Yn Chenn Naunt

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Manx	English
Meeiteil Juan y Comish.	Meeting John Comish.
Yn nah laa, Jymayrt, haink carrey Yuan elley gys y thie gra, “Ta shin goll gys y cabbane rish y logh, jean shiu cheet marin?”	The next day, Tuesday, another friend of Juan’s came to the house saying, “When we go to the cabin by the lake, will you come with us?”
V’eh Bill Duke as va e ven as daa ’neen marish.	It was Bill Duke and with his wife and two daughters.
Heill Juan as mish dy row ad goll son turrys ’sy carr as cheet er-ash reesht ’syn astyr, agh cha nee, begin dooin geddyn kuse dy eaddagh dy ghoaill marin, er yn oyr v’ad kiarail ceau kuse dy laghyn ’sy cabbane.	Juan and I thought that they were going for an excursion in the car and coming back again in the afternoon, but no, we would have get a few clothes to take with us, because they were planning to spend a few days in the cabin.
Eisht ersooyl lhien ayns y carr mooar.	Then off we went in the big car.
Hoshiaght va’n raad feer vie, agh myr hie shin ny sodjey as ny sodjey stiagh ayns y cheyll vooar, cha row yn raad agh bayr coon, as fy-yerrey cha row agh cassan ayn leeideil gys y cabbane bunnys ec oirr ny logh, as cre cho vooar as va’n logh!	At first the route was very good, but as we went further and further into the forest, the road was only a lane, and finally there was only a footpath to lead to the cabin almost at the edge of the lake, and how big the lake was!
As y cabbane! V’eh “bungaow” feer yesh, troggit jeh fuygh, agh ard erskyn y thalloo lesh rheamys dy liooar fo’n laare dy reayll daa 'inneig (canoes).	And the cabin! It was a very nice bungalow, built of wood, but high above the ground with enough room under the floor to keep two canoes.
Greieyn er-jerrey (outboard) as stoo elley, as va keiy beg fuygh sheeyney magh ayns y logh.	An outboard motor and other stuff, and there was a small wooden jetty stretching out in the lake.
Va emshir vraew ghrianagh ayn, agh ’syn oie v’eh feayr dy liooar dy chur brasnagyn as fuygh er y coirrey!	The weather was fine and sunny, but in the night it was cold enough to put sticks and wood on the furnace!
Cha row feme orrin er geayl erbee! Veagh Juan as mish goll magh ayns y cheyll, reih billey juys, giarrey sheese eh, as saue eh ayns peeshyn, eisht ymmyrk ad ayns arrey-queeyl gys y cabbane dy ve scoltit lesh teiy.	We didn’t need coal any coal! Juan and I would be going out in the woods, choosing a pine tree, cutting it down, and sawing it into pieces, then carrying them in a wheelbarrow to the cabin to be split with an axe.
Cheau shin ram traa er y logh, dy mennick lesh maidjey-spaag, agh ny cheayrtyn lesh yn “outboard”.	We spent a lot of time on the lake, often with a paddle, but sometimes with the outboard.
Veagh shin goll foddey dy eeastagh brick-ghoan.	We would go far to fish brown trout.
Un laa hie shin tessyn y logh gys y cheu hoal as lurg kiangley y finneig hie shin er-thalloo ayns y cheyll.	One day we went across the lake to the far side and after tying the canoe we went ashore in the woods.
Va ny biljyn feer vooar as ny lossreeyn as thammagyn feer hiu; lurg tammylt hooar shin tholtan dy waane-fuygh as cheusthie va ooilley yn stoo-thie faagit dy beagh peiagh ennagh er n’aagail ayns driss mooar bleeantyn er dy henney.	There were very big trees and very thick plants and bushes; after a while we found a ruin of a wooden shack and inside all the houshold things were left as if someone would have left in a great hurry many years ago.
Va claareeyn er y voayrd as fritlagyn-eaddee croghey er y voalley. Cheumooie, cooyl y thie, va bwaane beg as coirrey-aile ry lhiattee (sauna bath?).	There were plates on the table and rags of cloth hanging on the wall. Outside, behind the house, there was a small shed with a fire-furnace by the side (a sauna bath?).
Dooyrt Juan, gyn dooyt va’n boayl bentyn da Finlandee, ronsaghey as reurey son airh ’sy tourey as tayrtyn cretooryn feie son nyn grackanyn ayns y gheurey.	John said, no doubt the place was belonging to Finns, searching and digging for gold in the Summer and catching wild creatures for their skins in the winter.
