Dialect -- Cockney and Yorkshire

Yeah go on then, give us a butcher's, you wassock.

PM me if you don't want to post in forum.

-Derek

Just watch a few episodes of Eastenders (for Cockney) and Emmerdale (for Yorkshire) if it's the modern dialect you want.

Send it to me too, job, I'm familiar with both.

Ditto. Send 'em here too.

I'm a Yorkie and i have a book on the Yorkshire language/dialect so can give you loads of words and phrases.

E' up Dpat wot dialect r thee speakin?

Job you send away and we will set ya reet!

My true mission is to teach the world to Speak Yorkshire. I am so glad that up in the cold frozen Scotland that they too have come to their senses and have learnt the best - Yorkshire

Kev

I'm in.
I'm neither a tyke nor a cockney, but I've heard enough of them talking bollox that I've an ear for it.

I hate to rain...

on the parade, but we need to know which Yorkshire dialect job is wanting. If it's modern from the 1960s onward then the Yorkshire dialects had become more of one accent. But if it's historical then you need to be careful as they were markedly differently and a West Riding mill girl's dialect was not the same as Swaledale farm girl's.

I'll check your historical Yorkshire if it is that, job.

I'm from Sheffield South Yorkshire.

I'll look at the rest later, but one thing jumps out at me: they don't call the Antilles "the Antilles" anywhere in the British Isles. They call it "the West Indies."

1810?

Here's the Yorkshire.
Yorkshire dialect circa 1810.

This is two scenes. The minor character speaks Yorkshire dialect in this intimate situation, but he could and does speak more Standard English elsewhere.

I know Yorkshire dialect from nothing.

Help help.
*****
Right, I've given you the best mix of words I can. I'm fluent in West Riding mill dialects and some of the Dales dialects. Yours is the Whitby area which was the North Riding and Whitby had its own fishing, coastal dialect. Don't overuse any of the words. Just select the odd bits for colour or your readers will stop reading!
The Yorkshire Museum has a lot on various dialects and I believe you can search up a website.

I've grizzled at you about money. Before 1816 it was guineas that people used not pounds and quid is not 1810 usage.
Where do you Americans keep getting this pound information from? The Bank of England used pounds but it was not a trading bank for ordinary people it was the Govt bank and the pound has always been its gold standard but until the new sovereigns in 1816 the main gold coin was the guinea and half guinea.

*************************
"Does tha ask me? Does tha? Am I in t' Antilles more likely to say India or Australia or Africa which were part of the Empire in 1810 that tha' canna send word?"

She watched Papa's waistcoat go by as he walked up and down. Crimson silk with white plum blossoms and twining branches. Exuberant. "I --"

"What use (are tha) (is't tha) to me or t'anyone (delete else) if tha die in tha blood on Jowett Street? Eh? Where am I then, when tha breaks tha neck?"

"I was careful and -- "

"Hear me. (Sneck oop and bend thy lug is more 1810 Yorkshire but might be too difficult for your American readers) Ee lass, if Tha goes skiperting across the (t'roofs) roofs again then(and) I swear by God tha (tha's outa Yorkshire and on't m'next ship to name of place) on next ship out."

"Yes, Papa."

But he'd about finished (Brangling - he's yelling and angry yes? fratching is more grumbling or between siblings.)fratching at her, which was a relief to both of them and (likely here is an American usage. Standard English would use probably and if you want to keep the right feeling for an historical set in England then avoid using Americanisms which don't feel right.) everyone else in the house.

"... a worriting (moithering is the word you want) Pitney, who don't need another bloody idiot to look after, him having a pretty new wife fer t' purpose." He finished another round of stomping about the room and ended up in front of her, where she was sitting on the low stool by the fire. He put his hand on her head, as if she was still a child. "Nay then, lass, tha's to stop taking daft risks. I won't (be having it. Wouldn't use the contraction here as it's an emphatic statement.)have 't."

He was worrying about her. He was the one locked up,and he wasted his time worrying about her. "I won't do anything stupid."

