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SKEEAL CHOLIN
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COLIN’S STORY
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Va daa phaitchey elley ec Joe, Juan, mysh yn eash cheddin as my huyr, as Norman, agh v’eshyn foddey ny shinney as v’eh ’sy Lhuingys Ghoaldagh myr shiaulteyr.
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Joe had two other children, Juan, about the same age as my sister, and Norman, but he was much older and he was in the British Navy as a sailor.
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Cha row chellveeish erbee ayn ayns ny laghyn shen as cha dug shin monney geill da’n radio, myr shen cheau shin y fastyr ginsh skeealyn.
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There wasn’t any television in those days and we didin’t pay much heed to the radiom so we spent time the evening telling stories.
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Va Joe rieau ayns boirey ennagh as va drogh-haghyrtyn geiyrt er as fuirraghtyn ersyn gagh laa.
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Joe was always in some trouble and disasters were following him and waiting for him every day.
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Keayrt dy row haink eh stiagh syn “Ollay” as eshyn fliugh veih mullagh e ching dys boyn e choshey.
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Once, he came into the “Swan” and he was wet from the top of his head to the heel of his foot.
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Va oie vraew dy jarroo ayn as rollageyn yn aer soilshean gyn bodjal erbee ry-akin.
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It was a fine night indeed with the stars in the sky shining without a cloud at all to be seen.
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“Cre’n aght haink shen ort?” dooyrt fer ennagh va ny hassoo ec y voayrd coontee.
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“How did that come (get) on you?” said someone who was standing at the counter.
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“Haink frass doaltattym orrym,” dreggyr Joe.
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“A shower suddenly came upon me,” (“I got caught in a shower”) Joe answered.
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Haink sleih elley stiagh ny s’anmey as va dagh ooilley ’er jeu slane chirrym.
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Other people came in later and every one of them was completely dry.
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Cha s’ayms haink frass er Joe myr dooyrt eh, agh va daa awin ayn eddyr e hie as yn “Ollay” as mannagh duitt Joe ayns ’nane jeu v’eh ny ghooinney ynrican huitt frass erbee er yn oie shen.
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I don’t know if Joe got caught in a shower as he said, but there were two rivers between his house and the “Swan” and if Joe didn’t fall in one of them he was the only man caught in any shower that night.
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Cha lhisagh shiu goaill yindys dy jagh eh ny hrooid awin er e raad gys y thie lhionney, by gummey leshyn ve fliugh dy jinnagh eh cosney red ennagh.
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You shouldn’t be surprised that he went through a river on his way to the alehouse, being wet didn’t matter to him if he would get something.
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Keayrt dy row v’eh geeastagh marish m’ayr ec yn awin as hooar eh eeast mooar er e rimlagh.
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Once he was fishing with my father at the river and eh got a big fish on his line.
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Hie yn eeast sheese mygeayrt fraueyn billey ennagh as va m’ayr sheiltyn dy jinnagh yn eeast cosney roish.
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The fish went down around the roots of some tree and my father was guessing that the fish would get away.
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Lheim Joe stiagh ’syn awin as ghow eh greim er yn eeast, ghrap eh neese magh ass yn ushtey, gymmyrkey e aundyr, as v’eh er ny choodaghey lesh laagh as v’eh fliugh-vaiht, agh cha chaill eh e eeast!
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Joe jumped into the river and he got a grip of the fish, he climbed up out of the water, carrying his prize, and he was covered with mud and he was drowned-wet, but he didn’t lose his fish!
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Va boayl ennagh ayn faggys da’n thie echey enmyssit “Lhag y Chruink Yiarg” as laa dy row va Norman shooyl er y raad ayns shen.
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There was somewhere near to his house called “The Hollow of the Red Hill” and one day Norman was walking on the highway there.
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Hie e ayr huggey markiagh er cabbyl-yiarn.
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His father went to him riding on a motorbike.
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“Lheim seose cooyl aym,” dooyrt Joe.
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“Jump up behind me,” said Joe.
