I WAS ON the back seat of a 38 bus heading for the West End, when two charver lasses parked themselves next to me.
They were talking about last night, when one asked the other how she’d got on with Scott.
“He took me behind the Youth Club and we had a snog. Then he put his hand straight up me skort.”
“He nivva! What did y’dee?”
“Ah smacked him rund the heed and telt’im ‘where’s your fuckin’ manners? It’s tits first!’”
Marshall Hall
Newcastle

I USED TO WORK in Sunderland (thankfully no longer...), at a direct mail distribution centre. Many charvers worked in the packing centre there; they were attracted by the uniform of Fred Perry polo shirts(???) We all sat outside on the grass at lunchtimes in the summer and overheard a snippet of how they keep fit...
Big Fat Charver: "Whey, me legs are really well toned, like"
Thin Friend: "How's that like, d'ya gan tee the gym?
Big Fat Charver: "Nah. Ya see, when I'm oot at the weekend, I do a lot of kicking when I fight"
Thin Friend: "eeeeeeehhhh!"
We moved to eat our sandwiches elsewhere fearing for our lives!
jamiephoebe@yahoo.com

HELLO THERE Here's a little slice of the Charva life from a couple of months ago. I was sitting getting merry in a city centre drinking establishment that shall remain Quinn's, when I overheard this gem:
"So, hiv yi had a good Mother's Day?"
"Aye. I hord wor Tammy's gettin' oot on a tag. That's why ah'm oot the neet. Ah'm pure buzzin!"
Classic.
F.M. Butler

DEAR HEEDSY A few years ago, one Sunday morning at the 24hr shop at the garage on Barrack road, standing behind a young charva mum complete with pushchair & charvette in tow (who was sporting an amazing gravity defying fringe!), I heard her ask the assistant for "A Twix, a Tworl and a packat o' Frazzils'. I thought to myself, you's are in for a great Sunday lunch today kids!
Neil Madden
Newcastle upon Tyne

WHILE STANDING waiting for the cash point in the centre of Newcastle, a young charver approached sporting all the usual gear. He sounded out two younger lads near the back of the queue for a lend of 25p for his bus fare. When they replied that they had no change he said he would - and I quote - "Here man a’ll dance on yer lips".
I found this very amusing and nearly asked him if he would be doing the foxtrot or the tango!
Pops Robson
Newcastle

ON MY DINNER break from the, ahem, "Highly entertaining" course I am studying, a mate and myself were walking down Jackson Street in Gateshead on our way to get some lunch. A charver, of about 18, stops us with a polite "Hoy Lads"; and proceeds to ask if we go Night Clubbing, (bearing in mind I'm wearing a Nirvana T-shirt, so obviously I'm the kind of guy who goes to the Bigg Market). We both said no, and walked on.
He stops us again, this time with a sob story about how he's a diabetic, and he needs some money. He then asked would we like to by some "Whizz", and takes a canister out of his pocket. Apparently it cost him £40, but he's willing to sell us it for a tenner. I told him, I have nothing; and its not my sort of scene. To which he, in his best charva voice shouts "Yer Lyin', Man”, and thankfully leaves.
I got my dinner and got back on my course, while he was sleeping off whatever he was on, on a park bench on Jackson Street.
Garry Tilson

MY FRIENDS WERE on a college photography trip to the Baltic and had to make their way there, opting to use the Metro. They got to Chillingham Road where a charver decided to have a free ride by hanging onto the outside of the Metro using the open window.
Being a bit sadistic one of my friends went over and shut the thing on the little bastard’s fingers. HA!
Helen
Wallsend

MY FAVOURITE charver story was told to me by a friend who worked in a sportswear store in Middlesbrough.
She was approached by a typical charver family: Mammy Charver, Daddy Charver and toddler Charver, strapped into a buggy.
Mammy Charver approached my friend and said "Orrr 'ave yer got a Kappa trackie for 'er", indicating over her shoulder to the toddler.
My friend explained that they didn't make tracksuits for children that young, to which Mammy Charver turned to her daughter and said "Did you 'ear that, yer little slut, they don't make 'em for you". Classic.
Jane Whealtey

