AH SED = ARSE HEAD!

Hello – today I am importing another previous post from the Black Hearts And Blue Devils Facebook page. This one contains another ‘sampler’ excerpt which plays on local dialect/pronunciation. Viz:

“The Handel Hotel was a large and prestigious establishment situated at 94 Oldbury Road, Blackheath. Not sure when it was built but records of licencees on Hitchmough go back to 1854, although the building was probably older than that. Now sadly lost and demolished it stood opposite the Shoulder Of Mutton, about where Wilko now stands. In 1909 it was acquired by Wolverhampton And Dudley Breweries, makers of the, in my youth, famous, Banks’ Mild. Remember the Banks’ (bitter?) advert with Roger Moore? (“It’s very Mooreish”). Is there much Banks’ about these days? I must admit though that my favourite Mild was always M&B – you could get drunk on it if you had enough! And a lot more easily if you mixed with a Barley Wine (as I think I have mentioned before). Picture of the Handel attached. Anybody hazard a guess as to date? And does anybody know what the word ASMETS (or A.S.METS) refers to? Doesn’t appear to be a licencee or owner. Was it a brewery? I know that in the early days at least there was a brewery on the premises – it made its own ales. The Handel Hotel features in Black Hearts And Blue Devils when a member of a local gang treats himself to a posh night out. How he got on you can discover by reading the ‘sampler’ below –

‘In between songs the universal pub murmuration reasserted itself, and Derek became increasingly annoyed by the inane chatter emanating from a particular table of what he gathered were drapers’ assistants, or at least two of them were. They had been already installed when he arrived, and he had been struck by their volume then, although it was not on account of them being big drinkers; that type never were. It irked him that they seemed at home here. How could they afford to frequent a place like this? Jumped up little squirts. And the squirts were disrespectful too, it seemed to him, sometimes still talking in what seemed to him deliberately loud voices and chortling stridently over some vacuous remark, even when the lovely Suzy had broken into the first bars of a fresh offering. They still hadn’t settled down now, but, he made up his mind to ignore them and sipped his pint, politely.

She was singing what she claimed was an old favourite, entitled, “All Around My Hat.” Derek was unfamiliar with it, but it turned out to be about a lost love who had got himself transported for seven years for stealing something or other. More fool him for getting caught, said Woolley’s professional pride. Never mind him love, I’ll look after you. He drank up and called in another. During this song, and to Woolley’s further vexation, three young girls, evidently shop girls and known to the existing source of interference with his pleasure, arrived to much incontinent braying from the drapery quartet. To be fair, they settled down swiftly and were not heard all the way through ‘Beautiful Dreamer’, the rendition of which for reasons known only to himself almost had him in tears. There was an interlude then, and he went to answer a call of nature, leaving strict instruction that his seat should be saved, also reserving it with a tactical positioning of about a quarter of a pint of unfinished ale, to secure his base.

When he came back, he saw that more people had arrived, but that his seat had not been requisitioned. However, possibly to counter the increased volume, or perhaps to get themselves noticed, the shop boys had become even more raucous. One of them, a tall and gangly youth with a pronounced Adam’s apple, ripe for punching, and obsequiously over polished oversized feet stretched out into the gangway to the peril of incautious passers-by, was recounting – again – presumably for the benefit of the lately arrived female contingent, a story about some unfortunate customer of advancing years who did not have the best grasp, evidently, of language, and had had the bad luck to cross the threshold of whatever piddling little retail outlet the bean-pole worked at. So, for the third time, Woolley was about to be bored by the same story. To make matters worse, the teller was making every effort to ensure that his audience’s attention did not waver, as it clearly must, by effectively suspending the discourse, prolonging the agony, till the listeners bowed to his will and gave him their full attention. He did so by, every time he noticed a head turning away or someone trying to get a word in edgeways, repeating, again and again, “so ah sed…” before continuing…

“So ah sed to the ode bat, ah cor ’elp ya if yoh doh gimme sum ahdea ’o the saze yoh wannt.” At this point, somebody must have shown an impolite lack of interest because the annoying git raised his annoying voice: “En ’er sed, en ’er sed, ’er sed, well ah doh really know, ’er seys. So ah sed, well ’ow big is y’son, ah sed. En ’er seys, ’es abaht normal for ’is airge, ’er seys – which is fifteen ah fahnd aht after ten minutes o’ ewseless chat. So ah sed, well that’s no ewse to me Madam, ah sed, is it? So, ah tek a coupla sherts off the shelf an’ ’old ’em up for ’er an’ ask ’er which uns closest to ’is saze. Well, by this time, ah’m gerrin’ peeved, what with other customers waitin’ yoh understond. So ’er seys, ’er seys, well ah doh know,” and here he slowed down for dramatic effect, “ah doh know. ’Es very deceasive.” And then the punch line: “So ah sed, ah sed, in that case Madam, in that case, p’raps yoh oughta gerrim a shroud!” It wasn’t as funny as the bean-pole imagined, but he was rewarded with some polite tittering, although that was obviously not enough for him because he started to roar with laughter as if he had told the funniest joke in the world, and never heard it before. And with Miss Love about to restart, this was the straw that broke the back of Derek Woolley’s temporary tolerance. He went over.

“Excuse me, er, gentlemen, I really think that you should have some consideration, and keep the noise down. And you,” he said to the gawky bean-pole with the tempting Adam’s apple, ‘Arse Head’ and he articulated the words very clearly, not even dropping his ‘H’, “If I have to listen to that stupid story about the shirts again, it will be you needing the shroud. Got it, Arse Head?”

One of his mates was obviously made of sterner stuff than the bean-pole. “We’re doing no harm. It’s not a bloody wake is it? Is it Colin?” Colin the beanpole did not reply.

“You heard what I said,” said Woolley.

“And who are you to tell us what to do?” asked the sterner stuff shop assistant.

“Just watch it.”

“No,” continued the shop assistant and the drink, “you just watch it,” he said, checking on the locations, if not the attitudes of his colleagues, “there’s four of us. Who do you think you are?”

Woolley’s blood pressure was rising and taking his temper with it. Much of the red stuff was congregating in his distinctive aural apparatus, his distinguishing feature. And perhaps it was this that saved the four shop lads from a beating, if not then, then later. Because, whilst in this place a member of Cutler’s gang would not be the first character into whom you would expect to bump, and to be sure Mr Woolley was not usually quite so fastidious about his attire, his big red ears suddenly rang a bell for one of the girls, and she knew exactly ‘who he thought he was.’ A swiftly whispered phrase involving the words Jack Cutler, and a glance in Woolley’s direction…

Meanwhile, Woolley had picked up on the misplaced arithmetical threat: “Yes, you can count. I can count an’ all. Marvellous, ain’t it, education?”

By then the message had done its rounds, and the tall one took the lead in appeasement. “Yes it is. Education, yes. You’re quite right; we’ll keep it down. Didn’t realise we were getting so loud. You know what it’s like when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yes. I’d appreciate it.”

He returned to his perch at the bar, but the mood had been spoiled. And when the lovely Suzy began a little ditty entitled ‘Father’s A Drunkard And Mother Is Dead’ he was not displeased to receive a note to say that he was wanted in the public bar.’

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