| Manx | English | |
|---|---|---|
| COOINAGHTYN MY AEGID | ||
| AS | ||
| COOINAGHTYN ELLEY | ||
| JUAN Y GEILL | ||
| Cooinaghtyn My Aegid | Reminiscences Of My Youth | |
| JUAN Y GEILL | JOHN GELL | |
| Printed by Isle of Man Examiner Ltd. | ||
| for | ||
| Yn Cheshaght Ghailckagh | ||
| 1977 | ||
| ROIE-RAA | (translation: RT) | |
| FOREWORD | ||
| Tra vrie Juan y Geill orrym roie-raa y screeu da’n lioar shoh, va yindys mooar orrym cre oddins gra veagh cooie feeu jeh lheid yn obbyr. | When John Gell asked me to write a foreword for this book, I was perplexed as to what I would (could) say that would suitably worthy of such work. | |
| Son lesh cre’n cairys foddym pene insh diu, y lhaihder, mychione dooinney va g’ynsaghey [da] studeyryn ny Gailckey eer roish my row mee ruggit, as mish my yoarree nagh daink dy vaghey ayns Ellan Vannin agh tammylt beg er-dy-henney? | For with what justice can I myself tell to you, reader, about a man who was teaching students of Manx even before I was born, with me being a foreigner who only came to live in the Isle of Man a little while ago? | |
| Agh ta kianglaghyn mooarey eddyr Juan y Geill as mish, hoshiaght er-y-fa dy ren shinyn ny-neesht Gailck y ynsaghey ayns Sostyn. | But there are great bonds between John Gell and I, firstly because we both learnt learnt Manx in England. | |
| Jir y chuse smoo dy ynseydee ny laghyn shoh dy vel feme oc er brastyllyn Gailckagh as loayrtee ny Gailckey son dy ynsaghey yn ghlare as ish y chliaghtey, as dy brieagh [sic] shiu jeu, yiarragh ad nagh voddagh ad sheiltyn kys ’sy theihll ynseeagh ad nyn fegooish agh eshyn ynseeys y Ghailck foddey ersooyl veih’n cheer aynjee t’ee goll er loayrt, shimmey doilleeid yiow eh; as cha nel fockley-magh ny Gailckey agh unnane jeu! | Most students these days will say that they have need of Manx classes and speakers of Manx to study the language and to practice it, and if you were to ask them, they would say that they could not imagine how in the world they would study without them but [as for] he who learns Manx far away from the country in which it is being spoken, many is the difficulty he will find; and the pronunciation of Manx is only one of them! | |
| Tra va Juan y Geill gynsaghey Gailck, cha row ee cheet er e hoshiaght as bishaghey myr t’ee ec y traa t’ayn, as stiark caarjyn ny Gailckey va ry-gheddyn ’sy lhing shen. | When John Gell was learning Manx, it wasn’t progressing and increasing as it is at the current time, and how few friends of Manx were to be found in that era. | |
| Gyn scansh da shoh, cha lhig eh da hene cree y choayl; er-yn-oyr dy row gennid fockleyryn ayn, begin dasyn, gollrhym pene, chaglym focklyn veih ny teksyn lhaih eh as eisht croo assdaue yn fockleyr echey hene - obbyr liauyr agh foaysagh erskyn towse, eer da studeyryn yn lhing ain hene. | Regardless of this, he didn’t allow himself to lose heart; because there was a scarcity of dictionaries, he had to, similar to I, collect words from the texts he read and then create from them his own dictionary – a long job, but immeasurabley beneficial, even to students of our own era. | |
| Cha nhyrrys dy chossin eh tushtey cho dowin as fondagh jeh chengey ny mayrey e henn-ayraghyn. Ayns Mannin v’eh jeant mooar jeh myr fer ynsee as myr reagheyder ny h-earishlioar Coraa Ghailckagh (1951- 57), as haink eh dy ve unnane jeh’n phossan beg shen dy gheiney as mraane dauesyn ta shin ooilley kianglt bwooise son freayll bio yn Ghailck car ny bleeantyn doillee shen. | It’s no wonder that he gained knowledge so deep and effectual, of the mother-tongue of his ancestors. In the Isle of Man he was cherished as a teacher and as organiser (editor ??) of the journal Coraa Ghailckagh (Manx Voice) (1951- 57), and he became one of that small party of men and women to whom we are all grateful for keeping alive Manx during those difficult years. | |
| Ta kiangley elley eddyr ain myrgeddin, er-yn-oyr dy nee voishyn hooar mee tushtey[-]ny[-]Gailckey choloayrtyssagh, eer roish my daink mee ny whaail son y chied cheayrt! Son dy nee veih’n lioar echey “Conversational Manx” dynsee mee yn Gailck y 'ockley-magh as b’leayr dou cre cho ymmydoil ta’n lioar shoh er ve dou tra ren mee my chied eab dy loayrt ayns y Ghailck. | There is a connection between us too, because it from him that I gained knowledge of conversational Manx, even before I met him for the first time! Because it was from his book “Conversational Manx” that I learnt to pronounce Manx and it was clear to me how useful this book has been to me when I made my first attempt to speak in Manx. | |
| Ny-yeih, cha nee mish my lomarcan ren soo dy vie [sic] jeh obbyr Yuan y Geill: gagh blein, ayns brastyllyn ny Gailckey fud ny h-ellan shoh, ta kuse vooar[1] dy ynseydee, chammah shenn as aeg, jannoo ymmyd j’ee as liorish shen bishaghey yn Gha1lck oc hene. Agh ga dy vel ad son shickyrys cur enney er ennym yn ughtar, s’beg ta’n fys oc er y dooinney hene as e vea. | Nevertheless, it is not only I who imbibed well of the work of John Gell: every year, in Manx classes throughout this island, there are a large quantity of students, both old and young, making use of it and by that developing their own Manx. But although they certainly recognise the name of the author, how little they know about the man himself and his life. | |
|
[1] kuse vooar] ‘large quantity’ —Cregeen defines
[kuse] as ‘a quantity’ and Kelly J as ‘a large quantity’, although in Classical Manx and Late Manx it most often means ‘a small quantity’.
| ||
| Shen-yn-oyr nee [sic] adsyn as paart dy Ghailck oc hannah geill jeean y choyrt da’n lioar shoh; aynjee lhaihee ad mychione yn aegid jeh doomney ta nish, gyn scansh da fastid e ambee, coontit mastey ayraghyn ny chengey Vanninagh. | That is the reason that those who know some Manx already will give keen observance to this book; in which they will read about the youth of a man who is now, regardless of the modesty of his character, considered amongst the parents [or, ‘fathers’] of the Manx tongue. | |
| Agh cha row eh fo’n ughtar dy beagh e lioar jeh [feeu] toilchinys lettyragh erbee, as she jeh yioin dy chooney lesh yn ynseydagh t’eh er screeu yn chied ayrn er aght aashagh, choud’s ta aght-screeuee yn nah ayrn beggan s’doillee[2]. | But the author did not intend that his book would of [worthy of] any literary merit, and it is intentionally to assist the student that he has written the first part in an easy way, whilst the style of writing of the second part is a little more difficult. | |
|
[2] beggan s’doillee]
[beggan] here is evidently intended to mean ‘a little bit’ (see
[red beg], and not
[hardly any] as it would be understood in Classical Manx & Late Manx.
[s’doillee] is attributive, the appropriate predicative form
[ny s’doillee] would be expected here.
| ||
| Erskyn ooilley va’n lioar er ny screeu taitnys y chur da’n lhaihder cadjin, as myr shen ta mee geearree erriu nish y lhaihder, taitnys, soylley as foays mooar choud’s lhaihys shiu yn skeeal jeh aegid nyn garrey Yuan y Geill.[3] | Above all, the book was written to provide enjoyment to the ordinary reader, and so I entreat you now, reader, pleasure, enjoyment and great benefit whilst you will read the story of the youth of our friend John Gell. | |
|
[3] This sentence is evidently missing some words.
| ||
| Rere aghin yn ughtar ta mee er chiartaghey marranyn erbee [sic] ta mee er chronnaghey ayns teks ny lioar shoh[4] as ta kuse veg dy chaghlaaghyn grammeydagh er ve jeant aym; agh oardrailys[5] as cohoiaghey[6] ny raaghyn ta mee dy kiarailagh er naagail gyn caghlaa, son dy ’reayll blass chengey yn ughtar. | In accordance with the request of the author, I have corrected any errors I have spotted in the text of this book and a small mount of gramatical variations (changes) have been made by me; but the order and context of the phrases I have intentionally left without change, for to keep ‘the flavour of the author’s tongue’ (‘to maintain the author’s style of language’). | |
|
[4] teks ny lioar shoh] ‘the text of this book’. Treating ‘lioar’ is a feminine noun, the writer is using the
[ny + unlenited feminine noun] form of genitive construction (not at all unusual in revived Manx of the late 20th Century).
[5] Oardrailys] ‘order’, see also
[oardagh].
[6] cohoiaghey] unknown word. Here taken to mean ‘context’.
| ||
| Adrian J. Pilgrim, | Adrian J. Pilgrim, | |
| Toshiaght Arree, 1977. | February, 1977. | |
| Cooinaghtyn My Aegid | Reminiscences of my Youth | |
| JUAN Y GEILL | JOHN GELL | |
| SHE MISH Juan y Geill ta loayrt riu as ta mee Manninagh kiart dy liooar agh cha noddym gra dy nee Manninagh dooie mish er yn oyr va mee ruggit as troggit harrish yn ushtey. | It is I, John Gell who is speaking to you, and I am a Manxman right enough but I cannot say that I am a native-born Manxman because I was born and reared across the water. | |
| Ta feallagh ayn as yinnagh ad gra, my ta dooinney ruggit ayns Sostyn, she Sostnagh eh; mie dy liooar, agh cre mysh ny Chinese ta ruggit er yn Ellan er y gherrit, vel adsyn Manninee? | There are people who would say that if a man is born in England, he is an Englishman; fair enough, but what of the Chinese born on the Island lately, are they Manx? | |
| Cha jeanym credjal eh, cha nel eh kiart, as er y fa shen foddym gra dy nee Manninagh mish er yn oyr va my voir as m'ayr ny neesht ruggit as troggit ayns shoh er yn ellan, as ny smoo na shen, va my hennayr as my hennayraghyn rish keeadyn dy vleeantyn cummal as gobbraghey y thalloo ec Ballakilpheric ayns Skeerey Chreest Rosien ’sy Jiass, as ve ooilley Gailck va goll er loayrt ayns lhing my yishag-wooar as my warree. | I won’t believe it, it's not right, and therefore I can say that I am Manx because my mother and father were both born and bred here on the Island, and more than that, my grandfather and ancestors for hundreds of years held and worked the land at Ballakilpheric in the parish of Rushen in the south and it was all Manx Gaelic that was spoken in the days of my grandparents. | |
| As er my hon hene foddym loayrt, lhaih, as screeu ’sy Gailck va ynsit dou lioroosyn loayrt chengey ny mayrey voish y clean. Atreih! t' ad ooilley ersooyl nish. | For my own part, I can speak, read and write the Manx as it was taught to me by those who spoke the mother-tongue from the cradle, alas! they are all gone now. | |
| Lhig dou ginsh diu kys haink eh gy kione dy row mee ruggit ayns Liverpool; | Let me tell you how it came about that I was born in Liverpool. | |
| va daa vac ec my hen nayr as va my yishag y fer s’aa, er y fa shen tra daag eh yn schoill, hie eh dys keird myr prindeis seyr-thie ec Purt Chiarn rish shiaght bleeaney as tra va'n prindeis jeant echey cha row obbyr dy liooar er yn Ellan as b’egin da goll ersooyl dys Lancashire. | My grandfather had two sons and my father was the younger, therefore when he left school, he went to trade as an apprentice joiner in Port Erin for seven years and when the apprenticeship was completed there was not enough work on the Island and he had to go away to Lancashire. | |
| Ec y traa shen, kiare feed blein as queig er dy henney, va traaghyn creoi goll ’syn Ellan, gyn monney obbyr as dyn monney argid, as b'egin da keeadyn dy gheiney aegey faagail cheer nyn ghooie as goll ersooyl dy hirrey bioys noa ayns thalloo joarree, dys Canada, America, Australia as New Zealand, as ymmodee fir elley shiaulley noon as noal ayns lhongyn er yn ’aarkey mooar. | At that time, eighty-five years ago, times were hard on the Island, not much work and not much money and hundreds of young men had to leave their native land and go away to seek a new life in a strange land to Canada, America, Australia and New Zealand, and many others sailing hither and thither in ships on the great ocean. | |
| Shen yn aght lesh Manninec eisht, t’ad scarrit as skealt harrish eaghtyr y theihll; t’ad ry-gheddyn ayns dagh valley as ard-valley er feiy ny cruinney. | That's the way with Manxmen then, they are scattered and spread over the surface of the earth; they are to be found in every town and city throughout the universe. | |
| Agh shegin dou gra shoh, s’anvennick yiow shiu fer jeu, boght, femoil, as arkyssagh, as cre’n fa?· | But I must say this, seldom will you find one of them poor or in need or distress, and why? | |
| Er yn oyr va laueyn mie ec ny Manninee ayns laghyn t’er n’goll shaghey, v’ad fir cheirdee mie as jeidagh, gobbraghey dy creoi as dy kinjagh, agh erskyn ooilley va’n chooid smoo jeu deiney ynrick as feeudagh, oney, firrinagh as sheeyit. | Because Manxmen had good hands in days gone by; they were good and diligent tradesmen working hard and steadily, but above all the greater part of them were upright and worthy men, simple, true and sober. | |
| Er feiy ny cruinney va’n Manninagh er chosney arrym, foayr as goo-mie. Vodmayd gra wheesh mychione Manninee aegey ec y traa t’ayn jiu? | All over the world the Manxman has earned respect, favour and good report. Can we say as much about young Manxmen of today? | |
| Shen myr ve eisht, kys va mish my lhiannoo ayns Sostyn, tra lhisins v’er ve ayns Ellan Vannin. | So it was then that I was a child in England when I should have been in the Isle of Man. | |
| Va my voir ruggit as troggit ec Ballakaighan ayns Skeerey Cairbre, as va’n ayr as shuyr shinney eek baghey ayns shen derrey va mish jeih bleeaney d’eash. | My mother was born and reared at Ballakeighan in the parish of Arbory, and her father and elder sister lived there until I was about ten years old. | |
| Myr shoh, dagh vlein’ sy tourey veagh my vummig as e paitchyn ceau laghyn feailley ec Ballakaighan, as cre cho maynrey as va ny laghyn feailley shen! | So, each year in the summer, mother and her children would spend holidays at Ballakeighan, and oh! how happy were those days! | |
| Va Ballakaighan dy firrinagh ‘Niau er y Thalloo’ dooys ayns m’aegid - er chosh dy· moghey 'sy voghrey as ersooyl er dreeym y chabbyl mooar marish ny deiney gys y lheeannee dy gheddyn stiagh yn traagh. | Ballakeighan was truly "heaven on earth" to me in my youth - up early in the morning and away on the back of the cart horse with the men to get to the meadow to get in the hay. | |
| Ny keayrtyn sheese er traie ny marrey, as cloie ’syn ushtey ec y trooan; ayns y ‘haggard’ marish my huyr chaglyn oohyn-kiark ny mast' ny lossreeyn, as ayns towlyn ’sy choonlagh, eisht chymsaghey blaaghyn ’sy vagheryn as ayns ny cleighyn. | Sometimes down on the sea shore and playing in the water at the stream; in the stackyard with my sister gathering hen's eggs among the weeds and in holes in the straw, then picking flowers in the fields and the hedges. | |
| S’yn astyr, veagh shin ooilley goaill nyn aash ayns y garey, jeeaghyn er ny ‘waggonettes’ cheet harrish y cronk veih Purt Chiarn as goll shaghey Ballakaighan ayns bodjallyn dy yoan! V’ad goaill ny Goaldee as Joarreeyn gys Doolish reesht. | In the evenings, we would all take our ease in the garden, watching the waggonettes come over the hill from Port Erin and going past Ballakeighan in clouds of dust! They were taking visitors and strangers back to Douglas. | |
| Cha row ‘tar-mac’ er ny raaidyn ec y traa shen, as ayns y gheurey v'ad laagh as ushtey as 'sy tourey va d chooilley nhee coodit lesh joan. | There was no ‘tar-mac’ on the roads at that time, and in winter they were mud and water, and in summer everything was covered with dust. | |
| Cha naik mee rieau ‘carr-motor’ ’syn Ellan tra va mee aeg, agh ve ‘steam engines’ lesh queeylyn mooar yiarn, as va feallagh g’enmys ad ‘Mwyllyn y Jouyl’ ayns Gailck. | I never saw a motor car in the Island when I was young but there were steam engines with large iron wheels, and people were calling them in Manx “The Devil’s Mill.” | |
| Fy-yerrey haink yn laa dooin dy gholl ersooyl thie reesht harrish yn ushtey, as va jeir, coe as keayney goll son tammylt beg, agh v’ad jarroodit tra va’n cloan as cooid as bundeilyn currit ayns y caart lajer lesh y cabbyl mooar dy gholl gys y ‘stashoon’ ec Ballabeg. Va’n caart mooar gollrish fainagh reeoil dooinyn! | Eventually the day came for us to go away home again across the water, and there were tears, lamentation and crying for a little while, but they were soon forgotten when the family and the luggage and bundles were put in the strong cart with the big horse to go to the station at Ballabeg; the big cart was like a royal coach to us! | |
| Cre’n taitnys yindyssagh ta’n lhiannoo feddyn ayns reddyn oney as cadjin, gollrish roie cass-rooisht er genniagh traie ny marrey, ayns geaishtagh rish cloie yn ushtey 'sy trooan, ayns soar millish y traagh noa giarrit, ayns arrane ny h-ushaghyn as chiass ny greiney lurg frass dy ’liaghey. | What wonderful delight the child finds in simple ordinary things, such as running barefoot on the sand on the sea shore, in listening to the bubbling of the water in the stream, in the sweet smell of the new mown hay, in the song of the birds and the warmth of the sun after a shower of rain. | |
| Eunyssyn erskyn towse tra va shin aeg, agh atreih! ta’n traa getlagh as foddey ro leah ta shin deiney, aegey as mraane aegey, as ta reddyn er chaghlaa – ta’n obbeeys ersooyl, ersooyl lesh ny ferrishyn er son dy bragh! | Delights beyond measure when we were young, but alas, time flies, and far too soon we are young men and young women and things have changed, the magic has gone, gone with the fairies for ever! | |
| Lurg baase my hennayr, va my naunt pooist rish dooinney eirinagh as hie ad dy chummal ayns Ballahallagh. Myr shoh, veih yn traa shen gys y traa va mee pooist meehene, veign ceau my laghyn feailley maroo ayns Ballahallagh as marish mooinjer elley ayns buill elley. | After the death of my grandfather, my aunt was married to a farmer and they went to live in Ballasalla. So, from that time to the time I was married myself, I would spend holidays with them in Ballasalla and with other relatives in other places. | |
| Ny keayrtyn va mee marish my voomJer ec Ballagilley, thie eirinys mooar as aalin va bentyn da Ard Schoill Ree Illiam. Atreih! va’n slane voayl lhieggit sheese tra v’ad troggal y phurt aeroil ec Runnysvie. | Sometimes I was with my people at Ballagilley, a large and beautiful farm house which belonged to King William's College. Alas, the whole place was pulled down when they were building the Airport at Ronaldsway. | |
| Va daa vac as daa inneen ayns shen ec Ballagilley as va'n inneen shinney feer ghraihagh er ny cretooryn, er-lheh ny kirree. Shimmey’n oie feayr as dorraghey ta mee er n’gholl magh maree gys y soalt yiarn lesh londeyr as bunneenyn dy choonlagh dy hroggal fastee son ny kirree as nyn eaynin, as boteil dy vainney son yn eayn meig. | They were two sons and two daughters at Ballagilley, and the elder daughter was very fond of animals, especially the sheep. Many's the night, cold and dark, I have gone out with her to the iron barn with a lantern and bales of straw to build a shelter for the sheep and lambs, and a bottle of milk for the “meig” lamb. | |
| Er y raad mooar eddyr y Phurt Aeroil as y raad gys Ard Schoill Ree Illiam, va thie elley lhieggit sheese - toor mooar kiare-corneilagh as garey marish, lesh boallaghyn ard mygeayrt. Va’n sleih g’enmys eh “Quayle’s Folly”. | On the high road between the Airport and the road to King William’s College there was another house pulled down - a large four-square tower and a garden alongside, with high walls round about it; people called it Quayle’s Folly. | |
| Ayns y toor er laare y ghrunt va’n fainagh poste freaylt, va roie eddyr Ballacashtal as Doolish dagh laa roish va’n raad-yiarn foshlit, as er yn nah laare va ooilley yn eilley-chabbyl as stoo elley, eisht er yn trass laare va shamyr-vaghee son y dooinney-varkiagh. | In the tower on the ground floor the post coach was kept which ran from Castletown to Douglas daily before the railway was opened, and on the second floor all the harness and other things, and then on the third floor there was a living room for the coachman. | |
| Va mish ’sy chamyr shen bleeantyn er dy henney as hooar mee ayns shen ayns culleig ’sy corneil greeishyn follit! Va yindys mooar orrym, agh cha row rieau caa ayin dy gheddyn magh c’raad v’ad goll as cre’n fa. | I was in that room years ago and I found in a corner cupboard a secret staircase! I was mystified but I never had a chance to find out where it led or for what purpose. | |
| Shen myr ve eisht, va mee cheet harrish dys yn Ellan tra erbee veagh y caa aym, son va mee feer ghraihagh urree as er dy chooilley nhee bentyn da cheer my hennayraghyn as daase y ghraih shen lesh ny bleeantyn derrey b’ione mie dooys nagh beign dy bragh jeant magh derrey hooar me obbyr er yn Ellan as oddins cheet harrish as cummal ayns shoh lesh my vooinjer-hene. | So it was then, I was coming over to the Island whenever I had the opportunity, for I loved it and everything connected with the land of my fathers, and that love grew with the years until I knew well that would never be satisfied until I found work on the Island and I could come over to live here with my own people. | |
| Agh atreih! Cha row shen dy ve derrey va ymmodee bleeantyn elley er n’gholl shaghey. | But alas, that was not to be until many more years had passed. | |
| ’Sy vlein nuy keead jeig as jeih va shin baghey ec West Kirby, as roish goll dy schoill dagh voghrey va mee cooney lesh creckedeyr-bainney er y ca art goaill bainney as oohyn er ny thieyn. | In the year nineteen ten we were living at West Kirby, and before going to school each morning I was helping a milk-man on the cart taking milk and eggs to the houses. | |
| Un laa ’sy vee Boaldyn va dooiney-seyr dy row shassoo ec e ghorrys as vrie eh jeem, “Nod oo lhaih, Johnnie bhoy?” “Dy jarroo foddym,” dreggyr mish as yeeagh eh dou yn pabyr niaght as honnick mee ny focklyn shoh ayns lettyryn mooar as dhoo, TA’N REE MARROO, DY VODDEY BEAYN YN REE. Va’n·Ree Edard yn chiaghtoo er n’gheddyn baase as va’n mac echey George yn Ree noa. | One day in May there was a certain gentleman standing at his door and he asked me, “Can you read,. Johnny boy?” “Of course I can,” I replied, and he showed me the newspaper and I saw these words in big black letters, THE KING IS DEAD, LONG. LIVE·THE KING. King Edward the seventh had died and his son George was the new king. | |
| Ny s’anmee ‘sy tourey shen chossyn mee ynnyd seyr ec yn ard schoill, agh 'sy vee cheddin daag shin West Kirby as hie shin dys croit veg faggys da Purt Ellesmere, as va shen mysh hoght meeley jeig er sooyl. | Later that summer I won a free place at the Grammar School, but in the saine month we left West Kirby and went to a little croft near Ellesmere Port, and that was about eighteen miles away. | |
| Nish va doilleeid ain! Lhisin goll dys yn ard schoill ny dyn dy gholl? Fy yerrey va reaghit lhisin goll, agh atreih, va foast doilleeid elley! | Now we were in a dilemma! Should I go to the high school or not. Eventually it was settled that I should go, but, Oh dear, there was still another difficulty! | |