WHEN I WAS at college in Sunderland (it was my own fault, I admit it, but there you go) a native of the ‘city’ told me this story:
Apparently, in Pennywell, there’s an ongoing tradition which sorts the geet ‘ard charver lasses from the merely minging.
Visitors to Sunderland will surely have noticed the curious habit that certain (orange faced) girls with the Worzel Gummidge perms have of wearing several scrunchies in their hair at the same time.
This is not something done with beauty in mind – if you can call habitual tracksuit wearing a beauty-focused lifestyle anyway. Stay clear of these girls on all accounts!
Legend has it that whenever a lass wins a fight in Pennywell, she celebrates her increased status among her peer group by putting another scrunchie in her hair.
The girls you see walking down the street wearing about seven are therefore the Kray Sisters of Sunderland and ought to be given a berth of about seven metres. This is in case you weren’t totally repulsed by them anyway.
Incidentally, a couple of years after being told this story, my Dad was made a police sergeant at Hylton Castle and he backs me up.
In Pennywell, no one can hear you scream.
Chris
Formerly of South Shields

I WISH TO SHARE with you one of a plethora of teenage mother experiences that I have had - having had the misfortune of being born in the north-east, in possession of eyesight and a sense of decency.
Standing in a local bus station waiting for a bus, as one does, I decided to pass the time by observing the activities of a group of teenage mothers standing unfortunately close.
The oldest, being a geriatric 17, was in possession of a Kappa-clad little lass who was obviously desperate to go to the toilet. Mother, ‘Shazza-D’ as I believe her companions referred to her, was having none of it, however.
The little girl received several slaps for her consistent pestering - after all, at that point in time, nothing was to come between Shazza-D and her cigarette.
This process went on for some time, until the girl's persistence paid off. Shazza-D took her to the wall of the station, told her to "fuckin' get yer pants doon yer little mong" and then held her up by the wrists while the girl relieved herself against the bus timetable.
This is one of the more disgusting encounters I have had with this breed of north-eastern teenage mothers.
Dave,
Washington

HI THERE! I was walking to Safeways in Byker. I was about to walk in the door when a stereotypical 15-year-old charver bolted out of the door. He had a mad look of desperation on his ugly, Kappa capped head.
I noticed the reason for his haste: he had a three-litre bottle of White Lightning cider under his arm!!
Oh how I laughed!!
Chris Dowie
Heaton

HAVING DIGESTED and thoroughly enjoyed your site, I thought that I would take a moment to share a short, but truly memorable charva incident with you.
About a year ago I was listening to the night owls show on local radio and there were several people ringing in, in response to each other, discussing basically why charvas have little right to walk our clean planet.
Oh how touching it was to hear the one female charva ringing up in defence, stating firmly for the record...
"Charvas are the bestest and everyfink!"
No further questions your honour!
Paul Armstrong,
Jarrow

I HAVE A tale of charva to share with you. I am from the midlands and have friends in the north east, which is when I first encountered charvas in all their glory.
The first time I saw one was probably the best. I was in a petrol station, it was mid afternoon on a Saturday, and I was waiting in the queue to get some fags. There was a very skinny youth in a massive bubble jacket and big gold rings also wanting some fags. Here is the conversation:
"10 lambarrt and butlarr and make it snappy"
The assistant acknowledges his request and starts to turn to get the fags.
He shouts at her:
"Heeyaaaaa man bitch wooorrrr me tabs?"
He must have not had a fag for a full 2 minutes and clearly needed them desperately. I had to walk off in order not to laugh in his face.
James Marston

ABOUT TWO MONTHS ago two mates and me were waiting at Heworth metro, late at night for one of the last buses home when this charva came up to us asking if we had any tabs.
We told him we didn't have any and as a result of this he started to square up to my mate for no apparent reason.
At this point two of his mates came over and I thought we were going to have some trouble on our hands but his mates tried to calm him down and one of them actually apologized to us.
We then walked over to another bus stop to check some bus times when this charva (who had obviously broken free of his mates) decided to follow us. We went to walk past him and he blocked me getting past him.
I said 'excuse me' and pushed past him to which he replied (in his finest Queen’s English):
'Naaaaah!'.
I pushed past him and we walked up to the taxi rank (having now missed our last bus) with him following us, when his mates stopped him for the second time.
Again, one of his mates apologized to us.
Why this scumbag wanted to fight us remains a mystery to this day, but I have full respect for his mates who were decent enough to stop him and man enough to apologize for his actions.
Gary Milburn

