Rural – Jersey Country Life Magazine

EUNE FROUQU’THÉE D’JÈRRIAIS – (A FORKFUL OF JÈRRIAIS)

We continue our series of article in Jèrriais – Jersey’s own traditional native language. The ‘frouque’ in question is a digging fork, rather than a table fork. An English translation follows. This contribution comes from Colin Ireson.

Aniet, j’sommes rein qu’des jours auprés lé 1er annivèrsaithe dé l’arrivée dé chu fichu virus, mais tchi progrés! Siez-nous, j’eûnmes not’ înjection lé 3 dé Févri auprés l’heuthe du dîner; ma bouonnefemme Heather avait un ma-la-tête tard l’arlevée, mais pon pus qué chenna; mé, j’pèrdis l’restant d’la journée dans un hâsin – si lâssé, un ma-la-tête, au liet vèrs 9h du sé (si rare pouor mé!), j’grélottais pouor eune d’mié-heuthe devant dé dormi et lé lendemain, j’rendormis auprés lé dêjeuner! L’arlevée, j’tais mangnifique! Dgieu mèrcie qué j’avons rein qu’ieune înjection à v’nîn! Sélon la télévision, Mons. Macron, lé Président d’la France, not’ vaîsîn, n’pouôrrait pon décider si touos les vièrs ou touos les jannes ‘taient pouor un vaccîn, et pis, tchi vaccîn! Y’a un tas d’nous, Jèrriais, tchi visitent la France pouor des vacances et j’voulons y aller acouo eune fais!

Eh bein, des choses pus heutheuses…ch’est lé R’nouvé, y’a cèrtainement du solé et partout y’a des flieurs, des bêtes et d’s însectes tchi s’rêvilyent dans nos gardîns, nos clios  et, j’sis seux, sus nos falaises, mais jé n’peux pon les vaie sans des long’veues! Mes g’zettes et pipots et mes gênottes sont enflieuthis, mais acouo eune fais un tas des g’zettes sont aveugl’yes! Les fielles dé mes tulipes sont à pautchi lus nezs à haut pouor tester la tempéthatuthe, et deux’trais sèrcl’yes sont évident étout, mais pon pouor bein longtemps dans man gardîn! Houette à la main, ou mé sus mes g’nouôrs avec ma fourchette à gardîngni, et les sèrcl’yes ont dispathu! J’ai un tas des bliuets tchi sont quâsiment prêt à flieuthi, mais j’tais à r’garder dans lé dictionnaithe pouor l’êpelage. J’trouvis étout les bés ou bêcques dé corbîn, les clioches ou les clioches dé Carême (qué j’aime hardi!); s’lon Dr. Frank Lé Maistre les Mouêtîns disaient les coucous! Ou, nou peut dithe étout les bliuettes. Auprés aver ajouôté du vraic sus la tèrre lé Novembre pâssé, jé pliantis mes patates dé Jèrri, lé 23 dé Févri; les fèvres futent s’més au mais d’Novembre mais il’ ont souffri auprés la gélée l’aut’ sémaine. Heutheusement, jé s’mins des grains étout dans la sèrre pouor transplianter comme garanti – J’espéthe – d’aver eune récolte! J’ai fini lé taillage ès trais pommièrs et sauf qu’les sèrclyes, tout est prêt pouor l’Èrnouvé!

Des raides bouonnes nouvelles entouor not’ si précieuse langue, lé Jèrriais. Ch’est probablye qu’ous avez veu l’annonche dans la Gâzette qu’y étha acouo trais maît’s ou maitrêsses tchi s’en vont joîndre l’êtchipe dé quat’ dans l’Office du Jèrriais – deux auprés Pâques et l’aut’ au S’tembre. L’Office a r’mué pouor lé grand bâtisse du Dêpartément dé l’Êducâtion et quand j’tais à clièrgi lé storre ès livres, y’avait eune valise avec des vièrs habits, un baluchon dit lé dictionnaithe! Il’ soulaient êt’ des bouôns habits, mais malheutheusement, avau l’s années, lé mucreu a laîssi des taques partout. Deux’trais couvèrtuthes dé laine, deux châles, ieune à la néthe dentelle, mais y avait du papi d’eune boutique (jé pense) en d’dans et împrînmé avec: ‘The Eastern Bazaar, Mrs Pontius, 2, Les Chalets, Queen’s Road, tel. 1445’ Av’ous janmais ouï pâler dé chutte boutique?

