OUR late dialect writer Dorfy, Mrs Dorothy Samuelson-Sadnvid, lived in an era when trams and buses were the most accessible form of transport.
But then, as now, this carried certain frustrations, as is apparent from this 70-year-old abridged piece, Dorfy Loses Her Bus Ticket.
But please print out these pieces or cut them out of the Gazette if you wish to keep them.
NOO that w' live up Tyne Dock way, w' dee quite a lot o' travellin' on the buses, an' w' get some amusin' experiences.
The commonest one is that aggravatin' occorrence – the lost ticket.
Why is it that when a ticket inspector comes roond thor's aalwiz some fyul that cannit finnd 'or ticket? An' wy is it that the fyul generally happens t' be me?
Aa cud write yards aboot lost tickets. Wheor d' the' gan t'?
Y' kin torn yor pockets inside oot, feel doon the sides o' the cushions, an' grovel aroond on the floor, but aall t' nee porpose.
It seems that when a bus tickets gets lost, it stops lost.
If y' hadn't onny bus ticket at aall, it wadn't be se bad.
Watt maddens me is that Aa aalwiz hev dozens o' tickets.
Aa hand them oot in batches an' the inspector'll examine them an' say: "It's not here. Where have you put your ticket?"
An' when y' exasperatedly remarks that needbody 'puts' a ticket,* 'e luks at y' as if y' warn't reet.
Exactly watt ar' y' suspected of when y' cannit produce a ticket?
At the varry wawst y've ondly diddled the Corporation o' threeha'pence.
But yor fyess gets hetter an' hetter an' y' rummage roond yor claes.
Y' wud gladly pay the threeha'pence ower agyen, but y' feel it wud luk kind o' guilty.
An' when at last yor 23 fella passengers aall yells that the' saa y' get yor ticket y' feel y've been saved fre' lifelang disgrace an' humiliation.
Another peculiar thing is that y' nivvor see a ticket inspector get onte the bus.
Y'll be sittin' dreamin' an' suddenly y' realise that thor's a hand in front o' yor fyess!
* This is possibly Dorfy playing with the north-east mining term 'put,' meaning to fill and convey coal in tubs.