I’M NOT A charver but theres enough of dem around to no wat they wear. There favorite coat are either a Tog24 of Berghaus. There fave shoes rockports and wallabees. Anything Burberry and the girls if ur a charver without a morgan or kookai bag ur an unpopular charver.
Unicorn
(original spelling retained)

I HAD THE pleasure of spending five years in the North East before returning to the Southern Hemisphere last year. In my time in the Toon I saw a lot of funny charvas, but nothing tops the day I was at Gosforth Bus Station. It was a while ago but a tale I often like to retell to my Kiwi countrymen to illustrate the essence of Charva-ness.
Girl at bus stop, about 18 years of age with two kids, one a boy of about 5 and the other a toddler in her pram. The boy kept staring at his (I assume half-) sister, until the mother said (between dragging on a tab):
Mam: "Here man, why are ye friggin’ starin’ at her?"
Charva boy: "Mam, when Shannon (the baby sister) got her ears pierced did it hurt?"
Mam: "No and you're not havin’ yours done neither!"
Boy: "But why mum, why?"
Mam: "Because I've told ye son, they're for girls only"
Boy: "No there not, boys can have them. Remember Dad?"
I nearly cried laughing at the thought of her saying "Only vaguely son", till I saw the rings on her fingers and decided I didn't want them imbedded in my face.
A classic charva tale, I'm sure you will agree!
Bridget Cheesman
New Zealand

I WAS WALKING past the hostel at the foot of Westgate hill opposite the Tyne Theatre when there was a THUD! A charva had fallen two storeys from one of the open windows where he was blasting his Gabba tunes. He narrowly missed another charva pissing in a doorway.
He got up, dusted himself off and walked round to the entrance, where he started bellowing into the intercom to be let back in.
This leads me to one conclusion - he must have landed on his head. And there is a shattered paving stone to corroborate this
From the desk of:
Wolfman John

I RECENTLY MOVED from the Toon to Vancouver, and a friend e-mailed your web address to allow me to reminisce about home.
I have a story about charvas, although I'm not sure it is for publication, but it may make you laugh in private.
A friend of mine moved up from Halifax to do his PhD at Newcastle University. When he first moved here, he didn't know the good areas or bad areas - and so rented a flat in Byker.
One night, late on, he was on the bus back home when two drunken lasses got on the bus and sat behind him.
In stage whispers they proceeded to tell each other about their respective sex lives with their latest blokes.
The highlight of the conversation, and the most shocking revelation on a bus to date, was an insightful remark by one of the "young ladies" about anal sex.
Turning to her friend who had asked, "if it hurt", she replied: "whey nah, a bit of butter and it gans in lush".
Dr V.S.Conlin
Department Of Physiology
Vancouver, B.C.

ME AND MY girlfriend where going to a Newcastle football match - I can’t remember which one. But we came out of the newsagents near the Monument after buying ten tabs and a scratch card.
I'd already scratched the scratch card inside and hadn't won, so I was waiting till I got outside to throw it in the bin. This charva lad came up and said:
"Here pal can ya lend uz a couple a quid so a can get to Gatesheed on the Mettie".
So I gave him the scratch card and said “there you go there’s 3 quid on there”, and he ran in the shop happy as Larry - thicko !!!
Kev Reay
mansy03@hotmail.com