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Cha lheah’s va Norman ny hoie cooyl echey, hie Joe er e hoshiaght cha tappee dy ren Norman tuittym gour e ghrommey as dy dettyl e chassyn shaghey cleayshyn Yoe as dy jagh eh bun-ry-skyn derrey v’eh ny hassoo reesht er y raad as Joe goll roish gyn tastey erbee y chur da.
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As soon as Norman was sat behind him, Joe went ahead so fast that Norman fell backwards and his feet flew past Joe’s ears and and he went head-over-heels until he was stood again on the road with Joe going on without paying any notice of him.
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Cha row fys ec Joe dy row Norman ersooyl derrey rosh eh thie.
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Joe didn’t know that Norman was gone until he arrived home.
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Va’n cabbyl-yiarn shoh, feer henn as sollagh, v’eh ny Triumph 650 er lhiams.
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This motorbike was very old and dirty, it was a Triumph 650, I think.
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Ny keayrtyn va cheu-charr (sidecar) lhiantyn huggey.
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Sometimes there was a sidecar attached to it.
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Boallagh Joe goll er y cheer fastyr Jedoonee, markiagh er cabbyl-yiarn as Ruby marishyn ’sy cheu-charr as eshyn ceau edd runt (bowler hat) er e chione.
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Joe used to go in the countryside on Sunday afternoon, riding a motorbike with Ruby with him in the sidecar and him wearing a bowler hat on his head.
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Va shoh ceaut echey cour yn Doonaght.
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This was worn by him for the Sabbath (Sunday).
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Er y chiaghtin yinnagh eh ceau bayrn feohdagh ren eh ymmyd jeh son dagh ooilley nhee.
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In the week he would wear a disgusting cap that he used for everything.
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Ta mee er chlashtyn dy ren eh mooghey aile ’sy freoagh lesh!
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I hear that he extinguished a fire in the heather with it!
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Ta mee er n’akin eh ceau eh er y thalloo as lheim er tra va corree ersyn.
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I have seen him throw it on the ground and jump on it when he was angry.
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Keayrt dy row va Juan marish ec yn obbyr echey as v’eh faagit ny yei echey faggys da doagh ushtey mooar.
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Once Juan was with him at his job and he left it behind near a big vat of water.
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Cha row monney echey ry-yannoo as myr shen ghow eh toshiaght dy vroddey yn yiarn lesh y vair echey.
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He didn’t have much to do and so he began to poke the iron with his finger.
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Va’n doagh feer henn as thanney rere yn eash echey as ren eh towl as ghow yn ushtey toshiagh dy gheayrtey magh ass.
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The vat was very old and thin according to its age and he made a hole and the water started to pour out of it.
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Dyllee eh er Joe as hie eh lesh dagh ooilley hiyr huggey.
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He called Joe and he went with all haste to him.
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Tra honnick eh yn jeeyl va jeant ec Juan, cheau eh e vayrn er y laare as eshyn er chee lheimyragh er, tra haink eie huggey as ren eh ymmyd jeh myr dhull!
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When he saw the damage that Juan had done, he threw his cap on the floor and he was about to jump on it, when an idea came to him, and he used it as plug!
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Ansherbee, va shen y bayrn ren eh ceau, eer ayns e hie.
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Anyway, that was the cap that he wore, even in the house.
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Cha noddym pene cooinaghtyn ersyn bunnys fegooish y bayrn er e chione!
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I can’t myself remember him almost without the cap on his head!
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Ny s’anmey, cheau eh edd runt, er lheh er y Doonaght, as er y laa ta mee gimraa, hie eh dys bayr coon garroo heose er y chronk.
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Later, he wore a bowler hat, especially on the Sabbath, and on the day I am mentioning, he went to a narrow road up on the hill.
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Va shoh bayr Romanagh ec mullagh y chronk shoh as reayrt yindyssagh voish.
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There was a Roman road at the top of this hill with a wonderful view from it.
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Er y laa shoh, ga nagh row fys erbee ec Joe, va co-hirrey goll er cummal er y vayr garroo shoh as va ram deiney aegey markiagh noon as noal er nyn gabbil yiarn, tra haink Joe ny mast’oc.
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On that day, although Joe didn’t know anything about it, there was a competition being held on this rough road and there were a lot of young men riding to and fro on motorbikes, when Joe came amongst them.
