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If you have any examples of Yorkshire humour then email them to me for inclusion in this section.

The Headstone.

This anecdote is here because it was always well publicised by my good friend Alistair (especially on the very few occasions when he was 'with drink').

At the eventual passing of the eldest Nun in the Convent, the remainder of the members decided that a special headstone was required for such a devout person.
After much deliberation the inscription "God, she is thine" was agreed upon and the local Yorkshire stonemason duly instructed.
The day before the ceremony the stone was delivered to the local church, but on closer inspection the Nuns were horrified to find a typo, as the inscription read "God, she is thin".
The stonemason was telephoned immediately, informed that "you have missed out the "e", and asked to rectify the fault post haste as the memorial was required the next day.
The stone was collected by the stonemason forthwith and re-delivered later that day having been duly corrected.
The headstone now reading "e' God, she is thin".

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Old Joe

Donated by Brigitte, a latent Tyke from Virginia USA

The works' boss, "Young Mr Peter" had to tell old Joe it was time for him to retire after 60 years with the firm.
The old man was indignant:
"So, it's come to this, 'as it? Ah'm not wanted any longer?
Ah worked for thi dad, thi grandad and 'is dad an' all.
Ah tell thi what lad, if Ah'd known this job weren't going to be permanent, Ah'd nivver 'ahe tekken it on".

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An Os

From Paul Thornton

I was walking down the street t'other day when ah met me mate.
"Hows tha bin"? he asked.
"I feel like an 'os" ses I
"An 'os" ses he
"Aye lad, Champion".

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From Peter Conway, of Prince Albert Saskatchewan
(I came to Canada 38 years ago and when folks say 'ee by gum tha 'asent has lost thee "accent", I tell em "when I find summat better to replace it with, then appen I will".)

The Photographer

A photographer up t'hi street advertised that he could retouch photographs.
So in walks this woman with a picture of 'er departed husband.
I'd like this 'eer photo retouched, and while yer at it remove his 'at. I nivver did like that 'at.
Aye said t'photographer chap. Now just before you go missus I must know which side he parted his hair.
E by gum lad, you must think I am reight daft, you'll find that out when you take his 'at off.

The Cricket Match

At a cricket match a fast bowler sent one down and it just clipped the bail.
As nobody yelled "ows att" the batsman picked up the bail and replaced it.
He looked at the umpire and said "windy today int'it".
"Ay" said the umpire "it is, mind it don’t blow thee cap off walking back to t'pavillion ".

The Farmer

A Farmer was ploughing his field, looked around and there at the gate was the visiting Parson.
So on next his circuit he stopped to pay his respects.
"My, but you and God have built a beautiful place together" said the Parson.
"Aye happen your right Parson" replied the Farmer, "but between thee 'an me, you should have see it when 'ee had it all to 'issen".

Trouble at t'Mill

"Wots up" asked Joe.
"It`s that there gaffer, he gets right on mi withers."
"Pay him no heed, do like I do, an' tell him ter get lost."
A bit later in the day.
"Well thas a right mate. I did like tha ses and he gave me the sack."
"Oh, yer not supposed to let him hear yer."

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From Karen Norman
(Living in Hertfordshire but hoping to go home one day!)

There was a school hall full of Yorkshire women all being given an exercise lesson by Jane Fonda.
"O.K., ladies. Hands on thighs!"
As one, every woman moved her hands and a voice at the back said "What good's that, then? I can't see 'er now!"

A man goes to the vet because his cat is poorly. The vet says "Is it a tom?" and the man says "Nay lad, 'ah've got it 'ere in t'basket!"

A couple are playing 'I spy' in the kitchen of their home somewhere in Yorkshire.
'I spy with my little eye something beginning with T' said the husband.
"Tea pot said the wife." 'Nay Lass!'
"Tea towel." 'Nay Lass!'
"Toaster." 'Nay Lass!' he said, drumming his fingers on the work top.
"Oh I don't know" she said at long last "I give in"
'It's easy' he said. 'It's t'oven!'

