Open Writing

By Gum! What a commotion once 'at the' knew 'at Jesus wor i' yond 'ahse i' Capernaum! Fowk turned up from all ower t' shop, an't' place wor that crahded it's a wonder t' walls didn't bust.

Na ther' wor this poor chap liggin' on a stretcher, carried bi fower of 'is mates. 'E wor paralysed, tha sees — t' sooart o' case 'at seeamed 'opeless. But these fower lads 'ad said ter thersens: 'If wi can nobbut get 'im ter Jesus — 'e'll do summat to 'elp 'im.'

Well, when the' gat up ter t' ahse, an' saw this gurt jooarum o' fowk, an' cracked on 'at nooab'dy 'ould budge aht o' t' rooad ter mak way fer 'em, the' wer' fair sickened off.

'Nay', said one on 'em, 'Wi've browt 'im all this way fer nowt!'

'Dooan't talk so daft!,' said 'is mate — one wi' a bit o' gumption. 'We'r nooan bahn ter bi beaten. If wi can't get in thru t' dooar-'oile, we'll tak 'im up onter t' roof an' let 'im dahn thru theeare.'

T others gawped at 'im same as if the' thowt 'ed gone barmy. But t' chap on t' stretcher looked up at 'em as much as ter say:
'Well, ther's nowt Ah can do abaht it missen — but owt's worth a try.'

'Dooan't just stand theeare,' shahted t' feller 'oo 'ad a bit o' gumption. 'Come on, lads! Frame yersens! Dooan't bi so sackless! Standin' theeare lookin' gawmless 'll get us nowheeare!'

Well, t' fower on 'em jumped to it. The' grabbed 'od o' t' stretcher, an' carried it up t' stooane steps onter t' roof-top. It wor flat, tha knaws, fer dryin' t' weshin', an' such-like. But it wor thin, an' all, nobbut a layer o' tilin' ower a feew latts. It wor that thin 'at the' could 'ear t' sahnd o' Jesus voice — an' the' could tell just wheeare 'e wor standin'. So reight ower this spot the' rived up t' tiles, oppened a gurt big 'oile, an' then, wi' a length or two o' rooape, the' lowered t' stretcher dahn — reight i' front o' Jesus.

By Gow! Fowk wer' that capped the' just stood theeare wi' the'r gobs wide oppen, an' the'r een stickin' aht like chapill 'at-pegs.

But streight away Jesus saw t' faith 'at 'ad led these fower lads ter do summat that drastic.

'Champion!' 'e said. Then 'e bent ower t' poor chap on t' stretcher an' said to 'im:
'Nah then, lad. Dooan't thee fret thissen! Thi sins are all fergiven.'

Well, ther' wer' some o' them Scribes, t' religious lawyers, sittin' theeare — an' the' didn't awf start chunterin' away!

'Just 'eark at that!,' the' muttered among thersens. 'That's nowt but blasphemy! There's nobbut t' Almighty can fergive sins!'

'Na then, said Jesus, turnin' ter t' Scribes. 'Sewt yersens! It's as easy ter tell this poor chap ter tak up 'is bed an' walk, as it is ter fergive 'is sins. An' if it's proof yer want, then — sither! Nah then, lad, thee tak up this 'ere stretcher — an' walk!'

An', bi Gow, that's just what 'e did! 'E sammed up that theeare stretcher, an' off 'e went. Walkin' ... Slow at first, as though 'e could 'ardly believe it, an' wi' fowk givin' 'im an' 'elpin' 'and — but walkin', all t' same.

Well, all t' fowk crahded theeare wor fair flabbergasted! The' kept sayin': 'Ah've niwer seen nowt like this afooare! It caps owt! It's a reight merricle!'

Aye, an't' way yon fower lads rived oppen t' roof — that wor a merricle, an' all!