Aye, that's reet fine that is. (Oh, that's reassuring, that is.) Me (My - he'd use here) Jess (a tellin me)(saying) she'll not be nesh (she won't be stupid.) If tha' (must needs) Yorkshire dialects uses reversals so - If tha' need must break into MacArthur's (probably wouldn't add offices. offices,) hire ( a man) (somebody,) (tha silly noddy.)(for love of God.) There's sneak thieves on every street corner. It's not like we don't have the (blunt) (brass, blunt is an upper crust slang word)."
You are forgetting that your Jess in 1810 wouldn't have any money of her own, only pin (pocket) money.
Might as well shout her business from the rooftops as hire a thief. Not a one of them honest. "Yes, Papa."

"Or bribery. There's a mort of trouble (a mort 'o trouble - a peck o' strife) saved in this world by (simple bribery) (a hefty bribe)." He set his knuckle on her cheekbone, saying various things he wasn't going to put into words. "There's clerks (in't MacArthur's office 'ud flog their grandam (at MacArthur's would sell their grandmother for a hundred quid.") (a handful of guineas.) PLEASE GET THE MONEY RIGHT!!!
In 1810 the standard British money was not the pound, it was guineas, and half guineas, these were the gold coins used, worth 21 shillings and 10 shillings and sixpence. In 1816 finally the govt sorted out the two hundred year mess of British currency and the first new 20 shilling sovereigns were minted. They were pounds as it is 20 shillings to one pound. However the pound sterling in gold has always been the gold standard for the British govt and the govt (Fort Knox to you Americans) bank -the Bank of England - used that as their standard. But everyone in ordinary life used farthings, groats, pennies, half pennies, sixpences, shillings, half crowns, crowns, along with a muddle of tokens and foreign money over stamped by the English mints and for gold coins they used guineas.

"Not much market (for grandams)in grandmothers, unfortunately."

"Happen that's how someone got his fingers into our books. One o' the clerks."

"Happen you're right (reet)."

The lightest possible touch to her temple. "Tha's a (grady =gradly = well done or good)) (grand) bruise forming here. Very fetching." (Reet neet, or noan so bad.)

"I've been avoiding mirrors. Papa, I'm getting close. I've pinned down four transfers and – "

"Later, lass."

He was right. Why give the British Service a thimbleful of information? They were listening in the wals. (walls) "Only a matter of time, now." They both knew there wasn't much time left. Not months. Maybe not even weeks. "I'm getting close."

("And the dogs (hounds) coming after thee?)(With't hounds ganging after thee?) (Same)(The one's) (ones) who did this? (fetched thee that clout?) Are tha (Art thy) dealing with them, too? Aye. Pitney told me. Tha 's set him between two loyalties, Jessie. ('Twasn't right of thee to do that.) (It's not well done of thee.")

That was another of the demons clawing at her. She had to see Pitney get (grow) grayer and more haggard every day he walked into the office. "I have bodyguards now. Trailing after me. I'm going to swagger about town like that Roman emperor everyone was aiming knives at. Caesar."

"That'll be some of that (there) expensive education I bought you."

"So it is. I'm hoping for a lull in(from) folks attacking me, what with all these stalwart men following me everywhere. And I moved out of the hotel. Gone into hiding, like." She didn't mention she was hiding in the Captain's house. A delicate omission, her governess used to call that sort of thing. "I'm being careful."

She'd made him smile. "Tha hasna (been careful) taken care since the day (thee) (tha was't born.) was born. Whist (Whist away) now. Pitney says there's bidding on that silk shipment we discussed."

"Interest in many quarters, you might say." The silk shipment was her. (???) There was no end to men who wanted to marry the Whitby heiress all of sudden. Might have something to do with how soon they thought she'd be inheriting. And every one of them promising they could get Papa free. Some of them were even telling the truth.

Military Intelligence in the parlor while the Foreign Office is coming up the back stairs. If intrigue was farthings (farthings are of very small value the usual expression was sixpence or sometimes pennies.) she'd be rich all over again.

"Say yes with tha eyes and send 'em to talk to me." Papa squeezed her shoulder, once, and walked back to the desk they'd given him. "We'll hold 'em off a little longer."

