lang length I heerd soombody callin' me. 'Twere my father, an' then I
knew that fowks had missed me up at t' farm an' were seekin' me amang t'
crofts. Wi' that I gat up an' ran same as if I'd bin a rabbit; an' theer
were my father, stood on t' brig betwixt our house an' t' cove, shoutin'
'Martha!' as loud as iver he could."

"Did he give thee a hazelin' for bidin' out so late?" asked Kester, with
a wealth of personal experience to draw upon.

Grannie was somewhat taken aback by the pertinent question, but she was
too clever to give herself away. "What's that thou says about a
hazelin', Kester? Look at t' clock. It's time thou was gettin' alang
home, or mebbe there will be a hazelin' for thee."




The Potato and the Pig


A Fable for Allotment-Holders


Abe Ingham was a Horsforth allotment-holder. He talked allotments all
day and dreamed of them all night. Before the war cricket had been his
hobby, and he was a familiar figure at County and Council matches for
twelve miles round. Now he never mentioned the game; he had exchanged
old gods for new, and his homage was no longer paid to George Hirst or
Wilfred Rhodes, but to Arran Chief, Yorkshire Hero, and Ailsa Craig. He
took his gardening very seriously, and called it "feightin' t' Germans."