'Norfolk’ describes a language, a humour and a way of life

I ought to be used to it by now after decades of ploughing unfashionable furrows and regularly accepting the role of anachronism in a modern media world along the international super-highway 

Why on earth should anyone prefer to get stuck down a hemlock-choked country lane exchanging droll yarns, dialect phrases and dogmatic points of view? What’s the attraction of being hailed a quaint left-over from an idyllic pastoral scene that might not have existed after all? 

There can be scope for critics and cynics to admit it may be nice to see people building their own village halls, reviving that old-fashioned community spirit  and trying to hold on to pubs, buses, hedgerows and local colour. The art of condescension is not yet dead. But when it comes to that peculiar dialect …

My customary response centres on Norfolk’s exceptional powers of absorption, the old place still permits a parochial renegade not only to exist with impunity but also to flourish without apology in a climate where “dew diffrunt” sunshine bursts mercifully through dull clouds of uniformity.

I take fresh courage when needed from champions of the vernacular with a disarming habit of bringing it into play to confuse or confound the opposition. Many a scullery maid cursed a dowager and lived to savour the tale. The odd serf must have damned his feudal landlord and been allowed to keep his chains.

Dark mutterings spiced with dialect have been interpreted by new village parsons as welcome signs of repentance among dwindling flocks.  Schoolteachers are not immune. I heard of one pre-Ofsted luminary who gave a pupil top marks  after being informed “Yew duzzy  ole fewl” was a pre-Chaucer greeting and one small strand in a glorious and colourful rural heritage.

Swearing in broad Norfolk, hardly encouraged but still a potent weapon in the underdog’s armoury, carries an almost lyrical ring. And if you smile while in full cry, chances are the target will consider it some kind of ancient blessing.

In short, our dialect can bring vital balance to one-sided situations and lend much-needed perspective when life gets too complicated, too fast and too serious.

Take two village sages mardling about the merits or otherwise of making the A11 a dual carriageway.

“Carnt see much sense innit meself," said the first old boy. “Thousands more hossin’ inter Norfolk cors that’ll be a rare lot easier ter git here …”.  His friend thought for a whole minute.

Then he beamed: “Ah, so they myte … but that dew mean they’ll clear orff quicker anorl!”

It may continue to suffer from dilution and will have to adapt to stay afloat in some areas.

National television and wireless dramas seem more likely to carry on sinking in murky Mummerzet waters. But the dialect is simply too strong and too precious to let go.

Max Muller, the German-born writer who lived and studied in Britain for most of his life, waved a highly influential flag for the cause well over a century ago when he  informed Eastern Daily Press readers: “The real and natural life of language is in its dialects.

“Even in England the local patois have many forms which are more primitive  than the language of Shakespeare and the richness of their vocabulary surpasses  on many points that of the classical writer of any period."

Perhaps my old friend and mentor Eric Fowler, who wrote with such style and distinction for the Eastern Daily Press under the delightful pen-name of Jonathan Mardle, issued the most defiant call to arms worthy of an encore whenever someone is misguided enough to suggest dialect’s days are surely numbered: “I would like true Norfolk to survive because of its expressive vocabulary and vivid turn of phrase – so much more vigorous (and honest) than the gobbledegook of the bureaucrats and  sociologists with which we are nowadays  smothered that the language itself is in danger of losing its meaning.

“The English country dialects, if they do indeed remain alive, may  well become the last repository- outside of old books – of good plain English."

Dick Bagnall-Oakeley, another home-grown colourful champion of our Norfolk way of life, especially in dialect and humour, was equally at ease  with orthodox speech and the broad local tongue.

There was no hint of mockery  or patronising as he unleashed a torrent of Norfolk yarns as raconteur, after-dinner speaker, lecturer, teacher and broadcaster.

He passed on useful advice to newcomers worth echoing in these fast-changing and cynical times: “One of the first things you should realise is that for lovers of East Anglia, ‘Norfolk’ is not simply a word that describes a county. ‘ Norfolk’ also describes a language, a humour, and a way of life."

So there yew hev it!