A Service to celebrate Northumbrian speech was well received - but wreaked havoc with the column's shorthand.

"And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the spirit gave them utterance" - Acts 2:4.

THE Pentecost story is familiar, "speaking in tongues" claimed as a phenomenon of the "new" churches (and of the old one, too.) If there were indeed a thousand tongues to sing, as Charles Wesley wondrously aspired, would any be as twisting as Northumbrian?

In how many church services is God described as a great marrer, Satan as laidly, Jesus as a scary gadgee and love as neither impittent nor dorty?

And if we have an all-knowing Maker, does even He understand the Saturday night patter in Shilbottle club or the auctioneer at Alnwick cattle mart?

A service in celebration of the Northumbrian dialect's many and enduring mysteries was held last Sunday at St George's URC in Morpeth, a church long accustomed to what might kindly be called difficulties in translation.

In 1936, a candid history recalls, the Rev Dr E L Allen, described as "very intellectual", became Morpeth's minister. Unfortunately, adds the history, he was unable to preach in an "understandable or interesting" way and so became Dean of Divinity at Durham University.

Last weekend's service was organised by the Northumbrian Language Society and led by the Rev Ron Forster, who as a Gosforth lad may have had to take out naturalisation papers before being allowed up north. "We pretty soon moved to Fawdon," he pleaded.

The other problem was shorthand - hard enough these days to write 120wpm in queen's English, yet alone that spoken by the Duke of Northumberland's ostler.

Kim Bibby-Wilson, who is NLS secretary and played the Northumbrian pipes enchantingly, reckoned Northumbria to be the area covered by the Northumbrian burr, by which primarily she meant that ragged, rugged, rascally 'r'.

The late Scott Dobson, writing of the Geordie 'r' - a close cousin - put it memorably: "This is both rolling and guttural, combining the best effects of Dr Finlay at his homeliest with the sound of a very old nanny goat being sick."

Herr Hitler, Scott added, made a similar sound when throwing a tantrum.

The service was introduced by Peter Arnold, the NLS chairman. "Noo then hinnies, can aa forst thank ye for tornin oot the day."

Not everything, he added, would be in Northumbrian. "There'll be bits in English that we didn't have time to translate."

The BBC was there, too. "We're gannin te educate them," said Peter, "in the proper way of talkin."

The minister talked of God hoyin doon a gauntlet, Hazel Dickson read the story of Aidan - he'd no idea what the Northumbrians were on about either, until Oswald appeared as interpreter - we sang "Wor God stands like a mighty pele."

Wor God stands like a mighty pele

Within these waalls wuh safely bide,

A fastness strang, an age-aad shiel

Fornenst the wicked world ootside.

The Aidan narrative, it might be added, also had reference to a stag. It was pronounced "stairrrg," rather like the old joke about the posh bloke going into a hairdresser's in Ashington and asking for a perm.

Oh you know: "I wandered lonely as a cloud..."

Ann Honey prayed, mellifluously, with thanks for a champion world, Meg Burdon read the familiar passage from Corinthians below - if ever a Northumbrian accent were pure cut glass, it was hers - Terry Common, a surname not unfamiliar in those parts, read about the parable of the wedding feast.

"Noo, the host didn't knaa what Jesus had tellt them ti de. He had a taste. 'By,' he said, 'that's bari'."

Whatever bari means, its second consonant appeared to have been surgically removed from somewhere in the diaphragm, rolling unimpeded round St George's like the timpani section of the Northern Sinfonia.

Ron's address was also on tornin watter into wine, the first miracle in Cana of Galilee. "Watter's good and important, but wine sparkles and has flavour."

St George's, in truth, has a bit of a history with that sort of thing. After the fiercely contested election of a minister in the 1820s, it is recorded, the successful faction took a cheese from the local grocer "without so much as a by your leave" and made off to the Lord Hood to celebrate. "Temperance," adds the history dryly, "was obviously still not in favour."

The church itself was opened in 1860, a rather handsome building on the bridge with a clock once accused by a Morpeth Herald letter writer of telling "palpable lies".

Across the road is the Northumbrian bagpipe museum, threatened with closure. "If this were Scotland or Ireland there'd be an outrage," said Kim. People don't realise we have such a wealth of tradition." We ended with "Howay Christian sowljers" - marchin as ti waar - before retiring for tea and biscuits. Kim said Northumbrian wasn't a poor cousin of standard English but its grandmother - "a distinct variation" - Ron said they were a church which liked to do things differently, and to be relevant.

It showed. Bari beyond belief.

* The Northumbrian Language Society exists, says Kim, to enjoy, study, promote and preserve local speech variations. Details on www.northumbriana.org.uk or from Kim at Westgate House, Dogger Bank, Morpeth, Northumberland NE61 1RE.

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