| Manx | English | |
|---|---|---|
| TA shin bunnys er jeet gys jerrey ny skeeallyn mychione yn shenn sleih vouesyn hooar shinyn ta ny shinney, chengey ny mayrey Ellan Vannin. | We have almost come to the end of the stories about the old people from those whom we, who are older, got the mother tongue. | |
| Cha row rieau ny cooinaghtyn ta shiu er lhaih car ny shiaghteeyn chaie er ve screeuit sheese ny currit magh ayns clou roie as ta treisht orrym dy jean shen ny ta shiu er n’akin ayns Noon As Noal er y gerrid jannoo recortys firrinagh jeh’n cheeloghe yindyssagh shen ren cur y Ghaelg da’n cheeloghe ayms. | The memories that you have read during the past weeks were never written down or published in print before and that what you have seen in Noon As Noal recently will will make a true record of that wonderful generation that gave Manx to my generation. | |
| Ta Mannin er chaglaa dy mooar car ny bleeantyn neayr’s va ny loayreyderyn jerrinagh ny mast’ain, cha nee son ny share edyr, erlhiams.[1] | The Isle of Man has changed greatly during the years since the last speakers were amongst us, not for the better either, in my opinion. | |
|
[1] erlhiams]
[er lhiam’s]
| ||
| Ta Mannin nish bunnys ooilley ayns laueyn ny joarreeyn as tra ta shiu crankal er yn dorrys jeh thie ayns boayl fadaneagh er y cheer cluinnee shiu[2] ooilley Baarle as shen er ny loayrt lesh blass joarree. | The Isle of Man is now almost all in the hands of foreigners and when you knock on the door of a house in a deserted place in the country you will here all English, and that spoken with a foreign accent. | |
|
[2] cluinnee shiu] ‘you will hear’, the relative future form of the verb
[chlinnys] might be expected here.
| ||
| Ta ny shappyn beggey ayns ny baljyn beggey cheerey ooilley ayns laueyn ny joarreeyn neesht as eer ny thieyn thooit ayns Creneash hene. | The little shops in the country villages are all in the strangers’ hands too, and even the thatched houses in Cregneash itself. | |
| Ta Doolish lane dy vancyn mooarey traghtee as tra ta shiu loayrt er y chellvane rish Oik Yn Reiltys t’eh bunnys shickyr dy jean shiu loayrt rish fer ennagh ny ben ennagh t’er jeet voish Sostyn dy roie yn Ellan er nyn son (mannagh vel shiu aighoil dy liooar dy hellvaney er Adrian Pilgrim!). | Douglas is full of big commercial banks and when you speak on the telephone to the Office of the Government it is almost certain that you will speak to some man or woman that has come from England to run the Island for them (unless you are lucky enough to telephone Adrian Pilgrim!). | |
| Boayl ennagh ayns screeunyn Shakespeare t’eh er ny screeu “He was the last of a race in ruin — he spoke the language of the Gael.” | Somewhere in Shakespeare’s writings it is written “He was the last of a race in ruin — he spoke the language of the Gael.” | |
| Lhig dooin jannoo nyn gooid share dy chur y breag er y raa shen.[3] Ayns fockleyn Yuan y Kring, yn ‘Gaaue’ hene, “Ta shin er mayrn foast, myr ta!” | Let’s all do our best to show that that statement isn’t true. In the words of John Kneen, the ‘Blacksmith’ himself, “We are still here, though!” | |
|
[3] dy chur y breag er y raa shen] ‘to show that that statement isn’t true’. Evidently the idiom
[dy chur y breag er], literal translation ‘to put the lie on’, is used to mean ‘to show that something isn’t true’.
