Photo: courtesy of the Shipwright Arms
Another dialect story from Trevor Dalley, featuring his old friends, Albert and Joey. As usual, they’re on the make but who can resist the charm and cunning of these two Cornish characters. Certainly not this couple of visitors to our shores.
I took a long pull on my cigar and gave a sigh of satisfaction. We’d chartered a yacht at Helford and had spent a most wonderful week sailing around Falmouth bay. Perfect weather with the wind blowing a constant force 3-4 had taken us to St Mawes, up the River Fal and across to Coverack. It was Saturday evening and we were due to go home the next day. I took another pull on my cigar and slurped a glass of wine. I felt like a king. My wife had retired to her bunk but I sat out in the cockpit contemplating the moon and stars, the pale glistening waters and listening to the hypnotic sound of the clinking of halyards of the surrounding yachts on their nearby moorings. A faint chattering came across the water from the Shipwright’s Arms. Suddenly a large shape loomed over the side of the boat, “‘ow yu doin?”
Alfred (Photo created by author)
In my panic I nearly swallowed the cigar. “Pardon?”
“ ‘ow yu doin? Or right ar e?”
“Oh, yes thanks.”
In the gloom a man’s face took shape. He’d a large nose and dark eyes that gleamed menacingly in the moonlight. His head was covered by an old greasy cap. A large inane grin revealed a distinct lack of teeth. Those which still existed were quite black from an obvious habit of smoking too much tobacco. A strong smell of beer and fish pervaded the cockpit. “Seen e there smoking, thawt I com’ over say ‘ello. I’m Albert. Smells ansom; got ‘nother ‘ave e? I’m a roll bacci man meself but I’m partial to a nice cigar.” He leered at me. My heart thumped alarmingly.
“Sorry no, this is the only one.”
“ ‘ow yu been joyin’ yor ‘holiday?”
“Lovely thank you.”
A slight pause, and he seemed to gather himself as if he was about to jump into the boat.
“We been feshin.”
“Really?”
“Es, want sum fesh do e?”
“Well, not really we are off home tomorrow.”
“Take sum withy. Fresh they ar, still livin’, sum of em.”
“I don’t think so, thanks.” I said this with some trepidation. I was still worried that I had come across one of Cornwall’s last pirates.
“Guss on withy take sum ‘ome, the mackerel ar only a pound each or e can ‘ave six for a fiver. Thas cheap that is.”
“you need to ask the wife, and she’s asleep.”
“What is it love?” this from below.
“Do you want some fish to take home? Mackerel.”
“Oh yes please. And get some for our neighbours as well.”
The man grinned in triumph; his smile was not a pretty one. “I tell e wat, fer twenty quid I’ll give e twenty-five of the buggers. ‘ow ‘bout that.”
Photo: courtesy of Pixabay
“I don’t know.” I was feeling a little more courageous.
“All right, I tell yu wat I’ll do, I’ll thraw in a nice Pollock as well. Caint be fairer than that can I?”
I gave a sigh, “Oh alright I’ll have them”.
“Ansum; now ‘ow about a real bargain?”
“What do you mean, a real bargain? That’s what I thought I was getting.”
“Well, see, me and Joey ‘ere ar plannin’ on goin’ to the pub. Joey ‘ere sings and plays the haccordian and ‘e need a few pint to wet is whistle an twenty quid idna nuff. Not keep both of us goin’. So, ‘ow bout another ten fur two bleddy ansum crab?”
I leaned over the side of the gunwale to see a diminutive bundle of a southwester slumped at the back of the rowing boat. A pair of glittering eyes and a gravelly voice emanated from the heap of clothes. “Yeow.” Two large wriggling crabs were being offered for my inspection.
Photo: courtesy of Pixabay
By this time I was desperate to be alone. “Oh alright then, give them here!”
A box came over the side of the boat and the man gave me a wink, “Yur mates ull think e been feshin yourself wen they pard?” I handed him the money.
“Thankee boy, thas ansum.”
The little boat pulled away into the darkness and I fumbled for my matches and relit my cigar which had gone out during my conversation with the Cornish apparition. I wouldn’t have thought any of it was real except for the box of fish and two struggling crabs on the floor of the cockpit. As I settled myself back into a comfortable position a gravelly almost inhuman voice floated over the water accompanied by the sound of an accordion, singing “I love the white rose” only to be masked by a myriad of other voices singing in a wonderful, pleasant harmony.
Cornwall! What an ansum place!
Trevor Dalley, taken in the Directors Carriage of the electric train that goes from Palma to Soller, Majorca.
I was born at Praze (see Coronation Cottages on YouTube by Sarah Chapman), went to Crowan Primary School, Helston Grammar School, and left at 16 to work with my father in his greengrocery business. I started my own business at 21 and was self-employed until I retired at the age of 69. I founded Camborne Trevithick Day in 1983 and was chairman of the organising committee for twenty years. I was made a Cornish Bard in 1994. I took over the chairmanship of Trevithick Day in 2014 but have now retired and made an Honorary Life President. I was a member of the Camborne Town Council for several years and presently a member of The Camborne Town Deal Board. I began creative writing about fourteen years ago and when the West Briton had a real editor I had a monthly column.
