DIALECT AND WORD MEANINGS

[Tizer]

My Blackburn grandma used it frequently! The German for scream is schrei.

[PanBiker]

A word crossed my mind yesterday that I haven't heard for a long time. If a child was crying we said they were 'skriking'.
I looked the etymology up and found this:- From Old Norse skrikja, "to scream" or Old English scric, literally "bird with a shrill call," referring to a thrush, possibly imitative of its call. Attested from c 1573.
Has anyone else come across it? Was it a northern usage?

Common usage in our family.

[Tripps]

I think skriking would have been the default word for crying in my childhood.

[Stanley]

It seems to have been universal. I always wondered....

[Wendyf]

I've never heard it before!

[Stanley]

Such a sheltered life.......

[Tripps]

The phrase 'mark your card has been used recently. I would suggest this is only used in racing - meaning to give tips and suggest winners.

I think the intended metaphor was 'mark your own homework'

Sorry - I can't help it.

[Wendyf]

I thought it was from old fashioned dances where posh ladies (like what I am) had a dance card which the menfolk would mark with their name to book a certain dance.

[Tripps]

I hadn't thought of that. My mind gravitates to racing when I hear it, and shady characters who approach you at the entrance to the racecourse, and speak from the corner of their mouth.

A deeper look shows mark your card something else and no mention of dancing, which is perfectly credible. My Gavotte is a bit rusty.

The perils of hasty posts. . . .

Speaking of racecourses I was prompted by Youtube to look at this Oldham dogs yesterday. I think google knows too much about me. It is poor quality, and will mean little to nearly everyone, but it has a lot of memories for me. Changed my whole life would not be too strong a message.

Indulge me - nice view as well at the opening - from Watersheddings.

[Wendyf]

My dad grew up in Dudley Hill, Bradford, and talked about going to the greyhound racing. I thought it was at Odsal Stadium but googling it now i see there was a stadium in Dudley Hill called Greenfield so I'm not sure.

[Tripps]

I never heard that name, but I have a couple of books from the 1980's. I'll have a look.

I'm kicking myself for missing an opportunity to use the word 'cromulent' instead of credible - they don't come too often.

[Wendyf]

Tripps, my dad was born in 1920 and lived at Compton Street till he joined up in 1940, looking at this 1938 map he just had to walk up Harry Street (he was called Harry) and he was at the track!

snapshot_maps.nls.uk_1692552701052.png

[Tripps]

Interesting - I'm mildly surprised that I never heard of it.It was not a small 'flapping' track, which I had initially assumed, but was NGRC and owned by the GRA who also had Belle Vue Manchester. The start date was similar to Belle Vue, which is widely recognised as the earliest. I can name the equivalents in Sheffield and Birmingham and Edinburgh, but not Bradford. Never saw any inter-track events with them.

We're getting into 'forgotten corner' territory now.

PS - Found the book, but it's 1991 and does not mention it. It lists 36 NGRC tracks and 51 Flaps. Including Oldham which is listed as owned by J Pickavance (mentioned elsewhere on this board I think), and naming my good friend the late Trevor Bray as the Racing Manager.

Most honest man I ever met - he always carried the wedge for 'joint' enterprises, (there's a pun there for the cognoscenti - Gloria might get it) and he did the sharing out afterwards - he actually resigned on a matter of principle when asked to change the time recorded in a trial. His nick name was 'God' which says a lot.

Why read Damon Runyon - I had the real thing. . . .