*************************

She crossed the study, taking her bonnet off. She was dressed in the plain, cheap dress she'd worn to the market this morning, a little grubby now. It's been another day, visiting ugly places and playing dangerous games. There wasn't a thing she'd been up to lately that Papa'd approve of. Unfortunately, she was going to have to admit to some of them.

She tossed her bonnet on one of the chairs. "Beautiful day out. Not raining."

"I'm glad tha came. I wanted to take tea with thee." Papa's voice grated. He held his arms out. She put her face down on his shoulder and he patted the top of her head and they didn't say anything for a while. Then he kissed her on the forehead and set her away from him and went to fiddle with the samovar. He was turning his back on the spyholes watching them, and hiding his face from her too. Neither of them wanted to show the rats in the wall what they were feeling.

She curled up in the chair by the fire and tucked her feet up under her. She'd left a shawl for Papa a couple visits back and it was still there, folded the way she'd left it. She wrapped it around herself. She felt the cold today. "The tea smells good. You would not believe the tea people have been giving me lately." She put her cheek against the side of the wingback. Dark mulberry brocade. Soft and nubbly to touch. Except for that grim front parlor, Meeks Street was a comfortable place.

"An' who's been offering thee tea?"

"The Reverend NAME for one." Be careful of religious titles. In England you use a name with the title as in Parson Paul, Father James, Reverend Thomas. Certainly your Jess would if she'd had a governess and fancy education. Papa shot her a glance. Ah well, she'd annoy him more before she was finished. "Went to talk to him about the Trust. And I needed to cry on his shoulder a while. Been short of shoulders to snivel on lately, what with you being in quod."

"It's not safe, going there. I (dinna) (shouldn't) have to tell thee."

"I'm careful. Besides, I have a pack of British spies tagging along after me, trying to be inconspicuous. I'm safer than the crown jewels. I saw Hurst.' I told him to go to hell." (probably use hades. Go to hell being modern for 1810.

"Tha's hard on the man."

"He left you to die, in St. Petersburg. He left you bleeding on the tiles in the plant room and walked out."

"Did tha (Does tha) want him dead at thy feet?" Papa twisted the spigot of the samovar and held a cup underneath. The trickle of water came out steaming. "The Tsar's men were at the door. Tha's not a child, Jess, nor a (fool) (silly noddy, nodcock) Plans go awry. Men like Hurst do what they must. I've made decisions as hard as that, in my time."

"He didn't write. Not even to tell me he was alive."

"No, he did not. That would have been a fine thing, think on. Him on the dodge all those years, sending you letters, leading every spy in Europe to your door." He brought the pot of sugar lumps (Do you mean the nice square modern style lump or do you mean pieces off the cone of sugar?) with him and came, carrying the cup. (Long past time to forgot him, lass.) Hinny is Geordie."It was time for you to forget him, hinny."

"You told him not to write, didn't you?"

"Aye."

Which explained a lot. Didn't make it any better, though. "He's the one forging evidence. It has to be the ..." Papa handed her the cup. It was hot, so she had to stop talking and handle it carefully. That gave her time to remember the bastards from the Service were listening in the walls. Papa was telling her to mind what she said.

"There's worse places than Meeks Street, lass, and worse hands to be in. Do tha (Dost tha) want to visit me in Newgate?"

"Bloody bastard." (She's very modern in her swearing!)

"(don't use Oh use Aye.) Oh,Aye, likely. Likely. He's added a goodly rack of syllables to his name since we last saw him, our Hurst. We won't ask where he got 'em."

"I lost my temper."

"Don't fash yerself. (Dinna fash thasen.) He won't take it out on me." He sat on the stool, feet splayed and his elbows on his knees, looking like a gnome, and poured tea into his saucer. They knew where the peepholes were. They could be a little private between the two of them when they sat this close. "Now, tell me what our men in France are saying."

