A bucolic charmer fondly attached to my 1950s Norfolk canvas used to insist he was “overcome with emulsion” on bringing a dash of fresh purpose and perspective to the toils of everyday life.

He daubed a coat of Norfolk paint on countless old expressions .rustic sores and current rumours as he haunted local pubs and markets as “here and there” dealer in his pony and trap .”

Allus tell the truth unless you’re a rare good liar!” became his colourful calling card.

Diffusing tense or complicated situations was a speciality. He found a funny side to most arguments and reduced protagonists to shared laughter over a pint and mardle. Landlords much appreciated his pulling power on a quiet night.

He saved some of his best lines for a dramatic entry. Caught in a violent thunderstorm just before opening time one Friday evening, he dripped into his nearest local soaked to the skin and gently crooned: “Hev you noticed how that allus pick a wet day ter rain?.”

During one memorable week at the height of his persuasive powers, he convinced five Americans on holiday in the Swaffham area that in Norfolk, USA stood for Uther Side of Attleborough, urged an eager lad to fetch him a roll of sloping wire netting to keep rain out of his chicken run and warned an old friend never to go to an Acle auction with a noddin’ acquaintance.

My favourite example of that chirpy dealer’s flair for giving old favourites a deliciously fresh twist has to be: “Never put orff til termorrer what yew kin dew next week.” He blazed a whimsical Norfolk trail for a host of like-minded characters to follow.

I recall with glee tuning into a regular crop of self-taught sons of the soil along those hemlock-laced lanes of childhood putting their own understated puckish spin on local, national and international events of great significance.

They knew who to blame for that rumpus over the Sewage Canal in 1956 but couldn’t work out why Aylsham figured so little in that new Common Market soon after. “Hent they got enuff stalls?.” They realised the Cod Wars against Iceland might put up the price of fish and chips from Lennie Allison’s shop in Litcham but refused to accept the Russians sending a dog into space would do anything to improve the weather. “Barkin’ mad, the lot on ‘em.”

Their lyrical corruptions of the other language I was being taught at school suggested they required free electrocution lessons to avoid a new mechanical monster, the concubine harvester and a roll of Anthrax off the top shelf at the village store.

Coronation milk went better with tinned peaches than that evacuated stuff according to semi-skimmed workers Even regular church and chapel supporters joined in with news of a new parson being induced before he could celebrate Holy Commotion.


Coat of paint 2

That must have given rise to the story of the old churchwarden being asked by a newcomer if they had matins in his place of worship. ”No” he replied, “We hev lino right up ter the altar.”

I strongly suspect our old friend with pony and trap may have been the prototype for one of our most endearingly durable mixtures of Norfolk humour, dialect and homespun philosophy.

Broadland garage proprietor and self-styled comedian Sidney Grapes gave our precious vernacular a successful MOT test just after the second world war and then oiled the wheels for rich adventures at the double through years of austerity. He combined written and spoken entertainment to leave an inspirational legacy still ging strong today.

Sidney launched the second part of his cultural campaign by composing a few homely lines to the Eastern Daily Pres in the early days of 1946. The Boy John Letters, holding up a mirror to the cherished character and traditions of village life, continued for a dozen years until his death in 1958. They remain as fresh and inviting as any posted before or after to champion the dialect cause.

He lived all his 70 years in Potter Heigham and the cast list in those eagerly awaited epistles full of post-war shortages became household names = Boy John, Aunt Agatha, Granfar and the busybody Oul Mrs W …. Much of the humour centred on running feuds between grumpy Granfar and his outrageously nosey neighbour.

The scene was set in the bulletin introducing Mrs W ….: “She’s an ugly woman. Dew yew know what? We had a willage social a few weeks back an’ she wun the furst prize for the woman what could pull the ugliest face. And she wunt even in the competition. !”

Most Boy John Letters ended with Aunt Agatha’s latest example of homely wisdom with a humorous edge just to remind readers how shrewd, deep and amusing country bumpkins can be: “If people think yew’re a fewl, keep yer mouth shut, then they wunt know.”

A couple of my other favourites to serve as glorious reminders of a golden age before hyperbole histrionics, banal soundbites and celebrity claptrap made a mockery of our linguistics:

*PS; Aunt Agatha, she say: “Reality is when yew leave datty dishes in the sink – an’ them beggars are still there when yew git hoom!”

* PS: Aunt Agatha, she say: “Thass no good a’ puttin’ yar foot down if yew hent got a leg ter stand on!”