| Cha row train veih Purt Ellesmere roshtyn West Kirby roish nuy er y chlag 'sy voghrey, as va'n ynrican aght elley dy hooyl daa veeley harrish ny magheryn dys y raad yiarn ec Capenhurst. | There was no train from Ellesmere Port arriving at West Kirby before nine o'clock in the morning; the only alternative was to walk two miles over the fields to the railway at Capenhurst. | |
| Nish, va’n jurnaa shoh coontit foddey rouyr son guilley beg dy yannoo ayns y dorraghys, feayraght as fliugh-niaghtee ayns y geurey. | Now this journey was considered far too much for a little boy to make in the dark, cold and sleet in the winter. | |
| Myr shoh b’egin dou goaill aaght marish caarjyn ayns West Kirby voish Mean-ouyr gys yn Ollick. | So I had to lodge with friends in West Kirby from September until Christmas. | |
| Ec y toshiaght va mee kiart dy liooar agh lurg tammylt va mee currit gys shamyr-chadlee ec mullagh y thie, as ve feayr atchimagh ayns shen! | At first I was right enough, but after a while I was put to a bedroom at the top of the house and it was terribly cold there! | |
| Dy yannoo reddyn ny smessey, va dooinney aeg ’sy chamyr cheddin mysh queig bleeaney as feed d'eash. Va mee beggan agglagh jeh, agh ec y traa cheddin va mee soiaghey beg jeh; | To make things worse there was a young man in the same room about twenty-five years of age. I was a little afraid of him, but at the same time I despised him. | |
| va beeal broghe echey as ny keayrtyn yinnagh eh cheet thie er-meshtey, as va jough lajer red ennagh nagh bione dou. Myrgeddin, v'eh goaill jaagh er cigarette lesh lossan ny cainle liorish y lhiabbee echey. Shimmey keayrt cha dod mee cadley er-aggle yinnagh eh cur y thie er aile. | He had a foul mouth and sometimes would come home drunk, and strong drink was something unknown to me. Also, he was smoking a cigarette with the flame of a candle by his bed; many a time I could not sleep fearing he would put the house on fire. | |
| T’ad gra, “Ta'n Jouyl jeeaghyn lurg ocsyn lesh hene.” Foddee dy vel, aght erbee s’mie lhiam gra cha daink drogh haghyrt erbee orrin choud’s va mish ’sy thie shen. | They say the Devil looks after his own, maybe he does! Anyhow, I'm glad to say that nothing untoward happened to us while I was in the house. | |
| Eisht haink imbagh yn Ollick as y schoill dooint, myr shoh hie mee ersooyl gys thie my vooinjer hene ec Purt Ellesmere. | Then came the Christmas season and school closed, so I went away home to my own folk at Ellesmere Port. | |
| Goll thie son yn Ollick, cre’n taitnys as boggey ta ny fockleyn Shoh cur lesh gys cree yn eebyrtagh! | “Going home for Christmas,” what pleasure and joy these words bring to the heart of the exile! | |
| Yn Ollick, Imbagh sheaynt as maynrey; imbagh dy chur giootyn as dy ghoaill toyrtyssyn, as son feallagh aegey, imbagh dy ghennallys as goaill soylley marish nyn gaarjyn. | Christmas, blessed and happy season; a season to give and accept gifts, and for young folk, a season of merriment and enjoyment with their friends. | |
| Va’n thie ain ec Purt Ellesmere dy jarroo thie maynrey. Cha noddym rieau cooinaghtyn fakin ayr ny moir jiarg corree. Va shey paitchyn oc, three guillyn as three inneenyn, as va mish y fer shinney, as ga dy row shin tuittym magh ny keayrtyn, ve dy leah jarroodit, as cha daink shin rieau gys streeu as fockleyn sharroo. | Our house at Ellesmere Port was indeed a happy home. I can never remember seeing father or mother in a towering rage. They has six children, three boys and three girls, and I was the eldest, and although we were falling out sometimes, it was soon forgotten, and we never came to fighting and bitter words. | |
| Cha row monney argid cheet stiagh, cha row nyn ayr agh seyr-thie gobbraghey creoi as gleck dy hroggal seose thie-cheirdee er y hon hene. Ny yeih, cha row shin rieau g’accrys, va palchey bee ain. | There was not much money coming in, father was only a joiner working hard and struggling to build up a business for himself; nevertheless we never went hungry, we had plenty of food. | |
| Dy mennick, ec yn Ollick veagh kellagh rangagh, ny guiy coyrt dooin veih kinney ayns Yn Ellan Vannin. | Often at Christmas, there would be a turkey or a goose sent to us from relations in the Isle of Man. | |
| S’cooin lhiam Oie’ll Voirrey dy row gyn ushag erbee cheet rooin ayns y phoste, b’egin da'n ayr aym goll gys y vargey ec Birkenhead feer anmagh ’syn astyr dy gheddyn ushag dy beagh fer faagit. Hooar eh ushag aalin dy chur lesh thie marish, as cha ren eh geeck agh shiaght skillin as shey pingyn er y hon! V’ad shen ny laghyn! | I remember one Christmas Eve and no bird coming for us in the post, and father had to go to Birkenhead market very late in the evening to get a bird if there should be one left. He got a beautiful bird to bring home with him, and he only paid seven shillings and sixpence for it! Those were the days! | |
| Ayns y thie ain dagh Oie'll Voirrey yinnagh shin croghey oashyryn liauyr ec cass nyn lhiabbee ayns jerkallys as treisht! Eisht veagh shin dooisht dy moghey as loaghtey mygeayrt ayns y dorraghys dy gheddyn magh c’red va faagit dooin; foddee veagh ping noa, ooyl, orange, kuse dy chroyn, lughee shugyr as gaihaghyn beggey. | In our home each Christmas Eve we would hang long stockings at the foot of the bed in expectation and trust! Then we would waken early and grope around in the darkness to find out what was left for us; perhaps there would be a new penny, an apple, an orange, a few nuts, a sugar mouse and small toys. | |
| Cha beagh ad coointit monney ec y traa t’ayn jiu, agh va shinyn cho vaynrey [sic] maroo as by deagh ad cliegeenyn as giootyn gyn leagh. | They would not be considered much today, but we were as happy with them as though they were jewels and priceless gifts. | |
| Va shin booiagh, as va shen dy liooar! | We were content, and that was enough! | |
| Lurg yn Ollick beg haink y laa dy hyndaa reesht gys yn ard schoill as s’mooar va’n booise as taitnys aym tra ve inshit dou nagh row mee goll da’n thie feohdoil shen reesht. | After old Christmas Day, the day came for me to return to the Grammar school and great was my thanks and delight when I was told that I was not going back to that horrid house again. | |
| Ve reaghit er my hon dy hannaghtyn marish carrey my yishag, Manninagh as seyr-thie gollrish my ayr. V’eh ny ghooinney jeeragh as crauee, as va eshyn as even feer chenjal as dooie dou. | It was arranged for me to stay with a friend of my father’s, a Manxman and a joiner like my father. He was an upright and righteous man, and he and his wife were very kind and courteous to me. | |
| Va mee maynrey ec y thie shen as myrgeddin, va’n thie ny sniessey da’n ard schoill, as myr shoh, choud as va mee ec y scoill va mee cummal maroo dagh gheurey. | I was happy at that house and also, it was nearer to the high school, so, as long as I was at school I lived with them each winter. | |
| Cha lhisin gaccan, agh va’n chamyr-chadlee aym reesht ec mullagh y thie as ve feer feayr tra va sniaghtey as rio er y thalloo, | I should not complain, but again my bedroom was at the top of the house and it was very cold when there was snow and ice on the ground. | |
| as va red elley, va’n thie shenn as va’n laare ’sy thie mooar jeant lesh lhic mooarey gyn eaddagh-laare erbee! | And there was another thing, the house was old and the floor in the living room was made of big tiles with no floor covering at all. | |
| Dagh oie roish goll dy lhie, va’n dooinney hene cliaghtey goaill padjer lught-thie as ny keayrtyn veign er my ghlioonyn er y laare feayr shen rish feed vinnid [sic] as ny smoo. | Every night, before going to bed, the man of the house used to take family prayers and sometimes I would be on my knees on that cold floor for twenty minutes or more. | |
| Va my ghlioonyn as lurgaghyn cho chreoi as gonnagh, s’coan oddins cosney seose ny greeishyn. S’beggan y vieys hooar mish ass ny padjeryn echey, er-lhiams! | My knees and legs were so stiff and sore I could hardly get up the stairs. Little good I got out of his prayers I think! | |
| S’mie shen, fy yerrey haink y Chaisht as va mee ersooyl thie reesht son ny laghyn feailley. | Well, at last Easter came and I was away home again for the holidays. | |
| Myr dooyrt mee roie, va’n thie ain croit beg ayns mean y cheer lesh daa acyr dy vagher, as garey mooar aynsyn va biljyn mess [jeh] dy chooilley horch. | As I said before, our home was a little croft in the heart of the country with two acres of field and a very big garden in which were fruit trees of every sort. | |
| Dreill shin daa vooa, ghaa ny three mucyn, kiarkyn as tunnagyn, myr shoh va dy kinjagh red ennagh dy yannoo; va ny laghyn ro ghiare dooin as my va drogh earish ayn, lesh geay as fliaghey, va palchey rheamys dooin ’sy lout harrish y thie ollee dy chloie. | We kept two cows, two or three pigs, hens and ducks so there was always something to do; days were too short for us, and if the weather was bad, with wind and rain, there was plenty of room in the loft over the cow house in which to play. | |
| Va dub mooar ’sy vaghey er gerrey da’n thie ollee as ayns shen dod shin shiaulley baatyn beggey, as ec traaghyn jeh rio creoi ’sy gheurey tra va’n ushtey riojit chiu dy liooar dy hassoo er, dy jarroo, va shen y traa son gamman! | There was a large pond in the field near to the cow house and there we could sail our little boats, and at time of hard frost in winter when the water was frozen hard enough to stand on, truly that was the time for sport! | |
| Dy firrinagh va paitchys maynrey ain, ga dy row shin roie cass-rooisht ’sy tourey! | Verily, we had a happy childhood, even though we were running barefoot in the summertime. | |
| Haink laghyn feailley y Chaisht gy-kione as hie mee dy schoill reesht agh nish va’n sourey er jeet as ’syn emshir share va mee goll er y train dagh laa, faagail thie ec jeih minnidyn gys shiaght er y chlag ’sy voghrey as shooyl daa veeley harrish ny magheryn dy gheddyn y train ec Capenhurst ec lieh oor lurg shiaght, as cha row mee roshtyn thie reesht derrey shey er y chlag 'syn astyr: laa liauyr son guilley beg. Ee munlaa cha row veg aym agh arran as caashey ny oohyn broit dy creoi as cappan dy ‘cocoa’. | Easter holidays came to an end, and I went back to school, but now summer had come and in the better weather I was going on the train each day, leaving home at ten minutes to seven in the morning and walking two miles across the fields to get the train at Capenhurst at half past seven, and I was not arriving home again until six o'clock in the evening, a long day for a little boy! At mid-day I had nothing but cheese or hard boiled egg and a cup of cocoa. | |
| Va my ayr, braar as daa inneen goaill braghtanyn maroo dagh laa myrgeddin, myr shoh va my voir feer tarroogh. | My father, brother and two girls were also taking sandwiches with them each day, so my mother was very busy. | |
| V’ee jannoo three bwilleeyn mooar as feed dagh hiaghtin, as geddyn bwilleeynyn eley voish caart y fuinneyder Jesarn! | She was making twenty three large loaves each week and getting other loaves from the baker’s cart on Saturday. | |
| Keayrt dy row, as mish er yn Ellan reesht, va mee heose ec Ballakilpheric marish daa ghuilley mooinjerey aym, as va’n shennayr oc doal as ny hoie ec y chiollagh. | Once, when I was again on the Island, I was up at Ballakilpheric with two cousins of mine, and their grandfather was blind and seated by the fireside. | |
| Va my naunt er n’gholl dys Purt le Moirrey as va shin fo oardagh dyn dy gholl ersooyl veih’n thie dys y clieau. Va shin kiarail dy ghoaill ny moddee as goll shelg son conneeyn, agh va’n chenn ghooinney freayll arrey orrin! | My aunt had gone to Port St. Mary, and we were under orders not to go away from the house to the mountain. We intended to take the dogs and go hunting rabbits, but the old man was keeping a watch on us! | |
| S’yindyssagh yn aght va fys echey c’red va shin jannoo as c’raad ’sy thie va shin shassoo. “Trooid shiu ersooyl veih’n dorrys shen,” yinnagh eh geamagh. | It was marvellous the way he knew what we were doing, and where in the house we were standing. “Come away from the door,” he would shout. | |
| Eisht vrie eh, “Quoi yn guilley elley meriu jiu, insh dou yn ennym echey,” agh cha dug shin ansoor da. | Then he asked, “Who's the other boy with you today? Tell me his name.” But we gave him no answer. | |
| Fy yerrey, hooar eh greim orrym eddyr ny glioonyn echey gra, “Ny bee aggle ort, cha jeanym gortagh oo, agh insh dou, cre’n ennym ort?” | Finally he got a hold of me between his knees. saying, “Don't be afraid, I will not hurt you, but tell me, what’s your name?” | |
| Cha dreggyr mee veg, eisht hug eh e laueyn harrish my chione, my lieckanyn, smeggyl as stroin as dooyrt eh, “Cha lhiass dhyt insh dou red erbee, ta mee cur enn ort nish, t’ou uss mac Yo Geill!” | I answered nothing, then he put his hands over my head, my cheeks, chin and nose and he said, “You need not tell me anything, I know you now, you are Joe Gell’s son!” | |
| Agh ta mee goll er shaghryn - va mee ginsh diu mychione my laghyn ec yn ard schoill. | But I am going astray, I was telling you about my days at the Grammar School. | |
| Va mee my schoilliar castreycair, gyn monney doilleeid lesh lessoonyn agh va [sic] mee agh beg as faase. Cha row mee rieau toallee as lajer, myr shoh cha ren mee monney er roie, lheimyraght, drappal as y lheid, myr shoh cha row mee rieau graihagh er schoill as studeyrys; bare lhiam jannoo red ennagh lesh my laueyn, as cho leah as hooar mee yn Oxford Senior cha jinnins goll er ny sodjey! Daag mee schoill ’sy tourey nuy keead jeig as kiare jeig. | I was a fair scholar without much difficulty with lessons, but I was only small and rather weakly, so I didn't make much of running, jumping, climbing and the like, so I was never fond of school or study, I preferred doing something with my hands and as soon as I got the Oxford Senior I would not go on further! I left school in the summer of nineteen fourteen. | |
| Cha nel monney cooinaghtyn aym jeh my laghyn ec schoill, agh ta un taghyrt nagh bee dy bragh jarroodit aym choud’s veem bio. | I haven’t many reminiscences of my school days, but there is one that will never be forgotten as long as I live. | |
| Fastyr Jesarn ve ’sy tourey as hoght guillyn jeig er y train aarloo dy goll thie, as va shin ooilley goaill tayrn er cigarette! Agh atreih! haink·drogh aigh orrin yn laa shen; haink fo-ard vainstyr y schoill, jeeaghyn c’red va goll er. Va shin tayrit! | It was a Saturday afternoon in the summer and eighteen boys on the train ready to go home, and we were all taking a drag on a cigarette! But alas, misfortune hit us that day; the deputy head master of the school came on the platform and walked the whole length of the train, looking at what was going on. We were caught! | |
| Moghrey Jyluain va shin ooilley currit lesh kiongoyrt rish y schoill dy gheddyn oaghsan veih’n ard vainstyr, eisht va shin egnit goll seose er y stage yn derrey yeh lurg yn jeh elley dy gheddyn nyn medshin; shey buillaghyn er y thoin! | Monday morning we were all brought before the school to get a lecture from the ‘head’, then we were made to go up on the stage one after the other to get our ‘medicine’; six strokes on the backside! | |
| Ghow yn ard vainstyr toshiaght lesh y maidjey as va mish ayns mean y strane, smooinaghtyn dy beagh shenn ‘Billy’ skee dy liooar tra haink mish kiongoyrt rish! | The headmaster began with the stick and I was about the middle of the line, thinking that ‘Old Billy’ would be tired enough when I came before him. | |
| Agh atreih! Hug eh y maidjer da’n fo-ard vainster, eshyn honnick shin goaill smook er y train. | But alas, he gave the stick to the deputy head, the very man who had seen us smoking on the train. | |
| Huitt my chree sheese gys my vraagyn; va eshyn dooinney mooar as lajer lesh eddin grouw as groamagh, as ec y traa shen v’eh jeeaghyn keoie as eulyssagh dou. | My heart fell to my boots; he was a big strong man with a gruff and gloomy expression, and just then he seemed to be wild and hot tempered to me. | |
| Hug eh orrin dy trome. Cre’n yllagh as eam, screeagh as buirroogh va ry-chlashtyn roish haink eh gy kione. Er lhiam, va’n chooish dewil as beaishtagh dy chur my ner. | He laid it on heavy; what shouts and yells, screams and bellows were to be heard before he finished. I think it was a cruel and bestial affair to witness, and what for? | |
| Cha ren eh scuirr shin veih goaill smook edyr! Va’n thoin aym cho ghonnagh cha [sic] dod mee soie sheese dy aashagh son shiaghtyn, as cha b’loys dou v’er ghra fockle ec y thie! | It did not stop us from smoking at all! My backside was so sore I could not sit down comfortably for a week, and I dare not have said a word at home! | |
| S’mie shen, va mee rey rish schoill, myr shoh lhig dou chyndaa as ginsh diu cooinaghtyn my aegid ec Purt Ellesmere. | So then, I was done with school, so let me change to memories of my youth in Ellesmere Port. | |
| Oie gheuree dy row, haink naboo gys y dorrys ain shirrey son cooney; va cabbyl echey er duittym ayns jeeig, ny lhie er e ghreeym, as mannagh beagh red ennagh jeant dy tappee, va aggle er dy beagh y cabbyl marroo. | One winter’s night a neighbour came to our door asking for help; a horse of his had fallen in the ditch and was lying on his back, and if something were not done quickly, he was afraid the horse would be dead. | |
| Hooar my ayr fuygh, teid as carmeish as hie mee maroo gys thie nyn naboo. Va’n thalloo fluigh as shliawin as tra honnick mee y cabbyl ’sy jeeig, heill mee dy row eh marroo. | My father got planks, rope and tarpaulin and I went with them to the neighbour's house. The ground was wet and slippery and when I saw the horse in the ditch I thought it was dead. | |
| Va obbyr feer chreoi as doillee dy gheddyn y carmeish fo yn cabbyl; va ny deiney gobbraghey ayns ushtey cho dowin as nyn shleaystyn. Fy yerrey ve jeant as y carmeish kianglt dy shickyr da’n teid. | It was very hard work and difficult to get the tarpaulin under the horse; the men were working in water as deep as their thighs. At last it was done and the canvas made fast to the rope. | |
| Eisht hooar yn naboo cabbyl elley dy hayrn er y teid as sleodey y cabbyl ass y jeeig as ve jeant dy aashagh. | Then the neighbour got another horse to pull on the rope and slide the other horse out of the ditch and it was done easily. | |
| Lurg shen va mish as ben nyn naboo cur lesh ushtey cheh as fritlagyn dy rubbey as aa-vioghey y cretoor boght, eisht bundeilyn dy choonlagh dy hirrymagh eh. Lurg tammylt va’n cabbyl er-chosh reesht as va ooilley dy mie. | After that, I and the neighbour's wife were bringing hot water and rags to rub and revive the poor creature, then bundles of straw to dry him. After a while the horse was on his feet and all was well. | |
| Mysh meeley veih’n thie ain va thie oast enmyssit yn “Sportsman’s Arms,” as dy mennick va’n Cheshire Hunt chaglym cooidjagh ayns shen, goaill nyn ‘jough yn dorrys,’ roish goll er y helg. | About a mile from our house was a public house called the “Sportsman's Arms”, and often the Cheshire Hunt gathered there, taking their ‘stirrup cup’ before going hunting. | |
| Shimmey keayrt ta mee er yeeaghyn orroo lhigey harrish ny vagheryn, as ny keayrtyn yinnagh mish as guillyn elley geiyrt er y chelg, agh cha naik shin rieau y shynnagh er ny varroo ec ny coyin. | Many a time I have watched them galloping over the fields and sometimes I and other boys would follow the hunt, but we never saw a fox killed by the hounds. | |
| Laa dy row va shin ooilley ec y thie ain roie as cloie mygeayrt cheu mooie, tra haink shynnagh stiagh trooid y baarney eddyr y thie as y thie-geayll, as roish va traa dy yeigh yn giat, haink ooilley ny coyin trooid as geiyrt orroo ooilley ny shelgeyryn. | One day we were all at home running and playing about outside, when a fox came in through the narrow gap between the house and the coal-house, and before there was time to shut the gate, all the hounds came through and following them, all the hunters. | |
| Va deiney seyrey as mraane seyrey ayns eaddagh varkiagh marish tree deiney ayns jaggadyn jiargey. V’ad mainstyr y chelg, fer elley lesh y cayrn-helg, as fer elley lesh kip dy yeealley ny coyin. | There were gentlemen and ladies in hunting habits with three men in red jackets. They were the master of the hunt, another with the hunting horn and another with a whip to control the hounds. | |
| Cha row fockle erbee dy leshtal oc; by gummey lhieu yn angaaish va currit er my voir. | There was not a word of apology; they cared nothing for the anguish they caused my mother. | |
| V'ee ayns stayd agglagh, smooinaghtyn dy beagh fer jin lhieggit sheese ec ny cabbil, agh bwooise da Jee, va shin ooilley sauchey ayns fastee ennagh. Cha lhiass dou gra nagh row y giat shen faaglit foshlit reesht tra va’n shelg mygeayrt. | She was in a terrible state, thinking one of us would be knocked down by the horses, but thank God, we were all safe in some shelter. I need not say that the gate was never left open when the hunt was around. | |
| Va’n fuinneyder ain voish y Thalloo Bretnagh as un laa ghow eh my ayr, mish as my vraar dys Llangollen ayns mean y cheer echey. | Our baker was from Wales and one day he took my father, me and my brother to Llangollen in the heart of his country. | |
| Hie shin er y train as veih Llangollen ayns baatey coon er yn ammyr dys Barwyn. Va’n baatey tayrnit liorish cabbyl shooyl er cassan rish yn ushtey. Va’n jurnaa dree agh taitnyssagh. | We went on the train and from Llangollen in a narrow boat on the canal to Berwyn. The boat was drawn by a horse walking on a path by the water. The journey was slow but delightful. | |
| Hie shin eisht gys y vagher dy yeeaghyn er ny bochillyn gobbraghey lesh nyn moddee-keyragh. Ve red yindyssagh dy akin daa voddey goll seose er lhiattee yn clieau as cur lesh ny kirree neose trooid ny giaftyn as cur ad ayns y woaillee gyn doilleeid erbee. | Then we went to the field to watch the shepherds working with their sheep-dogs. It was a wonderful thing to see two dogs going up the side of the mountain and bringing the sheep down through the gates and putting them in the pen without any trouble at all. | |
| Ny s’anmee, hooyl shin er y raad dys Llangollen reesht as hooar shin ayns shen thie-ooraghey rish yn awin. Va shin ooilley accryssagh as hooar shin feill eayn Vretnagh! Cha row mee rieau er vlastal eayn ny share, ga dy beagh eh er ve cho reen as gad[7], oddagh shin v’er n’ee eh, va accrys mooar orrin! | Later, we walked by road to Llangollen and found there a refreshment house by the river. We were all hungry and we got Welsh lamb! Never had I tasted better lamb, although had it been as tough as ‘gad’ we could have eaten it, we were very hungry! | |
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[7]
[gad] a rope, a withe made of heath or ling.
