Articles

Essex Humour

In the early seventies, a group of personalities who drank together in the Queen’s Head pub, in the village of Fyfield, joined together to create an old time musical performance, modelled on a famous BBC television programme of the time, called The Good Old Days.  It was done to staged to raise money for charity, but was very successful and, in fact, was repeated (with some new acts) several times in the village hall and was even taken to several other events.  As a teenager, I got the job of turning the pages for the pianist and once or twice performed to fill in as a kind of understudy.  The show was a series of songs, monologues, short sketches, and a stand-up comic.

The stand-up was a local farmer, from White Roding, called John Osbourne.  He had a strong rural Essex accent – one that I suspect is somewhat disappearing nowadays – and told some original stories about a fictitious local character called “Old Fred”.  I have used these stories a great many times and have reproduced them below, although with my own elaborations and settings, sometimes to make them more meaningful to an audience.

A bit o’ glass

Windy Day

So, for many years Fred had wound the church clocks at a number of different villages in the area,  cycling from Fyfield to each village on the appropriate days.  As he got older, he found the cycling harder and harder; particularly to some of the further villages.  So he bought himself a little motorbikes – one of those little two-stroke, 50cc mopeds, and that made it much easier for him to carry out his task.

Once a week, he used to go to the church at High Easter, which was probably the furthest away.  He was going along one cold and very windy autumn day when, as he approached Berners Roding, he saw his friend, Bill, struggling to walk into the wind.

Bill was wearing one of those old first world war trench coats, that used to go right down to the ankles.  Bill was walking along with his head down and didn’t see Fred until he stopped just ahead of him, looked over his shoulder and said

“D’you wan’ a lift, Bill?” “I’m going up to High Easter, you can get on the back if you wan’ and after I’ve wound that ol’ clock, we can go for a drink at the Punch Bowl.”

Well, Bill took no persuading and he got on the back behind Fred, who set off again.  It was a bit slow driving into the wind with the extra weight on the back, but he was making progress, when he felt Bill tap him on the should and ask to stop.

“w’as wrong, Bill?” asked Fred.

“Oh dear, oh pray” said Bill, “I don’t know where that winds a coming from, but I know where it’s a-going.  I can’t keep goin’ like this, Fred.”

Well, Fred had an idea: “I tell you what” he said, “ you take that coat off and put it on back-to-front.  I’ll do the buttons up an’ that’ll keep you warm as toast.”

So, Bill did as Fred had suggested and they set off again, and everything was just fine.

Now, I don’t know if you know the road into High Easter, but you go down quite a steep hill and then swing to the right, over a small hump-back bridge (that bridges the River Cam), swing to the left and then carry on up the long hill to the village (it’s called The Street and goes past a round house on the left). 

Well Fred’s bike was straining up the hill but, it was funny, it seems to be going a little faster than it had been.  Fred looked over his shoulder and, to his horror, Bill was no longer on the back.  Ol’ Fred turned that ol’ bike around and went back an’, sure enough, there was Bill lying on the verge by the bridge, with a little ol’ boy looking down at him.  An’ Fred calls out to the little ol’ boy:

“Is he alright?”

“He is now I’ve turned his head the right way round”, he replied.

Note: the expression “Oh dear, Oh Pray” was quite commonly heard among country people in the Essex in the 1960s, but I doubt it is common now.

Lil’ ol’ boy could refer to a male of any age (teen to ancient)

Is she took?

Ol’ Fred wanted to breed from a sow he had and so he arranged with another farmer to have his boar cover her.  Fred lived a few hundred yards along the land, known as Norwood End, in Fyfield.  So, Fred put the sow in a barra (wheelbarrow) and trundled down to the other farm.  They put the sow into the field with the boar and left them to it. 

“How will I know if she’s took or not?” asked Fred.

“Well, said his friend; look out the winda (window) when you get up in the morning.  If she’s eating in the grass, she ain’t took, but if she’s wallowing in the mud, she is.”

The following morning, Fred was up early and looked out of his bedroom window.  The sow was eating in the grass.  So shortly afterwards, Fred put her in the wheelbarrow again and took her down the lane.  The following morning, the same thing happened, and the morning after that as well.

On the fourth morning, Fred couldn’t be bothered to rush to the window, so he asked his wife (who was up and about):

“Do you go look out that winda and tell me what that ol’s sow’s a doin”

Fred’s wife drew back the curtains and exclaimed: “Oh dear, oh pray Fred.  You’ll never believe it.  That ol’ sow’s sitting in the barra!”

 

Priorities

One day, as Fred was cycling from Fyfield to Willingale, he saw his friend Alf standing by the small sewerage treatment farm just before you reach Willingale.  Alf had a long pole and was fishing about in one of the settling tanks. 

Fred said: “’ave you lost summink (something)? What are you fishin’ about for?”

Alf replied: “I lorst me coat”

“Well, that ol’ coat won’t be any good to you when you geddit out o’ there”, said Fred.

“Tha’s not the coat I’m worrid about”, said Alf, “It’s them sandwiches in the porket” (pocket).