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| SKEEALYN ELLEY YUAN Y GEILL | MORE OF JOHN GELL’S STORIES | |
| BENAINSHTER WATTERSON, “GLION CHASS,” COLBY (1860-1951) | MRS. WATTERSON, “GLEN CHASS,” COLBY (1860-1951) | |
| Pic: Bnr. Watterson as e carrey Bnr. Kermode. | Pic: Mrs. Watterson and her friend Mrs. Kermode. | |
| Shoh caslys jeh daa-henn ven Vanninagh, ta’n ven er y cheu hoshtal Benainstyr Watterson as y ven elley ny carrey j’ee, Benainstyr Kermode, as v’ee doal. | This is a picture of two old Manx women, the woman on the left side is Mrs Watterson and the other woman a friend of hers, Mrs Kermode, and she was blind. | |
| Va Benainstyr Kermode carrey da m’ayr neesht, as va enn eck orryms neayrs va mee my oikan, er fa shen va mee dy mennick cur shilley urree ec yn Howe, as tra va mee shirrey geddyn y Ghailck vo’ee, dooyrt ee | Mrs. Kermode was a friend of my father too, and she knew me since I was an infant, therefore I was often visiting her at the Howe, and when I was looking to find Manx from her, she said, | |
| “Ta’n Ghailck ooilley jarroodit aym nish er yn oyr dy row mee daeed vlein ersooyl ayns Lherpuyl, agh immee as cur shilley er my charrey Benr. Watterson ayns Colby, ta palchey Gailck eck”, as shen yn aght hooar mee carrey yindyssagh as loayreyder ny Gailck.[4] | “I have forgotten all the Manx now because I was forty years away in Liverpool, but go and see my firend Mrs. Watterson in Colby, she knows plenty of Manx”, and that is how I found a wonderful friend and speaker of Manx. | |
|
[4] loayreyder ny Ghailck] ‘speaker of Manx’, the more common ways to say this are
[loayrtagh ny Gaelgey],
[loayrtagh Gaelgagh],
[loayrtagh chengey ny mayrey Ellan Vannin] or
[Gaelgeyr].
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| V’ee ruggit ec Glion Chiass, as v’ee baashiagh-enn da Ned Maddrell, as va’n ennym eck “Kattie” Kinley. | She was born at Glen Chiass, and she was well-known to Ned Maddrell, and her name was “Kattie” Kinley. | |
| Er-lhiams dy row “Kattie” ny ben-loayreyder share cheayll mee rieau taggloo Gailck. | I think that “Kattie” was the best speaker I ever heard speaking Manx. | |
| Loayr ee chengey ny mayrey dy aashagh as flahoil lesh blass aalin gollrish kiaull; v’ee ny ben chrauee as cha row ee rieau garroo. | She spoke the mother tongue easily and fluently with a beautiful accent like music; she was a religious woman and she was never (rough) rude. | |
| V’ee kenjal, mettey. as giastyllagh, as veih’n chied hraa haink mee ny quaiyl v’ee kenjal ass-cadjin dooys, as ghow ee boggey dy m’akin. | She was kind, delicate and charitable, and the first time I met her she was unusually kind to me, and she rejoiced to see me. | |
| Va me goaill yindys er shoh as smooinaghtyn cre’n oyr? | I was wondering about this and thinking, what the reason was? | |
| Eisht dooyrt ee dy row enney eck er my ayr tra nagh row eh agh oikan daa vlein dy eash. | Then she said that she knew my father when he was only an infant of two years old. | |
| Tra v’ee mysh shiaght blein d’eash hie ee dy veaghey marish e shennayr ayns Lingague, as s’goan va fockle dy Vaarle ec y shenn ghooinney. | When I was about seven years old, she went to live with her grandfather in Lingague, and the old man hardly knew an English word. | |
| Cha nhyrrys dou va lheid y Ghailck yindyssagh eck ! | It’s no wonder to me that she had such wonderful Manx! | |
