Duvelsklรถkske (Limburgian dialect)
D’r was ens in Sambek unne brave pastoor, die heuide zien schupkes vol iever. Die bouwde un moi kerkske, en prekte, hoe dukker hoe liever. En hoog in den toore dor hing ie un klok, die klepte ovver wei en akker, as ‘smerges de kuster an ut hennepzeel trok, heel Sambek ja riep hij dan wakker.
Ma iets toch -mok zegge- was nie in den haok. Den brave pastoor haj vergeete zien klokske te zeegne. Un pienlijke zaok, die um zwaor op ut hart het gezeete. ‘t Was kerstnaacht toen ‘t wonder geval is geschied. ‘t Was wiendstil rondum ‘t haontje, de sterkes lachten zo hoog enzo wied’t was kerstnaacht en hel scheen ‘t maontje.
Ma heur, dor op ens in ‘t hart van de naacht, begint ‘t vervaorlijk te wejje. De sturmwiend huult woest en mit raozende kracht, en wild got ‘t haontje ant drejje. Och, hoe de pestoor uut ziene sluumer verschrok! Hoe ie zien hart vuulde ontstelle. Nog gekker, dor gut in de tooren de klok an ‘t luie,an ‘t kleppe, an ‘t belle!
Pestoor loert dur ‘t venster, hoe bonst um ‘t hart! En raoi us, wa zien dor zien ooge? D’n duvel, as ‘t roet van de ketel zo zwart, kumt hoog um den tooren gevlogen. Twee oogen as vuur kieke gluurend int rond, zien start lot ie kronkele en krulle. ‘n Aokelig geschries klinkt zo hels uut zien mond, as of de hel ging an’t brulle. Dan kruupt ie dur ‘t galmgat en griept in ziene bek, ut klokske en vliegt er mit hene. Hej draogt ovver de akkers hin op ziene nek, en toen is ie spoorloos verdweene.
D’r lag in ‘t Sambeks veld een moeras, dor wonde roeke en raave, De Lins hiette ut en begroeid was ut mit gras, dor hettie ut klokske begraave. En iedere Kerstnaacht op slag van 12 uur, al raoze ok sturmigge buujje, Toch kumt er den duuvel mit ooge van vuur, ut Sambekse klokske wer luie.
The Devils Bell
There was a good priest in Sambeek, herding his sheep zealously. He build a beautiful church and preached to his hearts content. And high in the tower he hang a bell, ringing over meadows and fields. As the sacristan pulled the rope every morning, Sambeek was called awake.
But something was not quite right. The good priest forgot to bless the bell. A painful matter, pressing his heart. It was on Christmas eve when it happened. There was no wind, lot of stars laughing high and far and the moon shone bright.
But suddenly, in the middle of the night, the wind starts to blow dangerously. The wind roars fierce and with raging power. The cock on the tower turns wilder and wilder. The pastor is shocked, his heart is running wild. And even crazier, the bell in the tower starts to ring faster and faster.
The pastor looks outside, with pounding heart. And guess what his eyes see. The Devil, as black as soot, flying high around the tower. Two eyes like fire, peeking around, and a tail with twists and curls. A horrible screeching sounds like the roaring hell from his mouth. He crawled through the belfry and engages with its beak the bell and flies away with it. Over the fields around and disappeared.
In Sambeek, there was a swamp. There lived rooks and ravens. The Lins, its called, full of grass. There he has buried the bell. And every Christmas eve at 12 oโclock. Even as the weather is awful. And yet, the Devil with eyes of fire, rings the Church bell of Sambeek.
