as it wez back then when things aal seemed a bit simpler. Anyway, Aa came across the words te this song by a Newcassel fella caalled, Harry Haldane. Whey, that’s wasn’t his real name mind, that wad have bin, Oliver Heslop who was quite an important fella in his day. Ye can read more aboot here if yer a mind. Divvent understand the wards? Whey, if yer just click on the highlighted wards it’ll tak yer tee a dictionary. But if yer want to see the entire song in plain English, then click here: There’s Nothing So Strange As Folk
THOR’S NOWT SEE QUEER AS FOLK
By Harry Haldane
D’ye think a chep’s see daft as buy a pig iv a poke?
Whattivor ye may think, thor’s nowt see queer as folk.
Thor’s some sees things asquint, an’ some get aal askew,
An’ mair an’ mair ye’ll find, as life draas on, it’s true,
Thor’s nowt see queer as folk!
Thor’s some gans fair an’ square, and some gans cruck’d, hoot shaff!
Man, some ye canna please, an’ some dis nowt but laugh;
Thor’s some hes been te skeul, an’ still gets ne mair sense-
It’s aal as clear as clarts, an’ nowt but common sense, —
Thor’s nowt see queer as folk!
Yen chep hes cheek for owt, another dorsn’t try,
An’ some climbs te the top, an’ some gets a go bye.
Tiv yen the wind’s aal foul, his marrow finds aal fair;
Yen chep’s a happy bloke, an’ mevvy disn’t care.
Man, thor’s nowt see queer as folk!
Some hes the corse o’ greed, an’ some spends aal they make,
Some thinks o’ nowt but sel, some dis nowt for their cake;
Thor’s other some that’s this, and other some that’s that.
It’s like a pot that’s broke, ye canna put it pat,
‘Cas thor’s nowt see queer as folk.
Tiv some misfortun’ comes an’ bricks them fairly doon,
They find the shouther caad, an’ mony a freezin’ froon;
But then thor’s lightsome hearts, that comes an dis the friend,
An’ straits misfortun’s cruck an’ helps poor sowls te mend.
O, thor’s nowt see queer as folk!
Aa’ve havered on for ‘oors, an’ sair ma heed aw’ve wrout,
An’ tewed te mak it oot wiv mony an’ anxious thout?
But noo aa’l gie’t aal up, Aa canna ravel’t oot,
Wor life sure is ne joke, whativvor we may doot!
Man, thor’s nowt see queer as folk.
Picture courtesy of Newcastle Library.
Picture above: Keelmen Heaving In Coals By Moonlight by J.M.W. Turner, 1835
Most Northumbrians will be familiar with the word keel. In all likelihood they will have grown up hearing the words of the iconic Tyneside song, ‘The Keel Row!’ while those who travel through the east side of Newcastle can see the fine old Keelman’s Hospital that sits on City Road. Although the common meaning of the word defines the fundamental spine of a ship, on Tyneside it referred to a boat called a keel, a wide, squat vessel that was sailed and rowed to transport coal from the shallow riverbank to ships moored on the river in deeper water. Keels, together with their hard-working, hard-drinking crews, largely disappeared in the late 19th century as the river was modernized to allow collier ships load alongside newly-built coaling staithes, maneuvered with the help of steam-powered tugs.
Its origins however can be traced back to the Angle language of the 6th century where it first appears in the book, ‘On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain’ written by the monk Gildas around 540 AD – about a century after the first arrival of the Angles in Kent. In it Gildas writes, “Then a litter of cubs issuing forth from the lair of the lioness of Barbaria in three cyuls as it is expressed in their tongue, in ours (sic) long ships.” Remarkably, the ancient Angle accent has also been retained, and can be heard in the way Tynesiders pronounce the word. As Oliver Heslop (1844-1916), the Newcastle-born lexicologist and author of ‘Northumberland Words’ noted, “In the Tyneside pronunciation of keel… a fractured vowel sound is heard. This can hardly be better rendered than by the phonetic form – kyul – given by Gilda.”
“These boats (keels) are strong, clumsy and oval and carry twenty tons apiece; they are navigated by a square sail but generally by two very large oars, one on the side plied by a man and a boy and another at the stern by a single man serving both as oar and rudder.”Richard Oliver Heslop
Keel boats are inexorably associated with the River Tyne, and for the word to have survived in the Tyneside vernacular for over 1300 years is a testament to the legacy of the Northumbrian dialect. Although now defunct as a type of vessel, the word keel commands special recognition as the earliest recorded word in the English language.
Given the word’s history and longevity, it is perhaps fitting that one of Tyneside’s oldest songs was written about a keel. ‘Weel May the Keel Row!’ is often referred to as ‘Tyneside’s National Anthem’. First published in Ritson’s ‘Northumberland Garland’ in 1793, it is believed to date back to before 1760. The song was also well-known beyond the banks of the Tyne, its strong beat making it a popular sea-shanty, as well as a marching tune of which Rudyard Kipling wrote, “The man who has never heard the Keel Row rising high and shrill above the rattle of the regiment going past the saluting-base, has something yet to hear and understand.”
The popular version of the song – as it would have sung on the streets of Newcastle – was published in Allan’s ‘Tyneside Songs’:
As aw was gawn thro’ San’get, thro’ San’get, thro’ San’get,
As aw was gawn thro’ San’get aw he’rd th’ lasses sing –
Weel may th’ keel row, th’ keel row, th’ keel row
Weel may th’ keel row that maw lad’s in!
He wears a blue bonnet, a bunch o’ ribbons on it,
He wears a blue bonnet, a dimple in his chin;
An’ weel may th’ keel row, th’ keel row, th’ keel row
An’ weel may th’ keel row that maw lad’s in!