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Noon as Noal
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To and Fro'
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Skeeal firrinagh ’sy Ghaelg er ny insh dou bleeantyn er dy henney liorish my ghooinney mooinjerey Edard Maddrell, Glion Shiast.
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A true story in Manx told to me years ago by my relative Edward Maddrell, Glen Chass.
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“DID YOU ever hear any yarns about our relations from The Howe, the Wattersons?” said ned to me one day. “They were known as the ‘Moody Phericks’ and there’s some of them in yet.” I’ll tell you a story about them in Manx, a strange story but I heard it from the very man himself” —
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As ghow eh toshiaght —
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And he began —
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“Keayrt dy row va dooinney ayn, ’nane jeh’n mooinjerys ain hene as va’ ennym echey Kodhere.
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“There was once a man, one of our own relations and his name was Kodhere (Watterson).
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V’eh ruggit as troggit ’syn Owe, faggys da Creneash, ayns thie yn Chenn Pheiagh, va shen yn ennym hug shin er dty henn henn warree.
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He was born and raised at the Howe, near to Cregneash, in the Yn Chenn Pheiagh’s (The Old Person’s) house, that was the name we gave your great great grandmother.
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Ta’n thie shen ny hassoo foast erskyn y chabbal.
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That is house is still standing above the chapel.
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Ec y traa ta mee ginsh dhyt mysh v’eh gobbragh ayns Doolish myr Mainshtyr Stashoon ec y stashoon raad yiarn faggys da’n phurt.
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At the time I’m telling you about he was working in Douglas as a Station Master at the railway station near the harbour.
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V’eh cummal marish y ’neen shinney echey boayl ennagh ayns Doolish.
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He was living with his oldest daughter somewhere in Douglas.
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Un oie hie eh thie as hooar eh yn lhongey echey as eisht hie eh lesh shilley er y ’neen saa echey.
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One night he went home and he got his meal and then he went to see his youngest daughter.
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V’ish cummal neesht ayns Doolish marish yn dooinney eck.
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She was living in Douglas too, with her husband.
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Yn oie shoh va’n dooinney eck mooie gobbragh anmagh boayl ennagh as va’n ven laccal dy choagyrey bee j’ee hene as ren ee briaght jeh’n jishag eck “Jean shiu goll seose ny greeishyn as ceau tammylt marish y lhiannoo son cha nel caa aym jannoo veg son ta’n lhiannoo cratchagh as keayney as t’eh jannoo orrym tra ta mee laccal geddyn yn bee coagyrit?”
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This night her her husband was outside working late somewhere and his wife wanted to cook food for herself and she asked her dad “Will you go up the stairs and spend a while with the child because I have no chance of doing anything because the child is crotchety and crying and he’s bothering me when I want to get the food cooked?”
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“Neeym shen,” dooyrt Kodhere as hie eh seose ny greeishyn as lurg tammylt ren eh lhie sheese er y lhiabbee marish y lhiannoo as v’eh skee as ren eh goll dy chadley bunnys.
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“I’ll do that,” said Kodhere and he went up the stairs and after a while he lay down on the bed with the child and he was tired and he almost fell asleep.
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Tra v’eh ny lhie lieh ghooisht as lieh ny cadley, ren eh gennaghtyn neuaash cheet er as v’eh feer neuaashagh, as doaltattym ren eh clashtyn coraa gra rish “Nar jarrood dty vummig!”,
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When he was lying half awake and half asleep, he felt a growing sense of uneasiness and he was very disquieted, and suddenly he hears a voice saying to him “Do not forget your mum!”,
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as ren eh doostey ass yn cadley echey as ren eh gyllagh sheese ny greeishyn dys y ’neen echey “Cre dooyrt oo ghoodee?”
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and he woke up out of his sleep and he shouted down the stairs to his daughter “What did you say lass?”
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“Cha ren mee gra veg Yishag” dooyrt y ghoodee.
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“I didn’t say anything Dad” said the lass.
