The Tailor and the Hedgehog - by Tim Bobbin
I believe I have come across this story in a song, and do not know whether it is a traditional story repeated by Tim Bobbin (the nom de plume of John Collier) or whether he invented it. It is part of the Tummas an' Meary dialogue that was first published in 1756 and I have taken this version from an excellent website that can be accessed here. This is very early Lancashire dialect and for that alone it deserves inclusion on my site, but that is not why I have added it. Simply, it is a good story well told.
To read about the place of John Collier as the Father of Lancashire Dialect, click here. A tealier i' Crummil time, wur thrunk pooin' turmits in his pingot, an fund an urchon ith' had-loont-ryen; he glendurt at't lung boh cou'd may nowt on't. He whoavt his whisket oe'rt, ran whoam, an towd his neybours he thowt ot he'd funde a thing at God newer made eawt; for it had nother yed nor tale, hont nor hough, midst nor eend!
Loath t' believe this, hawve a duzz'n on em woud goot see if they coudn mey shift t' gawm it, bo' it capt em; for they newer o one on um ee'r saigh th' like afore. Then theyd'n a keawnsil, anth' eend out wur, ot teyd'n fotch a lawm, fawse, owd felly; het an elder, at coudn tell oytch think, for they looknt on him as th' hammil-scoance, an thowtn he'r fuller o leet than a glow-worm.
When theyd'n towd him th' kese, he stroakt his beyrt, sowght, an ordert' th' wheel-barrow with spon-new trindle, t' be fotcht. 'Twur dun, and they beawlt'nt him away toth' urchon in a crack. He glooart at't a good while; droyd his beyrt deawn, an wawtut th' urchon o'er wi' his crutch. "Wheel meh obeawt ogen, oth' tother side," sed he, "for it sturs, an be that it shou'd be whisk." Then he don'd his spectacles, steart at't agen, on sowghing sed: "Breether, its summot: boh Feather Adam nother did, nor cou'd kersun it.—Wheel me whoam ogen."
My translation (also, see the Glossary):
A taylor, in the time of [Oliver] Cromwell, was very busy pulling up turnips on his allotment [pingot] and found a hedgehog near the footpath at the edge of the field. He stared long and hard at it in but couldn't work out what it was [could make nothing of it - could not make it out]. He threw [whoavt - heaved?] his basket over it, ran home, and told his neighbours the thought he'd found something not made by God [never made by God], for it had neither head nor tail, hand nor foot, middle nor end.
Loth to believe this, half a dozen of them went [woud - perhaps from wawked = walked] to see if they could make head or tail of it [make shift to understand it], but it beat them [capped them] because not one of them [never a one of them] had ever seen [ever saw] anything like it before. So they held a council and the result was that they'd fetch a lame, wily old fellow, an elder [that was an elder] that knew everything, that they regarded as the village wise man and thought was fuller of light [knowlege] than a glow-worm.
When they'd told him about the case, he stroked his beard, sighed and ordered that the wheel barrow with the new wheel be fetched. It was done and they immediately [in a crack] bowled him away in it to the hedgehog. He stared at it a good while, drew his beard down and turned it over with his crutch. "Wheel me round the other side" he said "for it stirs, so it must be alive [whisk- from wick]." Then he put on his glasses, stared at it again, and, sighing, said: "Brother, it's something: but Father Adam neither could nor did give it a name [Christen it] - wheel me home again."