Please read and enjoy our article and watch your FREE LONDON MUSIC VIDEO at the end The Misunderstood Cockney - A Londoner's Tale
One definition of a Cockney is one who is born within the sounds of Bow Bells , the pealing bells of St Mary-Le-Bow located in Cheapside in the City of London .
Cockneys hail from working class stock in the East End of London and are renowned for their 'cheeky-chappy' image. They can often be found in London's East End pubs and London's street markets.
The perception, rightly or wrongly, is of generally good natured, good humoured folk with a bit of a reputation for cutting the odd corner on 'business matters'. | | | To some extent, the concept of the Cockney has diminished with the massive changes in London's population over the last 30 or so years. Up to that point, the Cockney's were virtually a 'tribe' of people living, working and playing in London's East End , north of the River Thames and even south of the Thames in Bermondsey by Tower Bridge .
| The Cockney way of speaking is unique and even has a form of dialect based on Cockney rhyming slang , allegedly to prevent 'outsiders' within earshot understanding any 'dodgy deals' that may have been under discussion.
To give you an idea as to how this worked, we have created the following scenario. This has, of course been (ever so) slightly exaggerated for effect and will all be explained at the end.
Anyway, picture the scene of a Cockney lad suspected (erroneously, of course!) by his lady wife of being over-familiar with a young lady the previous evening, in a local pub. The wife confronts him with her suspicion, he continues the tale… | "Would you Adam and Eve it?
I was coming down the apples after washing the old barnet when I came across me trouble. There she was, hands on hips, standing next to her skin, both of them giving me an evil butchers and looking ready to deliver a serious kick to me cobblers.
It didn't look as if I was being invited to partake in a nice cup of Rosie, anyway. The mood was as black as Newgate's knocker!
Experience has taught me that the trouble's butcher's meant I was deep in the Eartha and a nasty Barney was about to occur. Now, the old Dutch ain't a bad sort.
If I was honest, I'd say she spends a bit too much time on the dog with her skin and she keeps me permanently borassic!
She's a good Mum to our saucepans, though, and keeps me, by and large on the straight and narrow. ….other than the occasional hiccup following the old tin-tack, anyway! Somehow me and serious work are a bit like chalk and cheese.
Anyway, back to the issue at hand.
From the yells heading in my direction, I deduced that me trouble's skin had seen me in the pub last night having a quiet bowler with an old brass who I'd known for donkeys. It obviously didn't help my case greatly when the brass was reported as having a pretty boat and none too shabby bristols.
Apparently, there was also a modicum of over-friendliness occurring between me and the brass! |
|  | | Mary-Le-Bow, home of Bow Bells | I have to say, I was feeling a bit nervous at this point as the last time I aggravated me trouble for doing the housekeeping on a nag long due for the glue factory, she fetched me a quick and sudden boot in the Khyber which did me Nuremburgs no good at all. Furthermore, she physically bunged me from the gaff leaving me ball and chalking down the frog with a limp like a surprise pony had crept up on me. I ended up feeling like a complete Hampton with a massively sore Khyber, screaming plates and farmers that felt like cricket balls.
Maybe, me old Dutch is mellowing 'cos this time the assault was limited to a nasty verbal egged on by her vicious skin aggravating the situation by accusing me of telling porkies. The upshot was that the innocent dalliance with the brass cost me an arm and a leg in bees. Me old Dutch made me take her down Petticoat Lane the very next Sunday and pay through the nose for some new clobber and an item or two of Sexton tom. To rub salt in the wound she then insisted on me putting on me best whistle and taking her and her skin out for a Ruby in the jam jar. On balance, I think I'd have preferred to have my shoulder felt by the boys in blue and invited to be their guest in the nick for a night! | | East End Pearly King and Queen | Due to some serious brown nosing I think I'm finally back in me trouble's good books. Needless to say, I will definitely resist any future urge to converse with anybody in the pub with a knock-out boat and outsized bristols. Or at least make a swift check that the meddling skin is not in sight.
Talking of pubs, I'm off for a swift pigs with me old china, Tommy. He's a bit of a Jodrell but not a bad sort. We always have a good old chin wag and a bubble. His conversation's a bit tom but you can't have it all, can you? | | Butler's Wharf, Bermondsey | And somehow we understand each other!"
Now where's me titfer?" | Well, we know what our Cockney lad said, but who know's what he actually SAID?
Find out in The Cockney's Tale - Explained! |
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