PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

April 1, 2004

Ihr leiwe Leit:

Bumbe. Wie kann mer vum Bumbe - en Schteddel Bump, zum Beischpiel -schreiwe? Villeicht graad so wie der Daniel Miller (1843-1913) mol gschriwwe hot:

"En Brunne iss en groossi Sach imme Schteddel. Bei uns waare es aerscht Ziegbrunne, wu sie des Wasser mit Schtrick odder Kett imme Kiwwel ruffgezogge hen. Bei uns sin die Leit gscheider warre, un sie hen Bumbe gemacht so dass sie's Wasser ruffbumbe hen kenne anschtatt ruffziege, un sell waar viel leichder.

   'Die Schteddelbumbe waar so en Aert Headquarters in der Schtadt. Es hot en Blech am Schtock ghanke fer draus zu drinke. Deel hen gedrunke un deel hen Wasser gholt in ihre Kiwwel. Oft waare viel Leit datt, un do hen sie Gelegeheit ghatt fer mitnanner zu schwetze un Nei-ichdeide zu verzeehle.

   "Die Schteddelbumbe sin nau aus Faeschen gange in der Schtadt. In de menschde Schtedt Iaaft des Wasser nau darrich eiserne Reehre in die Heiser, un sie brauche ken Bumbe meh. Ich wunner was die alde Leit saage deede wann sie sehne kenned wie groossaardich ihre Kinner un Kinskinner alleweil lewe."

   Odder villeicht graad so, wie der Charles C. More (1848-1940) mol gschriwwe hot:

In Nudeltaun do schteht en Bump
Mit me scheene Schtock un Schwengel draa,
Un yeder ass ins Schteddel kummt
Guckt mit Blessier un Dascht sie aa.
En mancher nemmt am Schwengel halt
Un bumbt ass es im Schteddel schallt;
Doch gwellt der Dascht ihn noch so schwer,
Die Bump, die gebt kee Wasser her;
Sie gebt kee Wasser wie sie sett,
Sie schteht yuscht do,
Un dutt yuscht so,
Awwer bumbt net, awwer bumbt net.

So iss es doc huff daere Welt
Bei viele Mensche aa beschtellt;
Sie gucke freindlich, neis un fei,
Un gut genunk fer Grischde sei;
Doch sehnt mer sie mol neegschder aa,
Do finndt mer nix vun all dem draa;
Sie sin en Licht ass eem yuscht blennt,
En Feier ass unne Warming brennt;
Sie losse ihre Guck im Schtich
Un denke immer yuscht an sich.
Bei ihne geht die Hoffning fehl,
Sie sin en Graab fer'n dodi Seel,
En Drum mit yuscht me hohle Schall,
En leeri Schaal un sell iss all.
Denn drickt en Unglick noch so schwer,
So'n Mensch, der gebt kee Mitleid her;
Er gebt kee Mitleid wie er sett,
Er schteht yuscht do
Un guckt yuscht so,
Awwer helft net, awwer helft net.

Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   Pumps. How does one write about pumps - a town pump, for example? Perhaps just as Daniel Miller (1843-1913) once wrote:

   "A well is a big thing in town. Where we lived we first of all had a draw-well (rope tied to bucket), where they pulled up the water in a bucket with a rope or chain. In our case the people got smarter, and they made pumps so that they could pump up the water instead of pulling it up, and that was much easier.

"The town pump was sort of a headquarters in the town. There was a cup hung on a stick to drink out of. Some people drank and some fetched water in their buckets. Often there were a lot of people there, and then they had the opportunity to talk with each other and tell about the news.

   "The town pumps are now out of fashion in the city. In most cities the water now runs through iron pipes into the houses, and they no longer need pumps. I wonder what the old folks would say if they could see how grandly their children and grandchildren live now."

   Or perhaps just so as Charles C. More (1848-1940) once wrote:

In Noodletown there stands a pump
With a nice stock and a pump handle on it,
And everyone who comes into town
Looks at it with pleasure and thirst.
Many take hold of the pump handle
And pump so hard it resounds in town;
But thirst wells up in him so much,
The pump, it gives no water;
It gives no water as it should,
It just stands there,
Just does that,
But doesn't pump, doesn't pump

And so it is in this world
In the case of many people;
They look friendly, nice and fine,
Good enough to be Christians;
But if you look at them more closely,
Your find nothing like that about them;
They leave their looks in the lurch
And think always just about themselves.
With them hope goes astray,
They are a grave for a dead soul,
A drum with just a hollow sound,
An empty shell and that is all.
Because if a misfortune oppresses you,
Such a person will show no compassion;
He doesn't give compassion as he should,
He just stands there
And just looks so,
But doesn't help, but doesn't help.

Take care,
The Old Professor

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