PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

9-18-03

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Fisher, Buhneschtiehl. Holsbock, Weitzel, Moll, Birmelin, Funk - des sin all Naame ass ihr liewe Leser schunn yaahrelang in dem do Kallem gelese hen. Meent des ass sie die eensiche waare wu in der Mudderschprooch gschriwwe hen? Gewiss net! Es hot viel, viel annere gewwe wu scheene Gedichde un Gschichde in schee un gut Deitsch gschriwwe hen, awwer es kennt sei ass sie net genunk gschriwwe hen fer en gans Buch uffzufille. Un so kummt's ass mer ihr Schticker fascht nie lese.

   Zum Beischpiel, der Annonie Muss (ich weess gar nix vun ihm - odder waar Annonie villeicht en Fraa?) hot mol en gudi Schtori gschriwwe. Do iss es:

   Die schtolse Eldre hen in der Train gsotze mit ihrm aerschde Kind. Sie waare uffem Weg fer der Gremmemm un der Gremmpaep bsuche. Du kummt uff eemol en fremmer Mann zu ihne un pischbert em Vadder ins Ohr: "Saag, deet dei Fraa net villeicht besser mol noch ihrm Bewe gucke? Die Luft watt hasseldannch dick dorum!"

   Der Vadder saagt seinre Fraa ebbes in Ohr,un die Fraa andwatt ihrm Mann gans leis; " Nee, sell iss net vun unserm Bewi, so ass du sell weescht!"

   "Well," saagt der Mann, "es guckt mer awwer all die seem selleweg."

   "Ich geb nix drum wie's guckt, 's iss ennihau net unser Bewi," saagt die Fraa. Ihre Andwatt gebt ihrm Mann Mut un Eifer, un er saagt: "Nee, mer gewwe en Hunsbohn drim wie's guckt, 's iss ennihau net unser Bewi, so ass du sell weescht,un eenicher sonofagun ass secht unser Bewi hett sich unmanierlich uffgfiehrt liegt unkann's net prufe; un wann's ihn net suut, kann er rausschteppe un's aus mir nemme. Ich nemm alle bissel uff mich ass sell Bewi dutt, un vergess dich net druff."

   Die zwee waare graad reddi fer nanner druffhalde, do kummt en Fraa wu bissel weider hinne gsotze hot dezwische un saagt; "Ach,ihr misst mich exkyuse,awwer ich weess was do der Druwwel iss." Sie nemmt en gleener Package owwe vum Rack un saagt: "Do hawwich en Limbarriger Kees kaaft - mei Mann gleicht en so arrig - un weil ich der Feruch so schlecht verdraage kann, hawwich ihn do owe in der Rack gelegt un hab mich bissel devun weggsetzt.'

   "Ich hab's gewisst ass es net unser Bewi waar," saagt die Fraa middem Kind. 'Ya," saagt ihr Mann mit me schtolse Blick, "mer hen's gewisst ass es net unser Bewi waar. Mer kenne sei Handschrift besser ass sell, verloss dich druff!"

Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   Fisher, Boonastiel, Hulsbuck, Weitzel, Moll, Birmelin, Funk - these are all names that you dear readers have been reading already for years in this column. Does that mean that they are the only ones who wrote in the Mother Tongue? Certainly not! There were many, many more who wrote nice poems and stores in good and nice PG dialect, but it could be that they didn't write enough to fill up a whole book. And so it comes about that we hardly ever read their pieces.

   For example, Anony Mous (I don't know anything at all about him - or was Anony perhaps a woman?) once wrote a good story. Here it is:

   The proud parents were sitting in the train with their first child. They were on their way to visit Grandma and Grandpa. All of a sudden a strange man comes up to them and whispers into the father's ear, "Say, shouldn't your wife better look after her baby once? The air is getting doggone heavy around here!"

   The father whispers something into his wife's ear, and the woman answers her husband very quietly, "No, that is not from our baby, so that you know it."

   "Well," says the man, "it looks to me that way all the same."

   "I don't care how it looks, it's anyhow not our baby," says the woman. Her answer gives her husband courage and zeal, and he says, "No, we don't give a drat how it looks, it's anyhow not our baby, so that you know, and any sonofagun says that our baby had behaved himself unmannerly is lying and can't prove it: and if it doesn't suit him, he can step outside and take it out on me. I'll take every little bit upon myself that the baby does, and don't you forget it."

   The two were just ready to take on each other when a woman who had been sitting a bit farther in the back comes between them and says, "Oh, you have to excuse me, but I know what the trouble is." She takes a little package from above the rack and says, "Here I bought Limburger cheese-my husband likes it so much - and because I can't stand the smell, I put it up on the rack and sat down a little away from it."

   "I knew that it was not our baby," says the woman with the child. "Yes," says her husband with a proud look, "we knew that it wasn't our baby. We know it signature (handwriting) better that that, depend on it!"

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf