I yelled oor Kornies

I yelled

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

my a armas

Soortgelyke frases

I yelled out
my a armas

voorbeelde

“I don’t want to drown!” I yelled, unable to stop in my path.
“My na vydna beudhi!” a wrugavy uja, heb gallos hedhi en hens vy.

I was yelling and crying
Outya a wren ha kria

yell, I n, garm (f), garmow (pl); us (m), usow (pl); uj (m, RLC), ujow (pl, RLC); II vb, garma; usa; uja (RLC); kria.
yell, I n, garm (f), garmow (pl); us (m), usow (pl); uj (m, RLC), ujow (pl, RLC); II vb, garma; usa; uja (RLC); kria.

I’m not sure if it were the jazz, as such, or the fact that the zombies had sated their blood-lust, but those few that remained on the upper floors of the building seemed to sink into an afternoon torpor. (Do tired zombies need a ‘nanna nap’? Dunno.) In any event, this provided me with an opportunity to re-acquaint myself with the undead brother who had shamelessly abandoned me to pursue his obscene carnal pleasures. “David!” I yelled as I emerged from the Gallery. “Get up, you vile monster. We’ve got stuff to do.” He remained torpid – staring at me with his dead eyes which seemed to say: “Fuck off, dickhead! I’m sleeping.” So, I kicked him into activity. He was unhappy, roared loudly and, for the first time, shaped to attack me. There were limits even to brotherly love, it seemed. I would have to remember that. I quickly softened my attitude to him: “Come on, Mate. Help me find a decent radio. There’s got to be one here.”
Nyns ov vy sur mars o an jazz hepken - po mars o yn sempel lust-goes an zombis dhe vos gwalghys – mes an re a remaynsa yn leuryow ughella re omgavsa yn klamderyans poes. (Eus edhomm dhe’n zombis skwith a goskas mamm-wynn? Ny wonn.) Yn neb kas, yth esa lemmyn chons dhe omjunya unnweyth arta gans ow broder anvarow, an broder neb re’m forsaksa heb meth rag omgemmeres y blesours lyk ha kigus. “Davydh!” a armis vy ha my devedhys dhiworth an soler. “Sa’ban, euthvil plos. Res yw dhyn gul nebes taklow.” Poes hwath y glamderyans, ev a lagattas orthymm gans y dhewlagas marow a heveli leverel: “Voyd alemma, Penn-kal! Yth esov hwath ow koska.” Ytho, my a’n potyas. Lemmyn leun a vywder, nyns o lowen. Ev a armas yn ughel ha gul furv rag ow omsettya. An kynsa prys y’m kever. Yth heveli bos finwethow dhe gerensa broderus. Res ‘via dhymm perthi kov a’n finwethow ma. Yn uskis, my a vedhelhas ow omdhalgh yn y gever: “Deun yn-rag, ‘Vata. Gweres dhymm rag kavoes radyo. Y talvien bos huni omma.”