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| Laa elley, va raaue currit dooin dy hannaghtyn sthie er yn oyr va moddey keoie goll mygeayrt as ‘rabies’ echey. Va ooilley ny deiney lesh gunnyn goll shelg er y hon as 'syn astyr cheayll shin dy row yn moddey goit ayns corneil as orraghit marroo. Cha nel mee er chlashtyn jeh rabies ayns moddey erbee neayr’s y traa shen! | Another day, we were warned to stay in the house, because there was a mad dog going around with rabies. All the men with guns were hunting for him and in the evening we heard that the dog had been cornered and shot dead. I have never heard of rabies in a dog since that time. | |
| ’Sy vlein nuy keead jeig as three jeig, daag shin y croit veg ayns y cheer as scugh shin gys thie smoo, ny sniessey da Purt Ellesmere. Va kiare shamyryn cadlee ayn as palchey rheamys, agh cha row magheryn erbee lesh dy reayll cretooryn, ga va garey vooar as ymmodee biljyn mess. | In nineteen thirteen we left the little croft in the country and moved to a larger house nearer to Ellesmere Port. There were four bedrooms in it and plenty of room, although there were no fields with it to keep animals, but there was a big garden and many fruit trees. | |
| Va’n thalloo mygeayrt y mooin cray-yiarg, as faggys dooin va towl-chrayee as aieyn son lostey breekyn. Va’n lhiabbee-chrayee fo halloo mysh feed trie ayns diunid as fo shen ve ooilley genniagh; myr shoh oddagh masoonee geddyn chammah breekyn as geinnagh ’sy voayl cheddin. | The ground around us was red clay, and near to us was a clay pit and kilns for burning bricks. The clay bed underground was about twenty feet thick, and below that it was all sand; so builders could get both bricks and sand at the same place. | |
| Va’n voayl bentyn da dooinney quaagh, “Bricky Ned” va'n far-ennym echey, dy jarroo ny keayrtyn v’eh jeeaghyn dy ve ass e cheeayl, shooyl ny raaidyn, goaill arrane-crauee as taggloo rish hene. Va queig mec echey as inneen, as hug eh orroo ooilley gobbraghey creoi feiy’n laa jannoo breekyn. V’eh dy jarroo erreyder dewil! Cha row yn cloan echey ny share na fir-vondiagh. Fy yerrey hooar yn ayr oc baase as cha row monney jeir roie er y hon! | The place belonged to a strange man, nicknamed ‘Bricky Ned’, indeed sometimes he appeared to be out of his mind, walking the roads, singing hymns and talking to himself. He had five sons and a daughter, and he made them work hard all day making bricks; he was indeed a cruel taskmaster, his family were no better than slaves. Eventually their father died and there weren't many tears shed for him. | |
| Daag y shenn ghooinney slock mooar dy argid, agh cha daink vondeish erbee voish da’n cloan echey; hooar ad ooilley baase ayns mean-eash. | The old man left a heap of money but his family gained no advantage from it, they all died in middle age! | |
| Myr dooyrt mee roie, daag mee schoill ’syn nah vlein nuy keead jeig as kaire jeig, as ghow mee toshiaght gobbraghey myr prendeis seyr-thie marish my ayr. | As I said before, I left school the next year, nineteen fourteen, and began work as an apprentice joiner with my father. | |
| Agh vrish magh yn chied Chaggey mooar ’syn ouyr, as dy gerrid cha row monney obbyr ry gheddyn er lhimmey jeh reddyn son y Chiannoortys, obbyr chaggee. | But the first Great War broke out in August and soon there was not much work to be found except for things for the Government, war work. | |
| Eisht va caa currit dou dy gholl stiagh ayns oik Barrantys Lhuingys ayns Liverpool, as ghow mee eh. | Then an opportunity was given me to go into a Marine Insurance office in Liverpool, and I took it. | |
| Va’n obbyr foaysagh dy liooar; dynsee mee mooarane mychione lhongyn as nyn lught, as ny puirt v’ad gimmeeaght rish, ayns dy chooilley ayrn ’sy theihll. S’feer shoh, va mee souyr as cheh as chirrym ’sy gheurey, agh atreih, va mee prysoonagh, ny hoie er my hoin feiy’n laa, choud’s bare lhiam ve cheumooie ’syn aer oor. | The work was interesting enough; I learned much about ships and their cargoes and the ports they were bound for in every part of the world. ’Tis true, I was comfortable in the warm and dry in the winter, but alas, I was a prisoner, sitting on my bottom all day, whilst I would prefer to be outside in the fresh air. | |
| Va mee troailtagh dagh laa er y train veih Purt Ellesmere gys Birkenhead as eisht er y baatey ymmyrt dys Liverpool. Er y fa shen va mee seyr ec traa yinnair as cheau mee un oor er ny baatyn ymmyrt g’ee my vraghtanyn as goll noon as noal er yn awin jeeaghyn er ny lhongyn mooarey ec akin ’syn awin as fir elley ec y stage. | I was travelling each day on the train from Ellesmere Port to Birkenhead and then on the ferry boat to Liverpool. Therefore I was free at dinner time and I spent the hour on the ferry boats, eating my sandwich and going back and forth on the river watching the big ships at anchor and others at the stage. | |
| Honnick mee ymmodee lhongyn ard-ghooah gollrish Olympic as Mauritania as ymmodee lhongyn-chaggee lesh gunnyn mooarey, as honnick mee shiartanse dy lhongyn-chaggee troggit ec Cammel Laird’s, agh cha naik mee rieau fer jeu lhunnit. | I saw many famous ships like the Olympic and the Mauritania and many battleships with big guns, and I saw several warships built at Cammell Laird’s, but I never saw one launched. | |
| Ny keayrtyn veagh lhong-hiaullee lesh croanyn ard as carmeish bane soilshean ayns soilshey ny greiney; Cre’n shilley aalin dy ghreinnaghey cree yn chenn shiolteyr! | Occasionally there would be a sailing ship with tall masts and white canvas shining in the sunlight. What a beautiful sight to cheer the heart of the old sailor man! | |
| Vel fys eu va [sic] toor ard ec New Brighton roish yn chied Chaggey Mooar? Toor ard gollrish y toor shen ec Blackpool! | Do you know there was a high tower at New Brighton before the first Great War? A high tower like the tower at Blackpool! | |
| Ve lhieggit sheese dy yannoo greienyn chaggee ass y yiarn va aynsyn. S’cooin lhiam fakin ny deiney ‘doo ollee’ goaill sheese y toor beggan er veggan. | It was pulled down to make munitions out of the iron in it. I remember seeing the spider-men taking down the tower little by little. | |
| Dagh laa er yn awin honnick mee yn baatey cheet stiagh veih Ellan Vanninagh kindagh rish y chaggey va ooilley ny baatyn mooarey lesh yn Cheshaght Ellan Vannin ersooyl as daa vaatey ny lomarcan faagit, y Tynwald as y Douglas. | Each day on the river I saw the boat coming in from the Isle of Man, but owing to the war all the large ships of the Manx Company were gone, and only two ships left, the Tynwald and the Douglas. | |
| Va’n ard-greieder er y Tynwald carrey da my voir as ayr as ny keayrtyn dy beigns er boayrd, va caa aym dy gholl sheese marish dys y shamyr-greie. Va’n ennym echey Titus. | The chief engineer on the Tynwald was a friend of my parents and sometimes if I should be on board I had a chance to go down with him into the engine room. His name was Titus. | |
| Un cheayrt va mee goll gys Doolish er y Tynwald as va kay feer chiu ayn, va shin nuy ooryn er y jurnaa! Cha row radar as reddyn elley dy chooney lesh y Captan ec y traa shen, agh va eie ec Titus tra va shin er gerrey da’n Ellan. V’eh goaill arrey er y greie va coontey rollianyn y scrod | Once I was going to Douglas on the Tynwald and there was a very thick fog, we were nine hours on the journey. There was no radar or other things to help the Captain at that time, but Titus had a good idea when we were near the Island. He was watching the instrument that counts the revolutions of the screw! | |
| Car ny bleeantyn dy chaggey, va m’ayr ny sessoonagh ’sy fir y chee er-lheh, ta shen dy ghra, ‘specials’, as va mish shooyl ny raaidyn marish un oie tra honnick shin Zeppelin ard ’syn aer erskyn y Mersey, agh cha geayll shin feiyr erbee jeh gunnyn, siren, na soilshaghyn mooarey. | During the war years, my father was a sergeant in the special police, and I was walking the roads with him one night when we saw a Zeppelin high in the sky over the Mersey, but we heard no noise of guns, siren or saw any searchlights. | |
| Eisht hie yn Zeppelin ersooyl reesht my-hiar. Laa er-giyn, honnick shin ’sy pabyr naight dy row shlig chaggee veg er duittym er balley mysh hoght meelyn ersooyl voin, agh cha row cragh erbee jeant. | Then the Zeppelin went away again eastwards. Next day we saw in the newspaper that a small bomb had fallen on a place about eight miles from us, but there was no damage done. | |
| Veih’n ouyr ’sy vlein kiare jeig derrey y tourey ’sy vlein shiaght jeig, va’n caggey er n’gholl er-fenniu; three bleeaney liauyr as deinagh jeh baase as cragh, seaghyn as brishey ny cree, jeh doccarys arkys as surranse, gyn cowrey erbee jeh’n chaggey cheet gys y jerrey. | From the autumn of the year ’14 to the summer of the year ’17 the war had gone on furiously; three long weary years of death and destruction, of sorrow and heartbreak, toil; distress and suffering, with no sign of the war coming to an end. | |
| Va shiartanse jeh my chaarjyn as ainjyssee er nyn marroo mastey ny thousanenyn as thousanenyn elley er ny magheryn caggee, as thousanenyn elley caillt lesh nyn lhongyn er y cheayn. V’ad dy jarroo traaghyn atchimagh! | Several of my friends and acquaintances had been killed, among the thousands and thousands of others on the battlefields and thousands more lost with their ships on the sea. They were indeed terrible times! | |
| ’Sy tourey shen hie mee kiongoyrt rish y Boayrd Fir-Lhee as va mee currit sheese my B2, ny-yeih cha row eh foddey as mish ayns ‘camp’ ’sy thalloo Bretnagh! Va’n camp faggys da’n agglish aalin shen jeh ‘marble’ gial ec Bodelwydden. Dy mennick va mee ’syn agglish shen cour shirveish moghrey Jydoonee. | That summer I went before the Medical Board and was graded as B2, nevertheless it wasn't long until I was in camp in Wales! The camp was near that beautiful church of white marble at Bodelwydden. I was in that church often for Sunday morning service. | |
| Roish daag mee thie, hug my ayr coyrle vie dou gra, “My t’ou laccal carrey, reih eshyn er lhiat ta ny share na uss-hene”, gyn dooyt va my ayr smooinaghtyn er y shenn raa-creeney ’sy Ghailck ain, “Reih eshyn son carrey nee greinnaghey oo gys obbraghyn mie.” | Before I left home, my father gave me some good advice saying, "If you want a friend choose him whom you think is better than yourself". No doubt my father was thinking of that old proverb in our Gaelic – “Choose him for a friend who will encourage you to good works.” | |
| Hooar mee lheid y carrey, as ga dy vel eh baghey ayns Swansea, ta shin er ve caarjyn shickyr rish bunnys three feed blein! | I found such a friend and although he lives in Swansea we have been true friends for about sixty years. | |
| Dooyrt m’ayr rhym myrgeddin, “Ceau ersooyl y cigarette cughtee shen as my shegin dhyt goaill smook gow jaagh ass y phiob gollrhym-pene.” | My father also said to me, “Throw away that filthy cigarette and if you must smoke, take a smoke out of a pipe like me.” | |
| Va my vior feer trimshagh tra va mee faagail thie, as ren ee geearree orrym dyn dy ghoaill jough lajer ec traa erbee. Ghiall mee shen dy jeean as ta me er reayll y ghialdyn shen, ta mee er ve slane obbaltagh car my vioys! | Mother was very sad when I was leaving home and begged me not to take strong drink at any time. I promised that sincerely and I have kept that promise; I have been a teetotaller all my life! | |
| Yn arragh sy vlein hoght jeig scugh shin gys Ipswich as s’mooar va’n boggey ain tra hooar shin magh nagh row shin goll dys camp, agh dy cummal marish feallagh ayns nyn dhieyn hene, dy gheddyn gerjaghyn thieoil reesht as lhiabbee bog as aashagh dy chadley ayn. | In the spring of nineteen eighteen we moved to Ipswich and how great was my joy when I found out that we were not going to camp but to live with people in their own homes, to get home comforts again and a soft and cosy bed to sleep in! | |
| Chaddil mee dy mie yn oie shen as va mee my ghoostey lesh feiyr y chayrn ec lieh oor lurg shey ’sy voghrey as tammylt beg lurg shen clashtyn braagyn trome gleashagh sheese y traid as coraa ard gyllagh, “Nish my guillyn, trooid shiu magh ass shen.” Va mee geaishtagh as s’coan dod mee credjal my chleayshyn hene, va’n corraa, coraa Manninagh! | I slept well that night and I was awakened with the noise of the bugle at half past six in the morning, and a little while after that hearing heavy boots marching down the street and a very loud voice calling, “Now my lads, come out of that.” I was listening and I could scarcely believe my own ears, the voice was a Manx voice! | |
| ’Syn astyr hooar mee magh quoi by lesh yn choraa as hie mee dy veeiteil rish, ve Louis Merrifield jeh Purt Chiarn as va traa taitnyssagh ain taggloo ry cheilley mychione nyn Ellan Veg Veen. | In the evening I found out to whom the voice belonged and went to meet him; it was Louis Merrifield of Port Erin and we had a delightful time talking together about our dear little Island. | |
| Ny s’anmee ’syn arragh scugh shin reesht dy yannoo camp er y thalloo freoie cheu mooie jeh’n ard valley, agh roish va’n carmeish ooilley jeant haink drogh-earish ayn lesh rio creoi as sniaghtey. Vod shiu sheiltyn goll magh as brishey yn rio dy gheddyn ushtey dy nieeagh shiu hene! | Later in the Spring we moved again to make camp on the heath outside the town, but before we had all the canvas put up there came bad weather with hard frost and snow. Can you imagine going out and breaking the ice to get water to wash yourself in? | |
| Va guilley Manninagh elley ’sy Cheshaght ain, Percy B- - - - voish Rhumsaa. Va kied echey dy gholl thie dy chur shilley er e voir va feer ching, agh cha ren eh chyndaa reesht er y laa oardarit; myr shoh vrie yn sessoonagh Merrifield jeem, “B’laik lhiat goll dys yn Ellan dy chur lesh Percy B - - - - er ash reesht?” “Dy jarroo b’laik lhiam,” dooyrt mee; “Cha lhiass dhyt briaght jeem.” | There was another boy in our Company, Percy B- - - - from Ramsey. He was given leave to go home to see his mother who was very ill, but he did not return on the appointed day. So Sergeant Merrifield asked me, “Would you like to go to the Island to bring Percy B - - - - back again?” “Indeed I would, I said, you need not ask me.” | |
| Ve reaghit eisht dy row Louis as meehene faagail dy moghey yn nah laa. Ec lieh oor lurg kiare ’syn oie, haink Louis dy insh dou dy row Percy er jeet er-ash reesht ! Cre’n molley sharroo, as nagh row shin keoie! | So it was arranged that Louis and I were leaving early next day. At half past four in the night, Louis came to tell me that Percy had come back again! What a bitter disappointment, and weren't we mad! | |
| Yn chied laa Mean Souree hie shin harrish y cheayn gys y thalloo Rank, veih Folkestone dys Boulogne as eisht Rouen. | On the first of June we went over the sea to France, from Folkestone to Boulogne and then Rouen. | |
| Nish, ’sy vlein shen, nuy keead jeig as hoght jeig va chingys-cadjin gollrish murrain goll mygeayrt trooidmagh Europe as sleih geddyn baase ayns thousanenyn. | Now in that year, nineteen eighteen, there was an epidemic like a plague ('flu), going about all over Europe and people dying in thousands. | |
| Cha row mee foddey ec Rouen as va mish lhieggit sheese lesh y murrain as va mee feer ching, ny lhie gyn ennaghtyn rish kiare laghyn, kiare laghyn jeh my vioys caillt dy bollagh! | I was not long at Rouen and I was struck down with the ’flu and I was very ill, lying unconscious for four days, four days of my life completely lost! | |
| Eisht va mee currit gys balley beg ec slyst ny marrey dy chouyral son tammylt. Fy yerrey hooar mee my raad gys y strane-chaggee toshiaght er y Somme marish yn wheiggoo rheynn. | Then I was sent to a village on the sea coast to recuperate for a while. Eventually I found my way to the front line on the Somme with the 5th Division. | |
| Cha jeanyms ginsh diu mychione my laghyn ayns y streeu as caggey, b’are lhiam jarrood ooilley shen, agh yn hoghtoo laa as feed Mean Ouyr va my roih kiuttagh brisht lesh bullad as lurg goll fo skynn y fer lhee ec Rouen, va mee currit er boayrd baatey queeyl-spaagit shiaulley gys Southampton. | I will not tell you of my days in the strife and fighting, I would rather forget all that, but on the twenty eighth of September my left arm was smashed by a bullet and after an operation at Rouen I was put aboard a paddle boat sailing to Southampton. | |
| Va’n baatey enmyssit “La Marguerite” v’ee boayllagh [sic] shiaulley veih Liverpool dys Llandudno gagh imbagh y tourey roish y caggey. | The boat was “La Marguerite,” she used to sail from Liverpool to Llandudno every summer season before the war. | |
| Ny s’anmee ’sy nah vlein, nuy jeig, v'ee shiaulley gys Doolish er eeassaght da’n Cheshaght Lhuingys Ellan Vannin. | Later the following year, nineteen, she was sailing to Douglas on charter to the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company. | |
| Veih Southampton hie mee gys Sheffield son tammylt as eisht gys Normanby Hall, thie ooasle mooar aalin ayns mean y cheerey, lesh biljyn mooarey, logh mooar lesh thunnagyn feie as y lheid, as pairk mooar as feeaiee ayn. Va’n voayl [sic] lesh y dooinney ooasle (Sir) Berkeley Sheffield as e ven, as v’ee ny ben-reiltagh jeh’n thie-lheihys shen. | From Southampton I went to Sheffield for a while and then to Normanby Hall, a beautiful large man sion house in the heart of the country, with great trees, a big lake with wild ducks and the like, and a great park with deer in it. The place belonged to Sir Berkeley Sheffield and his wife who was Commandant of that hospital. | |
| Va mee ayns shen tra haink y Caggey Mooar gy kione yn chied laa jeig Mee Houney ’sy vlein hoght jeig - laa dy wooise as taitnys as boggey nagh bee dy bragh jarroodit ec sleih va bio ec y traa shen. | I was there when the Great War ended the eleventh day of November, nineteen eight en - a day of thankfulness, delight and joy that will never be forgotten by those people who were alive at that time. | |
| Ayns Normanby Hall va shin goaill boggey dy feagh as sheeoil kindagh rish ny guillyn va drogh-lhottit, agh va giense mooar reaghit dooinyn dod goaill soylley jeh. | In Normanby Hall we celebrated quietly and peacefully, because of the boys who were severely wounded, but there was a great feast arranged for those of us who could enjoy it. | |
| Haink mee thie reesht son yn Ollick as tammylt beg lurg shen va mee rey rish yn armee as my ghooinney seyr reesht. ’Sy vlein noa, nuy jeig, ghow mee kegeesh dy laghyn feailley ayns Ellan Vannin as va traa yindyssagh aym goll mygeayrt marish caarjyn er ny gienseyn ec ny cabbalyn cheerey; cha nel y lheid ry-gheddyn ec y traa t’ayn nish! | I came home again for Christmas and a little while after that I was finished with the army, and a free man again! In the New Year nineteen nineteen I took a fortnight's holiday in the Isle of Man and had a wonderful time going around with friends on the parties at the country chapels. Such things are not to be found at the present time. | |
| Hie mee gys yn oik ayns Liverpool reesht agh cha ren mee tannaghtyn foddey; va my ayr er-chee goll gys Y thalloo Bretnagh dy hroggal thie-obbree, as hie mee marish myr seyr-thie reesht. | I went back to the office in Liverpool but I didn't stay long; my father was about to go to Wales to build a factory and I went with him as a joiner again. | |
