Oie ec yn scaddan

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Manx English
Ta ny reddyn er chaghlaa nish as cha vel scaddan hene ry gheddyn. Things have changed now and there is not a single herring to be found.
Cha vel ny deiney coyrt geill da ny shenn chliaghtaghyn, myr v’ad keayrt. The men do not pay attention to the old customs as they once did.
Ta ny deiney ayns ny laghyn t’ayn nish goll dy lhie ec faagail yn baie, as ta’n mainshter soie dy stiurey, as tra t’eh coontey dy vel eh foddey dy liooar jeh’n thalloo t’eh geam yn cheshaght seose dy chur yn lieen. The men these days go to bed upon leaving the bay, and the master sits to steer, and when he thinks he is far enough from land he calls the crew up to cast the net.
Ta mee er vakin shin cur yn lieen ec kiare er y chlag fastyryn aalin ’sy tourey, fegooish jeeaghyn son perkin vooar ny sharkagh. I have seen us casting the net at four o’clock on fine evenings in the summer without looking for a great porpoise or a shark.
Agh tra ren mee hene goll gys yn scaddan ayns my aegid, veagh shin coyrt yn lieen magh er chyrmagh dy chooilley Yesarn. But when I myself went to the herring in my youth, we would put the net out to dry every Saturday.
Eisht veagh shin goll er gys yn phurt moghrey Jelhein, as giu ghaa ny tree dy phintyn jough y pheesh, eisht goll gys yn vagher dy hroggal yn lieen, eisht veagh shin coyrt yn lieen er boayrd as geddyn eh aarloo son y chur. Then we would go on to the harbour on Monday morning, and drink two or three pints of ale each, then go to the field to lift the net; then we would put the net on board and get it ready for the casting.
Veagh paart jeh ny deiney coyrt lesh mullag veg dy vainney geyre. Some of the men would bring a small keg of buttermilk.
Myr dooyrt Jack Andra, cha row tey gra monney ayns ny laghyn shen. As Jack Andra said, tea was not ‘saying much’ in those days.
Va dy chooilley ghooinney geddyn e arran hene, paart jeu kionnagh bwilleenyn, as paart cur lesh arran corkey voish y thie as jyst beg dy fuygh lane eeym. Every man would provide his own bread, some of them buying loaves, and others bringing oatbread from home and a small wooden bowl full of butter.
Veagh shin eisht goll as geddyn daa lane-bastag dy gheayl as daa lane-mullag dy ushtey, as tra veagh ooilley ny kiartaghyn jeant, fer goll dy gheddyn boteil dy rum choud as veagh shin chyndaa yn baatey mygeayrt lesh yn ghrian. We would then go and get two basketfuls of coal and two kegfuls of water, and when all the chores were done, someone would go to get a bottle of rum while we turned the boat about towards the sun.
V’eh coontit feer neu-luckee dy ve eginit dy hyndaa yn raad aggairagh. It was considered very unlucky to be forced to turn the wrong way.
Eisht veagh shin soiagh ny shiauill as soiagh yn shiaull-toshee goll magh ayns yn baie. Then we would set the sails and set the forward sail going out in the bay.
Ta cooinaght aym er un laa as va’n flod ooilley ersooyl hoshiaght roin. I remember one day the fleet was all away ahead of us.
As myr va’n traa aalin fegooish monney geay, cha row shin goll feer tappee tra rosh shin yn Kione Doo. And as the weather was fine without much wind, we were not going very fast when we reached the Kione Doo.
Eisht dooyrt Ned Mooar y Cheyllys dy row eh traa geddyn lane-pytt-ushag ass yn boteil, as dy iu gys slaynt buggane yn Chione Doo. Then Ned Mooar y Cheyllys said that it was time to get a dram from the bottle, and to drink to the health of the buggane of the Kione Doo.
Tra va shen jeant ren shin cur yn baatey mygeayrt. When that was done we put about.
As ayns traa gerrid haink shin gys baatey lhie huggey cheu mooie jeh ny Wartyn, [2] as tra ren shin roshtyn ee, “Cre ren oo fakin ayns shoh, boy?” dooyrt Ned Mooar. And in a short time we came to a boat lying to outside the Warts, and when we reached her, “What did you see here, boy?” said Ned Mooar.
[2] ny Wartyn - ‘a fishing-mark south-west of the Calf of Man’ Broderick (1982: 122).
“Va’n pherkin vooar ayn,” dooyrt ad. “The great porpoise was here,” they said.
Ayns traa gerrid chur shin yn baatey mygeayrt reesht as hie shin son yn flod. In a short time we put the boat around again and made for the fleet.
Tra va’n Bollagh er Cronk Sharree Mooar, as Cronk y Feeagh er Kione Veg yn Calloo, honnick shin paart dy ghantyn goll mygeayrt. When the Bollagh was on Cronk Sharree Mooar and Cronk y Feeagh on Kione Beg yn Challoo, we saw some gannets going around.