So she did, and added in the agents in Portugal and the Low Countries for good measure. No fear of letting anything important drop. Nothing useful had come into the office for days now. "... have a copy of the harbor master's log. Well enough, in its way. But it's no use to me without word from France. The bloody idiots keep writing back in code, at great length, telling me all the things they don't know. I'm not short of people who don't know anything. Don't have to go to France to find 'em."

"That's why they're called secrets. They're not growing on every bush." Papa slurped his tea from the saucer. Hers was still to(too) hot to drink so she blew on it, being vulgar, the way there(they) were, sometimes, at breakfast when it was just the two of them. Neither of them gave a clipped farthing what this audience thought. Note that clipped coins were always silver or gold, that's why people clipped them! Farthings were copper, so a silver groat if you want a small coin or a guinea if you want a seriously large amount coin.

He finished, and set his cup and saucer away on the bricks of the hearth. "Now ... what's tha nowt saying, lass, (Nah then, lass, what's tha bin oop to wi'out saying owt to me?) with all this talk of France and Spain?" The problem with Papa was that he was about six times smarter than anyone else. She never could fool him. "Tha bin up to things, and not telling me." (Tha's bin oop to sumat.)

"Not so much. Poking and prying. I found ... " She shrugged. "I found a letter. It could mean something."

"And tha (doesna like it by half) don't like it by half [slang from? Above half[. Someone tha know(s) then. Whist, lass. Careful. Tha'll spill it like that."

She put the teacup on the arm of the chair, not spilling, and watched the steam come off it. "I'm tired of the amount of paper I see lately. Just weary. I'm ready to cart it out and throw it away. Three shillings from the rag and bone man buys the lot."

"It's hurtful, what tha's found. It's made thee sad." Papa heaved himself up and fetched his pipe from the rack on the mantelpiece. She'd brought his pipe to him from the hotel -- a plain clay bowl with a slender curved stem. You'd see a dozen like it in any tavern. "That's what comes o' rooting through other men's correspondence. I told thee to hire (a secretary to get) it done. Is it a friend of ours?"

She was just transparent, wasn't she? "You don't know him."

"But tha do. And well." Papa knocked the dottle out on the palm of his hand and brushed it into the hearth. "Like that is it?"

"It's not like that. It's just complicated."

"Six years and not a man in any port o' Europe tha wanted to get complicated with. Now this. Another man would think tha did it to be disobliging (reet awkward). Will tha tell me about him, and this letter of his?"

"Not with all these bloody mice in the walls. It's not what you think, anyway."

He scraped inside the bowl of the pipe with the silver stick he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket. Glanced at her a time or two and then went back to it. "There's high-sounding words coming out of France these last years. 'Liberty'. 'Equality'. Good men believe 'em. I won't fault a patriot, even if ..." He used a different stick to work on the mouthpiece. "I'd settle for a Frenchman, Jessie, if it's what tha want. This war won't last forever."

"You're making assumptions. About three thousand and six of them if I was counting."

"That's as may be. I'll admit I'd hope for an Englishman. I don't like thee fooling abut with a man who plays at spying. Spying's a cold trade." His fingers were careful around the pipe, as if it were a small animal likely to make a bolt for it. "And meddling with letters between spies ... I had thy promise to take no chances."

"I'm always careful."

"Hah." He began stuffing tobacco in the pipe, jabbing it down with his thumb. "Might as well ask t' ferret to whistle hymns as ask thee to take heed of thyself. I don't know why I bother."

"Can we stop talking about this? That letter ..." and she ran aground. Nothing to say, really, about what that letter might mean. Not to Papa. Not to those jackals listening in. "Let's forget the letter. I have other fish to fry."

Schemes Papa wouldn't like. He knew, and he couldn't stop her. They took about twenty seconds of silence to acknowledge that, back and forth.

Then she said, "That reminds me. Did I tell you I bought haddock in the market the other day? I haggled, Papa. Brought her down from three shillings to two and six."

"That's the(my) canny lass. We'll not starve with tha holding the pursestrings."

So she talked about marketing for a while, and newborn babies, and the Trust she was setting up for the Whitby English assets, forging his signature right and left. He laughed at that. "You're a useful sort of daughter to have, I've always thought." ... and Kedger, who'd found his way to the kitchen in the Captain's house, causing moderate havoc.

