The lasses sed tha 'ad cum ti smell t' sweet earth, hear t' bods sing, an' deea nowt bud rist. Yah gird sed (she is a short'and typist): "Ah's takin' neea notes or writin' ony letters, Willie; Ah's just rebuildin' fur t' next big push when back in t' office".

Just efter that we sat ootsahde an' reet aboot uz in t' blue sky wor a skylark, an' he wor floodin' space with ripplin' music. Yan on 'em sed that licked t' wireless.

We wor ower at t' Chapel sarvice at neet. Then, efter supper, we sat oot, reet near tiv us on a tree top a cuckoo wor lettin' oot his call. T' lasses wor capped cos tha cud see him, a rare thing tiv 'em all.

"Blue skies, bod music, an' vast distances are nut ti be seen an' heard in t' city," yan on 'em remarked.

We 'ad yan ov t' happiest week-ends we 'ad 'ad fur t' duration.

When tha left uz Betty sed: "Ah wish tha wor all wor own Willie."

Tha left yah message that set Betty up, an 't wor t' news that theer muthers wor cummin' when brambles wor fit ti mak' sum jam. That's another of Betty's annuals, year by year.

Updated: 16:35 Thursday, February 26, 2004