Bon, pouor fini, j’m’en vais présenter eune p’tite poésie par F.M.H., lé titre sîmplyement: Lé R’Nouvé

N’y a pon dans tout l’monde entchi
Un bieau pays coumme Jèrri
S’ou voulez vaie sa bieauté,
V’nez don ichîn au r’nouvé.

Les flieurs sauvages dans nos prés,
L’long des routes sus les fossés,
Lé jonc, lé g’nêt jaune coumme dé l’or.
Tchi l’air embaume si ch’est qu’nou sort.

Tch’il y fait bé au bieau solé,
Sustout s’nou s’trouve au bord d’la mé,
Partout la natuthe nos souorit
Et l’doux vent d’ouest nos rafraîchit.

Touos les ouaisieaux dé bouôn matîn
Chantent lus cantique dans not’ gardîn
I’ r’mèrcient Dieu lus Crêateur,
Dé lus donner autant d’bonheur.

Partout ichîn dans not’ Jèrri
Jé sommes vraînment au Paradis,
Pour aver paix, trantchillité
Ch’est ichîn tchi faut d’meuther.

Translation

We are only days after the first anniversary of this annoying virus’s arrival, but what progress! At home, we had our injections on 3 February, my wife had a headache in the afternoon, but I think I lost the rest of the day in a haze! A headache, I was so tired, in bed by 9pm (so rare for me!), I shivered for half an hour before sleeping and next morning I went back to bed after breakfast! I was fine in the afternoon! Thank goodness we only need one more injection! According to television, President Macron couldn’t make up his mind what age group got a vaccine, and to decide what vaccine! There are a lot of us who want to go to France again for holidays!

So to more happier things…it’s Springtime,  there’s certainly some sunshine and flowers everywhere, little beasts and insects are waking up in our gardens, fields and cliffs, though I would need binoculars to see those! My daffodils, jonquils and crocuses are in flower though a good number of my daffodils are blind again! My tulip leaves are poking their heads up above the ground to test the temperature, and a few weeds are appearing, but hoe in hand or on my hands and knees with my fork, they don’t stay long! I have a lot of bluebells coming through, nearly ready to flower, but whilst I was checking the spelling in my dictionary, I found several different words for them, according to which Parish you are in! Examples include: beaks or crow’s beaks, Bells or Lenten Bells – which I like best – and according to Dr. Frank Le Maistre’s dictionary, La Moye-resident Jèrriais speakers also used a word which was like our word ‘bluetits’.

After having added some vraic to my ground last November, I planted my potatoes on 23 Feb., the earliest I have done so; my broad beans are in the ground but they have suffered from the frost the other week. Happily I sowed some in the greenhouse to transplant as a guarantee – I hope – of getting a crop! And I have finished pruning my three apples trees, so all is ready for Spring!

Next, good news for our precious language which you have probably already seen in the JEP about the appointment of three more Jèrriais teachers to join the team of four in l’Office du Jèrriais – two join after Easter and the third in the Autumn. The team has moved over to the main Education Department building and while I was clearing the book store I came across some old clothes in a suitcase: two or three woollen blankets, a couple of shawls, one in black lace, all once very good quality but many now spoilt through damp spots over the years. Inside was a sheet of wrapping paper with the words ‘The Eastern Bazaar, Mrs Pontius, 2, Les Chalets, Queen’s Road, tel. 1445’. I wonder if anyone has any information on this old shop or business?

Right, before I go, I would like to present to you a short poem by F.M.H. (Miss Florence May Hacquoil), entitled simply: Spring

There’s nowhere else in the whole world

A land quite like Jersey,

If you want to see her beauty,

You need to come here in Spring!

The wild flowers in our meadows,

All along the banks in our roads,

The soft rushes, the broom yellow like gold

Which perfumes the air as you pass by.

It’s beautiful in the sunshine,

Above all if you are by the seaside,

Everywhere nature smiles at us

And the gentle westerly wind refreshes us.

All the early morning birds

Sing their songs in our garden

They thank God, their Creator,

For giving them such good fortune.

Everywhere here in our Jersey

We are truly in Paradise,

For peace and tranquillity,

It’s here that you need to live.

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