| Va shin goaill aaght marish shenn ven Vretnagh ’sy yalley beg as s’goan va fockle dy Vaarle eck! Dy Jarroo va bunnys dy chooilley pheiagh mygeayrt y mooin taggloo Vretnish, yn ghlare oc hene. | We were lodging with an old Welsh woman in the village and she had scarcely a word of English! Indeed, nearly every person round about us spoke Welsh, their own language. | |
| Ymmodee keayrtyn neayr’s y traa shen ta caarjyn er ghra dou, “Nagh ren oo gynsaghey Bretnish tra v'ou baghey as gobbraghey ny mast’oc?” B’egin dou goaill rish lesh nearey nagh row mee cur monney geill da’n ghlare, va my hooillyn soit er ny mraane aegey ’sy valley veg, as va’n ’neen reiht aym inneen Hostnagh! | Many times since then friends have said to me, “Did you not learn Welsh when you were living and working among them?” I had to acknowledge with shame that I didn't pay much attention to the language, my eyes were all for the young ladies in the village, and the one I chose was an English girl! | |
| Va’n ayr eck cummal y thie oast ayns shen. Cha row Bretnish erbee eck, agh v'ee ’neen villish as aalin as va shin nyn gaarjyn mie choud’s va mee gobbraghey ayns shen. | Her father kept the hotel there. She had no Welsh at all but she was a sweet and lovely girl and we were good friends while I was working there. | |
| C’raad t’ee nish- quoi ec ta fys? Dy jarroo, cha nel mee shickyr er yn ennym eck nish! | Where is she now - who knows? Indeed I am not even sure of her name now. | |
| Va daa Vanninagh elley gobbraghey marin, as fer jeu dooinney mooinjerey da’n ayr aym, enmyssit Joe Cannell. Nish va Joe graihagh er y jough as yinnagh eh ceau ooilley y traa echey as baarail ooilley yn argid echey ec y thie-oast. | There·were two other Manxmen working with us, and one of them a cousin of my father's, by name of Joe Cannell. Now Joe was fond of the drink, and he would spend all his time and all his money at the hotel. | |
| Va Gailck vie ec Joe as va Dooinney Albinagh b'oayllagh cheet gys y thie-oast ny keayrtyn; Johnnie Morrison va’n ennym echey, as va Gailck Albinagh echey gyn-yss dooin. | Joe had a good Manx Gaelic and there was a Scotsman who used to come to the inn at times, Johnnie Morrison by name, and he had the Scots Gaelic unknown to us. | |
| Oie dy row, va Johnnie er lieh-veshtey as ghow eh toshiaght dy goaill arrane 'sy Ghailck Albinagh. Va Joe geaishtagh as oddagh eh toiggal mooarane jeh. Lurg tammylt loayr Joe rish Johnnie ’sy Ghailck Vanninagh, as hooar eh freggyrt ’sy Ghailck Albinagh as loayr ad ’syn aght shen rish tammylt liauyr, as nagh row ny Bretnee corree! Cha dod ad toiggal eh, er-hoh daa ghooinney loayrt ayns glare nagh nhione daue, as cha b’laik lhieu eh! | One night Johnnie was half drunk and began to sing in Gaelic. Joe was listening and could understand much of it. After a while Joe spoke to Johnnie in Manx and he received a reply in Scots Gaelic and they conversed in that way for a long time, and weren't the welshmen angry! They could not understand it, here were two men speaking in a language unknown to them and they did not like it! | |
| Haink yn obbyr ’sy thalloo Bretnagh gy kione fy yerrey as hyndaa shin ooilley gys Purt Ellesmere. | The work in Wales came to an end at last and we all returned to Ellesmere Port. | |
| Ghow mee toshiaght ginsh diu y skeeal shoh mychione my aegid: s'mie shen, agh va mee ’nane as feed vlein dy eash ’syn nah vlein, as er y fa shen cha noddym gra “Cooinaghtyn my aegid” ny sodjey, ny yeih va mee rieau aeg ayns my chree. | I began to tell you this story about my youth, but I was twenty one years of age the next year, and therefore cannot say ‘Reminiscences of my Youth’ any longer, nevertheless I was ever young in heart. | |
| Myr shoh, roish cur jerrey er my skeeal b’laik lhiam ginsh diu kys haink mee dy ve fer-ynsee ayns ny schoillyn as kys haink eh gy-kione dy vel y Ghailck Vanninagh aym. | So, before finishing the tale, I would like to tell you how I became a teacher in the schools and how it came about that I have the Manx Gaelic. | |
| Va ny bleeantyn eddyr y daa chaggey mooar bleeantyn feer voal; cha row monney obbyr as va feill feer injil. Er my hon hene, va traaghyn as mish ass obbyr. Fy yerrey ’sy vlein hoght as feed va mee gyn obbyr rish three meeghyn as b’egin dou jannoo red ennagh my e chione. | The years between the two great wars were very poor; there wasn’t much work and wages were very low. As for myself, there were times when I was out of work. Finally, in the year twenty-eight I was without work for about three months, and I had to do something about it. | |
| Eisht ghow mee ayns laue dy yannoo studeyrys dy heet dy ve fer-ynsee-cheirdee as ’syn ouyr yn nah vlein va mee gynsaghey obbyr fuygh ayns Yorkshire, ec three puint ’sy chiaghtin! | Then I began to study to become a handicraft teacher, and in the autumn of the following year, twenty-nine, I was teaching in Yorkshire at three pounds a week! | |
| Bleeantyn ny s’anmee hooar mee yn Vible ’sy Ghailck va lesh my hennayr as ghow mee ayns laue dy lhaih, screeu as loayrt chengey ny mayrey Ellan Vannin. | Years later I received the Manx Bible which belonged to my grandfather and I began to read, write and speak the mother tongue of the Isle of Man. | |
| Ec y traa shen, va mee foast baghey ayns Yorkshire agh cheet harrish traa erbee va caa aym, as ronsaghey magh ny shenn Vanninee va er-mayrn as Gailck oc, as va hoght jeu ’sy Jiass ec y traa shen. | At that time I was still living in Yorkshire but coming over whenever I had the chance, and seeking out the old Manx folk who remained who had the Manx. There were eight of them in the South at that time. | |
| Atreih, t’ad ooilley ersooyl nish, agh booise da Jee, cha nel ooilley y Ghailck ersooyl maroo. | Alas, they are all gone now, but thank God that the Manx has not all gone with them. | |
| S’mie lhiam clashtyn dy vel ram Manninee aegey nish as Gailck vie oc. | I am glad to hear that there are many young Manxmen now who have good Manx. | |
| Dooyrt mee roie, va mee rieau jerkal dy gheddyn obbyr ayns shoh ’syn Ellan. S’mie shen, ’sy vlein kiare as daeed haink mee dy vaghey ayns Ellan Vannin as rish feed vlein [sic] va mee gynsaghey ayns ny schoillyn as jannoo my chooid share dy reayll bio y Ghailck, as te jannoo foays da my chree nagh row yn eab aym ayns fardail. | I said before I was always hoping to get work on the Island. Well, in the year forty-four I came to live in the Isle of Man, and for twenty years I was teaching in the schools, and doing my best to keep the Manx language alive, and it does my heart good that my effort was not in vain. | |
| Cooinaghtyn Elley | Further Reminiscences | |
| AYNS my chied lioaran “Cooinaghtyn my Aegid”, d’imraa mee ceau laghyn feailley ec Ballakeighen tra va mee my ghuilley aeg. S'cooin lhiam laa souree dy row as ny fir-eirinee cur stiagh yn traagh veih'n lheeannee, tessyn y raad yiarn ec thie mooar ooasle Vallakeighen. | IN my first booklet ‘Youthful Memories’, I mentioned spending holidays at Ballakeighen when I was a young boy. I remember one summer’s day and the farmers putting in the hay from the meadow across the railway line at Ballakeighen mansion house. | |
| Ec y voayl shen ta’n raad yiarn roie ayns lhag lesh broogh ard er dagh cheu, myr shoh b’egin da’n cabbyl as y caart goll sheese y lhergagh er y derrey heu, as seose yn ughtagh er y cheu, elley. Va’n caart trome laadit as yn traagh troggit feer ard, as tra ghow yn cabbyl ratch dy chosney seose yn ughtagh, huitt yn caart as ooilley yn traagh er-gooyl as va'n cabbyl boght troggit seose ’syn aer. | At that place the railway runs in a hollow, with a high bank on each side, so that the horse and cart had to go down the slope on the one side and up hill on the other. The cart was heavily laden and the hay built up very high, and when the horse made a rush to get up the hill the cart and all the hay fell backwards and the poor horse was lifted up in the air. | |
| Fy-yerrey va’n cabbyl giarrit neose agh va’n traagh skeaylt er-tessyn y raad yiarn, as dy yannoo reddyn ny smessey va’n train cheet, goaill sleih gys Doolish dy gheddyn y baa tey ec kiare er y chlag! | Eventually the horse was cut down, but the hay was scattered across the line and to make things worse, the train was coming, taking people to Douglas to get the boat at four o’clock | |
| Scuirr yn train as chelleeragh haink ram sleih magh ass, cooney lesh scughey yn traagh, as ym modee jeu goaill foto-caslysyn. Ve red yindyssagh daue, red ennagh foddee nagh vaik ad reesht son dy bragh! | The train stopped and immediately a lot of people came out of it, helping to shift the hay and many of them taking photographs. To them it was wonderful, something they might never see again | |
| Ayns ny laghyn shen roish yn chied Chaggey Mooar, va daa haghyrt ’sy vlein jeh scansh mooar; yn “show” ec Ballachashtal, son cabbil, maase, kirree as y lheid, as y “picnic” Schoill-doonee. | In those days, before the first Great War, there were two annual events of great importance; the Show at Castletown, for horses, cattle, sheep and the like, and the Sunday School picnic. | |
| Mean-souree dy row, as shin ec Ballakeighen, ve inshit dou, dy beign guilley mie, oddyms, goll er y “picnic” Schoill-doonee Valley Beg dys Glion Maey, harrish y clieau ayns “waggonettes”, as va mee jerkal rish laa braew aalin as maynrey. | One midsummer when we were at Ballakeighen, I was told that if I would be a good boy, I could go to the Ballabeg Sunday School picnic to Glen Maye over the mountain in waggonettes and I was looking forward to a fine and happy day. | |
| Agh, atreih, tra haink laa y “picnic”, va mee currit ass cree dy bollagh; va laa atchimagh ayn, ceau trome as geay vooar. | But alas, when the day of the picnic arrived I was utterly disheartened; it was a terrible day, heavy rain and strong wmd. | |
| Ny yeih, va shin ooilley coontey dy beagh emshir braew ayn lurg munlaa, agh cha row aigh vie orrin. | Nevertheless, we were all reckoning there would be fine weather after mid-day, but there was no luck on us. | |
| Haink yn fliaghey neose ny strimmey as heid yn gheay ny stroshey as haink y “waggonette” lesh coodagh-vreid dhoo currit seose er, v’eh jeeaghyn gollrish fainagh ny merriu! | The rain came down heavier and the wind blew stronger, and when the waggonette came with the hood up, it looked like a hearse! | |
| Myr shoh va mish, guilley beg, my hoie ayns y lieh-ghorraghys marish my voir, my naunt, as shiartanse dy vraane elley ayns nyn monnadyn as filleagyn, as cha naik mee veg er y raad. | So, there was I, a little boy sat in semi-darkness with my mother, my aunt and several other women in their bonnets and shawls, and I saw nothing on the road. | |
| Fy yerrey rosh shin Glion Meay as, ga dy row dy chooilley voayl bog as fliugh roie mee sheese y ghlion dy chur shilley er yn eas (lhieggey-ushtey) as heill mee dy row eh yindyssagh er-bastal; cha row mee er nakin gob-ny-scuit gollrish shen roie. | Eventually we reached Glen Maye, and although every thing was damp and wet, I ran down the glen to see the waterfall; I thought it was wonderful beyond all! I had never seen a waterfall like that before. | |
| Ghaa ny three laghyn ny s’anmee, va’n ghrian soilshean reesht as laa aalin ayn, as roish va shin lesh brishey-troshtey haink daa ghuilley veg gys y dorrys briaght er my hon. Cheayll ad dy row paitchyn er jeet dy hannaghtyn ec Ballakeighen, as er yn oyr nagh row guillyn jeh nyn eash hene mygeayrt, v’ad fegooish cumraagyn as shirrey dy chur enn orrym. | Two or three days later the sun was shining again, a beautiful day, and before we were finished breakfast two little boys came to the door asking for me. They heard that children had come to stay at Ballakeigen, and because there were no boys of their own age around, they had no companions and wished to make my acquaintance. | |
| Agh cha ren mee fakin ad, v’ad currit ersooyl thie ree ht dy tappee, as cre’n oyr? V’ad bunnys jiarg rooisht! Cha row veg orroo agh lheiney giare, as va my voir as my naunt lhiggey er dy choontey eh red scammyltagh, agh ny lurg shen cheayll mee ad garaghtee my-e-chione. | But I did not see them, they were sent away home again quickly, and why? They were almost stark naked! There was nothing on them but a short shirt, and my mother and aunt were pretending to reckon it a scandalous thing, but afterwards I heard them laughing about it. | |
| Haink ny guillyn er-ash reesht as breechyn orroo, as dy mennick va shin cloie ry-cheilley. Va shin ooilley goll mygeayrt cass rooisht as cha row feme orrin er nhee erbee agh lheiney as breechyn giare. | The boys came back again with trousers on, and we often played together. We were all going about barefoot and we had no need of anything but a shirt and shorts. | |
| Thousane vlein [sic] er dy henney gyn dooyt va ym modee biljyn er yn Ellan shoh, agh s’goan t’ad nish dy-jarroo, er-lheh ayns y Jiass. Ta shiartanse dy gharragyn dhoo er ve reuyrit ass ny curraghyn ec Bal-ny-Laaghey. | A thousand years ago no doubt, there were many trees on the Island, but how scarce they are now, indeed, especially in the South. Several black oaks have been dug out of the Curraghs at Ballaugh. | |
| Shegin daue er ve ny lhie ’syn ushtey as laagh rish keeadyn dy vleeantyn, as er yn oyr shen, ta'n fuygh darragh er jeet dy ve cho chreoie as yiarn as dhoo gollrish “ebony”. | They must have been lying in the water and mud for hundreds of years, and for that reason the oak wood has come to be as hard as iron and black like ebony. | |
| Agh, vel shiu rieau er chlashtyn jeh bwon darragh ny lhie fo-varrey? | But, have you ever heard of an oak stump lying under the sea? | |
| Un laa as ard roayrt er y cheayn, hie mee marish m’ayr harrish cronk “Fisher” gys y traie traa va’n tidey foddey mooie. Hooill shin magh choud's dod shin as yeeagh m’ayr dou bwon darragh ny ghaa lieh oanluckit ’sy laagh, as jeeaghyn gollrish creggyn. | One day, and a very high tide on the sea, I went with father over Fisher's Hill to the shore when the tide was far out. We walked out as far as we could and father showed me some stumps of oak half buried in the mud, and looking like rocks. | |
| Ta mee credjal dy vel recortys ’sy Thie Hashtee Manninagh ayns Doolish mychione keyll-aasagh fo varrey eddyr Strandhall as Poyllvaish. Chanel ad ry akin nish as cha nel fys aym er peiagh erbee ta er nakin ad gollrhym-pene ayns nyn aegid. | I believe there is a record in the Manx Museum at Douglas about a submerged forest between Strand hall and Poolvaash. They are not to be seen now, and I don't know of any person who has seen them as I did in their youth. | |
| Er-lhiams ta’n [sic] genniagh er hroggal seose car ny bleeantyn as ta ny darraghyn dhoo oanluckit dy bollagh, foddee er son dy bragh. | I think the sand has built up over the years and the black oaks buried completely, perhaps for ever. | |
| Gimraa yn ockle “darragh”, er-tessyn y raad veih Ballakeighen ta croit beg enmyssit “Cronk Darragh”, as dy mennick veign cloie mygeayrt ayns shen. | Mentioning the word 'oak': across the road from Ballakeighen is a small croft called ‘Cronk Darragh’ and often I would be playing aroung there. | |
| Va’n Cronk Darragh lesh Dick Cooil, dooinney dooie as kenjal, as cha row eh poost ec y traa shen, agh va three shuyraghyn echey dy chummal y thie er e hon, as va ny mraane shoh feer vie as giastyllagh dooys. | ' Cronk Darragh' belonged to Dick Cooil, a decent, kindly man and he was not married at that time, he had three sisters to keep house for him and these ladies were very kind and generous to me. | |
| Un sourey, va mish as my huyr as Lraar s'aa ching as yn truh orrin, as va Dick slaa terr as pick er mullagh y thie-chiark, as ve inshit dooin dy gholl as chur shilley er Dick dy gheddyn soar lajer jeh'n terr dy aashaghey yn truh. Cha noddym gra, ren eh foays er bee dooin ny dyn! | One summer, I and my sister and brother had the whooping-cough, and Dick was painting the roof of the hen-house with tar and bitumen, and we were told to go and watch him, to get a strong smell of the tar to ease the whooping-cough. I cannot say if it did any good for us or not. | |
| Va’n fer-lhee Juan Mac Laig cheet gys Ballakeighen ny keayrtyn, cha nee ayns carr-motor agh ayns fainagh-chabbyl, as va’n fer-immanagh echey enmyssit Charlie. | The Doctor John Clague was coming to Ballakeighen sometimes; not in a motor car but in a pony-trap and his driver's name was Charlie. | |
| Ta mee er chlashtyn feallagh gra dy row Juan Mac Laig y fer-lhee share ’syn Ellan ayns e lhing, as dy baillesh, oddagh eh er chosney ard-ghoo as onnor ayns Straid Harley ayns Lunnin, agh bare lesh cummal as gobbraghey harrish ’syn Ellan marish e vooinjer-hene. | I have heard folk say that John Clague was the best doctor in the Island in his time, and had he wished he could have earned a great reputation in Harley Street in London, but he preferred to live and work among his own people. | |
| V'eh ny ghooiney kenjal as feoiltagh, as ta mee er chlashtyn nagh jinnagh eh rieau goaill argid veih’n sleih boght va ching. Cha dug eh magh coontaghyn agh roosyn va berchagh dy liooar dy eeck. V’eh gollrish “Robin Hood”, spooilley ny berchee dy chooney lesh ny boghtyn! Hooar eh baase ’sy vlein nuy cheead jeig as hoght, as va ram sleih dobberan as keayney er e hon. | He was a kind and generous man, and I have heard that he would never take money from the poor who were sick. He only sent accounts out to those who were rich enough to pay. He was like 'Robin Hood', robbing the rich to help the poor! He died in the year 1908 and there were many people mourning and weeping for him. | |
| S’cooin lhiam dy mie y dooinney-mooar ooasle, son v’eh dooiney-moinjerey da my warree. | I remember the great gentleman well, for he was in some way related to my grandmother. | |
| Un laa huitt m’ayr dy trome er e ghreeym ec sole y dorrys-dooint as v’eh ching as tilgey, as haink y ferlhee Juan Mac Laig dy chur arrey er, as va m’ayr currit ’sy lhiabbee. | One day my father fell heavily on his back at the back door step and he was sick and vomiting, and Doctor John Clague came to attend to him, and father was put to bed. | |
| Va mee ro aeg dy hoiggal c’red va goll er, agh shimmey keayrt car ny bleeantyn er-giyn, veagh m’ayr ching ’sy lhiabee, as s’doogh lhiam gra hooar eh baase ec shiaght bleeaney as da’eed dye ash lesh y doghan-aarey (nephritis) as tra ta mee smooinaghtyn er y chooish, ta mee shickyr ghow yn doghan toshiaght lurg yn drogh haghyrt ec Ballakeighen ’sy vlein nuy chiead jeig as shiaght. | I was too young to understand what was going on, but many a time over the following years, father would be ill in bed, and I'm sorry to say he died at forty seven years of age with nephritis, and when I think about it, I am sure the disease began after the accident at Ballakeighen in the year 1907. | |