That left the thousand most important words unsaid. It was like piloting through dangerous waters, with the things they weren't saying jutting up like rocks, just under the surface.

In the end though, she took a deep breath. "I have to tell you before Pitney comes by and blows the gaff. I went to Lazarus, Papa."

For a second he just stared at her. Then he slammed the pipe on the mantle, smashing it.

"Dammit t' hell. (Dammit all to hell,) Tha bloody (fool)idiot! (Years now I've told thee to leave him be. Does tha not heed? )(Didna I tell thee to keep away from him! Years now, I've told thee.) By God, Jess, tha's (nowt - wrong use) (niver) too old to turn over my knee." Bits of pipe clay, gray-white, brown and black-stained, skittered [echo[ and fell. You do know that a clay pipe is regularly cleaned by putting it in the fire which turns it white again?) "Of all the (heedless, feckless ninnies) blistering stupidities. Tha didna go thyself?"

Well, yes. She crouched down in her chair. "Umm..."

("Did tha not take thought) (Didst tha not take heed of what could happen to thee? Jess, tha stretch(es) out ) tha neck out and he's gonna slip a leash on."

She didn't meet his eyes. "I know, Papa. But --"

"Damn and drown it, (Devil take them all,) it's nay fair to do this to me when I'm tied by the heels." He sat down heavily, red in the face. "Tell me what happened. All of it. If tha's gone back to him to buy my way out o' here ..."

"I didn't. I mean, it didn't happen. I bought a commission. It's work no one else could do for me. I didn't have any choice."

"I should ship (thee)(you) out o' England on t' next bluidy tide. What's tha agreed to?"

"Nothing. I paid a high fee. The Catherine necklace. But ..."

"I'm not quibbling price, for God's sake. But did he get thee with it, lass?"

The tea cup trembled where she touched it, shrilling like a bell. "He said I wasn't his any more."

He grunted and took her cup away and set it in(among/beside?) the rubble of his pipe. "Tell me."

"I'm more trouble than I'm worth now. Or something like that." Her headache was back. It was still following her around, waiting to pounce. "Pitney'll give you chapter and verse. The whole blasted town knows. A man came after me, and got me out of the padding crib. Convinced Lazarus to let me go."

"I'm liking this less every minute. Is it some bully cove from the Brotherhood that's taken thy fancy?"

"He's not. He's ... You would not believe how complicated this is." She was going to have to tell him about that bloody shilling, wasn't she? Lazarus had made sure that story was all over town. "He's ..." Now what was she going to say? -- 'He's honest,' or 'Maybe he's not Cinq,' or 'I haven't quite slept with him yet'? -- Sometimes there weren't enough words under the sun to explain what was going on.

"Half the blue blood in Europe sniffing at thy skirts and tha takes a fancy to some crony of Lazarus." Papa took her cup off to warm the tea up for her, grumbling. "I swear, I should have traded thee for the (that?) pair of milk-white racing camels when we were in Algiers."

****************

Hi Jo
Is this enough for ya if you want more let me/us know OK.
Kev

job said:

This is cockney circa 1810.

Some of it is spoken by the MC, someone who's learned to speak standard English as a teenager. .Most of her 'accent' exists only as a cadence in her interior monologue.

The rest is spoken by other characters.

All these lines are out of context.

Can anyone give me some idea of what's NOT working.

***
"I been standing here a while, wondering whether I'll die of the ague, or some bloke 'll come along and slit me throat, just fer a lark."

I bin standing here

***
"You ain't paying me enough for this, Miss, if you don't mind me pointing that out."

If you don't mind me sayin'

***
"That's why I work fer you, Miss Whitby. Always expanding me repertoire. Now let me get this crystal clear. I waves this bit of pipe about like I was meaning to bash you a couple – menacing, as you might say – an' you runs up and wraps yerself around our coney, quaking with fright. Is that it?"

"Exactly. Wet and sobbing and quivering every which way."

