Gervase Phinn: Trying to get a word in

I had been asked to speak at a charity event at a hotel in the Dales. The chairman, a small, wrinkled individual with wisps of white wiry hair combed across his otherwise bald pate, greeted me at the hotel, took me to the crowded bar and introduced me to his cousin "our Barry". "Our Barry" was mountainous: six foot six at least, broad as a barn door, arms like tree trunks and a huge round pudding face. The pint glass looked like a thimble in his massive hands.
By The Newsroom
Published 5th Oct 2010, 15:29 BST
Updated 5th Oct 2010, 15:29 BST

"'E's a big bloke, in't 'e, our Barry?" he asked. "He is," I agreed. "'Is mother, mi Auntie Betty, were a big woman, wunt she, our Barry?" "Aye," replied the huge man. "Wonderful woman, she were. 'Eart o' gowld, do owt for anybody, wunt she, our Barry?"

"Aye," nodded Barry, polishing off half the pint in one great gulp. "She nivver missed a service at t'church. Come rain or shine she'd walk all t'way from r'farm up to t'village. One winter, it were thick wi' snow, drifts up to 10 foot deep, but she made it up t'church. Cooarse, vicar were not expectin' anybody and then mi Auntie Betty turns up. Only one theer, she were, sitting in t'front pew as large as life. Anyroad, vicar asks 'er if 'e should carry on wi' service like, seeing as she were t'only one in t'church. 'Look 'ere, vicar,' she tells 'im, 'I can't tell thee what tha should do, but if I went out of a morning to feed t'cows and only one on 'em 'ad tekken trouble to turn up, I'd feed it.' He were nonplussed at this, was t'vicar. 'Do you know,' he says, 'yer right.' And he went ahead and give one of these long sermons just for Betty's benefit.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

"He were pretty pleased wi' hissen afterwards. 'I hope you felt it were worth the walk through all that snow, Missis Bannister,' he tells 'er. 'Look 'ere, vicar,' she replies, 'I don't reckon I know all that much about sermons and the like, but if I went out of a mornin' to feed t'cows and only one 'ad tekken trouble to show up, I'd not be likely to give it t'whole lot of feed'."

"It's a nice story, that..." I began.

"She passed on a couple of years back did Auntie Betty, di'n't she, our Barry?" "Aye, she did."

"When she died, they 'ad to 'ave a special coffin made for 'er, she were that big, and t'grave diggers were paid extra 'cos o' size of t'hole. They'd just lowered 'er deep into t'ground and t'vicar were startin' up wi' 'is ashes to ashes bit, when one of t'undertakers pipes up. 'It'll 'ave to come up, vicar.' 'It's just gone down,' says t'vicar. 'I know,' says t'undertaker, 'but it'll 'ave to come up. I've dropped mi glasses down t'ole and they're on top o' t'coffin.' It were a job and an 'alf gerrin 'er up. Coffin were up and down like a yo-yo, weren't it, our Barry?" "Aye, it were."

"Anyroad, later on t'vicar says to mi Uncle Stan – that's our Barry's dad – he says, 'You'll miss your wife and no mistake, won't you, Mester Bannister?' 'I will that,' he says. 'Fifty-two year o' marriage and not a cuss word. I shall miss 'er most in bed at neets,' he goes on. 'Hold on,' says t'vicar, 'this is not t'time nor t'place to hear about that sort of thing.' 'Nay, vicar,' says mi Uncle Stan, 'I don't mean what you're a-thinkin'. On a cowld winter's neet, she were like a bield wall, my missus, like a bield wall.' Does tha follow mi drift theer, Mister Phinn? Does that knaw what a bield wall's fer?" "I think..." I started. "Short stretch of wall for the sheep to shelter behind in wet and windy weather."

"I was just wondering.." I began again.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

"Well, it's about time for t'dinner.' On the way into the restaurant he turned to me. "I say, I 'opes tha's goin' to be a bit more talkative like, wi' yer after-dinner speech. You've said nobbut a few words in t'last 'alf hour."

Barry looked down at me, gave me a knowing look and winked.

YP MAG 9/10/10