| Taggloo mychione sleih boght, va ram jeirkee goll mygeayrt er ny thieyn ’syn Ellan tra va mee aeg, as ta mee cooinaghtyn er kuse jeu cheet gys y dorrys ec Ballakeighen. Cha row ad rieau ceaut ersooyl accryssagh; va dy kinjagh red ennagh dy ee as iu er nyn son, foddee soddag as bainney geyre. | Talking about poor people, there were a lot of mendicants going around on the houses in the Island when I was young, and I remember a few of them | |
| coming to the door at Ballakeighen. They were never sent away hungry; there was always something for hem to eat and drink, perhaps soda-cake and butter milk. | ||
| Tra va shin ec Ballakeighen ’sy tourey, s’anvennick va m’ayr marin er coontey jeh’n obbyr echey, cha row deiney geddyn faill mannagh row ad gobbraghey, myr t’ad eeckit nish, agh ny yeih oddagh eh cheet harrish ny keayrtyn fastyr Jyheiney as fuirriaght marin derrey oie Jydoonee. | When we were at Ballakeighen in the summer, father was seldom with us, on account of his work; men got no wages if they were not working, like they do today, but nevertheless he could come over sometimes on Friday afternoon and stay with us until Sunday night. | |
| Ghow mee boggey mooar tra haink m’ayr harrish er yn oyr oddins goll marish er y cheer. Cha row traa ec my voir dy gholl foddey, v’ee tarroogh dy liooar jeeaghyn lurg my huyraghyn as braar s’aa. | I was delighted when father came over because I could go with him on the country. Mother had not the time to go far, she was busy enough looking after my younger sister and brother. | |
| Un laa hie shin er y raad yiarn dys Colby as eisht dys Ballachrink as er-tessyn y ghlion dys Cronky Doonee as Ballakilpheric. | One day we went on the railway to Colby and then to Ballachrink and across the glen to Cronk-y-Dooney and Ballakilpheric. | |
| Myr dooyrt mee ayns my chied “Cooinaghtyn”, va m’ayr ruggit as troggit heose ayns shen as va enn mie echey er dy chooilley pheiagh va shin meeiteil rish as goaill cooish maroo, Fy yerrey hie shin gys Kirkle, yn thie syrjey ayns y naboonys. | As I said in my first ‘Reminiscences’ my father was born and reared up there, and was acquainted with every person we met and had a chat with them. Finally we went to Kirkle, the highest house in the neighbourhood. | |
| Boayl ennagh er y raad haink shin gys croit veg as va m’ayr loayrt rish y ven-thie ’sy Ghailck son tammylt as eisht ’sy Vaarle. Cha noddym cooinaghtyn dy kiart, cha row mee agh shiaght ny hoght bleeaney dy eash, agh aa-smooinaghtyn er y chooish, foddee ve Benainstyr Lowey, Kirkle, va my ayr loayrt rish; ish haink dy ve my charrey mie ymmodee bleeantyn ny s’anmee tra va mee gynsaghey y Ghailck. | Somewhere on the road we came to a small croft and father was speaking to the woman of the house in Manx and then in English. I cannot remember correctly I was only seven or eight years old, but thinking the matter over, perhaps it was Mrs Lowey, Kirkle, my father was speaking to; she who became my good friend years later when I was learning Manx. | |
| Ec y traa shen cha bione dou dy row Gailck dy liooar ec m’ayr dy yannoo co-loayrtys aynjee. Cha ren eh rieau loayrt Gailck rhym-pene edyr, er lhimmey genmys orrym “riftan” ny “quallian” tra va mee mitchooragh! | At that time I did not know that my father had enough Manx to make conversation in it. He never spoke Manx to me at all, except to call me a rascal or a pup when I was mischievous! | |
| Traa elley va mee marish m’ayr ec Purt le Moirrey jeeaghyn er ny baatyn-eeastee ny lhie ec y Challoo, kianglt ry-cheilley kiare na queig ayns lheead. | Another time I was with father at Port St. Mary looking at the fishing boats lying at the Breakwater tied together four or five wide. | |
| Hie shin sheese yn aarey as eisht veih’n derrey vaatey gys y baatey elley derrey hooar shin y “Mary Jane”. Va’n skipper eck Jamys Kinloie, carrey da my yishag. Choud as va ny deiney taggloo ry-cheilley hie mee mygeayrt y vaatey, agh dy feagh er yn oyr hooar [sic] mee magh va paart [jeh] ny skimmee eck cadley. | We went down the ladder and then from one boat to the other until we found the 'Mary Jane'. Her skipper was James Kinley, a friend of father's. While the men were talking together I went around the boat, but quietly because I found out that some of the crew were asleep. | |
| Va yndys mooar orrym kys oddagh shey deiney as guilley beaghey as cadley, coagyr as ee, ayns lheid y chabbane beg! | I was amazed that six men and a boy could live and sleep, cook and eat in such a small cabin. | |
| Ayns ny laghyn shen va guillyn faagail schoill ec daa vlein yeig d’eash dy gholl er ny baatyn-eeastee myr coagyrey. Er-lhiams v’ad guillyn feer ghastey er yn oyr va’n [sic] obbyr creoie as garroo, as ny keayrtyn danjeyragh. Er my hon hene, va mee guilley faitagh as cha row rieau bolg ayms son y cheayn! | In those days boys were leaving school at fourteen years of age to go as cook on the fishing boats. I think they were very brave boys, because the work was hard and rough and sometimes dangerous. For my own part I was a timid boy and never had a stomach for the sea! | |
| Screeu Ambrose Maddrell shiartanse dy vardaghtyn mychione “Schooners Purt le Moirrey” as ny baatyn-eeastee hiullee. | Ambrose Maddrell wrote several poems about 'Port St Mary Schooners' and the 'nickeys'. | |
| Va Ambrose lheid y ghuilley, faagail schoill ec daa vlein yeig as goll eeastagh breck-marrey ec Kione Sailley as Purt Chroagane ayns Nherin, as t’eh gimraa dy row eh dy menmck fliugh trooid gys e lhinganyn as chingys marrey er, as geearree dy ve thie ec y chiollagh. Shione mie dooys cre’naght v’eh gennaghtyn! | Ambrose was such a boy, leaving school at twelve and going to fish mackerel at Kinsale and Crookhaven in Ireland, and he mentions that he was often wet through to his shoulders and sea-sick, and wishing himself home on the hearth. I know well how he was feeling! | |
| Choud’s va shin ec Purt le Moirrey honnick mee kuse dy lhongyn-shiaullee ghaa chroan, (schooners) lesh nyn garmeish chirmaghey ayns y ghrian. Hoig mee dy row ny baatyn shoh goll noon as noal gys Nherin, Nalbin, Bretin as Sostyn, cur lhieu stoo son troggal thieyn, sclateyn, breeckyn, “cement” as dy mennick fuygh veih Lochlinn as ny keayrtyn fuygh veih cho foddey ersooyl as Stettin, ’sy Valtic. Bunnys dagh shiaghtyn veagh lught-lhuingys dy gheayll. | While we were at Port St. Mary I saw a few schooners with their canvas drying in the sun. I understand that these boats were going here and there to Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England, bringing building materials, slates, bricks, cement and often timber from Norway and sometimes timber from as far away as Stettin in the Baltic. Nearly every week there would be a cargo of coal. | |
| Dooyrt fer mooinjerey aym, dy dod eh goll dys y chey, tra v eh ny ghuilley, lesh cabbyl as caart as kionnaghey tunney dy gheayll son jeih skillin! | A relative of mine said that he could go to the quay when he was a boy with a horse and cart, and buy a ton of coal for ten shillings! | |
| Bentyn da’n cheayn as baateyn, dy moghey un laa souree, hie mee as my vraar marish nyn ayr as three deiney elley ayns baatey-ymmyrt mooar veih Purt le Moirrey dys y Cheyllys dy eeastagh. Cha row shiaull erbee er y vaatey as va ny deiney gymmyrt dy creoie. | Concerning the sea and boats, early one summer’s day, my brother and I went with father and three other men in a large rowing boat from Port St. Mary to the Sound to fish. There was no sail on the boat and the men were rowing hard. | |
| Hie shin shaghey Kione Ny Giaughyn as y creg rea enmyssit Yn Ingan derrey haink shin gys ooig vooar er gerrey da’n chreg ard “Y Bwilleen Shugyr”. | We went past Noggin Head and the flat rock called the Anvil, until we came to a big cave near to the high rock called the Sugar Loaf. | |
| Ghow ad y baatey stiagh ayns yn ooig as cheusthie ve lieh ghorraghys, as va’n bo yl lane dy ushagyn marrey, as va'n yllagh as screeagh atchimagh. | They took the boat into the cave and inside was semi-darkness, and the place was full of sea birds, and the yelling and screetching was terrible. | |
| Va mish as my vraar goaill aggle as booiagh dy hooar geddyn magh ass yn ooig gys soilshey ny greiney reesht! | I and my brother were frightened and glad enough to get out of the cave to the sunlight again. | |
| Cre cho ard as ta’n “Bwilleen Shugyr” tra ta shiu jeeaghyn urree voish cass ny creg! Erskyn jeih trieyn as kaire feed, ta mee credjal. | How high the Sugar Loaf is when you look at it from the foot of the rock! Over ninety feet I believe. | |
| Dinsh m’ayr dou ny s’anmee, va ’nane jeh ny deiney gymmyrt y baatey marin, er ghrappal gys mullagh ny creg shen tra v'eh ny ghooinney aeg, agh dooyrt y dooinney hene dy row yn un cheayrt dy liooar! | Father told me later that one of the men who was rowing the boat with us had climbed to the top of that rock when he was a young man, but the man himself said that once was enough! | |
| Cha row eh agh daa oor goll seose, agh cheau eh cagh elley yn laa cheet neose reesht, as e chaarjyn fuirraghtyn rish ayns baatey-ymmyrt beg. | He was only two hours going up, but he spent all the rest of the day coming down, and his friends waiting for him in a little rowing boat. · | |
| Hie shin shaghey Kione Spaainagh as eisht gys y Cheyllys as hooar shin aaley mie son eeastagh er gerrey da’n Cholloo. Va shenn vooirchoor ayns shen jeh baatey beg bree as va'n coirrey yiarn shassoo ’syn ushtey, as va wheesh eeast ayn dy row y cheayn jeeaghyn dy cloie as ny eeastyn lheimyraght seose ass yn ushtey. | We went past Spanish Head and then to the Sound and we found a good fishing spot near to the Calf Island. There was a wreck there of a small steamer and ithe iron boiler was stood in the water, and there were so many fish that the sea seemed to be boiling and the fish jumping out of the water. | |
| Hyndaa shin gys y Phurt as y baatey lung-lane dy eeastyn as va ny deiney gobbraghey ’sy ghorraghys scoltey as glenney ad. Chanel tayrn-eeastee yn lhied ry-gheddyn ’sy Cheyllys jiu edyr. | We returned to Port St. Mary and the boat full up with fish, and the men were working in the dark splitting and cleaning them. Such a haul of fish cannot be found in the Sound today at all. | |
| Ny keayrtyn va mee goaill aaght ayns Purt le Moirrey mansh my naunt as guilley-mooinjerey as va'n Shooylaghan noa-hroggit, mysh nuy keead jeig as jeih, as s’cooin lhiam dy dod shin lheimyraght veih mullagh y voalley-varrey sheese gys y genniagh, agh msh tan genmagh er ve skeabit erssoyl 'sy tidey as ta’n boalley ro ard dy lheimyraght sheese gys y traie. | Sometimes I was lodged in Port St. Mary with my aunt and cousins and the Promenade was newly built about 1910, and I remember we could jump from the top of the sea wall to the sand, but now the sand has been swept away in the tide and the wall is too high to jump down to the shore. | |
| Ec y Chaisht, nuy keead jeig as nane jeig, haink mee harrish er y baatey “Tynwald”, yn chied hraa va mee er hroailt ny lomarcan. Va mee cheet harrish son bannish my naunt, as va peiagh ennagh er y chey dy heet my whaiyl, as dy jarroo, va mee booiagh dy liooar dy akin ee, er yn oyr va’n [sic] cheayn rastagh yn laa shen as va mee gennaghtyn feer treih. | At Easter 1911 I came over on the steamer ‘Tynwald’, the first time I had travelled alone. I was coming over for my aunt's wedding and there was someone on the pier to meet me, and indeed, I was glad to see her because the sea had been rough that day and I was feeling very miserable. | |
| Keayrtyn elley roish shen haink mee marish my voir er baatey queeyl spaagit as cheau mee ooryn ec y giat jeeaghyn sheese er yn greinys niartal girree as tuittym, cheet my chour as goll ersooyl voym reesht. Cre’n pooar atehimagh va ayns ny queeylyn-spaagit shen! Cha row troo aym er y skimmee-dhoo gobbragh ayns y chiass as joan-gheayll heese fo-voayrd. Honnick mee ad cheet neese dy gheddyn aer oor, as jeeaghyn cre voish va'n gheay dy gheddyn fyn neraght smoo stiagh ayns ny coirraghyn. | At other times previously to that I came with my mother on paddle steamers and spent hours at the grill looking down at the mighty machinery rising and falling, coming towards me and going away from me again. What tremendous power there was in those paddle wheels! I did not envy the black squad working in the heat and coal dust down below deck. I saw them come up to get fresh air and looking for the wind direction to get more draught for the furnaces. | |
| Tra va mee my ghuilley ayns West Kirby, ve coontit oayshagh as cliaghtagh son feallagh aegey dy ynsagh cloie yn piano, as ve currit orryms shen y yannoo agh cre cho dwoaieagh ve dooys! Dagh moghrey Jysarn begin dou goll gys thie naboo ain son lessoon. | When I was a boy in West Kirby it was considered fashionable and customary for young people to learn to play the piano, and I had to do that, but how I hated it! Each Saturday morning l had to go to a neighbour’s house for a lesson. | |
| Va’n ven-ynsee ny caillagh graney as granganagh, as v’ee dewil neesht; dy mennick va juntyn my vairyn jiarg as gonnagh veih sniggyn hug ee dou lesh y maidjey beg eek. Agh foddey ny smessey na shen, va ooilley my chaarjyn cheumooie ’sy traid jannoo gannidys orrym as gyllagh orrym dy heet magh! | The teacher was an ugly cantankerous old hag, and she was cruel too; often my knuckles were red and sore from the ‘snigs’ she gave me with her little stick! But far worse than that, all my pals were outside in the street mocking me and calling me to come out. | |
| Myr shoh, cha ren y chiaull cheet lhiam, son nagh row cree aym er y hon as cha jinnin jummal my hraa ayns cliaghtey. | Thus I made no progress with music, for I had no heart for it and I would not waste time practising. | |
| Fy yerrey, tra va mee jannoo studeyrys son ynnyd seyr ec yn Ard-schoill va kied currit dou dy chur seose y “piano”. Bwooise da Jee, smooinee mee, agh shimmey keayrt myr daase mee ny shinney, by hreih lhiam nagh dod mee cloie ny share. | At last when I was studying for a free place in the Grammar School I was allowed to give up the piano. Thank God, I thought, but many a time as I grew older I was sorry I could not play better. | |
| Ec West Kirby ta logh-mooiroil roshtyn veih’n derrey chione gys y chione elley jeh'n shooylaghan, as ta'n ushtey freaylt aynsyn liorish boalley as cassan mygeayrt-y-mysh. Ta’n logh lhieent ec y vooir-lane as lurg y vooir-hraie foddee fer shooyl mygeayrt y logh er y chassan. | At West Kirby there is a marine lake reaching from the one end of the promenade to the other, and the water is retained by a wall with a path around it; The lake is filled at high water, and after the ebb one can walk around the lake on the path. | |
| Myr va’n thie ain er-gerrey da’n Shooylaghan, va raaue currit dooin dyn dy gholl faggys da’n logh; shen yn oyr nagh ren mee rieau gynsaghey snaue, as cha vod m'ayr as my voir snaue noadyr! | As our house was near the promenade, we were warned not to go near the lake; that's the reason I never learned to swim, and neither could father nor mother. | |
| Va ymmodee jeh nyn shennayraghyn ayn nagh dod gamylt; cha row yn chooish jeh scansh mooar daue, dy jarroo va ram eeasteyryn as shiolteyryn neu aignagh dy ynsagh eh. Er-lhieu, dy beagh ad skeabit harrish y voayrd veih’n vaatey, b’are lhieu geddyn baase dy tappee, na gleck rish ooryn snaue. | There were many of our ancestors who could not swim; it was not an important matter to them; indeed there were many fishermen and sailors unwillmg to learn. They thought that, should they be swept overboard, they would prefer to die quickly, rather than struggle for hours swimming. | |
| Aghterbee, un laa hie mee as ghaa ny three guillyn elley dy hooyl mygeayrt y logh, agh cha row shin booiagh dy hooyl er y, chassan, begin dooin shooyl er mullagh y voalley. | Anyway, one day I and two or three other boys went to walk around the lake, but we were not content to walk on the pathway, we had to walk on top of the wall. | |
| Nish, ec kione twoaie ny logh cha nel yn ushtey agh thanney, agh ec y kione jiass ta’n ushtey feer ghowin, as myr ta’n tidey cheet harrish y voalley lesh y vooir lane, ta’n boalley sliawinagh lesh famlagh ny keayrtyn. | Now at the north end of the lake the water is shallow but at the south end the water is very deep, and as the tide comes over the wall with the flood, the wall is slippery with seaweed at times. | |
| S’mie shen, va shin jannoo dy mie, agh roish haink shin gys y jerrey, skirr mee as huitt mee stiagh ayns yn ushtey. Myrta mee er ghra, cha dod mee snaue, as mannagh beagh dooinney seyr er ve er gerrey as maidjey-shooyl echey, oddins v’er ve baiht! | Well then, we were doing nicely, but before we came to the end I slipped and fell into the water. As I said, I could not swim, and if there had not been a gentleman near with a walking stick, I might have been drowned! | |
| Nish, c’red dy yannoo, cha b’loys dou goll thie. Dy aighoil, va laa cheh grianagh ayn as veih kione jiass y logh, eddyr y traie as y raad yiarn, cha row veg agh magheryn as croink ghennee. | Now, what was to be done? I dared not go home. Fortunately it was a warm sunny day, and from the south end of the lake, between the shore and the railway, there was nothing but fields and sand hills. | |
| Hug mee jeem ooilley my eaddeeyn fliugh, faagail ad 'sy ghrian dy hirmaghey, choud's va mish roie mygeayrt jiarg-rooisht derrey va my eaddeeyn cooie dy chur moom reesht. Cha dinsh mee da fer erbee mysh y chooish rish shiartanse dy vleeantyn ny lurg shen, as my hooar my voir magh dy row mee er duittym ayns y logh, cha dooyrt ee veg dooys. | I took off all my wet clothes, leaving them in the sun to dry, while I was running around stark naked until my clothes were fit to put on again. I said nothing of the incident to anyone for several years afterwards, and if my mother found out that I had fallen in the lake, she said nothing to me. | |
| Tra va mee goll dy schoill, va ghaa ny tree thieyn thooit ’sy chenn valley beg West Kirby. Cha row ad kiart gollrish ny thieyn thooit 'syn Ellan ain, son nagh row ad troggit ass claghyn. V’ad enmyssit ’sy Vaarle, “lieh-fuyghit”, as v' ad bwaagh dy jarroo. | When I was going to school there were two or three thatched houses in the village of West Kirby. They were not exactly like the thatched houses in our Island, for they were not built of stone. They were called in English ‘half-timbered’ and they were indeed lovely. | |
| Ta fys mie aym dy vel ad troggal kishtaghyn beggey “lieh-fuyghit” ayns yn Ellan jus-nish, agh t’adsyn myr dy beagh as jeant jeh spollaghyn-ailey ayns co-soyley rish ny shenn thieyn-thooit “lieh fuyghit”. | I know well that they are building half-timbered little boxes in the Island just now, but these are as though made from match-sticks compared to the old half-timbered houses! | |
| Va dagh gharmin ayndoo jeh fuygh darragh, trome as lajer, chionnit rish fer elley lesh spittag fuygh, cha nee treiney yiarn! | Each beam in them was of oak wood, heavy and strong, fastened to the other one with a wooden peg, not an iron nail! | |
| Va’n folmid eddyr ny darraghyn lhieent seose lesh breeckyn, as y thoo er mullagh y thie, cha’sayms c’red ve, agh cha row eh thoo coonlagh. | The space between the beams was filled up with bricks, and the thatch on the roof, I know not what it was, but it was not straw thatch. grows on the sand hills by the shore. | |