Eisht va’n boteil currit lesh reesht as shirveishit er ny deiney choud as va bine ayn. Then the bottle was brought out again and served to the men while there was a drop in it.
As lurg da’n boteil ve follym, ghow ad toshiaght dy haggloo mysh ny mraane as dy insh mychione yn traa v’ad deiney aegey as sooree er ny mraane aegey. And after the bottle was empty, they began to talk about the women, and to tell about the time they were young men and courting the young women.
V’eh mee-lowit dy enmys mwaagh er boayrd, as conning, marish roddan as kayt. It was forbidden to name a hare on board, and a rabbit, together with a rat and a cat.
Va’n mwaagh ‘fer yn chleaysh vooar’, as yn conning ‘pomet’, as yn roddan ‘sacote’, as yn kayt ‘scraperey’. The hare was ‘the one with the big ear’, the rabbit ‘pommet’, the rat ‘sacote’, and the cat ‘scratcher’.
Agh cha row whisteragh lowal er oyr erbee, son v’ad gra dy row eh boirey yn gheay. But whistling was not allowed on any account, for they said that it troubled the wind.
As my va dooinney erbee jarrood eh hene as brishey ny slattyssyn, va er dy chur boteil dy rum laa-ny-vairagh. And if any man forgot himself and broke the rules, he had to provide a bottle of rum the next day.
Cha row dooinney erbee dy gholl ’sy chabbane oor roish lhie greiney, agh dy chooilley unnane jeeaghyn son yn pherkin. No man would go into the cabin an hour before sunset, but everyone would be looking for the porpoise.
Ghow ad ayns laue dy gholl magh gys yn flod va lhie huggey mooie er yn Bollagh Mooar dy yeeaghyn row caslys erbee oc. They undertook to go out to the fleet that lay by it out on the Bollagh Mooar to see if there was any sign of them.
Dooyrt Bill Jack dy row red ennagh oc tra v’ad lhie mooie ayns shen. Bill Jack said there were some of them when they were lying out there.
Yn chied shiaull ren shin roshtyn, “C’red honnick oo ayns shoh boy?” dooyrt Ned Mooar. The first sail we reached, “What did you see here, boy?” said Ned Mooar.
“Cha ren shin fakin veg,” dooyrt ad. “We didn’t see anything,” they said.
Eisht roie shin son fer elley, as tra ren shin roshtyn eh, “Ren oo fakin yn pherkin?” dooyrt Bill Jack. Then we ran for another, and when we reached it, “Did you see the porpoise?” said Bill Jack.
“Va unnane ayns shoh, agh cha vel shin er vakin ee rish tammylt dy hraa,” dooyrt ad. “V’ee gollrish nane veagh er boggeeys.” “There was one here, but we haven’t seen it for a while,” they said. “It was like one that would be rutting.”
Eisht roie shin son fer elley, as ren Ned Mooar briaght jeh ren eh fakin yn pherkin. Then we ran for another, and Ned Mooar asked him if he saw the porpoise.
“Vel unnane ersooyl void?” dooyrt ad. “Is one away from you?” they said.
Tra nagh row briaght ry gheddyn er caslys erbee ny vud yn flod, dooyrt yn mainshter dy row eh ny share dy roie stiagh reesht gys yn boayl ren shin fakin ny gantyn, as tra ren shin roshtyn gys shen, honnick shin yn pherkin as paart dy ghantyn as foillanyn crowal mygeayrt, as va kittee virree ny jees ny lhie er yn ushtey. When no sign was to be found among the fleet, the captain said it would be better to run in again to the place we saw the gannets, and when we reached there, we saw the porpoise and some gannets and gulls crowing about, and there was a storm-petrel or two lying on the water.
“T’eh traa dooin goaill aanrit,” dooyrt yn mainshter, “as goaill cuirr marish ny gantyn shoh.” “It’s time for us to take a cloth,” said the captain, “and to shoot the nets with these gannets.”
Myr shen ghow shin ny shiauill sheese, as filley ad seose son yn oie, as goaill toshiaght dy chur: agh ayns traa gerrid ghow yn scaddan toshiaght dy chloie. So we lowered the sails and folded them up for the night, and began to cast: but in a short time the herring began to ‘play’.
Eisht va shin ooilley ayns gien mie, as cur yn lieen cha tappee as oddagh shin; fer va cur yn lieen as fer elley cur yn tead, as fer elley ceau magh ny mollagyn, as yn Mainshter stiurey, gys v’eh ooilley ceaut magh. Then we were all in good humour, and we cast the net as quickly as we could; one cast the net and another cast the rope, another throwing out the buoys, and the master steering, until it was all thrown out.
