male Australian
Ostralian
Australian oor Kornies
Australian
en
A person from the country of Australia or of Australian descent.
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Ostralian
en
person
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ostralek
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australian
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
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Australian
Yth esov vy ow kortos.langbot langbot
Australian
A yllowgh hwi gweles an lymnans?langbot langbot
THE FIRST LECTURE ‘For the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, ...’ That old patriotic anthem from World War Two rolled about in my head as I sat in a cell beside my brother. I even started to sing it but David glared at me – he never did like to hear me singing. (Nobody does!) So, just as I had heard, there were foreign troops on the way to reinforce the local effort. What this meant, of course, was that the ‘war’ against the zombie menace was by no means over. And, if you thought about it, that was no surprise. As I had speculated at the time of the battle at Melbourne University, a primary area of 400,000 square kilometres had been taken over by the zombies – and outbreaks were occurring all the time beyond that zone. So, despite the fact that thousands of zombies had been machine-gunned and napalmed at the university, there were hundreds of thousands of them still roaming the countryside – and they, in their turn, were still actively ‘conscripting’ yet more to the cause (whatever that might be). And, as a result, David and I were to be used to show these fresh-faced doughboys what a zombie looked like. I was to be the ‘before’ image and David was to be the ‘after’ – like in one of those old comic-book advertisements for body-building equipment. Was I ‘Skinny John’? Would I have sand kicked in my face? Probably not. I guessed we had been taken to Puckapunyal, the largest army base in Victoria. It was in Central Victoria, two or three hours by army truck from Castlemaine. So, the interminable journey in the paddy wagon fitted with that geography (once corrected for time distortion due to blindfolding.) If my guess on our location were correct – and this would be a logical place to train foreign soldiers in Australian conditions, away from the primary zone of infection – that was good news. Once again, my cadet training would come in handy.
A wodhowgh hwi neyja?langbot langbot
Australian
Ny allav vy leverel henna.langbot langbot
The Sergeant flew (verbally) at the Corporal with a string of dire threats and abuse – but to no avail. The Australian Corporal, and the Private who was with him, remained at attention but stood firm – they would not be taking orders from any Yankee Sergeant. I heard Ingrid get out of our jeep and approach the guards in a far more casual fashion: “It’s all right, gentlemen, the Sergeant is with me,” she said. “You may stand aside. We have all the relevant clearances.” “May we see them, Ma’am, the clearance papers?” said the Corporal. Ingrid should have anticipated this would be the response – but she did not. “There are no formal papers,” said Ingrid, calmly. “I’m acting on the direct orders of the camp commandant – he has sent the Sergeant with me because of the disturbance which has broken out in the area of the parade ground. I’m sure you can still hear it?” “Yes, Ma’am,” replied the Corporal. “We’ve been listening to it for the last half-hour. But we still need them orders, Ma’am.” “There was no time to draw up formal papers, Corporal,” said Ingrid, trying still to remain calm. “This is an emergency situation. So, as an officer, I now intend to give you a direct order to stand aside and allow us into the prison.” Briefly, the Corporal looked uncertainly at the Private – who remained with his eyes fixed ‘to the front’. It was up to the Corporal since he outranked the Private. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am?” “As your superior officer, I’m ordering you to stand aside and allow us into the prison,” said Ingrid. “Don’t you understand that? I don’t wish to place you on report. That won’t be necessary, will it?” The Corporal stood his ground. “Ma’am, I mean you no disrespect but you are a medical officer. You have no authority to give orders to non-medical personnel.”
