The Boy John Letters

by Sidney Grapes

December 24th, 1946.

Dear Sar - Well, the time a' cum round agin for me and Arnt Agatha and Granfar, to rite an wish yow, and yar starf an orl, a werry Happy Christmas. Arnt Agatha, she say, specially to that there gentleman wot go about a taken them photos o' pretty plearces in Norfolk, he must a' got a bike, to git about like he dew.

Oh! I must tell you about Arnt Agatha, last summer. We had a garden fate at the Wickerage, an weeks afore-hand you could buy shillin tickets, then save em all up, then spend em on anything at the fate. Well Arnt Agatha, she was wery busy and dint git there till ever so late, an then ewerything wus sold. She had six shillin tickets wot she'd saved, an orl she could spend em on wus on six shilling rides round the field on the Wicar's owld dicker, wot he's lent for the purpus. Well bor she cum home orl o' a muckwash - she looked a job.

Granfar, he mobbed har, and he called har a silly old fule. He fear to ha been a pearkin tru a hole in the fence and see har. He say, "There she wus a bobbin up and down on that old dicker's back, a' holden har hat on wi one hand, an har teeth in wi the tother, she look disgustin."

Poor Granfar, he about about everything nowadays. He go down to the pub every nite, he come back a mobbin about the beer, he say he's right glad when he a' had enuf on it. Arnt Agatha say, "Well yow put em in," he say, "I never put them in, I votted learbor. Well fare you well together, a Happy Xmas to all you wot read this - Yours obediently,

THE BOY JOHN

P.S. - Arnt Agatha she say, If you dorn't git orl you want, think of the things yow dorn't want - an dorn't git.

Norfolk Poems