| V’ee ginsh dou dy daink ee neose veih Lingague dys Colby dy akin yn chied traen goll shaghey tra va’n raad yiarn foshlit ’sy vlein 1873. | She was telling me that she came down from Lingague to Colby to see the first train going past when the railway was opened in the year 1873. | |
| Cre’n laa cronnal veagh shen er e son. | What a remarkable day that would have been for her. | |
| Un laa, dooyrt ee, v’ee currit gys thie my hennayr ec Balley Keeill Pherick dy yannoo red erbee oddys ee dy chooney lesh my hennayr as e phaitchyn, er yn oyr dy row my warree ching gy-baase. | One day, she said, she was sent to my grandfather’s house at Ballakilpheric to do anything at all she could to help my grandfather and his children, because my grandmother was terminally ill. | |
| Va queig paitchyn ayn as va my ayr y fer saa. Va ‘Kattie’ Kinley ec y thie tra ghow my hennayr ny paitchyn yn derrey yeh lurg yn jeh elley dy ghra “slane lhiat” as geddyn bannaght veih nyn Vummig. | There were five children, and my father was the youngest. ‘Kattie’ Kinley was at the house when my grandfather took the children, one after another to say ‘goodbye’ and get a blessing from their mum. | |
| Keayrt dy row vrie Benr. Waterson orrym, “Crenagh ta shiu, bhoy veen?” as dreggyr mee “Goll as gaccan,” agh cha b’laik lhee shen edyr, | Once Mrs Watteson asked me, “How are you dear boy?” and I answered, “Going and grumbling’ but she didn’t like that at all, | |
| “Och, cha nee, cha nee,” dooyrt ee. “Cha lhisagh oo gra ‘Gaccan,’ nagh vel red erbee ayd dy chur booise er y hon? | “Oh, no, no,” she said. “You shouldn’t say ‘Gaccan’, don’t you have anything to be thankful for? | |
| Ta mish dy kinjagh cur booise da Jee son e vannaghtyn.” | I always give thanks to God for his blessings.” | |
| As ghow mee tastey j’ee lurg shen, tra vrie mee urree, ‘Crenagh ta shiu?’ yinnagh ee gra “Goll as cur booise.’” | And I noticed her afterwards, when I asked her ‘How are you?’ she would say ‘Going and giving thanks.’” | |
| Tra va “Kattie” mysh shey bleeaney jeig, v’ee cliaghtey goaill shenn ghooinney sheese gys Cabbal Keeill Pherick son y whaaltys-phadjer dagh shiaghtin, as va’n chooish son deiney ny lomarcan, agh un oie hie Kattie stiagh as cheill ee ayns soiag-cooyl. | When “Kattie” was about sixteen years (old), she was usually taking an old man down to Balleykilpheric Chapel for the prayer-meeting every week, and the event was for men only, but one night Kattie went in and she hid in a back seat. | |
| Lurg tammylt ghow ny deiney toshiaght dy ghoaill arrane, as va eie eck dy goaill arrane maroo, agh cha dod ee roshtyn gys yn yrjid as lhig ee magh screeagh agglagh, as chelleeragh chroym ee sheese reesht ass-hilley. | After a while the men started to sing, and she had an idea to sing with them, but she couldn’t reach to the height and she let out an awful shriek, and straight away she bent down again out of sight. | |
| Va yindys as foddee aggle er ny deiney, cha dod[5] ad toiggal cre voish haink lheid y feiyr agglagh! | The men were puzzled and maybe afraid, they couldn’t work out where such an awful noise came from! | |
|
[5] cha dod] text gives
[cha vod]
| ||
| Va Kattie goaill aggle neesht as cha dooyrt ee veg mychione y chooish derrey va ymmodee bleeantyn er n’gholl shaghey. | Kattie was afraid too and she didn’t say anything about the matter until many years had gone past. | |