My yw re verr.langbot langbot
Australian
Ny yll'ta neuvya.langbot langbot
He seemed offended. He walked with me back to the front of the office. When we reached the reception area, he passed his eyes over the numerous zombies which were seated there. “Mr Tremelling?” he called. An elderly zombie stood and walked towards his office. But I caught his arm before he left the area himself. “But, sir, all your staff are dead. They’re rotting on the floor.” “Nonsense!” he retorted. “Staff morale in this office has never been higher.” “And, as I’ve said, all your clients are zombies.” He was incensed. “Young man, please leave. You’re upsetting my clients.” I looked towards the other zombies, still seated. Were they upset? Difficult to say. Certainly, David seemed very happy. The solicitor left, walked along the corridor with his client and closed his office door behind him. I decided to leave as well and called David to come with me. He was reluctant to go. Why would we leave all these lovely people? Then, I heard singing from the rear of building. Another survivor. The singing was loud and out of tune. The words were poorly enunciated. I decided to go back down the corridor to investigate – and to leave David to his new friends for the moment. The singing stopped and a racist tirade began. The subjects of the tirade seemed to be anyone who was not white. Australian aboriginals were especially ‘favoured’ by the speaker. I arrived at this other survivor’s office. He sat amongst huge piles of legal files and empty wine bottles. He saw me and started singing again. Then he stopped abruptly. “Are you Jewish?” he shouted. “No,” I answered quietly.
Gwell yw genev rudh.langbot langbot
In short, in my view, it was a strategic fuck up. It reminded me a little of the Japanese bombing of Darwin and Townsville in WWII – of which the Australian general public was kept largely ignorant. Likewise, the battle of the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea to which my own father had been scheduled to go until a ‘Sliding Doors’ moment happened – but that’s another story. (If we pretended it wasn’t happening – and no-one was panicking about it – wouldn’t that mean that the militarily superior Japanese Imperial Forces would simply go away?) Perhaps those comparisons are not really apt. I’m no military historian. But I could see no value in keeping the public ignorant of our present problem until waves of homicidal zombies were actually on their doorsteps. They were not simply going to give up and go home. They had no home. So, you say, what was the part of the picture that Paul and I had not guessed at? Well, there was, as I’ve said, an area with a radius of about 200km around Melbourne which was completely controlled by the zombies and, so far, they were largely unchallenged. ‘Do the math!’ as they say. That’s over 100,000 square kilometres of existing infestation – with ‘new’ zombies being created all the time to spread the infection even further. But – and this was what I learned from the BBC News – the plague was behaving more like a bushfire than a mere epidemic. Ahead of the infection that physically travelled with the vanguard of the zombies, there were, in effect, ‘spot fires’. Men got bitten but escaped before they showed any symptoms, before they underwent the ‘change’ into zombies. By the time they became infectious – and started biting people – they were often hundreds of kilometres away from the place of infection, having fled in cars, trains, planes and boats. Some fresh outbreaks had been observed as far away as New Zealand and Samoa – and, more worryingly, given the still isolated and rugged topography and rudimentary infrastructure, in Papua New Guinea.
Pymp bloodh warn ugens ov.langbot langbot
“So, where’s the fucking army?” I said. “Their helicopters appeared on day one, hovered overhead for a few hours and then pissed off. What the hell use is that?” A good question, thought Paul but neither of us was Hannibal nor that famous Chinese military tactician whose name I can never remember. (Sung Tzu?) What did we know about military stuff? Well, actually, I’d been in the Army Cadet Corps for a couple of years – toy soldiers, if you like. I’d been on a few overnight bivouacs, listened to a few lectures from regular army guys who were just back from ‘Nam. That set me, ever so marginally, ahead of Paul – and I said so. “Okay then, Hannibal,” he said, only with a hint of sarcasm. “Tell us what you’d do if you were in charge of the Australian Army” Er? “The problem is unprecedented and spreading rapidly,” I started. “So, I’d abandon those who had already been affected and concentrate on containment.” “Hmm,” said Paul. “All the evidence suggest they have, in fact done precisely that. So, what then?” “I’d call for help. The problem is too big for our forces alone – we’d need the Yanks. And they’d come because they wouldn’t want the problem to spread beyond our borders – and don’t forget that all our borders are sea borders. So, the infection could potentially be stopped from spreading overseas if enough effort is put into the problem while it is still in Australia. Block up the air and sea ports, for starters.” Paul agreed that this made sense: “But where are all the Yanks?” “They’d still be coming,” I said. “By and large, it takes time to gear up for a war – even one like this. And don’t forget – unlike us – their best troops are still bogged down in Vietnam. There’s still a war on there, you know.” (This was before the Fall of Saigon in 1975 – as you will have guessed.) “And our own troops?” asked Paul.
