Work

 

Work, that necessary thing most of us have to do at some point in our lives to earn money for our upkeep.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a teacher or an author, or both. I played school with my dolls and teddies. One particular teddy was always the naughty one and in trouble. His sums were wrong and his spellings were atrocious. I was an early reader which triggered a passion for writing my own stories. A love of ‘The Broons’ and ‘Oor Wullie’ educated me in Scottish dialect which I sometimes used in my written dialogue – not always appreciated by my teacher.

My mum was my mentor, my homework checker, my partner in fun and my planner for my future. Everything went awry with her passing and I was more or less left to go it alone. Floundering.

Dental nursing had never been on my list of possible occupations or training, but somehow, and luckily, it happened. There I was, schooldays over, thrust into the long days of a busy dental practice, 8.30 until 6 p.m. Monday to Friday, with college lectures on Monday evenings. Those were very long Mondays. A co-worker, who became a close friend, and I would take the bus from Blackpool town centre to St Anne’s College of Further Education for two hours of fascinating dentistry delivered by a local dentist, not the one we worked for. I didn’t mean for that to come across as sarcasm. It really was fascinating, and I was deeply interested and keen to do well. All this for £5.50 a week. Two years later, and a bit more money, I qualified, then shocked everyone by leaving to work in an office. Many years later, I returned to dentistry as a receptionist.

When my children were small, I helped in their school. It’s something I enjoy again as a volunteer since I retired. Too late to teach, but I’ve still got skills to share and help to offer, especially in the library and story-telling to infants.

I’m proud of my published work as a writer. I’m not a famous author, not yet, but never say never, and I haven’t earned a penny from stories or poems, but I have made some achievements. If anyone remembers the ghost stories from the Haunted Hotel in Blackpool Illuminations, mine was included and I’m still very proud of that.

My Haiku poem,

Working With the Public

Most people are fine,
Others can be difficult,
Arrogant or rude.

My pleasant calmness
And my eagerness to help
Didn’t always work.

Even my best smile
With a positive approach
Failed on occasion.

I met nice people
It wasn’t all negative,
I made some true friends.

Life-long friends as well.
We all matured together
And share a close bond.

Now in retirement,
Life should be quiet and still,
But no, it isn’t.

There’s still work to do,
So many places to go
And new friends to meet.

PMW 2025

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Accent

In 2013 I was back in Birmingham for an event and my friends came up from London to help. They had never been to the second city before. Their son, aged about 21, went for a wander and came back to inform us that the Brummie accent was the sexiest he had ever heard.

At first I thought that needed a paragraph of its own without further comment. But research has found (e.g. Thorne in 2003) that overseas visitors find it lilting and melodious. And really when I come to think about it and remember that Shakespeare would have been using this dialect in his rhymes and vocabulary is it so surprising?

I’ll prove this later on as I have just used the words ‘accent’ and ‘dialect’ as though they were interchangeable and I need to clarify this first.

The word dialect comes from the Ancient Greek dialektos “discourse, language, dialect,” A dialect generally involves more than just pronunciation—it differs from another form of the language in at least some grammatical structures and vocabulary.

Accent goes back to Latin, where the root referred to the stress patterns in vocal music. (It's related to the words "cant" and "chant".) It has been used in English to refer to spoken words since at least the 10th century. As the term is used by linguists, everybody has an accent. It's the sum of the way you form your vowels, stress your syllables, lengthen your sounds, etc. There has to be an accent in the same way that every sound has a length (thank you to Joshua Engel for that explanation).

For example if you get a Preston newsreader, a BBC newsreader and Scottish newsreader to each read the same written script. And let’s say they are all perfect readers. All the words and grammar will be the same. The difference in what you hear will be accent.

But if they meet up for a cup of tea these 3 people’s speech will differ in vocabulary and in grammar, as well as in pronunciation. The totality of these differences are called a dialect

I once worked at a major London Teaching Hospital and one day a Consultant and two medical students were heading to the same lift I was waiting for. The two students were doing the “Yah, absolutely Sir” to the Consultant but when they got on the lift with me and their boss had carried on down the corridor the conversation changed to “What yowm doin tomorrer?”.

Shakespeare memorial room at Birmingham central library

I said above that to overseas folk the Birmingham accent is lilting and melodious. What do British people think?

YouGov said that the West Country accent is considered the most attractive to over-60s compared to only 22% of 18-24 year-olds. The opposite perception had developed for Northern Irish too, with most 18-24 year-olds seeing it as attractive, compared to only 37% of over-60s, and then the Geordie accent also had a greater appeal to older British people too.

Here’s the list in full. The Most Attractive Accents in the British Isles are:
Southern Irish
Received Pronunciation
Welsh
Yorkshire
West Country
Geordie
Northern Irish
Glaswegian
Cockney
Mancunian
Scouse
Brummie

I also said above that I would now prove that Shakespeare wrote in a Birmingham dialect and/or accent. Unfortunately, I have run out of space.

People sometimes mix up the Birmingham accent with the Black Country one. They are different but for this I don’t care as it’s a great poem by Liz Berry and anyway she now lives in Birmingham.

Homing

For years you kept your accent
in a box beneath the bed,
the lock rusted shut by hours of elocution
how now brown cow
the teacher’s ruler across your legs.

We heard it escape sometimes,
a guttural uh on the phone to your sister,
saft or blart to a taxi driver
unpacking your bags from his boot.
I loved its thick drawl, g’s that rang.

Clearing your house, the only thing
I wanted was that box, jemmied open
to let years of lost words spill out –
bibble, fittle, tay, wum,
vowels ferrous as nails, consonants

you could lick the coal from.
I wanted to swallow them all: the pits,
railways, factories thunking and clanging
the night shift, the red brick
back-to-back you were born in.

I wanted to forge your voice
in my mouth, a blacksmith’s furnace;
shout it from the roofs,
send your words, like pigeons,
fluttering for home.

                                           Liz Berry

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Ecky Thump

Eigh up.  There's nowt quite like a theme to set yer sailin' on them waves o' knowin'.  Fer as yer may 'ave spotted, we're harpin' on abaht t'past reet neaw.  Task'd wi cunjurin' up pomes fer t'gala at Poulton in June, us Lanky bards 'ave bin gawpin' inter t'lugs o' hist'ry 'n' wundrin' wot it's all abaht. 

Wi fettlin' in mind, here's sum new-fangled links ter portals o' knowin:

elks
clogs

pomes
words

It's wi grand expectashuns that ah'll be waitin' a't'lib'ry on Saturday, ter mek sum verses wi sum bardish folks.  Theer's nowt as gud as pomes.

The Skippool Lass

"Thas bin t'untherside o'th'ward 

'n' cram'd yer brig wi' booze fer brass 

Yer jiggered, spittin' feathers,

Cup o' tae 'n' parkin's all yer ask

Sum pepper'd leaves o' scurvy grass

'll ease yer warch 'n'calm yer chops

Ah tek 'em ev'ry day mi'sel

Ah've nowt thas ailin', swear ti God.

Don't mind th'alarm from yonder marsh

'Tis just yer godwit's chunner heawr

Thum pirate teal's 'ave shook 'em oop

Gone traipsin' all abaht thur heause

Wi' Sun descendin' mighty quick

Led's mizzle fer yon ale heause 

Yer kindred's took ter purring leawd

So's best yer not traipsin' abaht."

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