| Foddee ve jeant ass y faiyr liauyr as reen ta gaase er yn croink gennee rish y traie. | Perhaps it was made out of the long tough grass that | |
| Gyn dooyt va ny shenn thieyn thooit troggit | No doubt, the old thatched houses were built hundreds of years ago and maybe they are standing yet. | |
| keeadyn dy vleeantyn er dy henney as foddee t’ad [sic] shassoo foast. | ||
| Foddee ta [sic] yindys erriu cre’n oyr va mee goaill lheid [sic] tastey da [sic] obbyr-masoonee choud’s va mee foast ec y schoill! Cha lhiass diu goaill yindys edyr; nagh row mee mac da seyr-thie as mainstyr-masoonagh? | Perhaps you are wondering why I was so interested in building construction while I was still at school? You need not be at all surprised; was I not the son of a joiner and master builder? | |
| Aghterbee, s’liooar shen! | Anyway, enough of that! | |
| Va carrey ain beaghey ayns ’nane jeh ny shenn thieyn-thooit ’sy chenn valley beg as va kuse dy chabbil as assylyn echey dy varkiagh er genniagh traie ny marrey. | We had a friend living in one of the old thatched houses in the old village and he had a few horses and donkeys for riding on the sands of the shore. | |
| Ny keayrtyn er y lhiggin lurg y vooir-hraie yinnagh eh turrys y yannoo lesh cabbyl as fainagh ghaa wheeyl, dys Innys Hilbre, goaill goaldee marish dy chur shilley er yn innys. | Sometimes at slack water, after the ebb, he would make the trip with pony and trap to Hilbre Island, taking visitors with him to have a look at the place. | |
| Hie my huyr as mish marish laa dy row, agh cha noddym cooinaghtyn er monney mychione y voayl, as cha nel mee er ve ayns shen neayr's y traa shen. | My sister and I went with him one day, but I cannot remember much about the place and I have not been there since that time. | |
| Keayrt ny ghaa ta mish as my chaarjyn er hooyl gour yn Innys, tra va'n tidey foddey mooie, agh cha row shin agh paitchyn as va kuse dy ghubbyn faagit va ro ghowin dooinyn. | Many a time I and my friends have walked towards the Island when the tide was far out, but we were only children, and there were a few pools left which were too deep for us. | |
| Myr va shin shooyl cass-rooisht ’syn ushtey va shin gennaghtyn ny liehbageyn beggey gleashaght fo nyn gassyn, V'ad nyn lhie keillit ayns y genniagh. | As we walked barefoot in the water, we felt the little 'dabs' moving under our feet, they were lying hidden in the sand. | |
| Myr dooyrt mee roie, va mee goll dys yn ard-schoill er y raad yiarn, as va jurnaa s’liurey aym na ec guilley elley erbee. Va carrey aym beaghey ec Willaston as raghin y thie echey ny keayrtyn son cooish as cappan dy hey. | As I said before, I was going to the Grammar School on the railway, and I had a longer journey than any other boy. I had a friend living at Willaston, Wirral, and I would go to his home sometimes for a chat and a cup of tea. | |
| Va’n guilley shoh aghtal as feer vie lesh pen as pencil dy yannoo caslyssyn jeh cabbil- yiarn jeh dy ,chooilley horch, choud’s va mish jannoo caslyssyn jeh cabbil dooghyssagh! | This boy was clever and very good with pen and pencil to draw sketches of locomotives of every kind, while I made sketches of natural horses! | |
| Un laa va mee ec y thie echey as ghow eh toshiaght dy cheau dy trome tra va mee chyndaa dys y stashoon reesht. | One day I was at his home, and it began to rain heavily when I was returning to the station. | |
| Eisht cho leah as rosh mee y stashoon haink sterrym agglagh jeh taarnagh as tendreil, as roie mee son fastee stiagh ayns y cabbane cowree. | Then as soon as I reached the station, there came a frightful storm of thunder and lightning and I ran for shelter into the signal box. | |
| Dooyrt y dooinney cheusthie, “Trooid stiagh, agh cum shiu ersooyl veih ny dellyn staillin; ta danjeyr ayndoo ayns sterrym gollrish shoh.” | The man inside said, "Come in, but keep away from the steel levers, there is danger in them in a storm like this.” | |
| Cha row eh foddey lurg shen tra haink rooit agglagh dy haarnagh as chent sollys mooar ny hendreil ec yn un tullag . | It wasn't long after that, when there came an awful peal of thunder and a great bright flash of lightning at the same instant. | |
| Va’n tendreil lheimyragh tessyn ny dellyn son shalhd eisht ve ersooyl, agh va atchim mooar orrym. Cha nel mee rieau er ve cho faggys da tendreil, dennee mee yn chiass as soar quaagh jeh ozone! | The lightning was jumping across the levers for a second then was gone but I was very frightened. I have never been so near to lightning; I felt the heat and the unusual odour of ozone! | |
| ’Sy Vee Toshiaght Arree ’sy vlein nuy keead jeig as kiare Jeig, choud’s va mee foast ec yn ard-schoill va’n sleih “Methodee” ec Purt Ellesmere er-chee troggal cabbal as Schoill-doonee noa, as va mish reiht dy hoieaghey y clagh-undin ass lieh paitchyn y schoill-doonee. | In February 1914, while I was still at school, the Methodist people at Ellesmere Port were about to build a new chapel and Sunday School, and I was chosen to lay the foundation stone on behalf of the Sunday School children. | |
| Va’n laa mooar, Jesarn, as va’n chooish goaill toshiaght ec three er y chlag ’syn astyr. | The great day was a Saturday, and the affair was commencing at three o'clock in the afternoon. | |
| Hie mee dy schoill myr va mee cliaghtey jannoo, agh roish faagail y thie, dooyrt mee, “Myr ta mee er ghra roie, cha baillym jannoo eh, as cha noddyms jannoo eh, fow guilley ennagh elley dy hassoo ayns m’ynnyd.” | I went to school as I was accustomed to do, but before leaving home I said, “As I have said before, I didn't want to do it, and I cannot do it, get some other boy to stand in for me.” | |
| Heill mee dy row mee rey rish y chooish, agh atreih, tra lheim mee neose ass y train yn astyr shen, va sheshaght currit veih’n chabbal dy chur failt orrym! V’ad er jeet dy reayll arrey orrym nagh jinnins roie ersooyl thie. Begin dou goll maroo, cha row caa aym dy chosney roym! | I though I was done with the affair, but alas, when I jumped down out of the train that afternoon there was a committee sent from the chapel to welcome me! (They had come to watch that I didn’t run away home). I had to go with them, there was no chance to escape. | |
| Lurg ooilley yn kiaulleeaght as loayrtyssyn honnick mee yn chlag-undin hoshee soit, Ayns towl ’sy ghrunt fo yn chlagh va costrayl faagit, as ayns y costrayl va oollley ny cooinaghtyn jeh’n rheam - | After all the singing and speeches, I saw the principal foundation stone laid. In a hole in the ground under the stone there was a large bottle left, and in the bottle were all the coins of the realm: | |
| AIRH - punt airhey as lieh-phunt airhey. | GOLD - a gold sovereign and a half sovereign. | |
| ARGID - crooin, lieh-chrooin daa skillin skillin, shey pingyn as three pingyn argid. | SILVER - a crown, half-crown, florin, shilling, sixpence and a three-penny piece. | |
| COPUIR - ping, lhieng as farling, as marish ny cooinaghyn, ny pabyryn-niaght jeh’n laa. | COPPER - a penny, half-penny and a farthing; and with the coins, the newspapers of the day. | |
| Nish, my ta shiu laceal punt airhey, ta fys aym c’raad dy gheddyn eh. Eisht haink y traa son my churrym-hene, as ve jeant dy-tappee gyn loayrtys erbee. Chrank mee dagh corneil jeh’n chlagh lesh tratnane beg, gra, “Ta mee soilshaghey yn chlagh shoh dy ve mie as dy shickyr soit.” | Now if you want a gold sovereign, I know where to get one! Then came the time for my own task, and it was done quickly and without any speech. I tapped each corner of the stone with a little mallet, saying, “I declare this stone to be well and truly laid.” | |
| Ayns cooinaghtyn jeh’n chooish va’n tratnane beg currit dou as t’eh maryms foast ga dy vel eh gym myrkey ymmodee cronnyn veih feeacklyn y quallian as veih my vec shayrey jannoo ymmyd jeh son oard tra v’ad nyn baitchyn. | As a souvenir of the affair the little mallet was given to me and I have it still although it bears many scars from the pup's teeth and from my nephews using it as a hammer when they were children! | |
| Daag mee yn ard-schoill ’sy tourey shen, roish vrish magh yn chied Chaggey Mooar, dy obbraghey myr prindeis seyr-thie marish m’ayr. Gyn dooyt va shoh jerkallys-vollit vooar da m’ayr, as hirr eh dy my chur ass cree, son dy derrin seose yn eie. | I left school that summer, before the first Great War broke out, to work as an apprentice joiner with my father. No doubt, this was a great disappointment to him and he tried to discourage me so that I would give up the idea. | |
| Ec y toshiaght, va ooilley yn obbyr creoie as sallagh currit dou. Cheau mee yn chied hiaghtin er my ghlioonyn glenney as jannoo rea laare jeh kiappyn fuygh lesh “smoothing plane”. Cha row greienyn erbee dy yannoo yn obbyr shen tra va mee my ghuilley, as begin dou scuirr dagh kerroo oor dy chur foyr noa er y “Plane”. ’Syn astyr va mee goll thie bunnys ro skee dy ee my yinnair, eisht ersooyl dy lhie. | At first all the hard and dirty work was given to me. I spent the first week on my hands and knees cleaning and levelling off a block floor with a smooth plane. There were no machines to do that work when I was a boy, and I had to stop every quarter of an hour to put a new edge on the plane. In the evening I was going home almost too tired to eat my dinner, then away to bed. | |
| Ny yeih, cha ren mee gaccan as ec kione y chiaghtin honnick m’ayr dy row my chree as m’aigney jeant seose as reaghit dy ynsaghey y cheird jeh seyr-thie. | Still, I did not complain and at the end of the week father saw that my heart and mind were made up and set on learning the craft of a joiner. | |
| Dooyrt mee dy row ny claghyn-undin fo yn chabbal noa soit ’sy Vee Toshiaght Arree. S’mie shen, y nah laa Toshiaght Fouyir va’n chabbal as ny schoillyn doonee foshlit. Va’n obbyr ooilley jeant ayns shey meeghyn. Voddagh lheid yn obbyr vooar ve jeant cho tappee ec y traa t’ayn jiu, dyn y wooise da ny greienyn t’oc dy yannoo yn obbyr hrome as chreoie? | I said that the foundation stones of the chapel were laid in February. Well, on the second week of August the chapel and Sunday School were opened. The work was well done in six months! Could such a big job be done so quickly today, in spite of the fact that there are machines to do the heavy and hard work? | |
| S’feer shoh, va driss mooar goll er ’sy voghrey jeh’n laa-foslee, va hoght deiney soiaghey as jannoo rea y laare fuygh 'sy schoill doonee, as fir elley cur stiaght ny soiaghyn-killagh ayns y chabbal, agh v’ad ooilley ersooyl roish three er y chlag. | ’Tis true, there was a great rush on the morning of the opening day, there were eight men laying and smoothing off the wood block floor in the Sunday School and others putting in the pews in the chapel, but they were all gone before 3 p.m. | |
| Va mish ec y jesh-fosley as cha nel mee er n'akin lheid y chaglym jeh mooadys as scansh; yn ard reiltagh jeh’n Cho-chruinnaght Methodee as preachooryn mooar elley. Va Mnr. Illiam Lever (ny s’anmee yn Chiarn Leverhulme), as Mr. Joseph Rank; agh by gummey dou ooilley shen, scooin lhiam ny share y ghiense mooar ayns y schoill-doonee ny lurg shen! | I was at the opening ceremony and I have never seen such a gathering of dignity and importance; the President of the Conference and other great preachers, Mr William Lever (later Lord Leverhulme) and Mr Joseph Rank; I cared not about all that, I remember best the great feast in the Sunday School afterwards. | |
| Ayns laghyn my aegid cha row saase dy ymmyrkey stoo agh lesh caart-laue er-nonney lesh cabbyl as caart, myr shoh va deiney mooar as toallee goll mygeayrt, lheid as nagh vel ry-gheddyn dy mennick nish. | In the days of my youth there was no way to carry materials but with a hand-cart or else a horse and cart, so there were big stalwart men going round such as are not often found now. | |
| S’cooin lhiam dooinney aeg yn lheid shen, lajer as bwaagh, jeant gollrish jee Greekagh; v’eh gobbraghey da m’ayr inyr labree-masoonee, as ta mee er nakin eh goll stiagh ’sy bwaane-stoyr as cheet magh ass lesh daa hac dy cement as shooyl ersooyl maroo myr dy beagh ad bunneeyn dy choonlagh, as ec y traa shen va daa cheead punt ayns dagh sac, ta shen dy ghra, v’eh gymmyrkey ny smoo na kiare keead phunt. | I remember a young man like that, muscular and handsome, built like a Greek god; he was working for my father as a mason's labourer and I have seen him go into the store shed and come out with two sacks of cement and walk away with them as though they were sheaves of corn, and at that time there were two hundredweights in each sack, that is to say he was carrying more than four hundred pounds. | |
| Cha lhiass da fer erbee gobbraghey gollrish shen jiu! Hie yn guilley shen ersooyl dys y Chaggey as cha daink eh thie reesht, v’eh er ny varroo ’sy Rank. | No man need work like that today. That boy went away to the War and did not come home again, he was killed in France. | |
| Va thie-obbree ayns Purt Ellesmere jannoo cement, as va cement feer ghoan lurg y Chaggey. Va carrey m’ayr ayns y thalloo Bretnagh geearree er dy gheddyn jeih thunney jeh’n stoo my oddagh eh ve. Nish, cha row saase erbee dy chur ersooyl cement agh er y raad yiarn ayns kishtey vooar queeylagh, as er ny choyrt lesh cabbyl as caart gys y stashoon. | There was a factory in Ellesmere Port making cement, and cement was very scarce after the war. A friend of my father’s in Wales asked him to get ten tons of the stuff if possible. Now, there was no other way to send away cement but on the railway in the ‘box car’ (covered wagon) and brought to the station by horse and cart. | |
| Va’n obbyr currit dooys dy ghoaill ny seick as soiaghey ad. ry-cheilley cho chionn as dod mee ’sy “van”. | I was given the task of taking the sacks and standing them together as tightly as I could in the van. | |
| Tra va laare y “van” coodit, eisht begin dou troggal yn naa yastan er mullagh ny seick elley, as va obbyr feer chreoie dooys; va laa braew cheh ayn as va mee gollish dy seyr, va daa cheead phunt rouyr dooys! Aghterbee hug mee jerrey er yn obbyr as hie mee thie skee agglagh. | When the floor of the van was covered, then I had to lift the second tier on top of the other sacks, and it was very hard work for me; it was a fine warm day and I was perspiring freely, two hundredweight was too much for me! Anyway I finished the job and went home awfully tired. | |
| Dy mennick hie mee as dooinney elley gys y Mwyllin-saaue dy gheddyn fuygh, as myr nagh row agh caart-laue ain, va shen obbyr chreoie neesht; ta mee er choayl mooarane ollish seiy y caart shen, er lheh goll seose yn ughtagh noi geay as fliaghey. | Often I and another fellow went to the sawmill to get timber and, as we had only a handcart, that was hard work too; I have lost a lot of sweat pushing that can, especially going uphill against wind and rain. | |
| Un laa va’n mwyllin-saaue er aile as va’n boayl stroit dy bollagh, thieyn, fuygh as greienyn, agh cha row eh foddey roish v'eh ooilley aa-hroggit as va’n shenn stoo goit ersooyl, as dy chooilley nhee er yn chionnaghey ass-y-noa. | One day the sawmill was on fire and the place was utterly destroyed; buildings, timber and machinery, but it was not long before it was all re-built and the old stuff taken away, and everything bought anew. | |
| ayns ynnyd yn chenn “gas engine” lesh queeyl-etlee vooar, va motoryn lectragh as saauenyn smoo as share, agh va ram fuygh prisoil lostit ’syn aile nagh dod ad kionnaghey ass-y-noa. | In place of the old gas-engine with a big flywheel, were electric motors and bigger and better saws, but there was a lot of valuable timber burned in the fire that could not be replaced. | |
| Va’n shapp-obbree seyir-thie ain er yn chied laare, heose ny greeishyn, as ,my va palchey rheamys er laare y ghrunt, carny bleeantyn jeh’n chaggey mooar va boalley-rheynn troggit ’sy vean as yn derrey lieh reaghit myr stabyl son three cabbil mooar as un cabbyl beg. | Our joiner’s workshop was on the first floor, up stairs, and as there was plenty of room on the ground floor, during the Great War years, a dividing wall was built in the middle, and one half arranged as a stable for three cart horses and a pony. | |
| Va ny cabbil mooar lesh dooinney va gymmyrkey stoo son troggal thieyn, genniagh, breeckyn, fuygh, cement as y lheid, agh va'n cabbyl beg lesh dooinney joarree, as y far-annym eckey “Jacko”. V’eshyn cadjer-eeastee, as fer riftan as garroo. | The big horses belonged to a man who carried building materials, sand, bricks, timber, cement and such like, but the little horse belonged to a strange man, nicknamed ‘Jacko’. He was a fish hawker, and a coarse, shiftless fellow. | |
| Agh va’n ven echey foddey ny smessy, joushag ghranganagh dy ven, as trouise er-meshtey neesht! | But his wife was far worse; a peevish termagant of a woman, and a drunken sloven too! | |
| Va Jacko son y jough myrgeddin as bunnys dagh oie Jysarn yinnagh ad goll er y scooyr ry-cheilley as tra haink ad thie reesht veih’n thie-lhionney shen y traa ghow yn gamman toshiaght! Veagh ad tuittym magh, gwee mollaghtynyeealley y cheilley, gyllagh as screeagh, as chossyn y ven varriaght dy chooilley cheayrt, as va Jacko ceaut magh as hie eh sheese y traid dy chadley marish e chabbyl ’sy stabyl. | Jacko was fond of a drop too, and nearly every Saturday night they would go on the ‘booze’ together and when they came home from the pub, that's the time the fun started! They would quarrel, curse, beat each other up, shouting and screaming, and the wife won the victory every time, and Jacko was thrown out and he went down the street to sleep with his horse in the stable. | |
| Keayrt ny ghaa va ben Yacko cho keoie as baanrit veagh siyn-chraie, claareeyn, glessyn as boteilyn, jesheenyn as jallooyn g'etlagh trooid yn uinnag, dy jarroo red er bee oddagh ee goaill greim er, eer y pash-vooin veih'n chamyr-chadlee! | Many a time Jacko’s wife was so wild and insane, there would be crockery, dishes, glasses and bottles, ornaments and pictures flying through the window, indeed anything she could get a hold of, even the chamber-pot from the bedroom! | |
| Shimmey keayrt haghyr caggaghyn y lheid shoh, as dy chooilley cheayrt yinnagh y dooinney boght soieaghey seose yn thie reesht, agh haghyr eh un cheayrt ro vennick! | Many times fights like this occurred and each time the poor man would set up house again, but it happened once too often! | |
| Myr va’n cliaghtey oc cheau ad Oie Jysarn rastagh as va Jacko ceaut magh dy chadley marish e chabbyl, agh moghrey Jydoonee, v’eh er ny ghoostey liorish meoir-shee as er ghoaill gys thie ny quaiyl. | As was their custom, they spent a wild Saturday night, and Jacko was thrown out to sleep with his horse, but on Sunday morning he was wakened by a policeman and taken to the court-house. | |
| Va’n ven echey marroo! Va naboo er n’gheddyn ee ec cass ny greeishyn as y mwannal eek brisht, as va ourys er duittyn er Jacko. V’eh ny ghoaill roish ny fir reill ’sy whaiyl yn naa laa, agh lurg va feanish fendeilagh er ny choyrt ass e lieh, cha row cassid erbee jeant noi; va’n briwnys “baase doaltattym”. V’eh dooinney aighoil dy scapail teid yn ’er-chroghee! | HIS WIFE WAS DEAD! A neighbour had found her at the foot of the stairs with a broken neck, and suspicion had fallen on Jacko. He was taken before the magistrates the next day, but after defence witness had been given on his behalf, there was no charge made against him; the verdict was ‘accidental death’! He was a lucky man to escape the hangman's rope! | |