As the truck, once again, came to rest, I think the zombies sensed an opportunity – an opportunity for a feed. There were, maybe, fifty or so of them – all youthful and obviously anxious and active. They pressed forward, ready to attack. Tough luck, guys – we’d worked this one out in advance. David got out of the truck and directed his loudest roar at them. The Earth seemed to shake once again. Since they had never experienced such a thing, that startled them and, momentarily at least, stopped them from pressing forward. This gave me sufficient time also to exit the cab and climb onto the roof of the truck. I skipped to the back and dropped down between the rear of the truck and the library doors. Opening the rear of the van – two thick swing doors – created partial protection from the zombies but we still needed to be quick because they could make their way underneath the truck’s doors. Based on what had happened when David roared at his fellows when we had left the Baillieu, I estimated that we would have a minute or two before the zombies started to press once again. I hoped I was correct. I could see the Baillieu survivors inside, observing the unfolding events. I could see Jude looking at me – and the mountains of food inside the truck. “Hey, Jude!” I yelled. “Tucker time! Open up.” The survivors got the message. The library doors were manually slid open – just wide enough for two men to get through - and part of the barricade was pushed aside. Several of the Baillieu’s wasted inmates, including Jude (“Henrietta- Maria”) emerged and hastily formed two human chains. Jude and I jumped up into the rear of the truck and feverishly passed the looser items down our respective human chains. Fresh supplies flooded into the Baillieu and I could see them piling up haphazardly inside the foyer. I could hear David still roaring at the other zombies but guessed that time was getting very short now. One against fifty – even when the one had access to a non-zombified brain – were desperately poor odds. He would soon be brushed aside by his fellows.
Ha’n kert hedhys, unnweyth arta, an zombis omglywas chons, dell grysyn – chons rag methyans. Yth esa, martesen, a-dro dhe hanterkans anedha – yowynk oll hag, yn apert, prederus ha bywek. Yth esens ow herdhya yn-rag, parys dh’omsettya warnan. Chons drog, ow sos – ni re dowlsa hemma ‘dherag dorn. Davydh a gwityas an kert ha direktya y ughella grommyans orta. Unnweyth arta, yth heveli an dor krena. Drefenn na brovsens i tra a’n par na, y fons amovyes oll – dres pols dhe’n lyha – ha stoppya aga herdhyans yn-rag. Ytho, yth esa dhymm termyn lowr rag gasa an kab keffrys ha krambla war do an kert. My a resas dhe’n delergh hag omasa dhe goedha y’n aswa yntra’n delergh ha darasow an lyverva. Pan o apert darasow a-dhelergh dhe’n kert, yth esa nebes difresyans erbynn an zombis mes res o dhyn hwath bos uskis drefenn bos aswaow meur yn-dann an darasow le may hyllens agan omsettya. War sel an pyth re hwarvsa pan vedhyg’sa Davydh orth y sos pan wrussyn gasa an Baillieu kyns, nyns esa saw unn po diw vynysenn, dell grysis, kyns an zombis dhe dhalleth agan herdhya unnweyth arta. Yth esa dhymm govenek meur ow bos ewn. My a ylli gweles an dreusvyworyon a-bervedh, ow mires orth an hwarvosow hag i displegyes. My a ylli gweles Jude ow mires orthymmo vy – hag orth menydh boes a-berth y’n kert. “Hay! Jude!” a ermis vy. “Termyn-kinyow! Gwra igeri an darasow.” Y dhegemmeras an dreusvyworyon an messaj ma. Darasow an lyverva a veu slynkyes igor gans dorn – ledan lowr may hylli dew dhen tremena – ha rann an barryas a veu herdhyes a-denewen. Nebes yntra’n brysnoryon, kow aga dewlagas ha Jude (“Henrietta-Maria”) y’ga mysk, a dheuth yn-mes ha furvya yn uskis diw gadonyow denel. My ha Jude a lammas yn delergh an kert ha passya an lowssa taklennow a-hys agan kadonyow denel ni. Yth esa proviansow kro ow liva y’n Baillieu ha my a ylli aga gweles ow bernya hwymm-hwamm a- berth y’n sal-dynnargh. My a ylli klywes Davydh hwath ow bedhygla orth an zombis erell mes my a wodhya bos berr dres eghenn an termyn ow remayna dhyn. Onan erbynn hanterkans – ha kyn hallsa an ‘onan’ gul devnydh ympynnyon anzombihes – o boghes chons yn hwir. Yn skon, herdhyes a-denewen a via ev gans y gothmans.