Eisht va’n croan-toshee er ny lhieggal as toshiaght yn vaatey currit gys yn gheay; eisht ren shin geddyn dy chooilley ghooinney e rimlagh, as goaill toshiaght dy eeastagh hakeyn. Then the foremast was lowered and the bow put to the wind; then each of us got his fishing-line and began to fish hake.
Va ny hakeyn gee dy tappee. The hakes were eating quickly.
“Quoid dy how ayd?” dooyrt Ned Mooar rish fer elley. “How much line do you have?” said Ned Mooar to another.
“Three feiyghyn jeig,” dooyrt eh. “Thirteen fathoms,” he said.
“Quoid ta ayd’s?” “How much do you have?”
“Feed feiy,” dooyrt eshyn. “Twenty fathoms,” he said.
Veagh fer tayrtyn hake ayns toshiaght yn vaatey as fer elley ayns yn jerrey, as veagh ad dy mennick briaght mychione yn thow; ren shin eeastagh son oor dy lieh. One would be catching hake in the bow of the boat and another in the stern, and they would often be asking about the line; we fished for an hour and a half.
Eisht dooyrt yn mainshter dy row eh traa dy phrowal yn lieen dy yeeaghyn row Juan Beg [3] thooilley, as ren shin goaill piyr [4] stiagh as va mysh daa cheead as lieh cheead ayns yn piyr. Then the master said it was time to prove the net to see if Little Juan was flooding, and we took a pair in and there were about two hundred and fifty in the pair.
[3] Juan Beg - ‘name for herring’ Broderick (1982: 124).
[4] piyr - ‘the ‘pair’ referred to the extent of net between two mollags, or buoys’ Broderick (1982: 124).
“Lhig dooin ceau ee ayn tammylt elley,” dooyrt yn mainshter; eisht ren shin ceau ee ayn reesht, as goll dy eeastagh hakeyn. “Let’s cast it in after another while,” said the master; then we cast it in again and went to fish hake.
“Yiowmayd troor dy scaddan moghrey,” dooyrt yn mainshter. “We’ll get three times the amount of herring in the morning,” said the master.
Tra veagh ny hakeyn gee, veagh dy chooilley ghooinney freayll arrey. When the hake would be eating, every man would keep watch.
Va’n flod cheu-mooie prowal reesht, agh cha row monney scaddan goll. The fleet was outside proving again, but there was not much herring going.
As v’ad cur er boayrd dy gholl er y vriaght. And they were were putting [the nets] on board and to go asking around.
Cha row eh feer foddey gys haink shiolteyr er-gerrey. It was not very long until sailor approached.
“R’ou prowal ayns shen?” dooyrt ad. “Were you proving there?” they said.
“Va, boy.” “Yes, boy.”
“Quoid hug oo ass yn piyr, boy?” “How much did you get from the pair, boy?”
“Mysh lieh veaish, [5] boy.” “About half a measure, boy.”
[5] meaish - ‘a measure is 500 herring’ Broderick (1982: 124).
“R’ou prowal agh keayrt, boy?” “Were you proving once only, boy?”
“Cha row.” “No.”
“Vel oo fakin foyd eh, boy? Ta reeayllagh [6] braew ayn.” “Do you see it beneath you, boy? There’s a fine spread [of herring].”
[6] reeayllagh braew
[MS reelagh] - ‘a fine thin spread’ Broderick (1982: 124); ‘reeayllagh, s. m. anything thinly scattered or spread’ Cregeen.
Myr shen ghow eh shiaull as ren eh cur harrish yn greie ayn. So he took sail and put the gear in [the water].
Haink fer ny jees elley, as va meaishyn dy scaddan oc. Another one or two came, and they had measures of herring.
V’ad gollrish ponniar. [7] They were like a young lad.
[7] ponniar - ‘lad, boy’.
In the following section the fishermen compare the catch of herring to a pubescent boy. The size of the catch corresponds age of the boy and hairiness of his genitals.
“Cre’n eash yn ponniar, boy?” dooyrt Ned mooar. “What age is the lad, boy?” said Ned Mooar.
“Mysh three-jeig ny kiare-jeig dy vleeantyn, boy.” “About thirteen or fourteen years old, boy.”
Lurg tammylt dy hraa haink shiaull elley, as cha dooyrt ad fockle erbee. After a while another sail came, and they did not say a word.
“Cre’n stoyr scaddan, boy?” dooyrt Ned Mooar. “What store of herring, boy?” said Ned Mooar.
“Ponniar, boy.” “A young lad, boy.”
“Cre’n eash yn ponniar, boy?” “What age is the lad, boy?”
“Ta’n bod echey gaase mollagh,” dooyrt ad. “His cock is getting hairy,” they said.
“Quoi yn baatey ee shen?” dooyrt Ned. “Which boat is that?” said Ned.
“Yn Monkey,” dooyrt adsyn. “The Monkey,” they said.