Ny evav aga dowr.langbot langbot
Australian Plate
Gwra ow gweres, mar pleg.langbot langbot
Australian (person)
Piw yw ev?langbot langbot
FLIGHT I was dozing in the infirmary. It was around midnight. Outside, on the parade ground, there was a heck of a commotion going on. The sounds of fist upon face and boot upon other body parts could be clearly heard. There were soldiers screaming and yelling, Aussies and Yanks – name-calling and dire threats. Others vainly trying to contain the brawling. Orders disobeyed. Whistles of MP’s. Soon, the whole camp had turned out onto the parade ground and there were hundreds of troops fighting an extremely vigorous pitched battle. Suddenly, I was wide awake – adrenalin does that. At first, I simply thought: “What is going on?” But then I guessed that the seeds I had planted in the minds of the Doughboys might now be bearing fruit. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of conflict. Young men, decent guys, were both injuring and being injured out there, on the parade ground. Maybe, I wasn’t such a nice person, after all. But, nice person or not, I needed to use the commotion that I had triggered to make my escape. In a panic, I undid the bindings which had been holding me to the bed – actually, I could have done this at any time but had been too ill to even bother trying. I swung my legs off the bed and put my feet on the floor for the first time in some days. I tried to stand. Shit! I was still very weak from the torture and flopped back, breathless, onto the bed. What to do? I couldn’t let this confusion pass without trying to take advantage. This golden opportunity would not come again. From outside, I could hear raised voices, Australian voices, saying things like: “Kill the fuckin’ spy! Get the zombie spy! Kill the little mongrel.” (And so on, like that.)
Yma nown ha seghes dhodho.langbot langbot
I did screw down the lid very firmly, using the big, ornate keys provided. I then drove the short distance to the station carpark and, upon arrival, could see that there were still only a few folk, mainly military, loitering about in the early morning darkness. Good. That’s what I had hoped for. Now to try and be a sergeant. I left the vehicle parked (and running) at the gate of the northbound platform. This was, of course, a no-standing zone but, after all, I was a sergeant in the Australian Army. Who would challenge me? I approached a small knot of soldiers who were waiting on the platform and tried to assume a firm, but affable, tone with them. “Ah! Gentlemen,” I said. “You’re just the ‘volunteers’ I need.” They turned and looked at me with suspicion. “Volunteers?” they seemed to say, as one. “What for, exactly?” “I have one of our fallen colleagues waiting at the gate. He’s a heavy chap and I need some blokes to help me get him onto the platform.” This, apparently, was explanation enough and “No worries, Sergeant” was the general reply. They followed me back to the ute but, as they did so, I picked up a half-muttered comment: “He looks a bit young to be a sergeant, doesn’t he?” Hmm. Yes, that might yet prove to be a difficulty. Not unexpectedly, some folk (including the station master) had gathered about to watch. No problem. As I said, this had been expected. “Hey, Sergeant,” said one of the soldiers. “This is the fanciest coffin I’ve ever seen.” “Nothing but the best for our fallen comrades,” I replied. The soldiers nodded in agreement. Another said: “We heard that the zombies got some of our guys in battle. Do you know if that’s true?”