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Hie eh dy-jeeragh seose yn ughtagh dyn cumrail erbee.
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He went straight up the slope with no delay.
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Hie eh shaghey paart j’eu va streppal harrish claghyn as thalloo crammanagh, garroo.
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He went past some of them that were struggling over stones and bumpy, rough ground.
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Tra raink eh dys y vullagh, haink reeayllagh mie j’eu huggey, cur moylley as soylley da as briaght jehsyn mychione y ghreie echey as mychione reddyn elley.
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When he came to the top, a good thin spread of them came to him, congratulating him and asking him about his machine and about other things.
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Cha dod Joe toiggal cre’n oyr v’ad jannoo mooar jeh er yn oyr dy row eh n’imman seose y vayr shen keayrt ny ghaa as cha row eh rieau smooinaghtyn dy row red er lheh eh.
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Joe couldn't understand why they making a big deal of him because he had driven up that road many times and he was never thinking that it was anything special.
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Oie dy row v’eh cheet dy valley voish Thie Oast “Yn Ollay”.
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One night he was coming home from ‘The Swan” Pub.
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Cha row soilshaghyn feer vie echey er y fa nagh row kied er nyn son ’sy traa caggee.
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He didn’t have very good lights because he there wasn’t permission for them in the wartime.
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Foddee dy row palchey dy yough echey, cha noddym gra, agh daag eh yn raad as huitt eh ’sy yeeig.
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Maybe he had plenty of drink, I can’t say, but he left the highway and he fell in the ditch.
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Hie yn cabbyl yiarn echey ersooyl voishyn boayl ennagh as tra hass eh reesht er e chassyn cha row eh ry-akin boayl erbee.
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His motorbike went away from him somewhere and when he stood on his feet again it wasn’t to be seen anywhere.
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Hirr eh er ayns y yeeig, er y raad as ayns y vagher, harrish y chleigh as ayns dagh ooilley voayl mygeayrt y mysh, agh cha row shilley erbee jeh ayn!
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He searched for it in the ditch, on the highway and in the field, over the hedge and everywhere around about him, but there was no sight at all of it!
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V’eh caillit dy bollagh!
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It was completely lost!
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Fy-yerrey hoal hie eh thie dy ’uirraghtyn dys y voghrey.
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At long last he went home to waut until the morning.
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’Sy voghrey, hie eh er ash dys y voayl cheddin as honnick eh y cabbyl yiarn echey croghey ayns gollage villey.
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In the morning, he went back to the same place and he saw his motorbike hanging in a tree fork.
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Cha row jeeyl erbee jeant er!
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It hadn’t been damaged!
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V’eh dy firrinagh ny ghooinney creoi!
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He truly was a hard man!
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SCREEUYN VOISH LESLIE Y QUIRK
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A LETTER FROM LESLIE QUIRK
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Ghoolish y charrey, Er hoh dhyt fy-yerrey hoal ny cooinaghtyn ayms jeh Caesar Cashin.
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Dear Doolish, here for you at long last are my memories of Caesar Cashin.
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S’feer eh dy jarroo dy row Gaelg ry-ynsaghey ayns ny brastyllyn va goll er cummal tra va mee aeg ayns Purt ny Hinshey.
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How true is is indeed that there was Manx to be learnt in the classes that were being held when I was young in Peel.
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By chliaghtey ain son y chooid smoo lhaih ass y Lioar Chasherick agh va caa ain dy chlashtyn rish blass Caesar hene.
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We used to mostly read from the Holy Book, but we had an opportunity to hear Caesar’s own accent.
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’Sy vlein 1932 hie yn “Kione Doo” (my vraar Walter) as mee hene as Noreen (my huyr) gys y vrastyl va goll er cummal ec y traa shen ayns Offish Vainshtyr Ny Purt ayns Purt Ny Hinshey ayns Straid Yn Attey.
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In the year 1932 the “Black Head” (my brother Walter) and myself and Noreen (my sister) went to the class that was being held at that time in the Harbourmaster’s Office, in Crown Street.
