“SA! SA!”
The exclamation “Sa!” which is frequently heard in the country, and
sometimes in town, is probably the old Cornish word sa, “stand!” It has
continued in use, though its meaning has been forgotten. It is employed
instead of “stand still!” “hold!” “avast!” “enough!” and such-like
words, uttered in haste to arrest speech or action. Its usage, however,
will be best shown by a few familiar examples.
In all parts of the country hereabouts, it is spoken to a restless cow
to bid her be still whilst milked,—“Sa! Molly! sa!” Very likely most
words used to cattle and poultry are ancient Cornish, and had meanings,
now lost. “Sa, sa! eat petats, let the crust for supper!” is a saying
often addressed to persons who want to enjoy all their good things at
once. It is suggested by the well-known potato-pie with its substantial
roll of crust and the custom of reserving a good portion of the latter,
to serve, instead of cake for supper.
A short time ago, a butcher belonging to a western town had a horse of
an uncertain age and no remarkable qualities; yet the owner was always
“cracking it up” as the best beast in town, of its size—equally good
for saddle and harness; sure-footed, staunch to collar, and so on. He
also gave his fellow tradesmen to understand that anyone who coveted
this choice animal must pay a good sum to tempt him to part with it.
For a few days, butchers in surrounding stalls, to their surprise,
heard no mention of the famous horse; then they learnt that it had
changed owners, and for a lower price than it was expected the seller
would have accepted. Butchers in general are much given to banter, and
those of the town in question, liking this pastime very much, renewed
their jibes by telling the seller of Dobbin that if he had at first
only asked a fair price for his horse he would have got much more for
it. One of them remarked that what he had stated in favour of the beast
was as near the truth as could be expected from a jockey, and nearer
than the owner knew of. Another, who was two or three stalls off,
bellowed, “Aye by golls! [29] He nearly told the truth, for a wonder,
but all through’s ign’rance.” In short, they tried to persuade the
seller that he had made a bad bargain, though they knew the horse had
fetched its full value, or more. The jockey-butcher sat listening to
the others’ jeers with good humour, or returning them in the same vein,
till, becoming tired of their long harping on the same string he sprang
up, and shouted, “Sa! sa! lev’n go, es dry eatan” (let him go, he is
dry eating), “as the old man said for the hare.”
The (native?) fable, or story from which our jolly butcher took his apt
reply, runs thus:—
An old couple lived all alone in a little old house “out by night” (an
out-of-the-way place). The old woman was constantly in a bad temper,
because a hare got into their garden and ate the cabbages; she scolded
and tormented her old man all day long because he didn’t build the
garden hedges higher, or do something else to keep the hare out. To all
her aggravating “jaw,” he would only reply, “Sa, sa, dear, when that
hare es fat enow we’ll have a good pie.” One Saturday night,
accordingly, he set a jin among the cabbages. On Sunday morning he got
up by break o’ day, and ran out to see if the hare were “come to trap.”
There it was, a fine one, caught by a fore leg. The old man, overjoyed
by his good luck, without stopping to take up the hare, ran in, calling
to his wife all the way, “come ’e along out, my dear; be quick; and see
what a capital pie we shall have for dinner to-day.” She tore out in
great “stroath” (confused haste), slipped on her clogs, crossed the
garden, and got to the trap before her old man; but all she saw of the
hare was a fore foot in the jin, and the white of its tail passing
through a hole in the hedge, as it scampered off. The hare, on hearing
the old woman’s clogs coming clap-a-clap among the cabbages, gave a
twist, severed a bit of skin, which alone held it; the trap in closing
had broken the bone. “That’s like thee, thee old buffle-head,” screamed
she, “not to take up the hare at once and bring am in, instead of
hobblan away to bring me out, draglan through the dew to catch my death
this cold mornan, all undressed as I am; and that while, the hare,
twistan and turnan, broke’s leg and es gone.”
“Sa! sa!” said the old man, “lev’n go, es dry eatan.”