Yma kov dhyn.langbot langbot
Australian (person)
Pyth yw an re ma?langbot langbot
female Australian
Lowen yw Ken.langbot langbot
(female) Australian
Homm yw aga thigen.langbot langbot
female Australian
Ny vynnav vy dybri tra vydh.langbot langbot
Australian
Ny allav vy diberth lemmyn.langbot langbot
Australian
Seytek bloodh yw ow hothman.langbot langbot
Australian
Pyth yw hanow dha vyrgh?langbot langbot
(And would our way also be blocked by tanks and nervous troops with machine guns?) We’d give it a try – North Court and its surrounds were rapidly becoming a killing field for all the creatures that lingered there. We should not linger. We moved with the Northbound flow, across Tin Alley and between the Beaurepaire pool and the squash courts. We moved past the running track and the tennis courts. It was slow, halting progress. The undead then spilled across the cricket ground (oblivious to the damage this would cause to the finely manicured pitches.) For some reason, I led David to the side of the oval and stayed off the playing area. Was this merely respect or was something else clicking inside my head? A helicopter gunship edged away from North Court and followed the throng to the cricket oval, pouring hot metal death down on the pitch invaders. At the same time, the felt-like grass of the pitch itself was fearfully cut up by this careless strafing. It would take the curator weeks of pain-staking repair work. It seemed that I was the only one present who cared about such important matters! (I would have to take it up with the ACB (Australian Cricket Board) much later on.) We reached the North side of the oval where the fleeing throng was forced into the bottleneck of the footpath that ran between the cricket pavilion (and mountaineering clubrooms) and residential college buildings. Chaotic though this was, the helicopter gunship did not fire upon those who had reached this point. Perhaps there was a fear of striking the residential colleges where living survivors might yet be sheltering. I can’t be sure but the relief that came from this unexpected protection was palpable. Slowly, the river of undead snaking North along the path crept towards the Northernmost exit of the campus. Was escape at hand? Nope. At that point, the unmistakable chatter of a heavy machine gun shattered the temporary calm. This time, the sound was not from above but from ahead, from the direction of the exit to which we were heading. More high-pitched zombie wailing.
Yth esov vy yn Dubai.langbot langbot
male Australian
Yma dhe Ruben tri mab.langbot langbot
territory of the Australian capital
My a garsa kavos nebes moy a dhowr.langbot langbot
I thought I understood what was going on. So, I addressed my next question to Paul: “Has His Royal Majesty taken the recent Roundhead advances very badly?” Paul smiled with relief. I had indeed understood what was going on. “His Royal Majesty is much affronted by the advance of the Parliamentarian army into his sovereign territory. He prays they all depart immediately.” “My dear Oliver,” interrupted Charles. “Surely you can do something about this business. You are, after all, titular head of the Parliamentarian forces. Surely you can recall those accursed Roundheads. And, if not you, what about General David? Surely you could do that for your Sovereign Lord.” Charles, it seemed, was now living in the era of the English Civil War of the 1640’s. This had been his fantasy playground from the first day I had met him. Now he had retreated there completely – for reasons that were not hard to guess at, given his recent traumatic experiences. “Well, Your Majesty, I’ll see what I can do. Shall we discuss it during High Tea – I have some fine provisions we might share while we discuss the formal terms of the disengagement.” I raised my backpack – filled with tinned ham and Christmas puddings. Paul’s face filled with joy – evidently, he and Charles had also been starving. “A fine proposal, Good Sir,” responded Charles. “Paul, lay out our finest tableware.” “Certainly, my Liege,” simpered Paul. Charles had always, in my experience, spoken in an exaggerated upper-class English accent. Indeed, I had assumed he was English at first. In fact, he was 6th generation Australian and had been educated in a Catholic boys’ school where the Brothers had, apparently, not known how to cope with their first openly and flamboyantly gay pupil. Curiously, for this era at least, he was much beloved by his fellow students – to the point where he was made the mascot for the school’s senior football team. (Charles, being short of stature, was definitely no athlete and the ‘position’ of mascot had, reportedly, suited him just fine.)
Kas yw genev an karr ma.langbot langbot
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