BEEN LIVING in London for the past year and this Christmas was the perfect opportunity to re-acquaint myself with those delightful scamps from the charva tribe.
I also picked up my first copy of your mag in the Trent House having only seen it online before. I felt compelled to add my bit:
Overheard conversation on the back of a no.40 bus in Denton Burn:
Charv 1: Here, did Tommy get sent doon yesterday?
Charv 2: Divvin kna, why like?
Charv 1: Cos' he owes us twenny-five bar like
Charv 2: Straights.........?
Charv1: Aye...
etc etc.
And here's some phrases picked up when working in Westerhope:
Tattie-peeler - dubious character peddling tack
Mang - equivalent of a "ladge", just as Manging is equivalent to "being ladgeful"
Arties - equivalent of a "fog-on"
Jonathan Charlton
<jcjnr@hotmail.com

WHILST WAITING to meet a friend at the Monument, I was approached by the skankiest piece of turd you've ever seen, kitted out in Rockports, sports socks with tracky bottom tucked into them, a lovely Helly Hanson jacket, striped jumper and woolly hat perched on the back of his greasy napper.
He staggered up to me with the glazed, inhumane expression on his face and proceeded to phlegm his lungs up all over me.
I instinctively recoiled in terror to save myself from disease, and told the filthy creature:
"Look mate, I haven't got any change for your bus fare, OK!"
He gave me a look of hatred and replied "How, was ah ganna ask ya that like?".
"Probably", I replied. "In fact, definitely".
"Ner, I wasn't ganna ask ya that at aal".
"Oh really, what do you want then?".
At this he looked sheepish as his tiny brain quick chugged round trying desperately to think of something to say.
Spying my NUFC pin badge on my jacket, he spluttered out, "Er...erm.., er, aah were ganna ask if aah could ha yer Newcastle badge like"
"You can buy one behind you in the club shop for £1.99 - and very nice you are too."
With that he gave me a final chilling stare, and hauled his disease -ridden carcass off to harass the next innocent victim. Scumbag.
Yours,
Alistair Ford

NOT LONG ago on a late bus journey home from my girlfriends, I encountered two young girls of the charver variety. They seemed to be quite drunk on "white shite" as they called it and were sitting on the double seats near the back of the bus.
I was sitting two seats down towards the front which I now realise made me a prime target.
For a while everything seemed fine as they sat and sang merrily about MCs and Master-Blasters going to the Techno, or something like that. Their mood quickly changed though as a found myself a victim of an unprovoked paper attack.
Balls of the stuff kept hitting my head so I turned around to say something. I decided to try and be pleasant about it and put on a fake posh accent to confuse them.
In my best Queens English I said: "Could you stop that please. It's very annoying". I got an answer of "Ear? Wha?"
My approach had been wrong so I altered it: "F*****n’ pack it in you bloody charvers"
The reply was interesting.
"Ear like. We're not charvas like. h'o ya callin a charva?"
I pointed out the fact that they were wearing stripped polo jumpers which were clearly fake, huge loop ear-rings, a golden clown, they both had huge fringes and were singing rave.
They insisted they were not charvers and that it wasn't rave. I was the called a "puffta".
I replied saying as long as I was safe from the prospect of shagging them, I was happy.
They soon left the bus shouting "ahhhh ya puffta!" so I gave them the V.
Adam
Washington

WHILE WE were waiting for a pizza these kids about 10 years old came in and asked for a bag of red cabbage. I looked at my dad, he looked back puzzled and I thought "where's this going?".
They had been in earlier and asked how much he would sell the cabbage for.
The guy was dumbfounded and took their 20 pence without question and we watched the 4-5 kids fighting over handfuls of cabbage from a huge bag. Me and my dad were HOWLING with LAUGHTER!
Paul Errington

I WAS IN Netto, on Shields Road, Byker. A teenage mother was pushing a two-year old around in a buggy.
I don't know what sex it was - its face and clothes were covered in chocolate, mixed with the remains of several Greggs corned beef pasties.
Like most children, it was curious, and kept reaching out to grab at things.
On one occasion, it was leaning out the buggy when mum turned it around quickly, catching the side of the child's head on a shelf with a noise loud enough to stop other shoppers in their tracks.
"Watch yer fuckin' heed, divvy," said mummy, before fetching an equally loud smack across its other cheek.

Stephen Rogers
Shieldfield

• Charver mums, eh?