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Ansherbee, yn laa lurg shen ren eh goll dys yn obbyr echey as va anvea mooar er kyndagh rish yn red v’eh er chlashtyn ayns shamyr chadlee y ’neen echey yn fastyr roish shen as dooyrt eh rish ny deiney v’eh gobbragh marish
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Anyway, the day after that he went to his work and he was greatly perplexed because of what he had heard in his daughter’s bedroom the previous evening and he said to the men he worked with
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“Cha nel mee cheet stiagh dys yn obbyr aym jiu eddyr, ta mee son goll thie dys yn Owe lesh shilley er y chenn pheiagh son ta mee smooinaghtyn dy vel red ennagh aggairagh ec y thie.”
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“I’m not coming in to my work today at all, I want to go home to the Howe to see ‘the old person’ because I think that there is something wrong at the house.
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Ren eh goll er yn arbyl bree dys Purt Le Moirrey as ren eh goll seose dys yn Owe, ren eh roshtyn roish munlaa as ren eh goll stiagh ayns thie yn vummig echey.
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He went on the train to Port St Mary and he went up to the Howe, he arrived before midday and he went into his mum’s house.
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“Va far ennym urree, Yn Chenn Pheiagh, as v’ee shenn warree dooys as shenn wareee da’n Jishig Vooar ayds,” dooyrt Ned rhym.
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“She had a nickname, Yn Chenn Pheiagh (The Old Person), and she was great grandmother to me and great grandmother to your grandddad,” ned said to me.
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Ren eh goll stiagh er sole y dorrys as dooyrt y Chenn Pheiagh rish ayns Gaelg, cha row monney Baarle eck,
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He went in through the threshold and Yn Chenn Pheiagh said to him in Manx, she didn’t know much English,
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“Ta mee booiagh dy daink oo Illiam son hooar shin drogh naight jiu dy vel Thobm (yn braar echey) baiht ’sy Valtic as ooilley’n skimmee echey caillt neesht.”
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“I’m pleased you came Illiam because we got bad news today that Tom (his brother) is drowned in the Baltic and all his crew lost too.”
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“Cha nel mee monney son credjal ayns scaanjoonyn as lheid y voghtynid,” dooyrt Ned rhym, “Agh, ny vel eh quaagh dy ren Illiam Kodhere clashtyn coraa yn vraar echey gra rish ‘Nar jarrood dty vummig’ tra v’eh ny lhie marish yn oe echey ’sy lhiabbee?”
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“I’m not much for believing in ghosts and such nonsense,” said Ned to me, “But isn’t it strange that Illiam Kodhere (William Watterson) heard the voice of his brother say ‘Do not forget your mum’ when he was lying with his grandchild in bed?”
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“Ansherbee” dooyrt Ned, “Ren eh jeeaghyn lurg y vummig echey dy mie dys ren ee geddyn baase, cha ren eh rieau jarrood y vummig echey son ooilley!”
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“Anyway” Ned said, “He looked after his mum well until she died, he never forgot his mum for all that!”
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CREENAGHT NY MRAANE
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THE WISDOM OF WOMEN
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“Insh dou Vreeshey” dooyrt fer aeg rish ben aeg Vanninagh as eshyn gynsaghey chengey ny mayrey,
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“Tell me Breeshey” said a young fellow to a young Manx woman, and he was learning Manx (the mother tongue of the Isle of Man),
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“Cre ta’n anchaslys eddyr ‘Shinney lhiam ad’ as ‘Ta mee graihagh orroo’?
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“What’s the difference between ‘Shinney lhiam ad’ (‘I love them’) and ‘Ta mee graihagh orroo’ (‘I love them’)?
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Smooinee Breeshey r’ee hene rish tammylt as eisht ren ee mongey er y fer aeg as dreggyr ee myr shoh — “My shinney lhiam’s ad, ta mee lhiggey daue, as my ta mee graihagh orroo, ta mee cooney lhieu!”
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Breeshey though to herself for a while and then she smiled at the young fellow, and she answered like this — “If I love them (shinney lhiam’s ad), I let them, and if I love them (graihagh orroo) I help them!”
