Note 6 — FOOTNOTES

‘They was tarr’ble happy those two, an’ I mind well hoo proud and triumphant-like Jack looked as he slapped us on the back one early summer mornin’ as we went ti the pit on the fore-shift, for I was only a hewer then, same as himsel’, an’ not what I is now—checkweighman, an’ half ov a magistrate as well, bein’ vice-chairman o’ wor lokil District Council[6]—an’ he cries, “Geordie,” he says, “Geordie, man, I’s that happy I can scarcely haud myself in. There’s nowt I couldn’t do. I could hew as much in one shift as any five men together in two; I could lepp ower a hoos, I’s that cobby. I could challenge wee Bob Aitchison, t’ sprinter, to a quarter-mile, an’ lay t’ fortnight’s wages that I’d best him too. I could sing, I b’lieve,” he says, an’ wiv a solemn voice on him he adds: “Ay, an’ I could even put up a bit prayer—though I’s not much ov a Churchman—almost as weel as t’ priest himself. An’ I’ll tell thoo why. It’s because Mary tells me that there’s likely gawin’ to be an addition to the fam’ly party sometime shortly. She’s a rare well-bred un, too, is Mary, an’ I’ll lay it’s twins.” “I’ll gie ye the best o’ luck,” says I, “but twins is tarr’ble expensive, for I’ve tried ’em,” says I. “Man alive!” cries he, holdin’ up his arm—a proper colossyum ov a limb—“look at that. If that cannot win bread for a dozen o’ twins, then a lighted candle cannot fire gas,” says he.