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from Kath O'Sullivan, New Zealand (formerly Kath Margerison of Pudsey)

A couple had been courting for nearly twenty years and one day as they sat on a seat in the park she plucked up courage and asked,
'Don't you think it's time we wed?'
He answered,
'Aye lass, but who'd ave us?'

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from Dave Cook, Ex- Bridlington & Leeds, now living in Harlow, Essex.

A Yorkshire farmer went into a jewellers shop in Harrogate. He was constantly chewing. The salesgirl said, "Can I help you Sir?"
"Aye" he said, still chewing. "I'd like one 'o them theer rings".
"Yes Sir, wedding or engagement?"
"Wedding, tha nos", he said, chewing constantly.
"Gold or Silver?", said the salesgirl, watching him chewing.
"Gold", he said.
"Eighteen Carats?", said the girl.
"Nay lass", he said. "It's toffee and it's stuck in me teeth".

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from Rod Peel, My Grandparents lived in Halifax on Saltehebble Hill. My grandfather was a funeral director (Lomas & Sons, Funeral Directors and Joiners) and had a really good sense of humour.

On the theme of coming home after a few pints of 'Ramsdens Stonetrough'

A 'Tyke' struggling home at night, obviously after having had a reet kneckful,
sees a man from the water board with a big 'T' handle,
in the middle of the road opening a valve at the bottom of a manhole.
He walks up behind him and gives him an almighty clout.
"What's that fer" says the waterman...
"Thats fer tunin' all t'streets roun' when I'm tryin' ter find mi way home"

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Mate in Canal

Auld fella walking alongside canal and sees a nine-year old lad fair crying his eyes out.

"Wot's tha cryin' fer, young un?"
Through sniffles and bawling, little lad manages to say "A've loss me mate. Me mate fell in t'canal" and point about tree feet in front of him.
"By 'eck" says fella and without further ado, strips off his jacket and shoes then jumps into the canal. After few minutes he splashed to side and says, "'Ow old was tha mate?"
By this time, lad had stopped howling and watched the auld fella fair dumbstruck. "Wot's that mean, 'ow old?"
"Thy mate" said fella, "'ow old were 'e? Wor 'e a big lad?"
Little lad scowled at the old man, "Nah! Tha daft bat. Not me mate - me mate outa me saniches".

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from Brian Rushton

Two old ladies talking in a Dales village, one says to the other, "You can tell t' winter's cummin cos t'butter's 'ard ".

A bloke ses ter me can tha feight, ah ses feight, 'e ses aye, ah ses who, 'e ses thee, ah ses me, 'e ses aye, ah ses nah, 'e ses aw.

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An old Tyke and a well spoken educated businessman were sat in a pub talking about a local lad who had grown up and made a good life for himself.
Tyke says,Ah knew yon lad fri bein a nipper an gerrin rahnd baht britches an nah booits to 'is feet.
Posh bloke says, That may be, but I can remember him playing out wearing neither trousers nor shoes.

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from Chris Whomersley

Never buy owt wi wooden andles - It alus means ard work...

from Chris Gilson

If tha Bob dun't giv ar Bob that bob 'at thar Bob owes ar Bob, then ar Bob ul gi tha Bob a bob on't nose.

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a Yorkshiremens Grace

God bless us all, an' mak us able
Ta eyt all t' stuff 'at's on this table...

and to follow an ungenerous meal there is a satirical verse

We thank the Lord for what we've getten:
Bud if mooare 'ad been cutten
Ther'd mooare 'a' been etten...

in general

Its a good hoss that niver stumbles
and a good wife that niver grumbles...

Tha can allus tel a Yorkshireman, but tha can't tell him much...

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The Yorkshire Coat of Arms

A Flea, A Fly, A Magpie, an' Bacon Flitch
Ist' Yorkshermans Coit of Arms
And t'reason they've chozzen these things so rich
Is becoss they hav'all speshal charms.
A Flea will bite whoivver it can-- An soa, my lads, will a Yorksherman!
A Fly will sup with Dick, Tom or Dan An' soa, by gow! will a Yorksherman!
A Magpie can talk for a terrible span -- An' soa an all, can a Yorksherman.
A Flitch is no gooid whol its hung, ye'll agree No more is a Yorksherman, don't ye see..

