Noon as Noal: Manninagh Jeeaghyn My Hiar I'

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Manx English
Peddyr Mac Craayne yn kied oltey Vec Vannin ’sy reiltys. Niart da’n roih echey! Picture caption: Peter Craine the first Mec Vannin member in the government. Power to his arm!
As nish er ash da Chengey ny Mayrey, yn red smoo ennoil[1] dooin ooilley, red foddey ny share na politckaght erbee. And now back to the native tongue, the most beloved thing for us all, a far better thing that any politics.
[1] smoo ennoil]
[s’ennoil]
As Dr. Douglas Hyde, First President of Ireland and founder of the Gaelic League said, “Political freedom can be won and lost and won again, but a language once lost is lost forever.” As Dr. Douglas Hyde, First President of Ireland and founder of the Gaelic League said, “Political freedom can be won and lost and won again, but a language once lost is lost forever.”
Er hoh diu, son y chiaghtin shoh, skeeal elley liorish nyn garrey Juan y Comish, enmyssit:— Here for you, for this week, is another story by our friend John Comish, called:—
Manninagh Jeeaghyn My Hiar A Manxman Looking East
TREE laghyn erreish da’n ’eedoo laa ruggyree aym, ayns mee ny Boaldyn, 1907, va mee er my raad gys y Shiar Foddeey myr nah choagerey er y lhong-vree “feddan gorrym” DIOMED[2]. Three days after my twentieth birthday, in the month of May, 1907, I was on my way to the Far East as second cook on the Blue Funnel steamship “DIOMED”.
[2] Diomed] built in 1895 at Greenock, sunk by German submarine U 38 off the Scilly Isles in 1915 en route from Liverpool to Shanghai.
Va mee hannah er ve gys yn Egypt as gys y Cheayn Doo rish queig marrinyssyn as va mee skee jeeaghyn er ny h-Egyptee meeyllagh breinn as ny sooillyn doghanit ocsyn, as va mee skee neesht, jeeaghyn er yn anvea as boghtynid, accrys as treihys ayns Yn Roosh — ayns Batoum[3], Poti, Nickolaiev[4] as Odessa, as ayns yn ynnyd s’jerree dy vaik mee, “Ny Greeshyn Fuilltagh”[5] raad va’n “Dunverys Mooar” er ve jeant ’syn Irree Magh Beg 1905. I had already been in Egypt and to the Black Sea for queig voyages and I was tired of looking at the filthy, lousy Egyptians and their diseased eyes, and I was tired too, watching the discord and nonsense, hunger and misery in Russia — in Batoum, Poti, Nickolaiev, and Odessa, and in the last place I saw, “The Bloody Stairs” where the “Great Murder” had been committed in the little uprising in 1905.
[3] Batoum] Batumi, Georgia.
[4] Nickolaiev] Mykolaiv, Ukraine.
[5] “The Bloody Stairs” — The Primorsky Stairs (aka.
The Potemkin Stairs). A stairway of 200 stairs leading from the port to the city of Odesa, Ukraine. During the 1905 Uprising, Tsarist troops fought with mutinous sailors and many civilians died, in a famous scene in the film “The Battleship Potemkin” (1925) civilians are killed by Tsarist troops on these stairs. There was also a violent pogrom in Odesa in 1905. However, Comish may not be referring to historical events as elswhere he uses
[fuiltagh] ‘bloody’ as a swear word, and may simply be showing how he felt about climbing the stairs.
Yn Roosh Chasherick, ny Yn Roosh Anjeeagh, cheer neuvaynrey dy jarroo! Va mee skee neesht jeh yn accrys er y lhong Ellerman va mee er n’aagail, raad, yiarragh ad, oddagh fer glenney yn eddin echey lesh crackan yn volg echey! Holy Russia, or Atheist Russia, an unhappy land indeed! I was tired too of the hunger on the ship Ellerman that I had left, where, they would say, one could wash one’s face with the skin of his stomach!
Va mee jeeaghyn roym dy mooar dys my cheid varrinys my-hiar, er yn oyr dy row mee er lhaih as er chlashtyn mooarane mychione y Niar.[6] I was greatly looking forward to my first voyage East, because I had read and had heard a lot about the East.
[6] y Niar] Readers familiar with the other Gaelic languages might expect that
[y Niar] ought to be used only when something when coming from The East. However, in Manx
[yn Niar] is often used as a catch-all term for ‘The East’.
Va’n coagerey hene er ve shiaulley my-hiar rish queig bleeaney jeig. The cook himself had been sailing the East for fifteen years.