Hie shin beggan ny sodjey ’sy cheyll as hooar shin oaie, va crosh fuygh er agh gyn ennym erbee er.	We went a little further in the woods and we found a grave, there was a wooden cross on it, but without any name on it.
Nish va shin er n’gheddyn folliaght!	Now we had found a mystery!
Quoi by lesh y corp ’syn oaie? Ren y fer geddyn baase dy dooghyssagh ny dyn?	Who owned the body in the grave? Did the fellow die naturally or not?
Foddee v’eh er ny varroo ayns drogh-haghyrt,[1] as foddee dy duitt ad magh as va’n derrey yeh er ny varroo ec y jeh elley, quoi ec ta fys?	Maybe he was killed in a accident, and maybe they fell out and the one had killed the other, who knows?
[1] drogh-haghyrt] ‘mischief’ or ‘misfortune’ in Classical Manx, often ‘accident’ in 20C L2 Manx.
Cha jagh shin ny sodjey as hyndaa shin er-ash gys y finneig.	We didn’t go further and we turned back to the canoe.
Va Juan Comish gollrish Injinagh, mie-ynsit ayns keird-cheylley as cretooryn feie ny keylley, as un laa myr va shin shiaulley dy dree rish oirr ny logh, yeeagh eh dou ny loghyn beggey troggit ec ny dooar-choiyn (beavers) agh cha ren shin fakin ad gobbragh.	John Comish was like an Indian, well-learned in woodcraft and wild creature of the forest, and one day as we were sailing slowly by the side of the lake, he showed me the little lakes built by the beavers, but we didn’t see them working.
Dooyrt Juan dy jinnagh shin goll magh ayns oie ry-hollys vooar heeagh shin ram jeu ec obbyr.	John said that if we were to go out in a well moonlit night we would see a lot of them at work.
V’ad shoh ny traaghyn bynney lhiam, dy ve my lomarcan marish Juan taggloo ry-cheilley ayns Gailck ayns fea as shee, as hie ny laghyn shaghey ro happee dooin.	These were the days I loved most, to be alone with John talking together in Manx in peace and quiet, and the days passed to quickly for us.
Fy yerrey haink y laa dooin dy gholl er-ash gys Kirkland Lake, as daag shin y cabbane ayns y keeiragh, as tra v’eh lane dorraghey choud as va shin foast troailt ayns y carr, honnick shin red ennagh nagh vaikyms reesht arragh!	Finally the day came for us to go back to Kirklanf Lake, and we left the cabin in the twilight, and when it was very dark whilst we were still travelling in the car, we saw something I will never see again!
“Lossan y Twoaie” (Aurora Borealis). Cre’n shilley aalin yindyssagh er-skyn insh! V’eh jeeaghyn dy ve bunnys er nyn skyn, curthan jeh dy chooilley chullyr jeh’n Goal-Twoaie, gleashagh as bennalt myr brattagh mooar ’sy speyr.	“The Northern Lights” (Aurora Borealis). What a beautiful, indescribably wonderful sight! It seemed to be almost above us, a curtain of every colour of the rainbow, moving and fluttering like a great flag in the sky.
Cha noddym feddyn fockleyn dy insh diu yn aalid jeh.	I cannot find words to tell you the beauty of it.
Laa ny vairagh, daag mee Kirkland Lake er y train goll my-yiass, agh vrish mee ny yurnaa dy chur shilley er Niagara.	The next day, I laft Kirkland Lake on the train going South, but I broke-up my journey to see Niagra.
Va shen shilley yindyssagh neesht, agh er-lhiams nagh row eh dy ve cosoylit rish Lossan y Twoaie.	That was a wonderful sight too, but I think that it wasn’t to be compared to the Northern Lights.
Ta mee booiagh as booisal dy row y caa aym dy chur shilley er my charrey Juan Comish as e ven, as dy akin red ennagh jeh Ontario, agh va’n un thurrys dy liooar dooys, cha b’laik lhiam beaghey ayns y cheer shen.	I am pleased and grateful that I had the opportunity to visit my friend John Comish and his wife, and to see something of Ontario, but the one trip was enough for me, I wouldn’t like to live in that country.
