PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

1-09-03

Ihr liewe Leit:
Es waar im Winder 1897 wie der Astor C. Wuchter (1856-1922) die do Lunye in seim Gedicht "Schliddefaahre": gschriwwe hot:

Hurrah fer der Winder, hurraah fer der Schnee!
Nau raus middem Schlidde, un zeehl mer ken zwee;
Do muss mer sich dummle, schunnscht geht der Schnee weck,
Villeicht bis uff marrige hockt alles im Dreck.

Im Winder 1897 iss mer en Daag noochem Schnee-fall im Dreck ghockt weil die Sunn gscheint hot. Heidichdaags hockt mer im Dreck weil mer Sals un Esch uff die Schtroosse schtreeht.

Un deswege sehnt mer nie kee Schlidde uff deer Schtrooss. Nee, ich meen net die Schlidde ass die Kinner der Hiwwel runnerkumme mit. Nee, ich meen die Schlidde ass mer uff der Schtrooss viele Yaahr zerrick geyuust hot, en wu vun Geil als gezooge waare.

Heit lese mer was der Kaschpar Hufnagel (Der Parre Pierce E. Swope, 1884-1968) mol vun de Schlidde gschriwwe hot:

"Buwe, kennt ihr eich noch erinnere wie mir als die Hiwwel nunnergeyaagt sin mit unsere gleene Schlidde? Sell iss lang zerrick. Wu ich uffgebrocht warre bin, do hinne an Meckville, datt waare die Hiwwel blendi. Es waar gewiss nix ass Hiwwel. Datt sin mir als uff der Schpitze vumme Hiwwel. Wie mir uffem gleene Schlidde waare, gemeenerhand zwee uff eem Schlidde, noh hen mer als gsaat, 'Guckerigu, nau geht's ab noch Kanidaa Schtadt.'

"Noh iss es awwer abgange, wie lenger wie schlimmer. Uff Riggelweg Zeit simmer gfaahre. Die Gschpass waar gross. Mir hen gegrische un gelacht ass es uns weh geduh hot in de Seit. Un der Schlidde iss als schtarriger gschprunge. Noh iss uns ebbes schnell ins Hann kumme. Es waar en Fens unne am Hiwwell , un mir sin dem Fens entgeggge gange, dreissich Meil die Schtunn. Ebbes muss geduh warre un berdollt gschwinnt.

"Es wwar yuscht ee Ding ass mer duh hot kenne. Der Schlidde hot mer net schtoppe kenne. Mer hot gemeent mer waer schunn wedder der Fens. Dann hen mer uns runnerfalle losse. Der Schlidde iss wedder die Fens gfloogge ass es gegracht hot. Mir hen uns ebmols net gschwinnt genunk runnerfalle losse, un mir sin aa wedder die Fens geflogge.

"Mir hen ken Zeit Gnoche verbroche, awwer oft hot's bludiche Nees gewwe. Mir hen noh als Weil gebrillt wie en Haunshund. Noh sin mer wider uff der Hiwwel un graad wider runnergfaahre."

Neegscht Woch lese mer was der Paare Swope gschriwwe hot vun grosse Schlidde.

Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:
It was in the winter of 1897 that Astor C. Wuchter (1856-1922) wrote these lines in his poem "Sledding":

Hurray for Winter, hurray for the snow!
Now out with the sled, and don't wait to count two;
One has to hurry, or else the snow will go away,
Perhaps by tomorrow we'll all sit in dirt.

In the winter of 1897 one sat in the dirt the day after a snowfall because the sun shone. These days one sits in the dirt because they spread salt and ashes on the streets.

And therefore on never sees sleds on the streets. No, I don't mean the sled that children come down the hill with. No, I mean the sleighs that people used many years ago on the streets, and were pulled by horses.

Today we will read what Kaspar Hufnagle (Pastor Pierce E. Swope, 1884-1968) wrote about sleds.

"Boys, can you still remember how we used to speed down hills with our little sleds? That was a long time ago. Where I was brought up, back there in Meckville, there were plenty of hills. Certainly, there was nothing but hills. There we used to go to the top of the hill. When we were on our sleds, usually two on one sled, then we used to say, 'Cockadoo-deldoo, now we're going down to Canada City.'

"Then we started off down, the longer, the more awful. We drove at the speed of a train. We had a lot of fun. We yelled and laughed so much that our sides hurt. And the sled went faster and faster. Then all of a sudden something came to mind. There was a fence down below the hill, and we went towards the fence at thirty miles per hour. Something had to be done and dog-gone quickly.

"There was just one thing that we could do. We couldn't stop the sled. We thought we were already against the fence. Then we let ourselves fall off. The sled flew against the fence so that it made a bang. Sometimes we didn't let ourselves fall off soon enough, and we also flew up against the fence.

"We at no time broke bones, but often we got bloody noses. Then we cried for a while like a hound-dog. Then we went up the hill and just drove right back down again."

Next week we will read what Pastor Swope wrote about large sleighs.

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf