The Furry Ferry
One of the problems with coming from Durham is the language barrier with people in the south. Southerners don't talk proper like I do. They think I'm a Geordie; well let me tell you I live 20 miles south of Newcastle and I don't understand the Geordies.
On route to Poole to catch the ferry to Jersey I took a wrong turn and ended up lost somewhere between Bournemouth and Poole. Every turn seemed to be a dead end and time was getting on. I spotted two teenage girls on a corner and stopped to ask them the way to the ferry. "pardon?" one of the girls replied. "the ferry, at Poole" I said. "the furry what?" "What?" "What is it that's furry?" By now I was getting desperate as it was getting dark. "Nothing is furry, I mean the ferry, you know, its a boat that carries cars across the water" and I demonstrated with my hand the motion of a boat going up and down over the waves.
It finally clicked. "Oh I know what he means" said the other girl, "He's looking for the Fehry" "its Poole you want we have no ferries in 'Bournemth'". That's another thing people in in Hampshire and Dorset can't get right. They keep shortening town names, like Portsmth for Portsmouth, or Bournemth for Bournemouth, and Dartmth for Dartmouth. I mean do you eat your dinners through your mth or your mouth.
And remember, up north dinner is at 1pm, at 5pm you have your tea. As luck would have it I reached Poole in time to catch the ferry. The strange thing is that the onboard shop sold a souvenir in the shape of a furry ferry. When we came to embark in Jersey, Jan, Sue and Annie gave me one. A furry ferry that is.
Published: 19th May 2006 | Back to Watercolour Memories.
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