Cha nel yindys orrym dy row lheid y foddeeaght er Juan ny yei Ellan Vannin, as s’treih lhiam nagh row rieau y caa echey dy heet thie reesht dys cheer e ghooie.	I’m not surprised that John had such homesickness for the Isle of Man, and I’m sorry that he never had the chance to come home again to his native country.
Cha row Juan Comish ny ghooinney berchagh, agh v’eh dy firrinagh Manninagh dooie doaieagh.	John Comish wasn’t a wealthy man, but he truly was a native, pleasant, Manxman.
SKEEAL Y SHENN NAUNT	THE STORY OF THE OLD AUNT
Va Margaid Inney Moore yn chenn shenn shenn shenn naunt aym.	Margaid Inney Moore was my great, great, great, great aunt.
V’ee ruggit ayns shoh ’sy skeerey ta mee cummal ayn nish, as v’ee ayns graih rish shiaulteyr aeg va ruggit ayns Balley Chashtal.	She was born here in the parish I live in now, and she was in love with a young sailor who was born in Castletown.
Va Illiam y Kelly ruggit ayns Balley Chashtal, as v’eh ny hiaulteyr,[3]	William Kelly was born in Castletown, and he was a sailor,
[3] ny hiaulteyr] text gives [ny shiaulteyr]
as cha row mummig Vargaid coontey monney jeh shiaulteyryn edyr, son cha row ee laccal Margaid dy geddyn poost rish Ilham y Kelly,	and Margaid’s mum didn’t think much of sailors, at all, because she wasn’t wanting Margaid to get married to William Kelly,
v’ee laccal ee dy gholl dy gheddyn poost rish shenn dooinney berchagh enmyssit Neddy Diggy va beaghey ayns Saurby, who had a lot of sheep and cattle and a heap of money in his loft.	she was wainting her to go to get married to a rich old man called Neddy Diggy who was living in Surby, who had a lot of sheep and cattle and a heap of money in his loft.
Agh cha row Margaid laccal yn shenn graihder graney shoh, v’ee laccal e kied graih, Illiam, as smooinee ee dy row ee son geddyn poost rishyn fy yerrey.	But Margaid wasn’t wanting this ugly old lover, she was wanting her first love, William, and she thought that she could get married for him in the end.
Kied echey, hie fortan noi eck. Va reaghys ec Margaid as Illiam dy veeteil har ayns shen ayns boayl ta shin gra Kintraagh rish, ec y chrongan ayns shen enmyssit Cronk Birragh.	However, fortune went against her. Margaid and William had an arrangement to meet over there in a place we call Kintraagh (Kentrough?) , at the the hillock there called Cronk Birragh.
Foddym fakin yn crongan nish voish yn uinnag aym.	I can see the hillock now from my window.
V’ad son roie ersooyl cooidjagh yn oie shen, she oie feer ghorraghey v’ayn, as t’eh jeeaghyn dy jagh ’nane runt mygeayrt un cheu jeh’n chrongan as ’nane elley mygeayrt yn cheu elley, as cha ren ad meeiteil edyr.	They wanted to run away together that night, it was a very dark night, and it seemed that one went around one side of the hillock, and the other one around the other side, and they didn’t meet at all.
Hie ad thie, yn jees oc dyn meeiteil as smooinnee ad dy row yn reaghys brisht ec y 'nane elley.	They went home, the two of them, not meeting and they thought that the arrangement was broken by the other one.
Cha ’sayms row corree orroo ny dyn agh cha ren ad fakin y cheilley arragh.	I don’t know if they were angry or not, but but they didn’t see eachother ever again.
Hiaull eshyn ’sy voghrey as v’eh urree dy geddyn poost rish y chenn ’er.	He sailed in the morning and she had to get married to the old fellow.
V’ee goit gys[4] Skylley Chreest, raad v’ad ooilley geddyn poost ayns ny laghyn shen as raip ee y gooyn-poosee eck er y raad, dy chumrail y poosey as cha jinnagh ee cur e laue da’n chenn ’er roish y taggyrt, shen ta mee er chlashtyn, ansherbee.	She was taken to Kirk Christ, where they were all getting married in those days and she ripped her wedding dress on the way, to prevent the marriage and she wouldn't give her hand to the old fellow before the priest, that is what I’ve heard, anyway.
[4] goit gys] ‘taken to’ — [currit lesh] ‘brought to’ would be expected here.
Agh hie y poosey roish ny yei son shen as ooilley as cha ’sayms cre ren ad fy-yerrey.	But the marriage went ahead nevertheless and I don’t know what they did in the end.