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CHA NEE MANNINAGH USS!
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YOU ARE NOT A MANXMAN
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Ta ram sleih briaght jeem ny keayrtyn “Ren oo gynsaghey Gaelg tra v’ou aeg?”
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A lot of people sometimes ask, “Did you learn Manx when you were young?”
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As t’eh orrym dy reggyrt, “Cha ren.” Va mee tree bleeaney as feed d’eash tra ghow mee toshiaght dy ynsaghey chengey ny mayrey, as er hoh diu caslys jeh’n dooinney hug orrym ee y ynsaghey!
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And I have to answer, “No.” I was twenty-three years old when I started to learn the mother tongue (of the Isle of Man), and here for you is a picture of the man who made me learn!
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Pic: Ieuan Williams voish Carmarthen, Bretin, yn dooinney aeg neu-Vaarlagh hug orryms dy ve my Vanninagh. Dynsee mee ram Bretnish voishyn as cha row yn Vaarle echeysyn agh feer vrisht.
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Pic: Ieuan Williams from Carmarthen, Wales, the young non-Anglophone man who made me be a Manxman. I learned a lot of Welsh from him and his English only very poor.
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’Sy vlein 1944, tra va mee 17 bleeaney d’eash hie mee stiagh ayns Armee Hostyn ayns Glashchu as va’n carrey share aym ’syn armee ec y traa shen ny Bretnagh voish Carmarthen enmyssit Ieuan Williams, scollag jeh’n eash cheddin as mee hene, agh va anchaslys mooar eddyr ain myr te!
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In the year 1944, when I was 17 years of age I went went into the Army of England (Britain) in Glasgow and my best friend in the army at that time was a Welshman from Carmarthen called Ieuan Williams, a teenager the same age as myself, but there was a substantial difference between us though!
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Va mish my Vanninagh as Baarle aym as cha row fockle dy Ghaelg ayns my veeal bunnys, as v’eshyn ny Bretnagh as Baarle feer vrisht echey as lane Bretnish echey.
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I was a Manxman and knew English and there was hardly word of Manx in my mouth, while he was a Welshman who had very poor English and a lot of Welsh.
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Son shickyrys cha row yn Vaarle echey agh feer voal as tra ragh shin magh da’n ard valley Glaschu, verragh Ieuan orrym reddyn y chionnaghey da ayns ny shappyn er yn oyr dy row yn Vaarle echey cha brisht!
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Certainly, his English was only very poor and when we would go out to Glasgow city Ieuan would make me buy things for him in the shops because his English was so broken!
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Derrey veeit mee rish Ieuan smooinnee mee dy row eh kiart dy liooar da Manninagh dyn Gaelg y ve echey agh foast dy ve ny Manninagh dooie, agh cre cha aggairagh va mee!
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Until I met Ieuan I thought it was all right for a Manxman not to know Manx, but still be a true Manxman, but how wrong I was!
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Hug ieuan nearey vooar orrym dy kinjagh. Yiarragh eh rhym, “Cha nee Manninagh uss edyr, cha nel dty hengey ghooie ayd, she Sostynagh oo!”
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Ieuan always made me very ashamed. He would say to me, “You are not a Manxman at all, you don’t know your native language, you are an Englishman!”
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Hug shoh orrym dy smooinaghtyn dy dowin mychione yn ashoon aym as yn aght scammyltagh dy row shinyn voish Mannin ooilley nyn Hostynee miey, sorch dy lieh-Vanninee, “gyn chengey, gyn cheer,” as veih’n traa shen magh, ren mee kiaral dy jinnin roshtyn Mannin bio erreish da’n chaggey, dy jinnin my chooid share dy ve my Vanninagh dooie.
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This made me think deeply about my nation and the scandalous way that we from the Isle of Man were all good English people, a sort of half-Manx, “no language, no country,” and from that time on I planned that if I were to reach the Isle of Man alive after the war, that I would do my best to be a true Manxman.
