These anecdotes are set in Munzly-on-Sea.   A fictional version of the real Mundesley as it would have been in the not too distant past.   And don't be surprised if, like me in the verse below, Mundo tries to add to its attractions.

Munzly Pier

There were no seagulls on the rail,
Nor round its legs a seaweed trail,
No breakers strove to wash away.
The theatre with its seasonal play,
Or snap the strings of coloured light,
That add such romance to the night,
When e're I walk by Mundesley Pier,
For as you know, it's never there.

Copyright: The Mundesley Hermit ©2004.

— • —

Note: For those who've never been there, neither modern Mundesley nor its virtual version have such an attraction as a pier. Nor never had one neither!

— • —

Munzly, Village of Culture

Apart from some minor concessions to mid twentieth century modernity, Maude and Mundo's cottage was exactly as it had been for the previous two generations, as was much of the village. Culture, of course, was another matter:

“Today, I fancy a visit to the opera” said Maude, whose well-spoken granddaughter had just sent her a long and beautifully written letter from London, “Is there an opera house handy?”

“Corse thar is” grinned Mundo, in appreciation of her putting on her 'posh voice, “Munzly-on-Sea hev jus' about eva'thin'.”

“So how, may I ask, do I get there?” said Maude, the light of anticipation burning in her eyes.

“Yew goo down th' rud as far as th' lite 'ouse” laughed Mundo, “Tarn left onta th' pier. Then yew weart at th' end for th' Queen 'Lizabeth an' arsk for Sidney!”

“Thas wot I thort” say Maude, slippin' comfortably back inta har Norfolk voice.”

— • —

Maude and the Betamax.

“Oi’ve set th' new video,” say Maude, slammin' th' back door.

“Wot we goin' ter miss, then?” say Mundo, checkin' th' latch.

“Ow shud Oi know,” say Maude, “Thar wunt be nuthin' orn'ut 'til we git back.”

— • —

Maude's Birthday.

“Oi'm orf t'th' Pust-Orfice” say Maude, mearkin' a big thing a'lookin' at th' calendar, “Ena'thin' speshul yew wunt?”

Mundo, he think abowt't fer a while, then he say, “Noo. Thanky.”

“Ar'yer shure?” say Maude, putt'n orn har oldest hat wi' a big sigh.

“Wot wud Oi wunt a' th' Pust-Orfice?” say Mundo.

“Hint yew got suffin to buy?” say Maude, in har most insist'nt voice.

“Nut s'far as Oi know” say Mundo.

“Oi wunt go then” say Maude, “Oi'll stay a'tum fer me birfday.”

“Wull” say Mundo, duckin' owt t'th' shud, “Thas wot yew allus dew.”

In Maude's sitting room at the back of the cottage, the silence has a sort of buzz about it. Maude is “turning” a bed sheet. She has cut it in half lengthways and is now sewing it back together with the less worn outer edges turned to the middle, thus almost doubling its useful life. She always finds a bit of thrift most soothing when she's angry.

Just as she completes the task and removes her sewing glasses, Mundo spuffles in from his shed, where he has been muttering away to himself for the last ten minutes.

“Thussear's f'yew,” say Mundo, puttin' a gret owd parcel in Maude's hands.

“Wot'tizut?” she say, “An' wossit fer?”

“Thas a parcel” he say, “Fer yer birfday.”

“Thas a bit leart!” she say, “My birfday start'd at brekfust toime, thi'smornin'.”

“Thet wunt' ha'bin sich'a s'proise then” say Mundo, “Ena'kearse, thet wunt redda.”

“Wudga meen?” say Maude, “Wunt redda?”

“Why duntcha open'ut?” say Mundo, bu' jus'as he dew thet, th' lettabox start rattlin' away loike th' pustmun got hiz hed stuck inn'ut.”

“Yew betta see whut thet dullar is orl abowt” say Maude, puttin' har glarses back on.

Mundo opens the front door with difficulty. Normally this is a door visited from either side but rarely passed through. Today, however the most frequent visitor to its outer side is demanding the attention of the most frequent visitor on its inner side.

“Fer gud'nss seark” say Mundo, “Thass nOo need ter bust'a gut.”

“Yew hetta sign fer'ut” say the Pustman, “Reg'a'learshuns.”

“Oi arsked yew ter keep a hush fer th' d'liva'un',” say Mundo.

“Wull, Oi did” say th' Pustman, “Thas in yer shud, loike yer sed.”

