Jan's Adventure with the Hot Water Bottle




Twiz like thees yer. Me an my Ann (that’s my wive ya knaw) wis orwiz een tha abbit o’ usin’, tha war-min pan een coad wather. Er’s a turrable coad-blidded body Ann es, an eef er didden ave zummat tu gi’er a ztart like, er widden yetty all night, tull genst time tu gat up.

Owszoever, las’ yer, een tha vall, whane tha coad wather kom een, Ann er zes tu me wan day :—

“Thees yer war-min pan,” er zaith, “be mos’ weared out. Us carn use’n no more. I’ll zhine on up propper ” er zes, “an ’ang an up een bes’ kitchen.”

“Bane us gwain ta ’ave nort tu warm tha bade way then?” I zes, vor I wadden vurry much over thikee caper.

“Ees fie,” er zes, “us ’ll ave’ a ’ot water boddle zame’s voke du's now-a-days.”

“But us ant got nuther ot water boddle,” I zes, ave us?”

“Aw! us can make wan,” er zes, “ out o any boddle, eef I putts a bit o’ rag ground tha cark.”

Wull I never zed nort, an’ I never thort nort ’bout et ’tull I got een bade thiky night, an’ putt me vit down bottom. My ayes! tho I thort o’t aul tu wance. Er’d vulled a boddle way boilin’ ot water, an sticked en down vute o’ tha bade. Eef ’e didden make me olly propper! I tull ’e twiz jiss tha vurry zame as eef I’d putt me vit eentu tha vire izzel. Jan Boundy must a-yeerd me olly, crass tu Ten-Acres.

“ Never mind,” zes my wive, “ tes ony because yu bant use tu’n. Yu’ll get use tu’n arter a bit.”

But I wadden quite to zure o’t mezul. Owsoever I tried lettin me vit down gentle like a bit tu a time, zo’s not tu titch ’n tu ’ard. But aul tu wance Ann’s vit wid kom vore jiss like tu gurt lumps o’ aice up agin mine an’ make me dray ’em away nick like, an scat! they wid go up agin the file boddle agin an’ make me olly wiss than avore. Dalled eef I didden weesh tha ole thing tu—zumwheres.

Wull! Owsumever I valled tu slape tu last, an’ et didden sim I‘d bin aslape more’n a minut or zo avore I beginned tu drame that I wiz zot up pin tap tha North Pole, way me vit burried een a snaw-driff.

Tho I waked up, an vound that the stoopid ole boddle wiz cauld’s a stoan, an I ad got me vit up agin en.

Wull, I drayed em up a bit, an’ valled off tu zlape wance more. Zune I beginned tu dramee agean. Thees time I simmed I wiz out pin tha say een a zhip, an nort else widden plaze me but I mus’ sit pin tha zide o’n, way me vit danglin’ een tha water. Umby I valled clane eentu tha zay, an’ shid a-bin drownded vor sartin eef I adden waked up.

Wull, wat du ’e think twaz!

The cark ad kom out vrim thik ole boddle, an’ tha bade-tie an’ bade-cloas wiz een a putty mess, I can tull ’e.

Us got up a braave zite zuneder than yushule thiky mornin’.

Wull, nex’ day, or zame day rather, my wive zed er’d zee er didden ave no more sitch capers as that es, an’ I zed “Yer, yer.” No more ot water boddles, I zed, vor me, neet cole water boddles nuther; an’ nex’ time me vit wanted washin’, zo I zed, eef I wiz spared zo long, I’d ave et done avore I got een bade, not arter I wiz thur.

Wull, zame day Missis Zalter kom een, an my wive tole er aul ’bout our liddle adventure.

“Laur zoce,” er zed, “yu shidden a-ad ot water; ya shid a-du’d zame’s I du—ad a ot brick.

“Yu jis putt a brick back o’ the vire,” zo er zaith, “genst yu goes ta bade, an’ then take en out an wrap en up een zummat—yer vlannel petty-coat ull du as wull as art else, an bezides twull be rare an warm ta putt on nex mornin; an tho you jiss pops un een bade an thur yu be.”

Ees,—thur us waz, I be dalled eef us wadden!

Tha missus med ’ot a brick—urd ot twaz, zo er wiz vorce tu putt en by tu coldee a bit--an’ er rapped en up een er vlannel petty-coat, zame’s Missus Zalter zed.

“Theas yer carn slatter,” er zaith, “that’s wan thing,” zo er putt en een.