[Stanley]

Time for a bit from me memoirs I think....
One of my regular calling shops at this time was Alf Watson’s at Southfield. This farm was on the Barlick to Marton road just past Dodge Carr barn and the Leeds and Liverpool Canal. Alf farmed cows and grass but his main passion in life was horses, he owned or trained a succession of race horses, all of which were incredibly unsuccessful! Life at Southfield was bad to weigh up, there was always a bevy of young ladies in working gear bustling around looking after their own and the farm’s horses. One of the assets of the farm was an old Irishman called Bill Brennand who lived in an ornate wooden hut in the stable yard.
Bill was a wonderful character. He had originally come to the district in the 40’s as a labourer on the building of a concrete grass silo at Marton Hall Farm. When this was finished I think he worked at Marton Hall for a while but later became horseman at Southfield. He had been married at some time because his daughter used to visit him occasionally and I have an idea she was a school teacher.
When I knew Bill in the 60’s he was retired but still lived in the hut in the yard and did odd jobs around the horses. Every day he would walk into Barlick, buy himself a piece of steak and whatever other food he wanted and have a Guinness at one of the many town pubs and clubs, then he would walk back. I first struck up acquaintance with him when I used to give him a lift into town if I saw him on the road on my way home with my load of milk for the following day. He walked for economy not exercise and would always take a lift if offered, especially if it was raining.
Bill used to mow the grass on the canal bank with a scythe and make it into hay by hand to make a bob or two. I introduced him to my dad because it seemed to me we could buy it off him. The two old-timers got on like a house on fire and it soon became apparent that they had a shared past! It’s wonderful how coincidence keeps rearing its head isn’t it! In his early days in Manchester, father had been a street bookmaker. Bookmaking was illegal then unless conducted by account with a licensed bookie who wasn’t allowed to tout for trade from the punters on the street. This led to a proliferation of illegal bookmakers and what were called ‘runners’. I can remember when I was working with Sid in Bradbury’s bicycle shop on Heaton Moor he would study the paper and then send me off on my bike to a council house at Green End where I would hand in my bet and money through a small trapdoor in the back door. The authorities knew all about this but in general, left the street bookies alone. Rather like prostitution, not much point stamping it out because it would only start up again and it was far better to know where it was going on because then there could be an element of control.
Father’s essay in bookmaking was while he was working at Richard Johnson and Nephew, the wire makers in Manchester. He once told me that he had quite a thriving business going but he got too cocky and spoiled it all. How it worked was that you took every bet that was given you and then weighed up the state of the book. If you had a dangerous exposure on a horse, say a large bet on an outsider, you ‘laid off’ this money with a licensed bookie by making the bet yourself on the same horse on your established account. The licensed bookies ran the same system but did their ‘laying off’ with the Victoria Club, a sort of bookies co-operative which functioned as a broker for these bets in Manchester and at the end of the year either paid out a dividend to its members or called for a subscription to cover any shortfall. This way the risks were spread among all the licensed bookies. Anyway, father was in a position one day where he had a lot of money on a horse that he was certain was a loser so he stood the bets himself and didn’t lay them off. The horse romped home first and father was cleaned out! He always said that he could have been a wealthy man if it hadn’t been for his own gambling streak.
Being in the trade so to speak, father was a regular attendee at the White City dog track and nearby horse races, he also went to the illegal race meetings which happened every now and again. Evidently, even in those days, there was an interest in harness racing or trotting as it is more commonly known. There were no official venues for the sport so it was conducted in an illegal and semi-secret manner at remote locations and these were called ‘flapping’ meetings. One regular venue was at the Flouch Inn on the moors between Manchester and Yorkshire and father used to go there. When he and Bill got talking it transpired that they both went to the trotting at the Flouch and knew many of the same people. They came to the conclusion that they must have met 40 years before up on the Pennine Moors! Bill was a regular, if not frequent visitor to Hey Farm and father bought his hay for about three years. During their conversations I learned another piece of family history. I had always known that there was a close bond between my father and Tommy O’Connell our family doctor. It turned out that father and Tommy had met at the White City and eventually bought a greyhound and put it into training at a professional kennels. The dog did well enough but never got to the point where it was paying its way and the trainer advised them to sell it. As soon as it was sold it started winning every race it entered under the same trainer. The difference was that these were hurdle races. The trainer knew it was good over hurdles but never let on and so father and Tommy were taken to the cleaners!

