Open Writing

Ah suppooase 'at iwerybody 'as 'eeard tell o' t' Gooid Samaritan an't Prodigal Lad — Ah reckon 'at them's two mooast famous tales 'at Jesus iwer telled. But Ah bet there's nut monny on yer knaws t' tales Ah'm bahn ter tell yer nah.

T' fust on 'em's tucked away somewheeare i' Sent Mattheew's Gospil. It's nobbut a two-a-thri verses i' length, an' it's 'ardly iwer read i' church or chapill. It's a tale 'at Jesus telled ter t' preeasts and t' elders an't' Pharisees an' such like, after the'd been fratchin' an' criticism'. The' wouldn't tak an 'awporth o' nooatice of owt Jesus said, but just stood theeare moitherin' 'im wi' awk'ard questions.
So Jesus thowt it wor abaht time 'e turned t' tables on 'em — same as 'e did wi' yon lawyer chap Ah telled thee abaht — 'an so 'e says tul 'em ...

Sither! Ther' wor once a farmer wi' two lads. One day 'e goes up ter one on 'em, an' 'e says: 'Nah, then, lad. We'r that throng i' t' vineyard tha mun dahn thi tools an' go an' work theeare terday. Off tha goes!'

'Reight, fatther!', says t' lad, full of enthewsiasm, does ta-see? 'Ah'll bi theeare i' quick-sticks!'

But 'e niwer went, tha knaws. Niwer went near. 'E got ta'en up wi' summat else, an' fergot all abaht it.
Meeantime, t' farmer finnds t' other lad, an' tells 'im t' same tale, tell's 'im 'e mun work i' t' vineyard, like. Nah this lad's a bit on t' lazy side, a bit of an idle-back. 'Appen that's why t' fatther didn't go to 'im i' t' fust place. T' lad says:

'Nay, fatther. Ah can't be bothered. Ah'm agate doin' summat 'ere. Ah'm nooan bahn ter t' vineyard. Fowk'll manage baht me.'

But, tha knaws, after 'is fatther 'ad left 'im, 'e began ter think it ower. An' after a feew minutes 'e says to 'issen: 'Nay. 'Appen Ah'd better do as mi fatther says ... ' An' off 'e goes ter t' vineyard.

Ah reckon t' audience expected t' tale ter go on a bit longer — but all of a sudden Jesus comes aht wi' this 'ere question:

'Nah then', 'e says: 'Which o' these two lads did as 'is fatther tolled 'im?'

Well, yer could 'a knocked 'em dahn wi' a feather! It seeamed such a daft thing to ax, t' sooart o' question yer'd put to a claht-'eead, someb'dy a bit slow on t up-take, like. So the' stood theeare, lookin' gawmless, an' wonderin' if ther' wor a catch in it, an' then one on 'em says: 'Well, it wor t' second lad 'at did what 'is fatther tolled 'im.'

'Aye', says Jesus. 'An' there's plenty o' fowk like t' second lad — fowk 'at you despise — t' tax-gatherers, an' such-like, an' even loose women. You lot think such fowk are beneath yer. But Ah'll tell yer this much: the'r far nearer t Kingdom of 'eaven than you are — 'cos the've mended the'r ways, an' the'r willin' ter mak a fresh start i' life. But there's nowt 'll budge you lot. You're like t' first lad — all talk. It's time yer learned to practise what y' preych.'

An' fowk's just t' same terday, tha' knaws, after nearly two thahsand year. There's plenty 'at reckon to be religious — but some on 'em's reight slack-set-up when it comes ter doin't' Lord's will. An' there's some on 'em getten into a rut that deep the' can't see ower t' sides. But, tha knaws, Jesus niwer gev onnybody up. It's as though 'e thowt ther' wer' just a chance 'at they'd mend the'r ways — an' buck thersens up, like yon second lad.

Nah t' same sooart o' teychin' — abaht givin' fowk t' chance ter pull the'r socks up — turns up in another little parrible Ah bet tha's niwer 'eard on. This time it's i' t' Gospil accooardin' ter Sent Lewk. Nobbut two-a-thri verses, same as t' other. An' this is abaht a farmer an' all. Mooast o' t' fowk 'at listened ter Jesus wer' from t' country, tha knaws, an' 'e took a lot of object-lessons from country life, so's the'd understand 'is meanin'...

Nah, there wer' this 'ere farmer, says Jesus, an' in one of 'is vineyards ther' wor a gurt big fig tree. I' them days figs wer' a varry important food, tha sees. (Speakin' fer missen, Ah like t' flavour — but all them little seeds gets under mi' teeth, an' 'urt summat crewel. Syrup o' figs is grand. Ah used ter love a spoonful o' that when Ah wor a lad — 'ahiwer, ter get back ter t' tale.) This farmer 'ad 'ad 'is fig tree fer three year — an' still no figs on it. No sign of it frewtin' whatiwer. So one day 'e calls one of 'is men an' 'e says:

'Sither! Ah'm sick an' fed-up o' this 'ere fig tree. Ah've 'ad it three year nah, an' it's niwer done nowt. Tha mun cut it dahn. Fell it ter t' grahnd. Why should wi leave it 'ere takkin' up all this space, useless flippin' article!'

'Nay, maister', says t' farmer man. 'Give it another chance. Let's leeave it fer another year. Ah'll turn t' soil ower, an' put some reight gooid 'oss-muck on it — an' 'appen when Ah've dug it an' manewered it an' prewned it, it'll do better next year. 'Appen next summer wi s'll finnd some figs on it. An' if nut, an' it's still barren — Ah'll fell it fer thi. 'Cos Ah'm like thee — Ah cannot abide owt 'at's nawther use ner ornament.'

Well, that's t' end o' t' tale. Wi dooant knaw whether t' fig-tree bucked itsen up, or nut. 'Appen it did, 'appen it didn't. The' can be varry stubborn, can a frewt tree — but tha niwer knaws!

An' it's just t' same wi' fowk. The' can carry on year in an' year aht, i' t' same owd rut ... idle, selfish, niwer doin' nowt fer nooabody, full o' spite an' malice — or whatiwer the'r besettin' sin may be — But ther's just a chance 'at the' might come ter the'r senses an' mend the'r ways — same as t' Prodigal lad, same as yon farmer's second lad, same as t' barren fig tree ... an' come to think on it — same as thee an' me!