WAITING FOR A bus opposite the Odeon, I was approached by a charver wanting thirty-four pence for his 'fare'.
God knows what 42p buys, but it'll get you nowhere on local transport. But this seems to be the going rate for a 'tap' and it was one time too many for me.
"Why do you come into town without enough money to get home?"
"Are ye caalling me tight?" he asked, rather angrily for my liking. "Ah've got mair lowey than yee, I'm fuckin' minted," he said, pulling two filthy fivers from his Kappa pants.
Then, realising he'd successfully worked the now watching queue for forty-two pences, he jangled off to try his luck at another bus stop.
Christine Walsh
Heaton

• Forty-two pence buys you two single tabs in a corner shop

MY VERY favourite Charver experience happened in the wake of Christmas a couple of years ago on a bus full of festive bargain hunters descending the West Road.
I found myself wedged in with a three generation gaggle of Mrs Rebok's finest: Granny Charver, a veteran in her mid-thirties perhaps, Ma, looking like a cross between a bulldog and a racing bike, and the charming Charmaine Charver, a girl of about seven.
Once I'd got myself settled in Granny picked up the threads of their conversation:
"How Charmaine, wot ye ganna dee with the munny yer Granny gived yer fer krismass, pet-lamb?"
Charmaine smiled brightly at her Ma and Gran and replied, "Ahm ganter buy mesel a new buke."
Always a keen reader myself, this cheered me no end. Generations of unemployment and no expectations beyond the next can of White Lightning, and still the children have aspirations, I thought.
But how cruelly my hopes were dashed as Ma Charver looked down her nose at the girl and with indignation furrowing her brow, rebuked:
"How many taims de ah hevter tell ye, yer not gerrin another buke. Yiv got one aalready."
Was it not Goethe himself who wrote, "Literatur will jetzt nicht viel sagen, die Epoch der Charveren ist an der Zeit".
Roger
Sunderland

• It certainly wasn't a charver

I OFTEN TAKE the Metro to my mother's for Sunday dinner, and the carriages are full of charver mums and their buggies, wheeling their various bairns off to visit their assorted fathers.
Last week, a bunch of young mothers got on at Percy Main. Before long, their kids were running riot up and down the train.
How the mums laughed, as one three-year old girl came up to me and said: "you're a fat twat."
This is extremely offensive language. I may be carrying a few extra pounds, but I'm certainly not overweight.
When I glared back, the bairn ran back to mum, shouting: "Ma, the ugly bastard scared me."
Where do these children pick up such foul words? I may be no oil painting, but I'm not ugly.
David Irving
Heaton

CHARVA’S WHERABOUTS. This is where charva's usually hang aboot: Walker Park • Metty stations • Eldon Square • Hippy green (chinnin' them all) • and derelict buildings.
You will be able to notice a charva by the clothes they wear: Massive earrings • Star-bar bracelets/necklaces • Berghouse/Tog 24 coats • Henry Lloyd jumpers • Rockies (obviously)
Hobbies: Hanging around lads • drinking Bella/White Storm • Smoking weed • taking cowies • picking fights
Luke Sherburn

EARLIER THIS WEEK there I was, minding my own in a well-known high street bank, when who joins the queue behind me but mutha and nippa charver.
Obviously a date with the bank Manager awaited, as they'd dolled-up considerably; the mutha was sporting more chains than Bobby George, offset nicely by a wet-look Keegan bubble-perm and decidedly-dodgy looking Helly Hanson jacket. Anyway, I couldn't help but overhear the following, unforgettable conversation:
Nippa: "Howay maa, warra yer draggin' is in here for again?"
Mutha: "Hadaway and shite with yer whingin'. I telt yer, I need to get
some loot for yer sister - she needs her tablets".
Nippa: "What's up with the slappa lyke?"
Mutha: "Divvent yee tark aboot yer sister like that! Yer naa what's up with her. She's anaemic".
Nippa: "'Hornneemic'?? What's that mean like?"
Mutha: "It means she bruises ower easy when yer fatha whacks her".
Keep up the good work with the website and the magazine.
Chris Dixon
Newcastle