| Tra va mee jeih bleeaney d’eash, chionnee m’ayr daa-chiarkyl er my hon, as ga nagh row eh kiart noa va mee booiagh dy liooar lesh. Agh yn chied hraa va mee markiagh er, hie mee ro happee mygeayrt corneil y raad as roie mee jeeragh stiagh ayns cheu chooyloo caart y fuinneyder! “Nish,” dooyrt m’ayr, tra rosh mee thie, “foddee t’ou toiggal nish cre’n oyr nagh chionnee mee daa-chiarkyl noa er dty hon. Shegin dhyts geeck son y jeeil ass yn argid-phoagey ayd-hene.” | When I was ten years of age father bought me a bicycle and although it was not brand new I was content enough with it; but the first time I was riding on it, I went too fast around the corner of the road and ran straight into the back of the baker's cart! “Now,” said my father when I reached home, “Perhaps you understand why I did not buy a new bicycle for you. You must pay for the damage out of your own pocket money.” | |
| Keayrt elley, va mee markiagh er daa-chiarkyl va lesh m’ayr, as va glackan-coshal-gooyl er. Myr va mee goll sheese lhergagh er bayr coon, vrish yn geuley as va mee faagit gyn glackan erbee. Nish va mee gollish! Va’n ghaa-chiarkyl goll ny s’tappee as ny s’tappee, as va fys mie aym nagh voddins cosney mygeayrt y lhoob ec cass y chrink as tessyn y droghad harrish y trooan. | Another time I was riding on father’s bicycle and there was a back-pedalling brake on it. As I was going down hill on a narrow lane, the chain broke and I was left without a brake. Now I was in a sweat! The bicycle was going faster and faster and I knew full well that I could not negotiate the bend at the foot of the hill and cross the bridge over the stream. | |
| Woaill mee y droghad as detlee mee trooid yn aer tuittym sheese ’syn ushtey. Va mee fliugh dy liooar agh cha ro ski lley jeant orryms agh brooghyn, agh yn ghaa-chiarkyl voght! Begin dou gymmyrkey ee er my hlinganyn, as cre'n tooilley-troiddey hooar mee tra rosh mee thie! | I struck the bridge and flew through the air, falling down into the water. I was wet enough but there was no harm done to me except bruises, but the poor bicycle! I had to carry it on my shoulders and what a torrent of scolding I got when I reached home! | |
| Er lhiams, va mish y cheyrrey ghoo ’sy thie ain; va mee neau doolane as kionlajeragh, roonagh as raghtal, as va mee dy kinjagh “ayns ushtey cheh”. | I think I was the black sheep of our family, I was ever defiant and headstrong, stubborn and obstinate, and I was always in hot water. | |
| Un oie, as mish foddee shey bleeaney jeig d'eash haink mee thie feer anmagh as v’ad ooilley er n’gholl dy lhie er-lhimmey jeh m’ayr. V’eh er chur troiddey dou keayrt ny ghaa roish shen, agh yn oie shen v'eh fuirraght orrym lesh maidjer ayns e laue! | One night, and I about sixteen years of age, I came home very late and they had all gone to bed except father. He had scolded me many times before but this night he was waiting for me with a stick in his hand! | |
| Va soilshey “gas” ’sy thie ain ec y traa shen, as tra hrog m’ayr y maidjer dy my woailley, lheim mee ry lhiattee as woa1ll eh yn soilshey, as va’n boayl ayns dorraghys. Eisht ghow mee my chaa dy chosney seose ny greeishyn, as duirree mee rish tammylt liauyr (dyn cur jeem my eaddagh!) Eisht, cheayll mee m'ayr cheet neese ny greeishyn as v'eh garraghtee rish-hene! Honnick eh yn cheu aitt jeh’n chooish, as by vie lhiam nagh row eh corree lurg ooilley. | There was gas light in our house at that time, and when father lifted the stick to strike me, I jumped aside and he struck the light and the place was in darkness. Then I took the opportunity to get upstairs and I waited for a long time (without getting un dressed!) Then I heard father coming upstairs and he was laughing to himself! He saw the funny side of the affair, and I was glad he was not angry after all. | |
| Gimraa y chooish shoh te cur lesh er-ash cooinaghtyn elley. Va daa charrey aym ayns Liverpool as tra v’ad paitchyn v’ad currit er nyn doshiaght roish nyn ayr dy gholl gys schoill-doonee, agh er y raad hooar ad dub ny ghaa as laagh as v'ad cloie ayndoo tra haink nyn ayr orroo. Va'n eaddagh share orroo as va nyn ayr corree· myr shoh v'ad- currit thie gys nyn shamyr ayns earey. | Mentioning this incident brings back another memory. I had two friends in Liverpool, and when they were children they were sent on ahead of their father to go to Sunday School, but on the road they found many a muddy pool and they were playing in them when their father came on them. They had their best clothes on and their father was angry, so they were sent home to their room in disgrace. | |
| Tra rosh yn ayr thie, hie eh seose dys y chamyr as tr doshil eh y dorrys lheie e ymmoose ersooyl; va ny pa1tchyn er nyn n glioonyn gra, “Son shen ta shin er chee dy gheddyn, Hiarn jean Uss shinyn dy firrinagh booisal. Amen.” | When the father reached home, he went up to the room and when he opened the door his anger melted away; the children were on their knees saying, “For what we are about to receive, Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.” | |
| Ta mee er n’imraa diu hannah dy row mee gob braghey ’sy Thalloo Bretnagh lurg yn chied Chaggey Mooar. S'mie shen, daa vlein ny s'anmee va mee sooree marish inneen Vretnagh va beaghey ayns balley beg eddyr Ruabon as Llangollen. Va daa chiarkyl motor aym, as va mee kiart dy liooar ’sy tourey jannoo yn thurrys veih Purt Ellesmere, agh tra haink y gheurey ayn, lesh feayraght, rio, sniaghtey, sterrym as fliaghey, cha ren mee coontey monney jeh, as chaill mee my yeeanid as haink y chooish gy-kione ! | I have already mentioned to you that I was working in Wales after the first Great War. Well, two years later I was courting a Welsh girl who was living in a village between Ruabon and Llangollen. I had a motor cycle and I was right enough in the summertime making the trip from Ellesmere Port, but when the winter came with the cold and frost, snow, storm and rain, did not reckon much of it, and I lost my ardour and the affair came to an end. | |
| Mysh y traa shen, v’ad troggal purt mooar ec Purt Ellesmere son lhuigys-tanker cur lhieu ooil veih cheeraghyn shiar. Va’n ooil currit er-egin trooid poibyn fo yn ymmyr-lhuingys-Manchester gys tankyn-kiarkylagh-stoyr er y cheu elley. | About that time they were building a great dock at Ellesmere Port for tankers bringing oil from Eastern Countries. The oil was pumped through pipes under the Manchester Ship Canal to circular storage tanks on the other side. | |
| S’cooin lhiam ooilley y thalloo shen rish queig na shey meeillaghyn myr curragh as reeastane, agh nish cha nel veg agh unnane “refinery” mooar er-bastal. | I remember all that land for five or six miles as a bog and wasteland, but now there is nothing but one tremendous refinery. | |
| Un oie, hie “tank” er aile as ve shilley yindyssagh dy yeeaghyn er. V’eh lostey rish daa laa, as cha dod red erbee ve jeant dy phlooghey yn aile; v'eh faagit dy lostey ersooyl agh va ushtey spreiht er ny boallaghyn-yiarn, er-aggle yinnagh eh sheidey seose as cur aile er ny “tankyn” elley er-gerrey da. | One night a tank went on fire and it was a wonderful sight to look at. It was burning for two days and nothing could be done to smother the fire, it was left to burn itself out, but water was sprayed on the iron walls for fear it would explode and set fire to other tanks nearby. | |
| Lurg baase m’ayr ’sy vlein jees as feed, hannee my vraar as mish lesh yn obbyr, agh cha row argid dy liooar ain dy ghoaill ayns laue obbraghyn mooar. | After the death of my father in 1922, my brother and I carried on with the work, but we had not sufficient capital to undertake large works. | |
| Ny-yeih, va shin tarroogh dy liooar, gyn monney argid cheet stiagh, agh chionnee shin shenn “tin Lizzie”, as v’ee feer ymmydoil dooin. | Nevertheless, we were busy enough, without much money coming in, but we bought a ‘tin Lizzie’ (a model T Ford car) and it was very useful to us. | |
| Laa dy row, va mee er reaghey dy veeiteil my 'neen-charrey ec yn oik raad v’ee gobbraghey as goaill ee thie ’sy carr, agh s'mooar va'n yindys orrym tra haink ish magh ass yn oik as queig ny shey in neenyn elley maree! Hionn ad ooilley 'sy carr as ersooyl lhien sheese y traid, agh myr va shin goll sheese yn ughtagh gys y Phurt, cheayll mee polt as honnick mee queeyl cooylloo as paart jeh’n essyl brisht roie roin! | One day I had arranged to meet my fiancee at the office where she worked and take her home in the car, but how great my surprise when she came out of the office and five or six other girls with her. They all squeezed into the car and away with us down the street, but as we were going down the hill to the harbour, I heard a bang and saw the rear wheel and part of the broken axle running before us! | |
| B’egin daue ooilley shooyl dy-valley as va mish faagit my lomarcan. Va shen rouyr da’n ’neen aym; v’ee corree agglagh as cha dooyrt ee veg dooys rish shiaghtyn ny lurg shen! | They all had to walk home and I was left alone. That was too much for my girl friend; she was awfully angry and said nothing to me for a week after that. | |
| Lurg tammylt, dennee mee nagh row mee geddyn tushtey as cliaghtey dy liooar ayns my cheird, as haink mee gys yn Ellan dy obbraghey da ny Braaraghyn Creer. | After a while, I felt that I was not getting enough knowledge and experience in my trade and I came to the Island to work for Creer Bros.· | |
| Hooar mee ayns shen lheid y cliaghtey as nagh dod mee geddyn ayns Sostyn er yn oyr va dy chooilley nhee laue-jeant; cha row greienys erbee elley agh saaue as “gas-engine”. Dynsee mee ny smoo mychione my cheird maroo na ooilley hooar mee roie, agh cha duirree mee agh un vlein. Va my vraar er chee troggal thieyn as hug eh fys orrym dy heet thie as cooney lesh. | I got experience there such as I could not get in England because everything was hand-made; there was no machinery other than a saw and gas-engine. I learned more about my trade with them than all I had learned before, but I only stayed one year; my brother was about to build houses and he sent for me to come and help him. | |
| Daa vlein ny lurg shen haink y “General Strike” as cha row obbyr erbee ry-gheddyn. Va thousaneyn dy gheiney nyn daaue! | Two years after that came the General Strike and there was no work at all to be found, thousands of men were idle. | |
| Shen y traa ghow mee ayns laue dy hroggal thie er my-hon hene, as shen ren mee lesh argid-choontey jeh queig puint jeig as three feed, va shen ooilley my verchys seihltagh ec y traa shen! | That was the time I undertook to build a house for myself, and I did it with a capital of £75, that was all my worldly wealth at that time! | |
| Gyn dooyt ta shiu goaill yindys crenaght va lhied y mirril jeant aym? S’mie shen, hoshiaght hooar mee y thalloo voish my voir as hug ee kied dou dy vaghey ec y thie gyn-eeck. Eisht va gioot jeh £75 veih’n Chiannoortys Hostnagh, as queig keead puint er eeassaght veih’n Coonseil. | Doubtless you are wondering how such a miracle was achieved? Well, first I got the land from my mother and she gave me leave to live at home gratis. Then there was a subsidy from the Government and a £500 mortgage from the local Council. | |
| Shen ooilley v’aym dy hroggal y thie, dy chion naghey ooilley y stoo-thie, as dy gheddyn poost, agh va mee gobbraghey creoie bunnys oie as laa rish shey meeghyn. | That was all I had to build the house, buy all the furniture, and get married, but I was working hard almost night and day for six months. | |
| Ren mee ooilley yn obbyr-ruygh; ayns ny laghyn shen cha row veg ry-gheddyn aarloo-jeant agh dorryssyn. Eisht ’sy Vee Averil va my vyrneen as mish poost, agh cha row argid dy liooar faagit ain dy gholl ersooyl son nyn mee-phoosee. B’egin da shen fuirraght rish y tourey tra haink shin harrish gys yn Ellan. | I did all the woodwork. In those days there was nothing to be obtained ready-made but doors. Then in April my sweetheart and I were married, but we had not enough money left to go away for a honeymoon. That had to wait until the summer when we came over to the Island. | |
| Car ny bleeantyn ny lurg shen, va foast ram deiney gyn-obbyr, as fy-yerrey va mish ny mast’oc; va mee my-haaue rish three shiaghtinyn jeig, as cha row argid-ny-haaue agh three skillin jeig as feed ’sy chiaghtin, as mish my ghooinney poost! Va mee feer treih as currit ass cree dy bollagh. Eisht dooyrt carrey aym rhym (v'eh fer-ynsee schoill), “Cre’n fa dyn dy gholl son fer-ynsee cheirdee-fuygh?” | During the following years there were still many men without work, and finally I was among them; I was idle for thirteen weeks, and unemployment pay was only thirty three shillings a week, and I a married man! I was very miserable and utterly dejected. Then a friend of mine said to me, (he was a teacher), "Why not go for a woodwork teacher?" | |
| Ghow mee y choyrle shen as yn nah vlein, nuy as feed, va mee gynsaghey ayns schoillyn “West Riding” as baghey ayns Huddersfield, agh va’n ’aill moal agglagh, three punt ’sy chiaghtin, as daa vlein ny s’anmee tra lhisin v'er n'gheddyn bishaght, va jeih punt ’sy cheead er ny ghoaill veih dy chooilley ’er ynsee, myr shoh va mee ny s’boghtey na va mee roie. | I took that advice and the next year 1929 I was teaching in the West Riding and living in Huddersfield, but the pay was awfully poor, £3 week, and two years later when I should have received an increment all teachers received a 10 per cent cut, so I was poorer than before. | |
| Ee y toshiaght va mee goaill aaght ayns Hud dersfield, agh dy gerrid hooar mee thie feer veg ayns straid jeeaghyn magh harrish kerroo-obbree y valley. Dod shin fakin three chymleeyn as feed voish nyn ghorrys, as dy mennick ooilley jeu tilgey magh jaagh dhoo. Agh, cha rowdy chooilley nhee dhoo as sallagh; va boayllyn feer aalin mygeayrt y valley, as hooar mee caarjyn mie. | At first I was in lodgings in Huddersfield but soon I found a tiny house in a street overlooking the industrial quarter of the town. We could see twenty three chimneys from our door, and often all of them belching out black smoke. But everything was not black and dirty; there were beautiful places around the town and I found good friends. | |
| Roish hie mee dys Yorkshire, va mee er chlashtyn dy row ny cummaltee creoie-chreeagh, kercheenagh as graihagh er yn argid, agh nel shen yn irriney edyr! Va mee baghey jeih bleeaney ny mast’oc, as ga dy vel ad kiarailagh lesh nyn argid as dy mennick doillee dy gheddyn ainjyssagh lhieu, t' ad dy jarroo sollan y theihll, t’ad obbree creoie sheeylt, kenjal as feoiltagh, as dy beagh shiu aighoil dy liooar dy gheddyn carrey ny mast’oc, yiow shiu carrey son dty vioys. | Before I went to Yorkshire I had heard that the people were hard-hearted, mean and money grabbers, but that is not true at all. I was living ten years among them and although they are thrifty and often difficult to get acquainted with, they are indeed the salt of the earth, they are hard working, temperate, kind and generous, and it you should be lucky enough to find a friend among them, you'll have a friend for life. | |
| Te bunnys daeed vlein neayr’s daag mee Huddersfield as ta mee screeu foast rish shiartanse dy my henn chaarjyn, as ny keayrtyn cur shilley orroo. Cha noddym jarrood nyn genjallys dooys tra va my ven ching ayns y thie lheihys ayns shen. | It is nearly forty years since I left Huddersfield and I still write to several of my old friends and sometimes 'put a sight' on them. I cannot forget their kindness to me when my wife was in hospital there. | |
| Va mee gynsaghey ayns three schoillyn-cheerey, as va 'nane jeu er ny croink-“Pennine”, boayl eunyssagh 'sy tourey, agh tra haink y gheurey ayn, ve atchimagh, - feayr, sterrymagh as fliugh. | I was teaching in three country schools and one of them was on the Pennine hills, a delightful place in the summer, but when winter came it was awful - cold, stormy and wet. | |
| Feiy yn laa va mee gynsaghey guillyn, agh hannee mee gys yn astyr dy ghoaill brastyl son deiney, chammah shenn as aeg, as va mee tarroogh dy liooar jeeaghyn lurg feed jeu! Un oie, va beggan dy niaghtey ayn tra ghow shin toshiaght ec shiaght er y chlag, agh cha dug shin monney tastey da; agh ec nuy er y chlag tra va’n lessoon ec jerrey, doshil shiny dorrys as cha row veg ry-akin agh sniaghtey, va'n dorrys lung-lane! | During the day I was teaching boys, but I stayed on until evening to take a class for men, both old and young, and I was busy enough looking after twenty of them. One night, there was a little snow when we began at 7 o'clock, but we did not give much attendon to it; but at 9 o'clock when the lesson ended, we opened the door and there was nothing to be seen but snow, the doorway was full up! | |
| B’egin dooin reuyrey nyn raad magh ass, as va'n sniaghtey cheu-mooie feer dowin. B’leayr dooin dy beagh cha moo barroose na "tramcar" yn oie shen, as cha row veg er nyn son dy yannoo agh shooyl as gleck trooid y sniaghtey as sheebaneyn cho mie as dod shin. Rish y chied ghaa veeilley va mee kiart dy liooar, er yn oyr va deiney elley shooyl marym, agh ny lurg shen va mee my lomarcan as shey meeillaghyn elley dy gholl! | We had to dig our way out and the snow outside was very deep. It was clear to us that there would be neither bus nor tramcar that night, and there was nothing for us to do but walk and struggle through the snow and drifts as well as we could. For the first two miles I was right enough, because there were other men walking with me, but after that I was alone and another six miles to go! | |
| Ghleck mee er my hoshiaght dy dree, dy mennick tuittym ayns sheebane, as cha veeit mee rish fer elley erbee er y raad derrey haink mee stiagh ’sy valley. | I struggled on slowly, often falling in a drift and I met no other person until I came into town. | |
| Va deiney hannah ec obbyr as keeaghtyn-sniaghtee oc, skeabey ny straidyn, agh er my hon hene va foast meeilley elley aym ty-gholl gys cheu elley y valley. Fy-yerrey rosh mee thie ec lieh oor lurg ‘nane’ sy voghrey. Va my ven imneagh my-my-chione as s’mooar va’n boggey eck dy akin mee thie ayns sauchy’s , as mish booisal dy gheddyn rish y chiollagh as shiass yn aile. | There were men already at work with snow ploughs sweeping the streets, but as for myself I had still another mile to go to the other side of town. At last I arrived home at half past one in the morning. My wife was anxious about me and how glad she was to see me home in safety, and I was thankful to get by the hearth and the warmth of the fire. | |
| Tra hie mee hoshiaght dys Huddersfield, va “tram’myn electragh” roie er ny straidyn, as kuse dy vleeantyn ny s’anmee, v’ad goit ersooyl as barrooseyn-trolley currit ayns nyn ynnyd. Nish, dy mennick ’syn ayrn shen jeh Yorkshire yiow ad kay hiu, as oddagh ny shenn “trammyn-electragh” goll dy aashagh trooid y chay, son v'ad roie er radlinyn yiarn, agh va ny barrooseyn-“trolley” caillt ayns kay. | When I first went to Huddersfield there were electric trams running in the streets, and a few years later they were taken away and trolley buses but in their place. Now, often in that part of Yorkshire, they will get thick fog, and the old trams could travel easily through the fog, for they were running on iron rails, but the trolley buses were lost in fog. | |