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From Ray Saperia

A Yorkshire vet had finished for the day and to check there was no-one waiting shouted from his surgery into the waiting room
"Is there anyone left in there?"
A man replied "Only me, vet"
Vet asks "What is is?"
"Cat's reet poorly" came the reply.
Vet asks "Is it a Tom?"
"No, I brought it wi' me"

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Ira an’ t’Alderman by John Waddington-Feather ©

Alderman Joa Oxenheead hed a tight pocket but a loose gob. He wer slow at payin’ but fast wi’ his tongue. Ivvery Sat’day morn he went to t’Conservative club i’ Keighworth an’ was reight pleased when he’d muscled in wi’ onny on ‘em suppin’ an’ got off baht payin’ his round.

“Well, lads, Ah’ll hev to be off,” he’d say pullin’ aht his watch as t’ others supped up. “Ah’ve a committee meetin’ i’ ten minutes.” An’ he was off in a flash leavin t’others wi’ empty glasses. One Sat’day Ira Fothergill telled him straight aht, “Joa, Ah’m suppin’ baht.” An’ shoved his glass under Joa’s noase. He didn’t like that one bit ‘cos he hed to pay up. He still muscled in but nob’dy bowt him a drink onny more, soa he hed to buy his own – one glass of cheap sherry which he made last all t’ morning.

Oxenheead hed a thrivin’ mill i’ Keighworth. His father hed fahnded it and Joa managed it through t’ war, when he made a lot o’ brass wi’ t’ contracts he picked up frae t’Ministry o’ Defence. Ira at that time wer in t’ RAF like mooast o’ t’ others ‘at supped in t’Club an’ it didn’t goa dahn so weel wi’ em, him makkin’ all that brass an’ them in t’ forces. It wouldn’t ha’ been soa bad if he’d ha’ kept his maath shut, but he wer allus braggin’ abaht how mich brass he wer makkin’. An’ my! how he liked t’ saand ev his own voice! He’d ram’mle on for ivver once he got to his feet to spaht.

T’ year he wer t’ Mayor o’ Keighworth he upped t’ number o’ speeches he hed to give. He wer in his element! Once on his feet he’d spaht for hours: at schooil speech days, at civic dinners, at Rahnd Table do’s an’ the like. He allus started, “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to be ‘ere today…” then he’d ram’mle on an’ on. Bi’ t’ time he’d done hawf o’t’audience wer asleep an t’other hawf thinkin’ o’ ther beds. It wer Ira ‘at shut him up.

It wer at t’ Conservative Annual Dinner. As usual, Joa got up to speik an’ pushed his chair back soa fowks could see an’ hear him better. “Mr President, ladies and gentlemen. It gives me great pleasure to be ‘ere tonight,” he started. Then Ira acted. He scribbled a noat, folded it carefully, an’ passed it to his neighbour, tellin’ him to pass it up t’ table to Joa . Ivverybody saw it goin’ to Joa an’ wondered what it wer.

Joa didn’t oppen it at once, but when he paused to tak a sip o’ watter, he picked up Ira’s note an’ read it. I’ two minutes he’d shut up an’ sat dahn red i’ t’face. Ivvrybody wondered what wer in that noat an’ Ira telled ‘em afterwards.

“Oh,” he said wi’ a wicked smile, “Ah just said, ‘Joa, thi flies are undone an’ tha’rt showin’ t’ Crahn Jewels!’ ”

Joa nivver lived that dahn, for if he started his jawin’ ageean, a flurry o’ notes’d come his way an’ he nivver dared ignore ‘em. Nor did he ivver forgive Ira.

