ChatterBank1 min ago
The oldest AnswerBank-er ?
8 Answers
I used to think there was a natural cut-off point for understanding modern technology (i.e. computers etc.) at around age 70-ish. But recently I was speaking to a lady (83 and mentally sharp tho' disabled physically) who spends a lot of her time using her computer, sending e-mails to relatives throughout the world, and who frequently 'pops into' AB for crossword answers.
So, are there any other seniors in their 80's amongst us or is this lady the eldest AB-er?
So, are there any other seniors in their 80's amongst us or is this lady the eldest AB-er?
Answers
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For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.If you can follow the dialect this poem may answer your query. I came across it in a book of dialect poems many years ago. I think the writer -- E A Lodge -- was a Lancastrian but the theme applies the world over, and I'm sure will ever be so. It's title is "Then An' Nae":
When I were but a striplin'
An' bare a scoor year owd,
I thowt I'd gotten brains enuff
To fill all t'yeds i' t'fowd.
I used to roor wi' laffin'
At t'sharpness o' mi wit,
An' a joke I made one Kersmiss
Threw mi nuncle in a fit.
I used to think mi mother
Were a hundred year behund;
An' mi father - well, mi father
Nobbut fourteen aence to t'pund.
An' I often turned it ovver,
But I ne'er could fairly see
Yaeiver sich owd cronies
Could hae bred a chap like me.
An' whene'er they went to t'market,
I put mi fillin's in;
Whol mi father used to stop me
Wi' "Prithee, hold thy din.
"Does ta think we're nobbut childer,
Wi' as little sense as thee?
When thy advice is wanted,
We'st axe thee, does ta see?"
But they gate it, wilta, shalta,
An' I did mi level best
To change their flea-blown notions,
Whol their yeds were laid to t'west.
This happened thirty year sin;
Nae I've childer o' mi own,
At's gotten cheek to tell me
At I'M a bit flea-blown!
When I were but a striplin'
An' bare a scoor year owd,
I thowt I'd gotten brains enuff
To fill all t'yeds i' t'fowd.
I used to roor wi' laffin'
At t'sharpness o' mi wit,
An' a joke I made one Kersmiss
Threw mi nuncle in a fit.
I used to think mi mother
Were a hundred year behund;
An' mi father - well, mi father
Nobbut fourteen aence to t'pund.
An' I often turned it ovver,
But I ne'er could fairly see
Yaeiver sich owd cronies
Could hae bred a chap like me.
An' whene'er they went to t'market,
I put mi fillin's in;
Whol mi father used to stop me
Wi' "Prithee, hold thy din.
"Does ta think we're nobbut childer,
Wi' as little sense as thee?
When thy advice is wanted,
We'st axe thee, does ta see?"
But they gate it, wilta, shalta,
An' I did mi level best
To change their flea-blown notions,
Whol their yeds were laid to t'west.
This happened thirty year sin;
Nae I've childer o' mi own,
At's gotten cheek to tell me
At I'M a bit flea-blown!