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Hie shin stiagh as hoie shin sheese as yeeagh mee er dagh oltey y vrastyl as va enney mie ayms er y chooid smoo j’eu.
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We went in and we sat down and I looked at each member of the class and I knew most of them very well.
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Ny vud oc va shenn dooinney ennagh as faasaag liauyr lheeah echey as smooinee mee rhym pene, “Cre’n fa ta’n shenn dooinney shen shirrey Gaelg y ynsaghey as lhied yn eash ersyn?”
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Amongst them was some old man with a long grey beard and I thought to myself “Why is that old man asking to learn Manx at his age?”
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Cha dooar mee freggyrt da m’eysht yn oie shen agh hooar mee eh tammylt beg ny lurg.
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I didn’t get an answer to my question that night, but I got it a little while after.
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Quoi v’ayn agh Philly Quayle, yn dooinney ooasle hene as eshyn lum-lane dy Gaelg feer vie, agh ghow eh yindys ersyn hene doaltattym nagh dod eh ee y lhaih er chor erbee!
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Who was it but Philly Quayle, the noble man himself, and he was brim-full of very good Manx, but was suddenly amazed himself that he couldn’t read it at all!
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Shoh dooyrt eh rhym pene un oie, “Va mee ronsaghey ayns kishtey ennagh as hooar mee Bible Ghaelgagh, doshil mee ee as haink fys hym nagh dod mee ee y lhaih er chor erbee as ta shen y oyr dy daink mee da’n vrastyl.”
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This is what he said to me one night, “I was searching in some box and I found a Manx Bible, I opened it and I realised that I couldn’t read it at all and that is why I came to the class.”
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Son shickyrys cha row eh feer foddey derrey va’n dooinney ooasle lhaih y Ghaelg dy flaaoil!
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For sure, it wasn’t very long until the noble man was reading Manx fluently!
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Hie kuse j’in oie elley dys brastyl ayns thie ennagh elley fo currym Philly as va ymmodee skeealyn mie ry-chlashtyn ayns shen!
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Some of us went another night to a class in some other house under the charge of Philly and there were many good stories to be heard there!
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Oddagh lioar ’ve er ny screeu mychione skeealyn Philly.
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A book could have been written about Philly’s stories.
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Va shoh yn ennym hug eh orrinyn dy chur er, as myr shen, bee fys euish dy row anmys mooar ain ersyn.
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This is the name he made us use for him, and so, know that we had great respect for him.
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Keayrt dy row vrie shin jeh myr shoh, “Kanys t’ou gra ‘Go to the Devil’ ayns Gaelg?”
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Once we asked him like this, “How do you say ‘Go to the Devil’ in Manx?”
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Dreggyr eh, “If you weren't a gentleman, you would say ‘Immee gys yn Jouyl’.” —she shoh yn sorch dy ghooinney v’ayn.
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He answered, “If you weren’t a gentleman, you would say ‘Immee gys yn Jouyl’ (‘Go to the Devil). — this is the sort of man he was.
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Va Caesar Cashin gyn o u r y s “Ayr ny Gaelgey” ayns Purt ny Hinshey ayns ny laghyn shen.
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Caesar Cashin was without doubt “The Father of Manx” in Peel in those days.
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Va Gaelg feer vie echey as Gaelg yindysagh ry-chlashtyn ec y vrastyl echey.
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He had very good Manx with wonderful Manx to be heard at his class.
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Shegin dou gra, ny yei, dy row Gaelg foddey ny share ry-chlashtyn voishyn moghey ’sy voghrey, taaley ass e veeal, tra v’eh skeeabey magh e happ as "Yn Kione Doo” as mee hene cur y bainney stiagh dasyn.
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I have to say, nevertheless, that there was far better Manx to be heard from him early in the morning, flowing from his mouth, when he was sweeping out his shop with “The Black Head” and myself taking the milk in for him.
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Va ram shenn raaghyn er ny screeu sheese echeysyn as ymmodee j’eu er nyn screeu sheese aym pene.
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He had a lot of old phrases written down and I have many of them written down myself.
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Va ram j’eu cooinit echey voish laghyn e aegid.
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Many of them he had remembered from the days of his youth.