Va Bill Rowe yn ennym echey, ny Bretnagh ass Swansea as ram Bretnish echey. Bill Rowe was his name, a Welshman from Swansea who knew Welsh well.
Ny smoo Bretnish echey na Baarle dy jarroo! Knew Welsh better than English, in fact!
Dinsh Bill dou mooarane mychione ny cheeraghyn shid veagh shin cur shilley er. Bill told me a lot about those countries we would visit.
Va kiare Sheenee (Chinese) as feed er y lhong ain, daa as feed jeu gobbragh ’sy chamyr-greie as yn chamyr-coirrey as jees elley v’ad coagerey as nah choagerey, ayr as mac v’ad. There were twenty-four Chinese on our ship, and twenty-two of them working in the engine-room and the boiler-room and two others, they were cook and second cook, father and son they were.
Cha dod mee gynsagh monney jeh’n ghlare ocsyn, er yn oyr nagh row monney Baarle oc agh son trustyr as taggloo awane. I couldn’t learn much of their language, because they didn’t know much English, except rubbish and obscene talk.
Cha row yn traa goll tappee dy liooar dou eisht, lurg va shin er n’aagail Suez as hiaull shin roin sheese y Vooir Yiarg lesh Y Shiar Foddey. The time wasn’t going fast enough for me then, after we had left Suez and we sailed on down the Red Sea towards the Far East.
Shiaght laghyn jeig ny s’anmey rosh shin Penang. Seventeen days later we reached Penang.
Cha duirree shin feer foddey ayns shen, un laa ny lomarcan, as cha row caa aym dy gholl er y thalloo. We didn’t wait very long there, one day only, and I didn’t have a chance to go ashore.
Haink queig Sheenee er y lhong ain, cleree v’ad, “keyllys-ruggit” myr yiarragh shin. Five Chinese came on our ship, they were clerks, ‘Straits born’[7] as we would say.
[7] Straits born] a term for people of Chinese heritage from the Strait of Malacc and neighbouring regions of what is now Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and Thailand.
Va’n obbyr oc dy hiaulley er y lhong, as, ayns ny purtyn veagh shin cur stiagh ayndoo, veagh y currym oc dy reayll tailley er yn lught as er ny cowraghyn er ny kishtaghyn as y lheid. Their job was to sail on the ship, and, in the ports we would put into their duty would be to keep a tally on the cargo and on the marks of the chests and such.
Cha row Sheenish oc agh va daa ghlare elley oc, Malayu as Baarle. They didn’t know Chinese but they knew two other languages, Malayu (Malay) and English.
Tra dooyrt mish dy baillin gynsaghey Malayu, dynsee ad dou eh dy arryltagh, tra va shin er yn aarkey, eddyr daa phurt. When I said that I would like to learn Malayu they taught it to me willingly, when we were on the ocean, between two ports.
Haink mee dy ve flaaoil dy liooar ’sy chengey shen, bunnys cha flaaoil as va mee ayns Gaelg. I became fluent enough in that tongue, almost as fluent as I was in Manx.
Tra rosh shin Singapore hooar shin fys voish y chaptan dy beagh shin goll gys Java, agh hoshiaght veagh shin cur shilley er Chemulpo[8] ayns yn Chorea. When we arrived at Singapore we learnt from the captan that we would be going to Java, but first we would be visiting Chemulpo in Korea.
[8] Chemulpo] Incheon, Republic of Korea.
Agh lurg va shin ’sy Chorea hie shin gys Kuchi-Notsu ayns y Shapaan dy ghoaill stiagh geayl da ny coirraghyn, as eish hie shin roin dys Sourabaya ayns yn Java. But after we were in Korea we went to Kuchi-Notsu[9] in Japan to take in coal for the boilers, and then we went on to Sourabaya in Java.
[9] Kuchi-Notsu] Kuchinotsu, Nagasaki Prefecture, Japan.
Va Bill hannah er n’insh dou ymmoddee skeeallyn mychione ny troailtee crauee ayns ny bleeantyn v’er n’gholl shaghey, mychione yn aght dy jinnagh ad cheet er y lhong marin gys Jeddah, gyn argid, gyn bee, doghanit as raad y vaaish as tiggad “ayn” as cha nee “er ash” oc (with a one-way ticket only). Bill had already told me many stories about the pilgrims in bygone years, about the way that they would come on the ship with us to Jeddah, with no money, no food, diseased and dying with an outward ticket and no return ticket (with a one-way ticket only).