Wull, twiz a zite better than tuther caper, us both zed twaz; vir yu wadden zo likely tu make bladders pin tha zoles o’ yet vit.

Zo us boath valled off tu zlape.

Umby I wiz waked up be my wive pewlin tha yer o’ me. Tes a way er hath a-got.

“Yer, git up,” er saith, “ zummat’s avire.”

“Giddout,” I sez.

“I knaws tes,” er zes, “I kin smul’t.”

“Du ’e lie down an’ go ta slape,” I zes, an’ I wiz jis gwain tu du tha zame mezel, whane out I scammelled, out o’ bade, way a zhout that mus’ a-vrightened tha voke up tu Linnon, I shid think. Lor massey! I thort the vlesh wid be aul burned off me bones.

Tha bade wiz ketched avire!

Zune’s us muveed an’ let een tha air, aul tha lot o’t blamed up like billy-o. Ann, er olleyed Vire! an’ I urned arter zum water zo vast as I cude vor tha bladders pin me vit.

My ayes! Wat a caper twaz, tho. Urnin’, an’ scritchin’, an’ olleyin’; an’ me pummlevuted vir a vornit arterwads.

“Nex’ mornin’ Ann zed ’er rackoned us better way ’ave a new warmin’ pan; an’ tha chap as zes ort ta me ’bout ’ot water boddles, or eet ’ot bricks uther, idden likely to live vurry long.



Jan's Adventure with the Hot Water Bottle




I tell ’ee what, maister. New-fangled inventions is all very well in their way for they that likes ’em. But give me the old-fashioned ways. They’m gude enough fer me. There’s that there ’ot water bottle, fer instance. Darn the ol’ ’ot water bottle; I wish I’d never seen the thing.

Twas like this-yer. Me an’ Ann (that’s my missis in case you dunnaw) was orwiz in the ’abit o’ using the warmin’ pan in the cold weather. Her’s a terrable cold-blidded body is mother, an’ if her did’n have summat to give her a start like, her’d bide stone-cold all night and wude’n begin to yetty till genst time to get up. An’, of cou’se, I use to get the benevit o’t, cuz her’d say what was the gude o’ me if I cude’n keep her warm. But tid’n so nice, jis as you’m drappin’ off to slape, to get a couple o’ ice-cold veet agin the middle o’ yer back.

So, as I say, when twas cold nights us use to full up the warmin’ pan wi’ the hot ashes an’ dray ’en up an’ down the bed a time or two, an’ then twas proper ’ot to get into.

Howsumever, last year, in the fall, jis when the cold nights beginned to come in, mother her says to me wan day :-

“Thees-yer warmin’ pan,” her saith, “be most weared out. Us better not use’n no more. I’ll shine ’en up proper,” her saith, “an’ hang ’en up in best kitchen.”

“What!” I says, “ban’t us gwain to have nort to warm the bed wai’?”

I wad’n very much ovver thikky caper, I can assure ’ee. “Ees, fai,” her saith, “us’ll do like the rest o’ the folks now-a days. Warmin’ pans be got out o’ vashing. Us’ll ’ave a ’ot watter bottle.”

“But us ab’m got no jis thing,” I says.

“Aw, us can aisy make wan,” her says. “Any ole bottle will do if I putts a bit o’ rag around the cork.”

Wull, I did’n zay nort, an’ I did’n think nort about it till I got into bed that night an’ let me veet down bottom. Mai’ dear days. I thought o’t then, I can tell ’ee. Er’d a-fulled up a bottle wai boilin’ ’ot watter an’ sticked ’n down foot o’ the bed. An’ when my veet titched the ole bottle I’m jiggered if twad’n zacly same as if l’d putt ’em on rid ’ot coals o’ vire. I give wan jump an’ nearly cracked me skull agin the haid o’ the bed, an’ the ole Jan Boundy must a-yeard me ’olley ovver to ten- acres.

“You ban’t supposed to putt yer feet right up agin ’en,” says Ann. “You’m too greedy.”

“Darn the thing,” I says, “l did’n knaw he was there.”

“Well he is, then,” her says.

“I knaw it,” I says. “He’ve made bladders on me both veet.”

“Tis aunly ’cuz you ab’m got in the way o’t,” her says. “You'll get use to’t arter a bit.”

But I wad’n so sure o’t mezell. Owsumever, I tried lettin’ me veet down gentle like, a bit to a time, so’s not to titch’n too rapid. But bim-bye Ann’s veet wude come ovver like two lumps of ice an’ titch up agin mine when I wad’n expectin’, an’ I’d dray ’em away quick an’ scat! they’d go up agin that blimmin’ ole bottle again, an’ make me scritch like a pig in a gate.