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Cha s’ayms cre haghyr er Ieuan fy yerrey. Lurg tammylt va shin er nyn scarrey veih my cheilley as hie eshyn gys rejiment Bretnagh as cha vaik mee arragh eh.
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I don’t know what happened to Ieuan in the end. After a while we were separated from each other, he went to a Welsh regiment, and I never saw him again.
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Agh dy mennick ta mee smooinaghtyn er yn Bretnagh hug orrym dy ve my Vanninagh dooie!
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But I often think about the Welshman who made me be a true Manxman!
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YN GAAUE
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THE GAAUE (SMITH)
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Ta ymmoddee gaelgeyryn aegey ayn nish as t’ad ooilley er chlashtyn mychione ny loayreyderyn dooghyssagh jerrinagh ren shinyn gynsaghey Gaelg veue.
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There are many young Manx speaker now and they have all heard about the last native speakers we learnt Manx from.
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Ta paart jeh ny gaelgeyryn noa dy mennick shirrey caslyssyn jeh’n shenn sleih, as er hoh fer elley, Juan y Kring, gaaue doo voish Curreeyn Valley ny Loghey, hooar baase tra v’eh 102 blein d’eash.
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Some of the new Manx speakers often look for (ask for) pictures of the old people, and here is another one, John Kneen, a blacksmith from the Ballaugh Curraghs, who died when he was 102 years old.
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Cha jeanym dy bragh jarrood goll dy akin yn Gaaue bunnys dagh ooilley ghoonaght marish Illiam y Radlagh as Walter y Chleeree, soie marishyn ec y chiollagh as loayrt Gaelg (ny ‘Gailk’ myr yiarragh eshyn) anmagh er yn oie as eshyn tayrn er y phiob echey as ceau shellaghyn ’syn aile.
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I will never forget going to see the Gaaue almost every Sunday with Bill Radcliffe and Walter Clarke, sitting with him at the fireplace and talking Manx (or ‘Gailk’ as he would say) late at night with him drawing on his pipe and spitting in the fire.
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Cha row fys kiart echey er yn eash echey, as ny keayrtyn yiarragh eh rooin “Cha s’ayms wooinney, ta mee smooinaghtyn dy vel mee harrish yn keead, myr ta!”
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He wasn’t sure of his age, and sometimes he would say to us “I don’t know man, I think that I’m over the century, though!”
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Hooar shin fys firrinagh erreish da’n baase echey dy row eh dy jarroo daa vlein as keead d’eash tra hooar eh baase.
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We got true information after his death that he was indeed one hundred and two years of age when he died.
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T’eh oanluckit ’sy rhullick ec Skyll Andreays er y Twoaie as ta ’neen echey as mac echey er mayrn foast.
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He is buried in the graveyard at Kirk Andreas in the North and he still has daughter and a son left.
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Cha jinnagh eh jannoo ymmyd jeh fockle Baarlagh erbee ’sy Ghailck echey.
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He wouldn’t us a word of English at all in his Manx.
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Son sampleyr, un oie va shin taggloo mychione Yn Roosh (Russia) as denmys y Gaaue ee “Thalloo Shuin” (lit. Rush-land”).
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For example, one night we were talking about Russia and the Gaaue called it “Thalloo Shuin” (“Rush-Land”).
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Screeu Tomas O Crohan ’sy lioar ardghooagh echey “Yn Ellanagh,” mychione yn sheeloghe echey hene “Cha bee nyn lheid ayn arragh.”
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Thomas O Crohan wrote in his famous book “The Islander” (“An tOileánach”) about his own generation “The like of us will never be again.”
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Dy jarroo firrinagh, cha bee lheid y Gaaue ayn arragh er chor erbee.
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True indeed, there will never be the like of the Gaaue again at all.
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Pic: Juan y Kring, gaaue doo as gaelgeyr. Cha bee yn lhied echey ayn arragh ayns Mannin.
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Pic: John Kneen, blacksmith and Manx speaker. There will never be the like of him again in the Isle of Man
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