Cha daink yn trass jeu er ash dys yn Java. A third of them didn’t come back to Java.
Cha by gummey lhieusyn my dooar ad baase ny dyn, she er yn oyr shen v’eh dy daink ad er y lhong. It didn’t matter to them if they died or not, that was the reason that they came on the ship.
Tra hooar ad baase hie ad rhymboo dy jeeragh dys Pargys! When they died they went straight to Paradise!
Ayns ny bleeantyn shen va ny Hollanee feer gheyre orroo as cha row kied currit daue d’aagail yn cheer oc hene mannagh row tiggad ‘ayn as er ash’ oc, bee dy liooar oc cour kiare feed as tree jeig laa[10] ’syn aasagh as cour y turrys er ash gys yn Java myrgeddin. In those years the Dutch were very harsh on them and they weren’t given permission to leave their own country unless they had an outward and retuen ticket, enough food for seventy three days in the desert and for the trip back to Java too.
[10] Kiare feed as tree jeig laa] the expected word order here would be
[kiare feed as tree laa jeig].
Er y jurnah gys Jeddah hug yn cheshaght lhuingys ain yn bee oc daue. On the journey to Jeddah our ship crew gave them their food.
Dinsh Bill dou, as honnick mee lesh my hooillyn hene eh ny s’anmey, dy row lhiurid liauyr jeant jeh aanrit bane ec dagh ooilley ghooinney jeu, cour y traa yoghe ad baase, as veagh ad soaillit ayn. Bill told me, and I saw it with my own eyes later, that every man of them has a long length made of cloth, for the time they would die, and they would wrapped in it.
Honnick mee earroo mooar jeu goll harrish boayrd soaillit ayns nyn goamrey baaish, agh cha naik mee rieau jeir erbee er ny heeley kyndagh rish ny Merriu, cha shickyr v’ad dy row ad hannah marish ny “Houreeyn” ayns Pargys! I saw a large number of them going overboard wrapped in their death-clothing, but I never saw a single tear shed because of the Dead, so sure they were that they were already with the “Houris” in Paradise!
Cha nel cooinaghtyn aym nish dy kiart, agh er lhiam dy daink mysh keead hroailtee crauee[11] er y Diomed ec y traa shen marin. I don’t remember now correctly, but I think that about a hundred pilgrims came on the Diomed with us at that time.
[11] keead hroailtee crauee] The singular form of the noun is expected after
[keead] ‘hundred’, so;
[keead troailtagh crauee] ‘a hundred pilgrims’.
Ny mast’oc va ‘flah’ aeg, ny uilley jeh mysh queig bleeany jeig d’eash. Amongst them was a young ‘prince’, a boy of about fifteen years of age.
Moghrey laa ny vairagh erreish dooin faagail Batavia, beggan ny lurg yn hoghtoo oor, honnick mee guilley mysh yn eash shen cheet veih cheu elley ny lhong, shooyl dy moal as dy staydoil. The morning of the next day, after we had left Batavia, hardly after the eighth hour, I saw a boy about that age coming from the other side of the ship, walking slowly and stately.
Tra hooar mee shilley jeh’n eddin echey as jeh’n choamrey echey, va fys aym dy jeeragh dy re yn flah v’ayn. When I caught sight of his face and of his clothes, I knew directly that it was the prince.
Va’n oaie echey lhean as dhone ayns ynnyd jeh’n doo cadjin, as v’eh ny guilley roauyr as aa-smeggyl goaill toshiaght er as va’n bolg echey roauyr neesht. His face was broad and brown instead of the usual black, and he was a fat boy who was starting to get a double-chin and his stomach was fat too.
“Ah, my ghuilley veg,” dooyrt mee rhym pene, “Lurg kiare feed as tree laghyn jeig ’syn aasagh Arabagh cha bee lheid y smeggyl as prinjeig orts!” “O, my little boy,” I said to myself “After ninety-three days in the Arabian desert you won’t have such a chin and paunch!”
haink eh dys yn voayl va mee gobbragh ayn, as ayns Baarle ghlen dooyrt eh rhym, “Kanys ta shiu moghrey jiu?” he came to the place where I was working, and in perfect English he said to me, “How are you this morning?”
Dinsh mee da dy row mee ayns slaynt vie as vrie mee jeh “Kanys ta shiu hene?” I told him that I was in good health and I asked him “How are you yourself?”
Dinsh eh dou dy row eh ayns slaynt vie neesht, as eisht dooyrt eh rhym, “T’ou loayrt Baarle feer vie.” He told me that he was in good health too, and then he said to me, “You speak very good English.”