| S’cooin lhiam oie dy row as kay hiu ayn, tra va mee goll dy ghoaill brastyl-oie. Cha row ridlanyn-yiarn dy chooney lesh yn immanagh, as b’egin da geiyrt er ny claghyn-kerb. V’eh jannoo dy mie derrey haink shin gys boayl-mooar-foshlit er-gerrey da'n phairk. Yarrood eh dy row raad elley chyndaa gys y laue kiuttagh as deiyr eh ny claghyn-kerb er y raad shen derrey hayrn y trolley ooilley ny cableyn neose! | I remember one night of thick fog, when I was going to take an evening class. There were no iron rails to help the driver, and he was compelled to follow the kerb stones. He was doing well until we came to a great open place near the park. He forgot that there was another road turning left and he followed the kerb stones on that road until the trolley arms pulled the cables down. | |
| Va’n pooar electragh giarrit jeh, as va ooilley ny barrooseyn-trolley scruirrit. Cha row veg aym ry yannoo agh shooyl thie! | The electric power was cut off and all the trolley buses stopped. There was nothing for me to do but walk home. | |
| Ny keayrtyn ’sy tourey yinnagh shin goll er y cheer ayns “tram” as goaill “picnic” marin, agh atreih! cha row y cheer gollrish Ellan Vannin. Va boallaghyn cloaie ayn, agh v’ad dhoo lesh jaagh veih ny mwyllinyn, as va’n ushtey ayns ny strooanyn cullyrit lesh y daah v'ad jannoo ymmyd jeh, as va gloutyn dy chesh veih nieeaghyn yn ollan ayns ny mwyllinyn. Agh ny smessey na ooilley, cha row y keayn ry-akin! Eer veagh shilley jeh’n Mersey broigh er n'yannoo foays da my chree. | Sometimes in the summer we would go into the country and take a picnic with us, but - oh dear! The country was not like the Isle of Man. There were stone walls, but they were black with smoke from the mills, and the water in the streams was coloured with the dye they were using, and masses of foam from washing the wool in the mills but worse than all, there wasn’t a sight of the sea! Even a sight of the dirty Mersey would have done my heart good! | |
| Va my ven dy mennick gaccan mychione y jaagh, s lurg va nyn lhiannoo-neen ruggit va niaghyn dy ve Jeant dagh laa, agh cho leah as v’ad currit cheu mooie, begin daue ve jeant ass y noa. Cha row eh co ie noadyr dy chur y lhiannoo cheu mooie ayns y famagh beg eek. Myr shoh hooar shin thie elley ayns boayl share ersooyl veih ny thieyn-obbree as hannee shin ayns shen derrey daag shin Huddersfield. | My wife often complained about the smoke and after our infant daughter was born, there was washing to be done each day, but as soon as they were put outside, they had to be done over again; it wasn't fit either to put the child outside in her pram. So we found another house in a better place away from the factories, and we stayed there until we left Huddersfield. | |
| Va dooinney baghey ayns thie nyn gooyl, as va carr beg echey as bwaane-fuygh aynsyn dy reayll ee, as va ughtagh-fuygh goll stiagh ayns y bwaane. | There was a man living in a house at the back of us, and he had a little car and a wooden shed to keep it in, with a wooden ramp going into the shed. | |
| V’eh “organist” ec cabbal ’sy valley, as dy chooilley Jydoonee heeagh shin eh goll magh ’sy carr lesh yn eaddagh share echey as edd “bowler” er e chione. | He was an organist at a chapel in town and every Sunday we would see him going out in the car in his Sunday best and a 'bowler' hat on his head. | |
| Jydoonee dy row haink eh thie reesht as v’eh troailt ro happee seose yn ughtagh-fuygh as lheim y carr harrish sole y dorrys. Va eshyn ceaut seose as woaill eh e chione er mullagh y carr, as va’n “bowler” jeenysit sheese harrish e hooillyn as e chleashyn, as dy yannoo “job” jeh, hug eh e chass er y coshal happeeys as hie eh-hene as y carr magh trooid kione y bwaane myr dy beagh ad ve orraghit ass gunn as v'eh soit ayns y carr buimys oanluckit ayns muir-choorys y bwaane! | One Sunday he returned home and was travelling too fast up the ramp and the car leapt over the threshold. He was thrown up and struck his head on the roof of the car, and the bowler was jammed down over his eyes and ears, and to make a good job of it, he put his foot on the accelerator and he and the car went out through the end of the shed as though they had been shot from a gun, and he was sat in the car nearly buried in the wreckage of the hut! | |
| Honnick mee yn taghyrt as va mee garraghtee dy ard, smooinnee mee ve yn red smoo aitt va mee er n'akin rish tammylt liauyr, as va eh-hene gyllagh orrym dy beet as cur cooney lesh. Hooar mee eh ass y cassey, agh v’eh ro chorree eer dy gra, “Gur eh mie ayd.” | I saw the incident and was laughing aloud, I thought it the funniest thing I had seen for a long time, and himself was shouting to me to come and help him. I got him out of the tangle but he was too angry even to say ‘thank you’. | |
| ’Sy vlein shiaght jeig as feed chionnee mee carr beg myrgeddin, as ren ee shirveish mie dooin, er-lheh er laghyn feailley ayns Sostyn, n’Albin as Bretin, eer ayns Ellan Vannin. Hie shin dys yn “Empire Exhibition” ec Glaschoe, as va’n ‘neen ain queig bleeaney d’eash ec y traa. V'ee oalyssit lesh ny dooinneenyn ayns nyn dhieyn-ferrishyn, as y “Big Dipper”! V’ee keayney as guee orrym dy ghoaill ee son markiaght er! | In the year ’37 I bought a small car myself and it did us good service, especially on holidays in England, Scotland and Wales, even in the Isle of Man. | |
| We went to the Empire Exhibition in Glasgow, and our little girl was five years of age at the time. She was enchanted by the dwarfs in their fairy houses and the 'Big Dipper'! She was crying and begging me to take her for a ride on it! | ||
| Hie mee maree, agh goll sheese yn ughtagh mooar va my volg girree gys my scoarnagh; agh va’n lhiannoo screeagh ayns eunys, as tra haink eh gys y jerrey, cha jinnagh ee cheet ersooyl as b’egin dou goll mygeayrt yn nah cheayrt maree. | I went with her, but going down the big drop, my stomach rose to my throat; but the child was shrieking in delight, and when it came to the end she would not come away and I had to take her round the second time. | |
| Va shin tannaghtyn ayns cabbane va lesh my vraar 'sy leigh, as eshyn stiureyder er yn awin Forth, as va'n cabbane jeeragh fo yn ard-ghroghad raad-yiarn. | We were staying in a cabin which belonged to my brother in law who was a pilot on the Firth of Forth, and the cabin was directly under the great railway bridge. | |
| Nish, va cliaghtey mastey ny troailtee dy cheau pingyn magh ass y train myr v'ad goll harrish son aigh-vie, as va ymmodee jeu tuittym er-gerrey da’n cabbane. | Now it was a custom among the passengers to throw pennies out of the train for luck, and many fell near the cabin. The child was gathering them, thinking they were pennies from Heaven. | |
| Va’n lhiannoo chymsagh ad as smooinee ee dy row ad “pingyn veih Niau”. | ||
| Ayns “Cooinaghtyn my Aegid” d’imraa mee dy row yn Vible Ghailckagh currit dou as sheli yn aght ghow mee toshiaghtdy ynsaghey chengey ny mayrey, agh va oyr elley ayn; ec yn “Empire Exhibition” va “clachan” (kuse dy waaneyn thooit garroo) as myr va feallagh goll stiagh ayndoo, va failt currit daue liorish ben aeg as waagh loayrt ’sy Ghailck Albinagh. | In ‘Cooinaghtyn my Aegid’ I mentioned that the Manx Bible was given to me and that was the way I began to learn the mother tongue but there was another reason; at the Empire Exhibition there was a ‘clachan’ (a few rough thatched houses) and as folk were going into them they were welcomed by a lovely young lady speaking in Scots Gaelic. | |
| Cha row Gailck erbee aym ec y traa shen as loayr ee ’sy Vaarle rhym, briaght jeem cre voish va mee er jeet. Dooyrt mee dy row mee Manninagh agh baghey ayns Yorkshire, as nagh row agh kuse dy ’eallagh cheerey loayrt y Ghailck Vanninagh nish. | I had no Gaelic at that time, and she spoke to me in English asking where I had come from. I said I was a Manxman but living in Yorkshire, and that only a few country folk spoke Manx Gaelic now. | |
| Eisht dooyrt ee, “Nearey ort, t’ou uss Manninagh gyn Gailck erbee, gow shiu er as ynsee ee choud as ta feallagh ayn loayrt ee.” Va dy firrinagh nearey orrym, clashtyn wheesh dy Ghailck Albinagh goll er loayrt mygeayrt y moom as ren mee gialdyn da’n ven-aeg villish dy yannoo my chooid share dy ynsagh y Ghailck ain-hene. | Then she said, “Shame on thee, you are a Manxman with no Gaelic. Go on and learn it while there are people speaking it.” I was truly ashamed hearing so much Scots Gaelic being spoken around me, and I promised that sweet young woman to do my best to learn our own Gaelic. | |
| Tra ghow mee toshiaght er ynsaghey y Ghailck va shin foast beaghey ayns Huddersfield, agh va foddeeaght orrym dy gheddyn obbyr ’syn Ellan, ny-yeih, cha jinnin cur seose m’obbyr myr fer-ynsee keirdee. Aghterbee, va obbyr ry-gheddyn ec Purt Ellesmere as ghow mee eh. Ve un kesmad ny s'niessey da Ellan Vannin. | When I first began to learn Manx we were still living in Huddersfield, and I longed to get work in the Island, yet I would not give up my job as a craft teacher. Anyway, there was work to be got in Ellesmere Port and I took it. It was one step nearer to the Isle of Man. | |
| Tra vrish magh yn nah Chaggey Mooar va ny schoillyn ceaut ooilley fud-y-cheilley, as va ny laghyn-feailley reaghit ny s’girrey as ny s’menkey, myr shoh hooar mee thie ayns Purt le Moirrey son my ven as inneen, as va mee cheet harrish shey ny shiaght keayrtyn ’sy vlein, as cur shilley er ny shenn Vanninee va foast bio ec y traa shen. | When the second war broke out (1939) schools were all disorganised and holidays were arranged shorter and oftener, so I got a house in Port St. Mary for my wife and daughter, and I was coming over six or seven times a year, and visiting the old Manx folk who were still alive at that time. | |
| ’Sy tourey, roish vrish magh y Caggey, hie shin ooilley marish caarjyn elley ayns baatey dys y Cholloo. Va laa braew cheh ayn as va shin gollish myr hroailt shin harrish y chronk gys y thie eirinys er yn ellan. Lurg va shin er n'ee nyn mraghtanyn hie mee marish my vraar ’sy leigh dy chur shilley er ny shenn thieyn-soilshee. | In the summer before the war broke out, we all went with other friends in a boat to the Calf. It was a fine warm day and we were perspiring as we walked over the hill to the farm house on the Island. After we had eaten our sandwiches, I went with my brother-in law to have a look at the old lighthouses. At that time the island belonged to a Mr Haigh from Huddersfield! | |
| Ec y traa shen va’n ellan lesh Mainstyr Haigh, veih Huddersfield! Va 'n eirinys soit gys Mnr. Garrett. Va’n thie-soilshee s’inshley jeant myr thie-souree as ve faagit foshlit as ooilley yn stoo thie cheu-sthie! Hie shin stiagh as seose gys y chamyr-londeyr, agh va’n londeyr goit ersooyl, as y chamyr jeant myr shamyr-greiney, as soiagyn aashagh ayn! | The farm was let to a Mr Garrett. The lower lighthouse was made as a summer house and it was left open and all the furniture inside! We went in and up to the lantern room, but the lantern was gone and the room made into a sun lounge with easy chairs in it. | |
| Va dorrys ’sy woalley-gless leeideil magh gys “balcony” as aarey goll seose gys yn ard-chione troggit myr lieh-chruinney, as loobyn dy phrash dy ghoaill greim er dy chosney seose gys y vullagh. | There was a door in the glass wall leading out on to a balcony and a ladder going up to the very top which was in the form of a hemisphere and bronze handles to take hold of to get up to the top. | |
| Ghrapp mee seose dy aashagh as hoie mee sheese ayns shen jeeaghyn mygeayrt-y-moom; va reayrt ymdyssagh ayn! Hannee mee heose ayns shen rish kerroo oor, eisht haink mee neose reesht. | I climbed up easily and sat down there looking around me; it was a magnificent sight! I stayed up there for a quarter of an hour and then came down again. | |
| Yarrood mee y chooish, agh kuse dy laghyn ny s'anmee veeit mee ’nane jeh ny fir-reiltee thie soilshey er y Chiggin. “Kys t’ou, Yuan,” dooyrt eh, “ta mee credjal dy row uss er y Cholloo laa chaie, as soit er mullagh y thie soilshey.” | I forgot the affair, but a few days later I met one of the light keepers from the Chickens Rock. “How do, Jack,” he said, “I believe you were on the Calf the other day and seated on top of the lighthouse.” | |
| “Kys ta fys ayd,” dreggyr mee, “son v'ou uss er y Chreg, nagh row?” | “How do you know,” I answered, “for you were on the Rock, weren't you?” | |
| “Va,” dooyrt eh, “agh honnick mee uss kiart dy liooar, as hug mee enn ort chelleeragh. Va mee jeaghyn ort trooid y ghless-rheayrtagh!” | “Yes,” he said, “but I saw you right enough, and I recognised you immediately I was looking at you through the telescope.” | |
| Ayns Purt Ellesmere va mee jannoo currym lesh ambulances A.R.P. Cha row fer erbee jannoo currym ec y Thie-Lheihys Phurt Ellesmere fud-ny-hoie, as va'n A.R.P. dy mennick shirrit dy gholl magh ayns nyn ynnyd. | In Ellesmere Port I was doing duty on A.R.P. ambulances. There was no one on duty at the Ellesmere Port hospital (ambulance) throughout the night, and the A.R.P. were often asked to go out in their stead. | |
| Ny keayrtyn va currym orrin dy ghoaill mraane trome-horragh gys y Thie-Lheiys ayns Chester, as oie dy row haink earn dy ghoaill lheid y ven horragh, as va'n oie atchimagh; va drogh earish ayn, sniaghtey, as kay hiu; s'goan oddagh shin fakin red erbee! Cha row agh dooinney elley as mee-hene lesh yn ambulance as dy firrinagh lhisagh v’er ve dooinney elley dy reayll arrey er y ven cheusthie, er yn oyr va mish as y fer elley tarroogh dy liooar. Va'n chay cho chiu nagh dod shin fakin tessyn y raad, as va ny raaidyn danjeyragh lesh sniaghtey riojit, as ny smessey na ooilley cha row soilshaghyn lowit ayns traa-caggee er-lhimmey jeh three scoltaghyn beggey. | Sometimes we had to take pregnant women to the hospital in Chester, and one night there came a call to take such a woman and the night was terrible, the weather was foul, frost, snow and thick fog; we could hardly see anything. There was only another man and myself with the ambulance, and really there should have been another man to keep watch on the woman inside, because I and the other fellow were busy enough. The fog was so thick that we could not see across the road and the roads were dangerous with frozen snow, and worse than all, lights were not allowed in war time, except for three, little slits. | |
| Er-y-fa shen, va'n derrey ’nane jin shooyl roish yn ambulance as y fer elley stiurey, as lurg tammylt caghlaa ynnydyn. | Therefore, one of us was walking before the ambulance and the other steering, and after a while changing places. | |
| Cha ’sayms cre houd as va shin troailt ny hoght meeillaghyn gys Chester, agh va mee goaill padjer nagh beagh yn oikan ruggit derrey rosh shiny Thie Lheihys. Cha b'laik lhiams yn eie dy yannoo currym myr ben-reaylt edyr! Aghterbee, r sh shin Chester ayns sauchys as va'n ven horragh gearey as booisal; dy jarroo va shin ooilley booisal dy gheddin cappan dy hey as tannaghtyn ayns chiass y Thie-Lheiys rish tammylt roish goll thie reesht. | I don't know how long we were travelling the eight miles to Chester, but I was praying that the infant wouldn't be born until we reached the hospital. I did not like the idea of acting as midwife at all! Anyway, we reached Chester safely and the pregnant woman was smiling and thankful; indeed we were all thankful to get a cup of tea in the warmth of the hospital for a while before going home again. | |
| ’Sy vlein kiare as daeed hooar mee yn obbyr va mee fuirraghtyn er rish bleeantyn gynsaghey obbyr-fuygh, ayns ny scooillyn Ellan Vannin dagh laa as goaill brastyllyn son studeyryn ny Gailck ’syn oie, as va mee feer vaynrey. Agh, ec y traa shen, cha row monney tastey currit da’n Gailck as cha ren ee cheet lhien. S’anvennick dynsee fer ennagh Gailck dy liooar dy loayrt ee, as va ny shenn Vanninee as Gailck oc geddyn baase yn derrey yeh lurg y jeh elley, as va mee coayl cree, eisht, lurg baase my ven-hene, cha dug mish monney geill da’n Ghailck noadyr! | In the year 1944 I got the work I was waiting for, for years, teaching woodwork in the Isle of Man schools each day and taking classes for students of Manx Gaelic in the evenings, and I was very happy. But, at that time, there was not much attention given to the Gaelic and we made little progress. Seldom did anyone learn enough to speak it, and the old Manx speakers were dying one after the other, and I was losing heart, then, after my own wife died, I did not pay much attention to the Manx either. | |
| Nish, lurg bunnys feed vlein [sic], ta mee goaill taitnys mooar clashtyn dy vel wheesh feallagh aegey as Gailck vie oc, as ny share na ooilley, ta kuse dy fir ynsee as mraane-ynsee ayns ny schoillyn as Gailck oc, as ta ny paitchyn gynsaghey ee. | Now, after nearly twenty years, I am delighted to hear that there are so many young people with good Manx, and better than all, there are a few men and women teachers in the schools who have the Manx, and that the children are learning it. | |
| Ta’n naight shoh er my ghreinnaghey dy yannoo red ennagh mee-hene son y ghailck roish vees eh ro anmagh! | This news has encouraged me to do something myself for the Manx before it will be too late! | |
| Shen yn oyr ta mee er choyrt my chooinaghtyn er cassette dy chooney lhiu ayns loayrt y Ghailck, agh shegin dou goaill rish nagh vel y Ghailck aym-pene slane-jeant. | For that reason I have put my reminiscences on a cassette to help you in speaking the Manx, but I must acknowledge that my own Manx is not perfect. | |
| Er-lhiams nagh vod fer erbee ta troggit ayns Baarle loayrt chengey ny mayrey kiart myr v’ee loayrit ec ny shenn Vanninee, agh s’cummey shen, yiarrins riu ooilley, jean-jee nyn gooid share as gow jee greim urree nish dy vel lioaryn as cassettyn ayn dy chooney lhiu. Ny bee-jee faitagh, as ny gow-jee aggle roish jannoo marranyn, shen yn aght dy ynsaghey. Cooinee-jee er shoh, “Eshyn nagh ren rieau marran, cha ren eh rieau red erbee.” | I think that no one brought up in English can speak the mother tongue exactly like the old natives, but that does not matter, I would say to you all, do your best and take a hold of it now that there are books and cassettes to help you, don't be shy, and don't be afraid of making mistakes, that is the way to learn. Remember this, ‘He who never made a mistake, never made anything.’ | |
| Cha nel shinyn gollrish ny hennayraghyn ain, as cha bee y Ghailck ain kiart gollrish y Ghailck v’ocsyn. Cooinee-jee er shoh, ta dy chooilley ghlare er chaghlaa harrish ny bleeantyn er-y-fa shen shegin dooin jerkal rish caghlaa ayns chengey ny mayrey Ellan Vannin, agh CHA NHEGIN DOOIN LHIGGEY JEE GEDDYN BAASE ER CHOR ERBEE. | We are not like our ancesters, and our Manx will not be exactly like theirs. Remember, every language has changed over the years, therefore we must expect a change in the mother tongue of the Isle of Man, but - ON NO ACCOUNT MUST WE ALLOW IT TO DIE. | |