MAGIC OF MOUSEHOLE: FISH PIE.
Kows orthiv yn Korniwek,
As Nyns yw unnyeth lowr.......
(Speak to me in Cornish, as one language is never enough.)
My futtocks suffer with Gwidgee gwees
And the doc he's fay Zam zoodled,
You see am are a tad Figgy hobbin
'Arter zackley teyr bras Oggy.
But the futtocks are true Girt licker
And it'll take time to be Ally cumpooster
The Didikoy doth declare,
I walk, it's said like a Chuggy pig
Or even an ancient, Narky Cannikeeper.
That's better it be than a Kewny Bulorn
A Padgypaw and warty Quilkin,
So I'll stagger my buffers to a Kiddlywink
And drink with gnarled Medhow'd duffers.
The Huer calls "Fumado!!!"
The boats scuttle out on the Oggin,
And the little ones are soon
Smiling up from the crust.
STARGAZY
" Merry place you may believe, tiz Mouzel 'pon Tom Bawcock's eve.
To be then who wouldn't wesh, to sup o' Sibm soorts o' fish
When morgy breath had cleared the path
Corned lances for a fry
And then us had a bit o' scad
And Starry- gazie pie
As aich we'd clunk, E's health we drunk
In bumpers bremmen high."
(Anon, from 17th century legend of a local fisherman, Tom Bawcock, who went fishing and brought back a huge haul of pilchards in terrible weather off the Cornish coast near the little village of Mousehole, pronounced Mouzel).
Phil Hall October 2017
Copyright: Philthepoet61.blogspot.com
Picture: Crapart Phil Hall 2017