| Un oie, tra va mee goaill y vrastyl Ghailckagh ec ny kiare raaidyn faggys da Purt le Moirrey, haink joarree stiagh ayns y chamyr. | One night, when I was taking the Manx class at the four roads near to Port St Mary, a stranger came into the room. | |
| V’eh lieh-scooyrit as v’eh loayrt y Ghailck Albinagh. | He was half-drunk and he was speaking Scottish Gaelic. | |
| Dooyrt eh dy row yn ennym echey Loch, mac-oe da’n Kiannooyrt Loch. | He said that his name was Loch, grandson of Governor Loch. | |
| V’eh shirrey dy veeiteil shenn ven as Gailck eck, dooyrt eh oddagh eh toiggal ben ny share na dooinney kyndagh rish ny fasaagyn er ny deiney! | He was asking to meet an old woman who knew Manx, he said he could understand a woman better than a man because of the beards on the men! | |
| Aghterbee, dy gheddyn rey rish, ghiall mee dy veeiteil rish laa ny vairagh. | Anyway, to get rid of him, I promised to meet him the next day. | |
| Haink eh my whaiyl ’sy voghrey as v’eh cho sheelt as briw as dy firrinagh ny ghooinney-seyr ooasle ! | He came to meet me in the morning, and he was as sober as a judge and truly a noble gentleman! | |
| Hie shin gys thie J. R. Corrin (va Benr. Corrin ’neen da Benr. Watterson) as va shin cuirrit dy heet stiagh, as va yindys orrym er yn aght va Benr. Watterson as Loch jannoo co-loayrtys cho aashagh, ish ayns chengey ny mayrey, eh-hene ayns Gailck ny h-Albin. | We went to J. R. Corrin’s house (Mrs. Corrin was Mrs. Watterson’s daughter) and we were invited in, and I was amazed at the way Mrs. Watterson and Loch were making conversation so easily, her in the mother tongue (Manx) and himself in Scottish Gaelic. | |
| Eisht va cappan dy hey currit roin, (gyn bine dy stoo-creoie ayn) as lurg shen va’n taggloo ooilley ’sy Vaarle. | Then a cup of tea was put before us, (without a drop of hard-stuff in it) and after that the talking was all in English. | |
| Tra va Kattie beaghey ec Lhingague, va fys as enney eck er ooilley ny raaidyn as yn pobble ayns y naboonys, as ec y traa shen va eirinys ec Eary Cuishlin agh va’n voayl shen cho foddey ersooyl s’anvennick va peiagh erbee goll dys shen, as va’n skeeal goll er insh dy row deiney keoie Chornagh beaghey ayns shen. | When Kattie was living at Lhingague, she knew and recognised all the roads and the people in the neighbourhood, and at that time there was farming at Eary Cushlin, but that place was so far away there was very infrequently anyone going there, and the story that was being told was that a crazy Cornishman was living there. | |
| Aghterbee, va shenn ghooinney er choayl kirree ny maase echey, as cha jinnagh fer erbee goll marish dys Eary Cuishlin, dy yeeaghyn er nyn son, myr shoh hie Kattie marish, as tra v’ad er-gerrey da’n thie huitt y shenn ghooinney er y thalloo as haink fer Cornagh huggey gyllagh er dy irree seose. | Anyway, an old man had lost his livestock sheep, and no one would go with him to Eary Cushlin, to look for him, so Kattie went with him, and when they were close to the house the old man fell on the ground and a Cornish fellow came to him shouting at him to get up. | |
| V’eh gyllagh dy ard, agh cha row eh corree, v’eh imneagh er-aggle dy ghoghe y shenn ghooinney feayraght er y thalloo fliugh as bog. | He was shouting loudly, but he wasn’t angry, he was worried in case the old man would catch a cold on the wet and soft ground. | |
| Cha ren ad geddyn ny beiyn caillt, agh v’ad cuirrit gys y thie dy veeiteil cagh elley e vooinjer, as va bee as jough currit daue. | They didn’t find the lost animals, but they were invited to the house to meet all the rest of his people, and there was food and drink given to them. | |