Every which way doesn't sound right

"That'll snag 'is undivided attention." He gave her a long sarcastic study. "I ain't never heard such a crack-brained plan in my life. Except the part about me trying to hit you over the head. Plausible, I'd call that."

***
"Then I won't waste me time trying. I earns that pittance yer paying me, Miss Whitby, in case you was wondering."

***
"I should jest slit me own throat and save the unnecessary dread.

***
Captain, I been watching that girl for three weeks now. Awake to the time of day, Jess is. No chance her father could sell secrets and her not know."

been would be more accurately expressed as bin wherever it occurs

***
"You do that." Doyle unscrewed the barrel of the gun and tapped it with neat, practiced economy, spilling a scatter of gray powder on the blotter. "Lummy. She's dossin' in yer house. You try telling her what to do."

***
"Just Forte, since she's bedded down in the captain's house. I figured I'd turn in for a few hours. I been up all night, consorting with the criminal classes."

captain's 'ouse

***
Doyle opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a mahogany box. A gun cleaning kit. "Six dead. That's the magistrate's problem. Two more who are being what we'd call hors de combat, in a pub in Whitechapel. Those two Lazarus will likely kill. He doesn't like men hunting on his turf. That's eight. I make it two pair left unaccounted for. More than I'd want after me if I was her size."

***
"She'd sink the ship and swim for shore. Aside from being able to calculate like the mills of God, our Jess is a woman with a fell and exigent purpose. Never pays to stand between a woman and her purpose." Doyle sent a white cloth down the barrel of the gun, twisting the little rod shrewdly. "I'm a married man. Take my word for it."

***
They were big ugly coves she recognized them from last night. They had to be plain sotted to come after her in broad daylight, in front of witnesses.

Didn't matter how sotted they were once they got her into that coach.
Nobody to help her. She scrambled into the street, dodging horses, played hide and seek with the carts. Outsmarting them. She doubled back and nipped up on the pavement, bouncing off some citizens. Every fool swag-belly in London was out for a stroll this morning.

***
"That's the second time you done this now – saved me from getting dragged off. I dunnoh what you're doing here, but thanks."

***
"Bloody traps. Might as well not have any law in this country, the way they ignore it." Kedger clung to the wire mesh of his cage, upside-down, furious, bristling and red-eyed. "And they scared Kedger. Bxggering hell."

***
Her top drawer was neat as a Bishop's wig, the pen knife in its sheath, the quills side by side. Eerie, seeing everything laid out proper like that. Nothing missing ...

No. One bit of inventory was unaccounted for. The sack of lemon drops she hid behind the cashbox was gone.

Wasn't like they couldn't buy their own candy. Lemon drops. She hoped they choked on 'em.

candy strikes me as American usage

Cummings could get Papa loose. He wanted his bribe up front, though, and she didn't trust him to keep his word. She'd trust a rug seller in the bazaar in Aleppo sooner than Lord Cummings in jolly old England. The gentry didn't think twice about lying to merchants.

sooner than my noble Lord Cummings

Next drawer. Should be stationary in here and there wasn't. Another example of the unbridled abuse of power. They'd used up all her letter paper. Didn't even bring their own when they pillaged her office. The bottom drawer ... Clean, white silk stockings – damned if they hadn't unrolled 'em – a hairbrush, packet of straight pins. That thick black bundle of clothes. Behind that, her bag, also black. Rough, dyed burlap. It felt different shaped from the last time she had it out. They'd had their sneaky mits in it, Did they think she wouldn't notice?

mitts

***
"Oh blimey No. Josiah's going to have my liver and lights if I let you get into trouble while he ..."

Josiah'll 'ave my liver and lites

"... while he's in the chokey and can't stop me. Right you are, Mr. Pitney. He's not going to like this at all."

while he's in the clink and

***
"Sorry, mate. I'll be more decorous next time."


***
"When they leave to eat, we'll pop down and take a look round. Easy as pie." Easier. She couldn't bake a pie to save her life, but she was a fair to middling genius at cracking a sweet little ken like this.

we'll pop dahn and 'ave a butcher's.

