Warkworth-based writer Paul Mein, won first prize in the Lost Words Dialect Writing Competition organised by The Word in South Shields for this story…
Ye’ll hev nae doot hord the sayin “ Many a mickle myeks a muckle.”
Nowt sa true as when wa taakin aboot bilberries.
Barbara Brown, of Camberley, Surrey, who sent us this poem, writes: I have had this poem for more than 30 years and I feel it must be more than 50 years old, and felt it might be interesting for your readers…
The fight for the short-shanked shull
Ye’ll hev hord aboot strikes and wars and the likes,
Ye’ll hev hord about “Blackoots and Knockoots”,
But aa’ll tell ye a tale that’ll turn ye all pale
It’s the tale of a Colliery Lockoot.
Clive Wilkinson, of Rothbury, muses on the life and times of an avian pal and the lessons to be learned for our own country lives…
There’s a pheasant that lives somewhere in the tangled hedge of ash, blackthorn and hawthorn, elder and bramble that marks the northern boundary to the field next door. We call him Charlie. He was there when we moved in, but as that was twenty-four years ago, and we don’t think pheasants live that long, we think it must be a dynasty, and he must be Charles XXIV.