| Cha row ad deiney keoie lurg ooilley. | They weren’t crazy men after all. | |
| BENAINSHTER LOWEY, KIRKLE, SKEEREY CHREEST ROSIEN (1869-1947) | MRS. LOWEY, KIRKLE, SKEEREY CHREEST ROSIEN (1869-947) | |
| Pic: Bnr. Lowey, Kirkle. | Pic: Mrs. Lowey, Kirkle. | |
| Screeu mee skeeal mychione cheet ny quaiyl Benainshter Lowey ayns “Coraa Ghailckagh” as reesht ayns my lioran “Cooinaghtyn my Aegid” nish ayns laueyn ny clouderyn, agh shegin dou screeu kuse dy ockleyn elley rish y cholloo “Noon as Noal,” marish y caslys j’ee. | I wrote a story about meeting Mrs. Lowey in “Coraa Ghailckagh” and again in my booklet “Cooinaghtyn my Aegid” now in the hands of the printers, but I must write a few more words to the “Noon as Noal” column, together with the picture of her. | |
| V’ee baashiagh-enn mastey cummaltee ’sy skeery Rosien myr “Y Venainshter” as v’ee dy firrinagh ny ben-reiltagh ayns e thie hene, myr dooyrt ee rhym laa dy row “Ta mish cummal y 'phurrs' (sporran-argid) ayns shoh.” | She was well known amongst the residents of Rushen Parish as ‘The Governess” and she was truly queenly in her own house, as she said to me one day “I hold the purse here”. | |
| Ec ;un traa v’ee goll mygeayrt er y cheer lesh cabbyl as caart, creck oohyn, eeym, praaseyn as stoo eirinys elley. | At one time she was going around in the countryside with a horse and cart, selling eggs, butter, potatoes and other agricultural stuff. | |
| Ta mee er chashtyn b’are lh’ee[6] coonrey stoo eirinys rish[7] stoo-bee ec shapp my naim ayns Purt le Moirrey na geeck argid er nyn son; va dy chooilley phing ny phrysoonagh ! | I have heard that she preferred swapping agricultural stuff for foodstuff at my uncle’s shop in Port St Mary to paying money for it; every penny was a prisoner! | |
|
[6] ba’re lh’ee] —
[dy bare lhee] would be expected here.
[7] coonrey rish] ‘exchanging for’ elswhere in the corpus this is
[coonrey son].
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| Va Benainshter Lowey ny ben ghennal as ny keayrtyn aarloo son aittys, as dinsh ee dou yn skeeal shoh, dy my voostey ta mee credjal. | Mrs Lowey was a cheerful woman and sometimes ready for fun, and she told me this story, that to my surprise I believe. | |
| Va dooinney aeg dy row sooree er inneen veih boayl eirinys er-gerrey da’n thie echey-hene as v’eh cheet thie feer anmagh ’syn oie. | There was a young man courting a girl from a farming place cole to his own house and he was coming home very late in the night. | |
| Honnick e voir dy row y guilley g’aase shang as ro skee dy yannoo yn obbyr laaoil echey, as dooyrt ee rish un laa, “C’red ta jannoo ort, bhoy veen, vel oo ching?” | His mother saw that the boy was getting skinny and too tired to do his daily work, and she said to him one day, “What’s the matter with you, dear boy, are you sick?” | |
| Dreggyr eh, “Cha nel, agh ta red ennagh shegin dou ginsh diu, vummig.” | He answered, “No, but there something I must tell you, mum.” | |
| “As cre shen?” as y voir, | “And what’s that?” says the mother, | |
| “Aw, ta lugh ayns y thurran, shegin ’da Marget as mish geddyn pooist.” | “Oh, there’s a mouse in the midden, Marget and I must get married.” | |
| “Och, va mee smooinaghtyn shen, agh ta mee goaill yindys ort, nagh vel oo er chlashtyn y chenn raa-creeney Ghailckagh, bentyn da cooish y lheid shoh!” | “Och, I was thinking that, but I am amazed at you, that you haven’t heard the old Manx proverb, concerning such as this!” | |
