I don’t recall my parents having dialects
Even though my Dad was Welsh
Local words they didn’t feature much
Or perhaps we just knew little else
I suppose in our little household
Whether we were posh you must assess
One of my mums’s little vocal tics -
She’d say “frock” instead of “dress”
One day a schoolfriend asked me
If it was Welsh in my voice he heard
A confusing moment in my young life
The very idea seemed quite absurd
I suppose in our little household
We wouldn’t put flowers in jam jars
One of my mums’s little vocal tics -
She’d say “vors” instead of “vase”
The broadest Northern I ever sounded
Was in a college classroom in Wales
Put right on the spot, the accent I used
To communicate sort of failed
I suppose in our little household
We didn’t watch football on the whole
One of my mums’s little vocal tics -
She’d say “gorl” instead of “goal”
I worked with a girl whose German mum
Would ring the office from time-to-time
Her inflection meant we knew who it was
Yet “Mum’s not got an accent!” she’d claim
Martin A W Holmes, October 2016
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