Gervase Phinn: A war of words and roses

The constant badinage between us intrigued those colleagues who were not native to either Yorkshire of Lancashire.

I endeavoured to explain that the animosity could be traced back to the War of the Roses when "the red rose supporters" proved to be vulpine and treacherous, capturing Richard Plantagenet, rightful heir to the throne, at Sandal Castle, in 1460, and beheading him. We Yorkshire people have long memories.

It is true that, despite the fact that we live so close together, we still don't really understand each other. The Lancastrians think that we Yorkshire folk are tight-fisted and grasping.

A friend of mine was once introduced to a relative who lived near Manchester.

"Yorkshire man, eh," observed the cousin.

"I am that," came the proud reply. The cousin reached out and shook both my friend's hands warmly.

"What a lovely welcome," said my friend. "Is this some Lancashire custom?"

"Nay, lad," said the relative. "It's just that the last Yorkshire man I shook hands with picked my pocket."

The Lancastrians might be misguided in thinking that we are mean and miserable, but we view them as dizzy, garrulous and full of their own importance.

Of course, we could brag that our county is four times larger than theirs (despite the fact they have stolen parts of it from us like Saddleworth), the biggest county in England at 6,000 square miles, the size of Israel, with more acres than words in the King James Bible.

But we don't, because, basically, we are modest and unassuming folk.

Both sides think the other "talks funny", we with our shortened and clipped speech (all dropped aitches and glottal stops) and they with their curious back-to-front negatives like "Do you not?" and "Have

you not?"

We mash tea, they brew it.

A woman working in a local shop in Rotherham was from over the Pennines. An old man came in. "I want some peas," he said. She reached for a tin of garden peas.

"Nay, lass, I want PE-AS."

"Do you mean dried peas?" she asked.

"Nay, some o' them theer," he told her, pointing to a tin of pears on the shelf.

"Ah," replied the woman, "you mean purs."

When I challenged my Lancastrian colleague with, "Well, if Lancashire is so wonderful, why is it that you are working in Yorkshire?", he replied, "Missionary work".

I could trade clichs, too.

"The best thing that came out of Lancashire is the road to Yorkshire," I informed him.

"Yorkshire only exists to keep the wind out," my colleague retorted.

YP MAG 12/6/10