Va’n Monkey voish Ramsey, as v’ee ec dooinney Skylley Chreest yn imbagh roish shen, as v’eh jeeaghyn nagh dug ad monney ayrn jee. [8] The Monkey was from Ramsey, and a Kirk Christ man had her the season before that, and it seemed they did not look after it very well.
[8] nagh dug ad monney ayrn jee - ‘they did not look after it very well’ Broderick (1982: 124).
“Vel yn Monkey bio foast?” dooyrt Ned. “Is the Monkey still alive?” said Ned.
“Ren shin goaill yn famman jeh’n Monkey ayns Purt le Moirrey,” dooyrt adsyn. “We took the tail off the Monkey in Port St. Mary,” they said.
“Gow shiu thie as cur shiu poddash phishyragh [9] da,” dooyrt Ned, “dy yeeaghyn jean yn famman gaase er reesht.” “Go home and give it some pease porridge,” said Ned, “to see whether the tail will grow on it again.”
[9] poddash phishyragh – Broderick (1981: 124) transcribes ‘post post ass fishyraght’ and translates ‘give it a bit of magic’ Broderick (1982: 124), interpreting fishyraght as be fysseraght ‘supernatural knowledge’.
However, the manuscript reads poshass phishyraght, i.e. poddash phishyragh ‘pease porridge’, an invigorating meal which would cause the tail to grow again.
Myr shen cha ren dooinney yn Vonkey coyrt ansoor erbee da; ghow yn laa toshiaght dy vrishey, as ghow shin toshiaght dy chur er boayrd, as va eeastagh mie aynjee. The man from the Monkey did not give himany answer; the day began to break, and we began to haul on board, and there was good fishing in her.
Agh va paart jeh ny baatyn coyrt harrish dooin, as va ny greienyn ain fud y cheilley. But some of the boats were too close to us, and our gear was tangled.
Agh lurg tammylt dy obbyr as dy naaragh hooar shin er boayrd, as mysh jeih meaishyn as daeed dy scaddan. But after a while of work and effort we had hauled on board about fifty measures of herring.
Ren shin geddyn seose yn croan as soiagh ny shiauill as goll lesh yn phurt. We got the mast up and set the sails and made for the harbour.
Ayns yn traa shen va palchey kionneyderyn ayns baie Phurt le Moirrey as va ny baatyn oc cheet dy veeiteil yn flod choud as yn Calloo. At that time there were plenty of buyers in Port St. Mary bay and their boats would come to meet the fleet as far out as the Calf.
Myr shen haink Yernagh er boayrd ain, as chur eh lesh shin gys lhiattee wherree. [10] Then an Irishman came aboard us and brought us beside a wherry.
[10] wherree - ‘a two-masted boat with fore and aft sail’ Broderick (1982: 125).
Tra va’n scaddan craait ain ren shin toshiaght dy choontey, as va ny mainshteryn freayll tailley noi ry hoi. When we had shaken the herring we began counting, and the masters kept tally against one another.
Agh va mainshter yn wherree shooyl mygeayrt, as tra va’n scaddan er boayrd echey cha row yn tailley oc corrym; va daa cheead smoo ec yn mainshter ain. The master of the wherry was walking about, and when he had the herring on board their tally was not equal; our master had two hundred more.
As dooyrt yn Yernagh nagh jinnagh eh geeck; agh va steamer-caggee ayns y vaie, as dooyrt yn mainshter ain dy row eh goll gys yn steamer lesh yn chooish. And the Irishman said that he would not pay, but there was a navy steamer in the bay, and our master said that he was going to the steamer with the matter.
Dooyrt yn Yernagh dy row eh goll marish. The Irishman said he was going with him.
Myr shen hie ad cooidjagh. So they went together.
Tra haink ad er-gerrey dooyrt yn Yernagh dy row yn dooinney shoh molley eh ass daa cheead scaddan. When they were drawing near, the Irishman said that this man was cheating him out of two hundred herring.
Ren captan yn steamer jeeaghyn harrish yn lhiattee as dooyrt eh rish yn Yernagh, “Gow er boayrd as eeck yn dooinney, nagh derrym bullad ayns gunn as coyrt yn wherree gys grunt ny marrey.” The captain of the steamer looked over the side and said to the Irishman, “Go on board and pay the man, otherwise I’ll put a bullet in a gun and send the wherry to the bottom of the sea.”
Myr shen haink ad er boayrd as ren eh geeck dy chooilley phing. So they came on board and he paid every penny.
Veagh shin booiagh geddyn hug Yernagh, son dy row bine dy whisky echey er boayrd. We would be glad to get to an Irishman, for he had a drop of whiskey on board.
Eisht hie shin gys yn cheayn reesht, as cha row cadley goll yn laa shen. Then we went to sea again, and there was no sleep going that day.