[Stanley]

A phrase from Thomas Hardy's novel, 'The Trumpet Major' stuck in my mind.... "Lordie, how that wheel do wamble!"
Wamble meaning wobble was common in Warwickshire where I went farming but I don't think I have ever heard it up North. Am I wrong, is it used here?

[Tizer]

I did a bit of googling for `wamble' to see if Shakespeare had used the word. I didn't find it but saw this from the Roxburgh Ballads, published in 1640...
Mondayes Worke
Good morow, neighbour Gamble,
Come let you and I goe ramble;
Last night I was shot
Through the braines with a pot,
And now my stomacke doth wamble.
(‘Wambly’ is an old word for ‘afflicted with nausea’.)

That was in a web page on `12 of the Best and Funniest Limericks Ever Written' selected by Dr Oliver Tearle. I haven't put a web link in this post because most of the limericks are rather rude. But I'm sure anyone with sufficient interest could find it!

[Stanley]

I had a look Peter and they go beyond 'rude'! But all clever and funny. I like the few words at the end about the origin of the name 'Limerick'. The favourite seems to be that at one time the verse form always contained a reference to Limerick.

[Tripps]

Have you noticed that the words "regenerative farming" being used a lot recently. Just heard it in an advert for McCain oven chips.

From what I've picked up - it seems a lot like the method that Stanley has been advocating on here for years, and described a couple of times. Clover and cow muck basically

[Stanley]

I bumped 'What's the beef?' and forgot to reply to you David..... The 'regenerative farming' is a modern description of old fashioned mixed farming and adherence to the basic principle that a good farmer leaves the land in better heart than he found it. Men like Mr Bramley in the article knew this well and apart form methods of cultivation the main weapon was ensuring that the amount of nutrients being exported for cash to pay for the operation (In Bramley's case beef and some Barley) was more than compensated for by what was imported, hay, straw, animal feed and the young cattle themselves. Bit like running a bank account, always keeping in credit and growing.
I have seen the opposite. There was a farmer I know who was described in the local papers as 'one of the most progressive farmers in the district' mainly because of the big increase in milk he sent off the farm. He sis this by applying large amounts of ICI 'Blue Bag', straight nitrogen fertilizer. This in affect pumped out the nutrients in the soil built up over the years by traditional farming methods. Eventually the fields had no more to give, the growth slowed and isolated clumps of grass grew all over where the cows had done their own fertilizing. My last contact with this farmer was when I was working for Richard Drinkall, I took all of the cattle off the farm for sale. They were being repossessed by Richard Who was keeping the farmer going. A perfect example of the consequences of taking the easy way out of producing milk. Many other farmers did exactly the same thing.

[Tripps]

Thanks for that response. I knew you were strong on the subject and could speak from a position of real life experience- and common sense. Instead we have the likes of George Monbiot - a strong advocate of 'rewilding' - whose latest nonsensical plan is to counter the nuisance of wild deer, by reintroducing wild wolves. What could possibly go wrong?

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. . .

I sometimes wonder why we constantly hear him, and his opinions in the media and not you and yours?

[Tripps]

This is broadly 'dialects' but is also a stark generational contrast to the IONOS Helga advert wich without insider analysis was unintelligible.

Enjoy the cockney accent - I did - it has almost gone, and will never be heard again.

[Stanley]

Yes that was in the days when they made witty advertisements not clever ones..... Do you remember the cigar advertisement where the turkeys gather round a sigle snowflake, look mournfully at each other and march off into the shed?
Or this one?

[Tripps]

No one ever 'announces' anything now. Everything is 'shared'

"The decision was shared in the early hours of the morning, following “concerns” over the local party’s operation"

I tell myself that it shouldn't irritate me - but it still does.

I can ignore announcements should I choose, but when it is shared - I somehow have to take on ownership.

[Stanley]

I agree with you David, 'shared' always bugs me as well. Another overused word is 'journey'. It is used to describe any experience.

[Stanley]

I came across the use of 'steepling' by a reporter to describe rising. I'm not sure whether I approve or not....