Yorkshire Words Of The Week

From: Jose Barnes, Hessle, East Yorkshire.

LIKE Mr Waddington (Country Week, December 31) I do not think “band” always refers to music. To me it can mean a type of string.

In the days before Sellotape when parcels were tied up with string, the thicker hairy kind we called “band” which was used for larger, heavier parcels.

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A man or boy whose clothing was very untidy or ill-fitting was said to look as though his trousers were held up with a bit of band end.

Recently I heard someone use a word which brought back childhood memories; it was “poo-no” (the spelling is phonetic as I’ve never seen it written) and it was used in the same way as piecan and tripehound recalled by Linda Revis and used to describe a silly or foolish child or action.

From: Robert Tyas, Skelmanthorpe, Huddersfield

I GREW up in the 1950s in a small village just outside Holmfirth, Choppards, a small community of farmers and textile workers.

My mother would describe someone as being “loundy” – meaning they lacked motivation or were generally lazy with no get up and go. If someone was struggling to complete an awkward job, they would be “strackling”. Before the invention of the steam iron, mother would use a “lecking can” to sprinkle a few drops of water onto the dry clothes before ironing them.

From: John Fall, Bedale.

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VISITING my grandparents in the hard times of the 1930s when being thrifty was more by necessity than by choice, two things grandfather might say were, “a good contriver is better than a big eater” and “you won’t addle owt laid i’ bed” (earn anything).

Should we not have a nice clean plate after tea, grandmother was likely to ask: “Now whose eyes are bigger than their stomach?” and follow this up with “Remember Mr Colman didn’t make his fortune from the mustard that people ate, he made it from that which they left on the side of the plate.”

Both of them would often say: “You can have too much of a good thing, so don’t over-egg the pudding.”

From: Betty Brewster, St David’s Road, Otley.

I WAS born and reared in Bratford and had close relations in Shipley. I was called a “claw poke”.

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This expression was directed at me when I could not tie my shoes, button my coats, count to 10, skip, ride a bike and many other activities a youngster has to accomplish.

Now I am still a claw poke and more often than not a “balm pot” (full of fun).