I’m dalled if I did’n wish the ole ’ot watter bottle to—some place.

Owsumever, I managed to vall to slape at last, an’ it did’n sim I’d bin slape very long avore I beginned to drame that I'd gone on wan o’ thase yer exhibitions to the North Pole. An’ there I was sot up pin tap the pole with me veet an’ legs buried right down in a snaw- drift.

That waked me up, and I found that the ole bottle was cold as a stoan and I’d got both veet up agin en.

So I pushed it over mother’s way a bit an’ valled off to slape agin, and bim’-bye I beginned to drame wance more.

Thees time I seemed it was out ’pon the zay in a ship, an’ nort else wude’n plaize me but I mus’ sit ’pon the zide wai me ligs danglin’ in the watter. An’ presen’ly I lained out a bit tu fur, an’ valled clane into the zay, an’ shude a bin drownded fer certin if I ad’n ’apm’d to wake up.

Vhat do ’ee think twas?

The cork ’ad come out from thikky bottle an’ the ole slatter there was all ovver the bed, an’ the blankets, to say nort about the veather mattress, mai’ dear heart an’ life you never set ayes on the like o’t.

Us got up a brave sight earlier than usual that mornin’ an’ no mistaake, an’ what mother did say about thik ole hot watter bottle was nuff to make it fly all abroad into fifty thousan’ million pieces.

Wull, nex’ day, or same day rather, mother said her’d see her did’n have no more capers sitch as that, an’ I come in wai’ the “Yer, yer.” No more ’ot watter bottles, I said, fer me, ner cold watter bottles neether. An’ nex’ time I wanted me veet washin’, I said, if I was spared so long, I'd get it done avore I went upstairs, not arter I was into bed.

Wull, durin’ the day Misses Zalter ’apm to look in, an’ mother told ’er all about our li’l adventer.

“Dear soce,” says Betty Zalter, “you shude’n ’ave ’ad ’ot watter. You shude a-do’d same’s I do’s, had a ’ot brick.”

So then her told us all the directions. “You jis putt a brick back o’ the vire,” so her saith, “genst you goes to bed, an’ then take’n out an’ wrap’n up in zummat. Yer vlannel petty-coat ’ull do as well as ort else, an‘ bezides twill be rare an’ warm to putt on nex’ mornin’; an’ then you jis pops ’en into the bed an’—there you be.”

Ees! There us was, I'm dalled if us wad’n.

Mother her made ’ot a brick-rid-’ot he was when her took ’en out, so her was fo’ce to putt’n by to coldee a bit—an’ her wrapped min up in her vlannel petty-coat same's Misses Zalter said.

“This-yer cant slatter, be-as-twill,” her says as her pushed’n down bottom o’ the bed.

Wull twaz a sight better than tother caper, us both ’lowed it was You cude putt yer veet right up agin thees wan, only you wanted to keep ’em the oppozyte side from Ann’s, else what you gained wan way you lost the tother.

Zo us both valled off to slape.

All of a sudden I waked up. My Ann was pullin’ me’ hair wai’ one hand and me yer with the tother.

“Wat fer heaven’s sake is the matter?” I says.

“Git up,” her saith. “The house is a-vire.”

“Giddout,” I says.

“I tell ’ee tiz,” her says; “I can smull’t. Tis that there ol’ drashin' machine have set fire to the thatch.”

“Aw, do ’ee lie down an’ go to slape,” I says. An’ I was jis ’bout to do the same mezell, when out I scammelled out o’ bed, like a rat wai’ a terrier-dug behind ’en, wai’ a shout that must a-disturbed the vokes up to Linnon. Laur massey, I thought all the vlesh must be burned off me boans.

The bed was ketched avire.

There must a-bin a rid place left in the ole brick, an’ he made alight the vlannel petty-coat.

Soon’s us moved an’ let in the air; the whole lot blazed up like a burnin’ rick. Mother her ’olleyed “Vire” an’ “Mudder,” and I rinned arter some watter so well as I cude fer the bladders on me veet.

My dear days, what a caper that was. Rinnin’ an’ scritchin’ an’ holleyin, an’ me pummle-vooted fer a fertnit.

Nex’ day Ann said her’d see whe’er us cude get a new linin’ putt to the warmin’ pan. I said “Ees,” an’, if not, I’d see about get new linings putt to me veet.