***
Papa was going to ask her why she hadn't come by yesterday and the day before which was going to lead to an uneasy discussion about some of her recent activities up on Katherine Lane and vicinity. If she didn't tell him, he'd just ask Pitney. Peach on her in a minute, Pitney would.

***
The real traitor, the man the French called Cinq, strolled around London, laughing with his mates, taking a pint at the local, free as a bird.

not sure if mates would be 1810 usage, cronies maybe

***
Anger wasn't the half of it.

***
I'm mortal tired of talking to you."

***
"There's folks on Drury Lane pull in less of an audience.

***
"Roight you are gov'ner. A flapping gob's been the downfall of many a foine prig and ruffler." (This one is sarcastic overstatement for effect on the part of the chraracter)

***
"I been here from time to time," she said. "Everybody knows that." (this, and for a few below, are in a total cockney environment, and therefore the MC is speaking ripe cockney.)

I bin 'ere from tarm to tarm if you want to be phonetic

***
"Bloody rich," she said. "Scares me sometimes."

***
"I been lucky. So far."

***
Lazarus was right. She'd got soft.

***
"She come waltzin' in with 'er flash clothes and 'er fancy talk, thinkin' she's better 'n us. She come 'ere with no respect. No proper deference. Tryin' to buy 'er way in."

Is waltzing appropriate usage for the period? Waltzes only became popular in Austria in the late 18th century and the common people of London would not know much about them in 1810

***
Somebody growled, "Jess ain't no traitor."

***
"Yer gonna die, rat."

***
"Gonna cut you, bitch. Gonna settle your hash but good."

This doesn't sound right at all

**
"I got me rights, I do. I got things t' say."

"Say 'em then. I ain't here to dance wif yer."

***
Use that for picking yer nose wif, do yer?" This was the fierce little animal she'd been as a child in the rookery. "Or maybe yer scratch yer arse."

***
"She loped orf. We all know the law."

"Didn't pike it 'erself. Went wif 'er Da."

"She owes us." That was a dangerous judgement, more so because they came from a sober, middle-aged villain. "Jobs went sour because Jess weren't here, planning 'em. She was ours and we needed her."

She were ours

A woman spoke up from the back. "Hold yer tongue, Jack. She was a kid. Take it out o' Whitby's hide."

She were a kid

"If yer dare ..." Furtive laughter.

Someone said, "She didn't peach. She never peached on us."

"Worked for Whitby, didn't she? At the smugglin' lay. Ain't like she went honest."

***
"What's he doing 'ere?" Badger shot a suspicious glance from face to face. "Who's 'e?"

"Kennett Ships. Rich nob scum. Well I don't like rich coves what stick their nose in where it ain't ..." Badger feinted suddenly, slashing toward him, "... wanted."

***
"She been gone a while," one plump rogue pointed out amiably. "Ten years. Ain't like she stepped out for a spot o' tea."

Chuckles.

"Oh, I dunnoh, Blinks. I smuggled me a fair old spot o' tea, when all's said and ..."

***
"You gots no rights 'ere. Yer can't walk in orf the street and ..."

***
"You don't wants to do that. You dunnoh what they gots in that water there." He shuddered. "Fishes. The whole muck canal's full o' fishes. Don't seem natural somehow."

"You never break character, do you, Doyle? Tell me about these men."
Doyle scratched his armpit, insolent and vulgar and powerful. Under cover of that, he looked up, one instant, and let anger and worry show. When he dropped his eyes, his face was an impenetrable grin. "She wants the dirt on 'em. Wants to know what they do in bed." He sighed, making a production of it. "Expects me to check round the nuggin' parlors and see who does it peculiar. Fine work for a man my age."

What the hell was this about? "Versey has flexible tastes but he's no spy.
What's her interest in them?"

"I ain't privy to the way her mind works. Me guess ..." He was keeping an eye on Jess' back. "Me guess is,

********


and then there's this scene, with cockney in it ...

***********
The soup kitchen was open, even so early. Jess pulled her scarf over her hair and put a limp in her step as she headed for it, walking like a tired little Covent Garden whore, one who's back from a long, disappointing stroll and doesn't want to hear comments or monetary offers from anyone.