“Oi know thet” say Mundo, “Oi jus' giv'ut t' har wen yew start puttin' dints in moi frunt door.”

“Yew meark yer mark on thiss'ear bit'a'pearper” say Pustman, “'An Oi'll gOo.”

“Thar!” say Mundo, signing in a nice copperplate hand.”

“Hare's the rest'a'yer pust” say th' Pustman, handin' Mundo a rare ol'heap a'cards.”

“Oi'd say ‘Ta’ if Oi cud hare myself speak” say Mundo, “Arta orl thet door rattlin'”

Maude has opened her parcel and Mundo has handed her her cards. You'd think she'd be pleased. Unfortunately, Mundo's parcel contained a hat.

“Wuss this?” say Maude, inspectin' th' hat frum orl angles.

“Thass'a chappoo” say Mundo, “A Parass'at.”

“Frum Parass?” say Maude, “A hat fer yer hed?”

“Frum Norridge” say Mundo, “Parass afor'thet, they tel'ma.”

“Thas a bit funna” say Maude, “Nut loike my owd wun a'torl.”

“ Dew yer loike'ut?” ask Mundo, wi' a worried look.

“ Dunt know yet” say Maude, “Thet'll tearke toime t'git usta'ut.”

“Open yer cards” say Mundo, “Thass wun frum Lunnon.”

“So thar'iz” say Maude, “An thas a pik'cha a th' Queen warin' moi hat.”

“Thas on'y wun queen aroun' har” say Mundo, “Menna happa r'tarns yer Maj'sty.”

— • —

Riparian Rights or Rite of Spring.

“I nivver told yer,” say Maude, “But moi leart feartha wunce bought a run of fish'n water.”

“NOo, yew nivver did,” say Mundo, who liked a bit of fish'n, “Ware wuz thet, then?”

“Nut far frum hare,” say Maude, “Along th'Munzly Beck by thet ol'ook tree.”

“Who der thet b'long tew now?” say Mundo, his eyes lighting up in anticipation.

“Wull,” say Maude, “I spuz he musta left thet ter me.”

“And yew nivver told me,” say Mundo, rolling his eyes in despair.

“He left me a lotta things,” say Maude, “I can't be 'spected ter tell yer'em orl.”

“Yew know'd how much I like fish'n,” say Mundo, “Kin we gOo teark a look att'ut?”

“Wull,” say Maude, “I spuz thet wunt dew nOo harm ter show yew ware he bought'ut.”

“Blust boy,” say Mundo, when they got there, “Yor dad sartenly bought hisself a luvly bitta river.”

“He dint buy th'river,” say Maude, “Just th'water! An by my reckon'n thas ten mile orf Yarmouth by now.”

“I shudda knowd,” say Mundo, “Thas th'Fust a'Hearprul, hint'ut.”

Translations:
Nivver = never, moi leart feartha = my late father, wunce = once, nut = not, frum hare = from here, ol'ook = old oak, tell yer'em orl = tell you them all, Kin = can, teark = take, att'ut = at it, wull = well, spuz = suppose, wunt dew = won't do, sartenly = certainly, hisself = himself, bitta = bit of, shudda knowd = should have known, Fust a'Hearprul = First of April, hint'ut = isn't it?

— • —

Maude's Last Word.

Mundo allus tork ter himsel'. 'Speshla wen he's orn hiz own. He loikta spend hiz toime cuss'n' an' sware'n 'bou' nin'namate obje'ts and tellen'um how he wan'tum ter behave. “Git'chew in'thar, boy!” he say to the nail, wen he hit'tut orn th' hed wi' a lump-ammer.

Maude, she dunt dew thet. She on'y tork wen she's wi' Mundo. “Git'chew in'thar, boy!” she say, wen she hit'im on th' hed wi' a lump a'stale bred, “An' dew th'dishes.”

If yew arsk har 'bou'tut, she say, “Wull, thas on'y fare. Wen He's orn hiz own he tork all th' toime. Wen we're tergitha, thas moi tarn!”

A'corse, wen she say thet, Mundo he say, “Rite'chew'ar'. Thass fare'a'nuff. Thet way we buth git th' charnce a'hevin' a'nin'tellagent liss'ner.”

“Allus hev t'hev th'las' wud” say Maude, “ Dunt'cha?”, but Mundo, he lay low and say nuthin'.

— • —

Copyright The Mundesley Hermit ©2007.  All rights reserved.

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