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T’Three-Slap Rule by John Waddington-Feather ©

Sammy Braithwaite hed a hill farm on t’edge o’t’moors owerlookin’ Keighworth. Nah, Keighworth hill farmers are a breed apart. T’grahnd’s poor, ther farms are small and t’weather’s terrible. Why they farm theer at all’s a mystery. They don’t mak owt at it hardlins. But they go on livin’ theer, makin’ brass, I suspect, wi’ canny deals, for they’re as cunnin’ as they come.

Sammy hed a milk rahnd an’ made a bit that way, some said, bi watterin’ his milk – but that’s nobbut hearsay. He seld his milk frae a horse-drawn dray, high-sided and oppen backed. He kept his milk churns theer to fill up his bucket which he carried dahn streets, fillin’ fowks’ milk jugs they’d left on ther doorsteps. He’d done bi mid-day an’ allus called in at t’Willow Tree for a pint afore he went hooam.

Betsy, his mare, could ha’ found her way hooam blindfolded. On Set’day neets when Sammy hed drunk hissen stupid i’ Keighworth, t’owd mare took him hooam when t’landlord hed poured Sammy into t’ back o’t’drey. Sammy’s wife unloaded him at t’other end.

Sammy ruled his sons wi’ a rod o’ iron. He worked ‘em hard an’ gave ‘em nobbut pocket money till they grew up an’ left hooam. They’d hed enough. Nor wer Sammy on gooid terms wi’ his neighbours. They were as canny an’ mean as himself.

Tak that business o’ t’grahse shooit his neighboiur, Jack Emmott, let aht each season to a fancy Lunnon syndicate. Jack hed a row o’ shooitin’ butts on his land, an’ t’last in line wer nigh Sammy’s boundary wall. Grahse ud sometimes drop on Sammy’s land after they’d been shot; then Sammy us be aht like a flash on his tractor getherin’ em’ up.

‘Course, Jack Emmott wer as mad as hell. So wer shooiters. He play merry hell wi’ Sammy but all Sammy said were, “What lands on thy side o’t’bahndary wall is thine an’ what lands on mine side is mine.” Ther wer nowt Jack could do abaht it but bide his time till he could get his awn back.

Matters came to a heead one autumn when t’guns wer aht an’ a bird dropped on Sammy’s side o’t’fence. T’chap ‘at hed shot it sent a beater to pick it up. Sammy snatched t’bird frae him an’ they started fratchin’ like mad, till t’shooiter hissen cam ower.

He wer a huge chap, a self-made builder wi’ stacks o’ cash. “If you don’t hand that bird over, I’ll sue you from here to Kingdom Come!” he bawled.

Sammy sized him up. He wer right, of course, but more ner that, he wer twice t’size o’ Sammy. Cunning as ever Sammy lewked him straight in t’ eye an’ said, “Awreet, mister. But rahnd ‘ere we hev a way o’ settlin’ things wi’out goin’ to law. We use t’Three-Slap rule.”

“What d’you mean?” asked the other.

“Well, Ah slap thee across t’face three times oppen-handed, then thou slaps me. We go on doin’ that till one on us gives in an’ lets t’other hev t’bird.”

The builder lewked Sammy up an’ dahn. He wer twice Sammy’s size. He gurned brooadly. “Sounds crazy, but I’ll give it a go,” he said. Ther’d be no second chance for Sammy once he hit him.

“Ah goes first, ‘cos we’re on my land,” said Sammy.

“Fine by me,” said the builder, stickin’ aht his chin. He’d a neck like a bull an’ Sammy’s first swipe hardlins made him blink. “One!” he said, and gurned wider.

Sammy stood back and took a second swipe, a reet tear jerker. T’builder nobbut shook his head an’ said, “Two!”

Sammy looisened his showders an’ landed him sich a humdinger, t’builder wer rocked on his feet an’ stood a moment stunned. Then he said, “Three!” an’ rolled up his sleeve.

He stepped forrard wi’ an evil glint in his een. Sammy jumped on his tractor double-quick an’ revved up. “Nay, mister,” he called as he drove off. “Tha can keep thi bird - Ah give in!”

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