My exposure to the cockney accent prior to my coming over here to London was passive knowledge.
I knew that it was an East London accent spoken by “traditionally one born within hearing of Bow Bells” (my computer dictionary tells me), and had heard a bit of it in old black and white British films, but no more than that.
In my second year in London, I started working at British Monomarks, a telex agency, to see my way through university, as I was self supporting.
One day, a young colleague with a constantly puckered brow (Cliff Webb [Webber?], late teens or early 20s at the most) said to me across our two machines (facing each other), “Can you pass me some piper.”
What on earth was “piper”?
Me: Pardon???
Cliff: Piper.
Me: Say that again.
Cliff: Piper.
Me: Sorry?
Cliff: Piper, piper.
Me: Can you spell it?
He gave up in frustration, walked over to the desk by me and grabbed a sheet of paper from the ream on it.
(London, 1978)
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