Grinding story continued from
http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=30601.msg702918#msg702918 (I
(Hope it survives the translation)
Some new words included.
Mandi = I;
Puv (or poov) = literally ’earth’ - thus field or pasture
Grai = horse
Pani = water
Jell (or jall) = to go
Mingri = policeman (same root as muscro or muskrer)
Lell = take;
Pogger = break, hit, punch or poke
Dell = to give or strike
Dordi = exclamation, something like Dearie me! Good Grief! Christ! Bugger me! or worse, depending on the speaker.
Kor = fight.
Bori = big
Varta = look, see.
Duvver = this
Rai = rich man, gentleman, landed gentry.
Aki = here
Purri = old
Dinnlo = fool
……I watched him carefully as he approached, and the closer he got, the more fascinated I became.
If I saw him crossing that lawn today, I would describe him as a 50 – 60 year old distinguished looking gentleman with short grey ‘military’ style hair and a clipped moustache. Wearing plus fours with Argyle socks, brown brogue golf shoes, a tweed jacket and a deerstalker.
Back then I would have said he was about 100 years old, wearing his Christmas socks, running shoes, a pair of great big hairy shorts and a Sherlock Holmes hat.
He was the most amazing looking person I had ever seen.
Before he reached the edge of the lawn, grandad was striding out to meet him.
“Dordi, varta aki” Said Blacking Brush, slipping lower in his seat. “Duvver’s the purri Rai, We’em definitely lelled now”.
I have to confess that even I thought my grandad had gone too far this time. I looked on with open mouthed astonishment as he grabbed the Rai’s hand, shaking it vigorously, and my eyes almost fell out of my head when he slapped the old boy on the back and then punched him playfully on the shoulder. But as they stepped on to the gravel, they were chatting and smiling as if they had been friends for years.
To cut a long story short, we ended up sharpening just about everything his lordship could find for us to sharpen. Knives, scissors, garden shears, pinking shears, idle backs, spades, cold chisels, wood chisels, saws, scythes, sickles, loppers, pruners, two hand mowers, one motor mower, and a ceremonial sword.
When all the work had been done, and everything had been sharpened, oiled, cleaned and packed away, his Lordship approached my grandad “Well you’ve done a spiffing job here, how much do I owe you?
Grandad reached into his back pocket and produced a little diary and a stub of pencil. (Which surprised me, because he was totally illiterate. He often used to brag “I can’t tell an “A” from a bull’s foot”)
“Right your Grace” he said, licking the end of his pencil, “I’ll read the items and prices out, you reckon em up.
At this point, I have to explain the meaning of two words. The first one, “Keka” means, “Don’t” The second one, “Rokker” means “Speak” (rough translation depending on situation, tone etc)
“Keka-rokker” in the context of this story means “Shhhh” “Don’t say that!”
“Two pairs of Garden shears” grandad called out from his imaginary list, “Ten shillings”
The price for sharpening a pair of garden shears in those days was about two shillings, but grandad had obviously decided that in these circumstances, he could get away with charging a lot more. His Lordship didn’t seem to mind at all, but Blacking Brush, who was certain that we would be arrested at any minute just for being on the premises, was a bit taken aback to say the least. His eyebrows shot up about four inches, and he hissed at grandad from the corner of his mouth “Keka rokker”
Grandad pressed on “ A dozen assorted knives, six shillings”.
Blacking brush staggered a bit, rolled his eyes and whispered again, a little louder this time, “Keka rokker!”
And so it went on. With each new item, Blacking brush would get more panicky, and whisper “Keka rokker” a little louder, and every time he did, grandad would get more annoyed.
“Two wood saws, eight shillings”
“Keka rokker”
“One set of loppers, seven shillings”
“Keka rokker"
“One set of wood chisels, eleven shillings”
“Keka rokker”
Suddenly, grandad looked directly at Blacking brush and called out loudly, “And seventeen and six for a Keka rokker!”
I thought Blacking Brush was going to have a fit. He made a noise like a klaxon, and his bowler hat actually flew several inches into the air. He had to grab it by the brim and pull it back down, but he didn’t say Keka rokker again.
His Lordship had paid the bill without batting an eyelid, and we climbed into the pickup where Blacking Brush was already gunning the engine ready for a quick getaway. As he reversed, there was a horrible crunching sound from somewhere behind us. We stopped, and grandad went to investigate.
He came back a few moments later with his much prized grinding machine in his hand, it was bent almost double.
“You forgot to put the tailboard up, you big tache-faced dinnelo!” he screamed at Blacking brush, “Look what you’ve done to my lovely Bazooka”
At that moment, His Lordship strolled past, stopped for a moment to survey the scene and said, completely dead-pan, “I suppose this means you won’t be sharpening any more Keka rokkers for a while…..?”
I don’t think I have ever laughed so much in my life. It was just too funny. His Lordships comment, grandad standing there with his U shaped Bazooka. I thought my sides would split.
Soon everyone was in hysterics, even Blacking Brush, who had never laughed in his life, was so tickled that he opened the pickup door and toppled slowly out on to the gravel.
That was 40 years ago. But even now, when I’m with my own people and someone says, (especially in a whisper) “Keka rokker”. I’m prone to say “Seventeen and six” and burst out laughing.
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