Tag Archives: Words

Why is the dialect of Dorset not accepted as part of our heritage?

When people think of their heritage they tend to refer to buildings, archaeology, personal experiences, why is it then that dialect in the West country is overlooked?

Fiddleford Mill

As Brits we associate dialect with many places such as Liverpool, Manchester, Hull and Birmingham, this may be partly due to the movement of people during the  industrial revolution of the 19th century and the demise of traditional…

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Married Life by Agrikler 1825

Spooase yev accomplished yer pwint—spooase yev vound out what the ways meent, Beginning wi dearly beloved, and endin in coorse with amazement. Ef yer bad temper and whims yo vind yev got moor than yer match in g Ef still o billin and cooin, yo gets moor o claain and scratchin ; Ef yo expected perfection, and vind yev got nothin uncommen ; ‘ Ef what you thought wer a angel turns out vor to be buta…

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Wassailing Time, Irene Thomas 1992

On vrosty nights near Christmas,

We all went out t’ zing,

“While Shepherds watched” – “The Vust Noel,”

“Y’ere we’m cum wassailing”.

We huddled een the doorways,

Tinglin’ wi’ the cowld,

But meakin’ zure we zung they carols,

Jist like days of wold!

Oone pleace we always went to,

Were down t’ Tanyard  Varm,

Two Carols zung outside the door,

An’oone eenzide in’t waarm.

The sweet wold lady standing’…

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Zummer by Philip Pulman


” Then Summer came, a matron fair. Showering June’s roses on the air. With field-flowers waving everywhere, In meadows bright ; With blissful sounds, with visions rare, A large delighu”— Richard Howitt. Here’s zummer, hot an’ dry, Wi’ scarchin’ day an zwilt’rin night, Th’ zun, lik’ vire sheenin’ bright, In a blue an’ blazin’ sky, Th’ thu’sty groun’s* da parch an’ bake, An’ cracks an’…

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Spring by Philip Pulman

Here’s Spring agen ! 0 happy time, Young an’ zmiling, blith an’ gay, — Days da lingthen, Sunsheene stringthen — * Natur’s cloth’d wi’ verdur prime, An’ pleasant breezes lightly play.

Th’ bonds ev wenter rude be broke, An’ vrost an’ snow be banish’d quite ; Agen es zeen Th’ lears all green — Ver ice-bound vegetation’s woke By th’ zun’s revivin’ yeat and light.

Wi’ daisies fiel’s be dotted o’er,…

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Poems from David England

Another Poem from David England

The Blandford Fly

She was bitten by the Blandford Fly, I don’t know why, they didn’t bite I,

On her legs and in her hair,

Even places where I wouldn’t dare,

Get the ointment she did cry,

My hopes did run high,

Where she was bitten by the Blandford fly,

I don’t know why, they didn’t bite I,

But thank the Lord for the Blandford Fly.

Courtesy of Mr David England 

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