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Ta seaghyn mooar orrym nagh row greie-recortys ayn ayns ny laghyn shid.
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I was greatly upset that there was no recording machine in those days.
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Hug Caesar orryms as er my vraar “Kione Doo” dy screeu sheese yn sheean hene jeh’n Ghaelg echey as cha nee yn aght screeuee ta ry-geddyn ayns Gaelg screeuit.
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Caesar made me and my brother “Black Head” write down the actual sound of his Manx and not the way of writing that is found in written Manx.
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Er hoh diu sampleyr jeh: “Niar-byl" — “Ni-err-abul”; “Eairk” (a horn) — “Err-uk”, yiarragh eh, “Two ‘r’s will do for English, but you need three in Manx.”
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Here is an example of it for you: “Niar-byl” — “Ni-err-abul”; “Eairk” (a horn) — “Err-uk”, he would say, “Two ‘r’s will do for English, but you need three in Manx.”
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Rish ymmodee bleeantyn hie “Kione Doo” as mish, as Caesar hene, gagh Jeheiney Chaisht, dys Eairy Cuishlin, ayns shenn “van”.
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For many years “Kione Doo” and I, and Caesar himself, went every Easter Friday, to Eairy Cushlin, in an old van.
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She “Ford” v’ayn.
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It was a Ford.
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Un cheayrt, tra rosh shin thie Eairy Cuishlin, ren shin shooyl roin er y clyst.
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Once, when we reached Eairy Cushlin House, we walked on the coast.
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Dooyrt Caesar, “Ta shen ‘Dalioora’, she, magher beg ‘Dalioora’ as magher ‘Dalioora’ liauyr, as ta skeeal ayn mychione ny magheryn shen.”
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Caesar said, “That is ‘Dalioora’, yes, the little field of ‘Dalioora’ and the long field of ‘Dalioora’, and there is a story about those fields.”
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“Cre ta shen,” vrie shin jeh.
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“What is that,” we asked him.
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“Tammylt er dy henney va oarn cuirrit ayns ny magheryn shen as va baar feer vie ayn.
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“A while ago there was barley sown in those fields and there was a very good crop.
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V’eh currit ayns sthookyn dy sauchey agh un oie haink sterrym agglagh as va geay-chassee ayn as hie ny deiney sheese dys y vagher jerkal rish folmid y ’akin agh va lane-vaar ny lhie er y thalloo ta shin nyn hassoo er nish.”
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It was put safely in sthooks but one night an awful storm came and there was a whirlwind and the men went down to the field expecting to see nothing, but there was a full crop lying on the ground we are standing on now.”
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Tra va shin shooyl er ash thie va “Kione Doo” shirrey “heise” (a lift) y chur da Caesar tra v'eh drappal harrish cleigh ennagh, agh haink sheeb ass Caesar “Faag mee feagh — ny jean bac orrym.”
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When we were walking back home “Kione Doo” was asking to give a lift to Caesar when he was climbing over some hedge, but a sharp scold came from Caesar “Leave me be — don’t get in my way.”
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S’feer eh dy row yn aigney echey e aigney hene!
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How true it was that his mind was his own mind!
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Er hoh yn skeeal s’jerree: Va Thie Lhionney ec Yn Arbyl (The Niarbyl) agh she daa hie v’ayn as daa ven freayll ad.
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This is the last story: There was an alehouse at Niarbyl, but it was two houses with two women keeping them.
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Va daa ayrn fo un chleah as dorrys ec y chione twoaie as dorrys elley ec y chione jiass.
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There were two parts under one roof with a door at the North end and another door at the South end.
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Ymmodee keayrtyn va ben ennagh gyllagh, “Trooid raad shoh Whoy — Jough vie ayns shoh,” as harragh coraa elley, foast er ard, voish cheu elley y thie, “Trooid raad shoh Whoy, jough ny share ayns shoh!”
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Many times a woman was shouting, “Come this way boy, — Good drink here,” a another voice would come, still out loud, from the other side of the house, “Come this way boy, better drink here!”
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LESLIE Y QUIRK.
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LESLIE QUIRK
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1977
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1977
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