Hass ad roish y taggyrt ansherbee agh cha’sayms ren ee goaill yn breearrey poosee ny dyn.	The stood before the priest anyway, but I don’t know if she took the wedding vow or not.
Ec y daunse ’sy toalt yn oie shen ren ee skellal r’ee as hooar ad ee heese ec y traie ec Fleshwick raad v’ee er chee ceau ee hene ’syn aarkey dy vaih ee hene.	At the dance in the barn that night she disappeared and they found her down at the shore at Fleshwick where she was about to throw herself in the ocean to drown herself.
Agh ansherbee, cha row ee er mayrn agh rish nuy meeghyn erreish da’n vannish as cha ren e mummig rieau maihghey ee hene	Agh ansherbee, cha row ee er mayrn agh rish nuy meeghyn erreish da’n vannish as cha ren e mummig rieau maihghey ee hene
as hooar ee hene baase tammylt beg ny yei lesh y cree eck brisht trooid goaill foddeeaght ny yei e ’neen varroo.	and she died a little while after with her heart broken through longing for her dead daughter.
Ta mee er chlashtyn dy row eh er lhong Hollanagh v’ayns Balley Chashtal ren Illiam y Kelly shiaulley ersooyl.	I have heard that it was on a Dutch ship that was in Castletown that William Kelly sailed away.
Haink eh er-ash dys Mannin tra v’eh ny henn ghooinney lane dy verchys as onnoryn as ta’n sleih echey foast ayn ayns y valley shen.	He came back to the Isle of Man when he was an old man, full of riches and honours and his people were still there in the that town.
Cha ren eh rieau geddyn poost as hymnee eh ooilley’n argid echey da thie ennagh cour shenn hiaulteyryn ayns Lerphul.	He never married and he collected all his money for some house for old sailors in Liverpool.
Ta shen yn skeeal myr ren mee clashtyn eh voish my Warree tra va mee guilley beg foast goll dy scoill.	That’s the story as I heard it from my grandmother when I was a small boy still going to school.
JUAN Y GEILL.	JOHN GELL
JOE YEAMAN	JOE YEAMAN
Un oie sterrymagh dy row va Joe Yeaman as Billy Boayl Olley goll tessen y Cheelys ayns baatey beg as vrie y Guilley Glaish orroo dy ve currit lhieu harrish dys y Cholloo raad va obbyr echey ry-yannoo.	One stormy night Joe Yeaman and Billy Boayl Olley (‘Billy Wool Spot’?) were going across the Sound in a little boat and the Lockman asked them to be brought over the Calf (of Man) where he had work to be done.
Va’n oie feer rastagh as tra rosh ad mean y cheeylys v’eh jeeaghyn dy beagh ad ooilley baiht.	The night was very rough and when the reached the middle of the sound he seemd as if they would all be drowned.
Vrie yn Guilley Glaish son y stiur agh dob ad eh da, smooinaghtyn dy row fys ny share oc.	The Lockman asked for the helm, but they refused it to him, thinking that they knew better.
Fy yerrey ren eh geddyn cha olk dy dooyrt ad rish, “Shoh, gow eh,” agh dooyrt y Guilley Glaish, “Cum erriu rish minnid,” as hie eh ooilley mygeayrt y vaatey kiartaghey y ballast v’ayn, as eisht ghow eh yn stiur as beggan er veggan ren ad roshtyn yn cheu elley.	Finally, it go so bad that they said to him “Here, take it,” but the Lockman said “Carry on for a minute,” and he went all around the boat correcting the ballast that was in it, and then he took the helm and and little by lettle they reached the other side.
Tra rosh ad y giau, as v’eh lheim magh er y thalloo, vrie Joe, “Cre’n aght va fys ayd dy row y ballast laccal dy ve kiartit?”	When they arrived the at the creek, and they were jumping out on the land, Joe asked, “How did you know that the ballast required correcting?”
“Ta shen keisht elley, my gheiney vie,” as y Guilley Glaish, as hie eh roish seose y chronk da’n gowaltys ayns mean y Chylliu.	“That is another question, my good man,” says the Lockman, and he went up the hill to the farm in the middle of Calf.
Va shen yn skeeal ec Ned, ansherbee, as myr cheayll mee eh, myr shen ta mee ginsh diuish eh.	That was Ned’s story, anyway, as how I heard it, and so I am telling it to you.
“BREAGAGH”.	“BREAGAGH”.