| “As cre shen?” vrie y guilley urree. | “And what’s that?” the boy asked her. | |
| Eisht dreggyr ee, “Eshyn ta breimyragh nee eh keck e vreechyn laa ennagh.” | Then she answered, “He who farts will one day shit his pants.” | |
| Tra va mish goll dys Kirkle, va’n mac eck, Juan, yn eirinagh as va laueyn mie echey, begin da jannoo obbyr myr gaaue, seyir-thie as masoonagh neesht. | When I was going to Kirkle, her son, Juan, was the farmer and he had good hands, he had to do work as a blacksmith, joiner and mason too. | |
| Dy ghoaill cabbyl gys y eirdee[8] ayns Colby, veagh shen bunnys obbyr lieh-laa, myr shoh va keirdee as ingan ec Juan hene, as verragh eh crou er e chabbyl hene, as yinnagh eh sock son y cheeaght, as karraghey ooilley ny greieyn-eirinys mygeayrt y voayl, as troggal thie-ollee noa neesht. | To take the horse to the smithy in Colby, that would be almost half a day’s work, so Juan had his own smithy and anvil, and he would put a horseshoe on his won horse, and he’d make a ploughshare for the plough, and mend all the farming machines around the place, and build a new cowhouse too. | |
|
[8] cheirdee] text gives
[eirdee]
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| Cha row Juan rieau poosit, as nish t’eh beaghey ny lomarcan ec Kirkle ayns e henn eash. | Juan was never married, and now he’s living alone at Kirkle in his old age. | |
| Tra hooar Benainshter Lowey baase, ayns y nah vee jeh’n vlein 1947, va sniaghtey dowin ayn as feer feayr. | When Mrs. Lowey died, in the second month of the year 1947, there was deep snow and (it was) very cold. | |
| Va’n sniaghtey scughit veih’n raad mooar trooid Balley Keeill Pherick choud as Ballarock as Lhingague, agh va’n raad shaghey tholtan Thom Dipper gys Ballakillowey lum-lane dy niaghtey as y bayr coon gys Kirkle neesht. | The snow was removed from the highway through Ballakilpheric as far as Ballarock and Lhingague, but the road past Tom the Dipper’s ruined house to Ballakillowey was full to the brim with snow and the narrow road (lane) to Kirkle too. | |
| Nish ta shenn chliaghtey mastey ny Manninee; shegin da’n koir-verriu goaill y raad jeeragh gys y Cheeill, agh begin daue goll sheese trooid Balley Keeill Pherick dys Colby as eisht gys Skylley Chreest Rosien.[9] | Now, there is an old custom amongst the Manx; the coffin must take the straight route to the Church, but they had to go down through Ballakilpheric to Colby and then to Kirk Christ Rushen. | |
|
[9] Rosien]
[Rushen] in the Manx of the late 20thC
[Rosien] was often used for
[Rushen].
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| Laa yn oanluckee, ’sy voghrey, va’n sniaghtey scughit veih y bayr dys Kirkle myr shoh oddagh fainagh-ny-merriu roshtyn gys y thie. | On the day of the burial, in the morning, the snow was removed from the road to Kirkle like this so that the hearse could reach the house. | |
| Er-lhiams dy row ad ooilley booisal dy row y bayr foshlit, er yn oyr dy row Benainshter Lowey ny ben hrome as veagh eh er ve obbyr creoi gymmyrkey y koir-verriu er geayltyn harrish y vagher gys y raad mooar ayns lheid y sniaghtey dowin. | I think that they were all grateful that the road was opened, because Mrs. Lowey was a heavy woman and it would have been hard work to carry the coffin on shoulders over the field to the big road in such deep snow. | |