“Va mee ynsit aynjee, myr haghyr eh.” as mish. “I was educated in it, as it happens,” I said.
“T’eh dy baghtal ry chlashtyn dy row uss,” dooyrt y flah, “As gyn ourys myrgeddin va ny deiney elley shid,” dooyrt eh, sheeyney magh e roih lesh jerrey ny lhong, raad va ny shiaulteyryn beaghey. “It’s clearly to be heard that you were,” said the prince, “And no doubt the other men over there were,” he said, reaching out his arm towards the stern of the ship, where the sailors were living.
“Agh tra ta mee geabbey dy loayrt roosyn, t’ad toiggal cre ta mee gra kiart dy liooar agh cha noddym pene toiggal ny t’adsyn gra tra t’ad freggyrt dou.” “But when I attempt to speak to them, they understand what I am saying okay, but I cannot myself understand what they are saying when they answer me.”
Ren eh goaill ram traa dy chur stiagh ’sy chione echey yn bun jeh’n chooish, kys, ga dy row ooilley ny Sostynee loayrt Baarle, va caghlaaghyn ayn voish skeerey gys skeerey ’sy ghlare oc, as ghow yn flah yindys mooar dy chlashtyn shen. It took him a lot of time to get the meaning of it into his head, that how, although all the English spoke English, there were variations from region to region in their language, and the prince was greatly surprised to hear that.
Smooinee eh dy voddagh eh troailt ooilley er feie Goal Vooar as toiggalys echey jeh dagh ooilley nhee veagh er ny ghra da. He thought that he could travel all through Great Britain having an understanding of everything that was said to him.
“Ayns my heer hene,” dooyrt eh, “My ta mee loayrt ayns Malayu rish fer erbee, freggyree eshyn er yn aght cheddin dou as toiggeeym dagh ooilley ’ockle t’eh dy ghra, agh s’leayr dou nagh beagh eh myr shen ayns Sostyn,” as eshyn. “In my own country,” he said, “If I speak in Malay to anyone, he will answer in the same way to me and I will understand every word that he says, but it is clear to me that it wouldn’t be like that in England,” he said.
“Vel Hollanish ayd?” vrie mee jeh ’sy ghlare shen. “Do you know Dutch?” I asked him in that language.
Va fys echey cre va mee er ghra, agh dreggyr eh dou ’sy Vaarle, “Cha mie lhiam loayrt Hollanish,” e veeal chionn as e choraa feayr. He knew what I was saying, but he answered me in English, “I don’t like speaking Dutch,” his mouth tight and his voice cold.
“Va mee laccal d’ynsaghey Baarle, as ren mee. “I wanted to learn English, and I did.
Ren mee goaill toshiaght d’ynsaghey ee tra va mee shiaght bleeaney d’eash, as nish ta mee queig bleeaney jeig.” I started to learn it when I was seven years old, and now I am fifteen.”
“Shiaght bleeaney d’eash!” smooinnee mee. “Seven years old!” I thought.
“Shegin dhyt er chlashtyn mooarane ayns thie dty ayrey roish y traa shen, mychione yn aght ta ny Javanese jeeaghyn er ny Hollandee! “You must have heard a lot in your father’s house before that time, about the way the Javanese look at the Dutch!
“C’red t’ou jannoo tra ta’n lhong roshtyn Sostyn?” vrie eh jeem. “What do you do when the ship arrives in England?” he asked me.
As dinsh mee da dy row shinyn eeckit jeh yn lhong eisht va reggyryn dy laghyn seyr ain derrey va’n lhong aarloo d’aagail reesht, er nonney dy jinnagh shin goll thie lesh shilley er yn shenn sleih. And I told him that we were paid off the ship, then we had a few free days until the ship was ready to leave again, otherwise we would go home to see the old people.
“Ny keayrtyn ta shin gobbragh er y lhong ain, goaill stiagh yn bee cour y nah varrinys my-hiar,” as mish. “Sometimes we work on our ship, taking in the food for the next voyage East,” I said.
Vlake eshyn orrym rish tammylt as eisht dooyrt eh, “Agh smooinee mee nagh ren ny ‘chiarnyn’ (tuans) gobbragh chioee!” He started at me for a while and then he said, “But I thought that the ‘tuans’[12] never worked!”
[12] Tuan] a Malay word meaning ‘lord’, or, perhaps, ‘colonial master’.
(ry-hannaghtyn) (to be continued)