"Bad night, Dearie?" the woman at the end of the line asked her.

"Bleeding 'orror what some men want," she replied.

"Ain't it the truth. Ain't it the truth."

The meal today was cabbage soup with beans in it and hard brown bread. She let the man at the pot fill a wooden bowl for her and stuff bead into the soup. She sat down with the other women. They were joined soon enough by a family party, a woman who smelled of gin, among other things, with her baby and two boys.

"You gonna eat that?" the older boy demanded.

She looked at the soup and decided that, on the whole, no, she was not going to eat that. She shook her head and he took it, gobbling it down fast, not sharing with his brother.

She picked the bread into smaller and smaller pieces, thinking about the Reggio letter and what it probably meant. She wouldn't let them hang Sebastian. If she turned that letter over, and the other proof, she'd give him enough warning so he could run.

He'd go to France, probably. She had lots of friends in France who thought Napoleon cranked and the sun rose. Nothing wrong with that, she supposed, though a hell of a thing for an Englishman to go around thinking.

"Whotcher done wif yer 'ands." The boy – he was seven or eight – had finished her soup and was looking at the little white scars on her hands. The old rat bites from when she fell, way back when. Most people didn't notice. Sharp fellow. If she'd still been with Lazarus she'd have marked him down as somebody to watch. He might make a Runner in a year or so.

"Ah," she said. "Story behind that, there is."

The other boy, the younger one, stopped tormenting his little sister and leaned forward. "I was about yer age, I guess, and taking the air in St. James Park one day. Sauntering like. When what does I see but as nice a pair o' duck as I ever clapped oglers on, jest sitting there in this pond. Crying waste of a foine dinner, says I to meself. So I takes this bit of pannam I 'ad in me pocket ..."

It went on from there for a bit. The woman fed herself and gave the baby a little of the soup broth, letting it suck from the side of the bowl. Jess had both the boys giggling. "... set that bracket-faced she-duck asquawking like a landlady come fer the rent. So anyways, I ..."

The Reverend was walking the tables, talking to folks. He had a good crowd for so early in the day, most of them having been up in the night, like she had. He was heading her way, so she finished up ".. never did get holt o' that bleeding bird. An' that's where them scars comes from. Thet was the day I near got meself nibbled to death by ducks."

That set both boys off again, their mother too, and some other folks who'd stopped to listen.

The Reverend came over to see what people were chuckling at. No doubt about it, he was surprised to see her. She never knew why, but he seemed startled to see her every time she showed up. You'd think he'd learn.

"Jess." He sounded annoyed. "What are you doing here?"

She batted her eyes at him. "What, Rev'rend? Donn'cher like me no more? Yer said ..."

"Into my office, if you please." He took her elbow and pulled her away from the table.

"Keep yer truss on, Guv'nuh. Y'er sure in a bleeding 'urry fer it, ain't cher?"

She heard one man say to another as she walked by, "... Jess the Hand. Knocked Badger arse endwise and the Dead Man sold 'er, 'e did, ter this Captain what they calls ..." so she supposed she wasn't doing Reverend Palmer's reputation much harm.

*******************


So there's a good bit of the cockney. Most of the cockney.

Help.

Click to expand...

I'm not really a specialist in this being a nice Hampshire boy, but those are my thoughts

job said:

I think ''butcher's' is also Victorian. It's rhyming slang, isn't it? All the rhyming slang is after 1830 ish.

Click to expand...

Butcher's hook - look.

Re: quid... JoB, the cites you provided used the term "quids," which is no longer used these days. So if anything, they prove the point that the term "quid" (plural same as singular: a quid, five quid, twenty quid...) was not used back then.

As for pounds vs. guineas, people used both, but here's an explanation of the difference:
http://www.earlytelevision.org/gns.html

job said:

What is it with AW? We don't seem to have any East Enders here ...

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They're all down the Queen Vic!

I'm unsure of the history of rhyming slang.

Charles Dickens may be a reasonable guide here. He was writing only a few years after the period you want.

http://www.rinkworks.com/dialect/

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