Nevertheless, I had to try. As I approached the pair, apparently locked in a deathly embrace, I yelled all sorts of threats and curses at my beloved brother. I can’t remember exactly what they were except that they were dire and foul. No response or acknowledgement was forthcoming from David, in any event. And, just as I expected that David would deliver the coup de grâce to the small man, an amazing thing occurred: David released his grip, stood up and walked away, making the same type of grunt he had made when I had, so recently, offered him an apple – utter disgust. The small man lay on the ground, passed out but physically unhurt. The door to the crypt opened a crack and a quavering voice croaked: “Are you okay, Charles?” “Charles”? Yes, of course, I knew this guy. His real name was Peter but he called himself ‘Charles’, as in Charles the first, beheaded king of England. He imagined himself as royalty – and even grew the royal goatee of the period. All his special friends bore the names of the royal court. Jude – you know, the one who, presumably, was still holed up in the Baillieu Library – was dubbed ‘Henrietta-Maria’ (Charles I’s wife) and, for what it was worth, Charles had dubbed me ‘Oliver Cromwell’. (I only realised much later that, coming from Charles I, this was a dire insult – since Cromwell had been responsible for Charles’ beheading. But, I’d not been at all fussed by this at the time of my ‘christening’). Charles, at that time, was the only openly gay friend that I had. He was very brave. At that time, male homosexual acts were still punishable in Victoria as felonies under the Crimes Act of 1958. (“The abominable crime of buggery”, as it was therein described – very strange, non-legal, language.). So, ‘to come out of the cupboard’ was not without serious risks in those days. The law was still routinely enforced against men such as Charles. So, who was ‘Paul’, still cowering in the crypt? That could wait. More to the point, why had David scorned a fresh meal of Charles? Were zombies homophobic? Surely not. Any meal of living flesh is a meal. Isn’t it? Who could be so picky? Besides, zombies seemed perfectly happy to devour either male or female flesh – but not, of course, the flesh of lawyers. So, why reject the flesh of a gay man?
Byttiwettha, res o dhymm dhe assaya. Ha my neshes an dhew, prennys warbarth yn byrlyans a vernans, my a usas eghennow-oll a vraslavarow hag a vollethi orth ow broder meurgerys. Ny allav perthi kov anedha yn ewn – mes yth ens i euthyk ha plos. Ny dheuth gorthyp vyth nag aswonnans dhiworth Davydh, yn neb kas. Ha, pan dheuth an termyn rag Davydh dhe ri an coup de grâce dhe’n den byghan ma, y hwarva tra varthys: Davydh a’n livras dhiworth y dhalghenn ha sevel yn-bann ha kerdhes dhe-ves, ow kul an kethsam rogh a wrussa pan brofysen aval dhodho a-gynsow – divlas dien. Yth esa an den byghan a’y worwedh war an dor – heb omwodhvos mes anbystigys. Yth igoras krakk yn daras an gleudhgell hag y tellos dhiworto lev ow krena: “Osta da lowr, Charles?” “Charles”? Ya, heb mar, my a wodhya an polat ma. Peder o y hanow gwir mes ev a wrug devnydh a “Charles” avel hanow – kepar ha Charlys Kynsa, an myghtern sowsnek re via dibennys. Ev a omdybi bos ryeleth – ha, gans henna, yth esa dhodho barv gaver kepar ha’n myghtern na. Yth esa ynwedh dh’y sos arbennik henwyn an lys ryel. Jude – an huni esa, dell grysyn, hwath owth omgudha y’n Lyverva Baillieu – o henwys ganso ‘Henrietta-Maria’ (gwreg Charlys Kynsa) ha, mars yw res godhvos, yth en vy gelwys ‘Oliver Cromwell’. (Ny gonvedhis bys termynyow diwettha an hanow ma, ow tos dhiworth ‘Charlys Kynsa’, dhe vos arvedhenn euthyk – drefenn Cromwell dhe omgemmeres y dhibennans. Byttegyns, ny vroghsen vy ganso pan vien ‘besydhyes’.) Y’n tor’ na, yth o Charles ow sos unnik bos kethreydhel yn igor. Pur hardh o ev. Y’n termynyow na, y kessydhyes hwath gweythresow kethreydhel yn Budhykka avel felonis herwydh reyth an senedh henwys “The Crimes Act (1958)”. (Y’n reyth na, an feloni a veu deskrifys avel “An gweythres kasadow a vuggrans” – geryow pur anlaghel, pur goynt.) Ytho, nyns o heb argoll sevur ‘dos yn-mes an amari’ y’n dydhyow na. Yth o an lagha ma gweythresys herwydh usadow erbynn an dus kepar ha Charles. Yn neb kas, piw o ‘Powl’, hwath owth omgudha y’n gleudhgell? An kwestyon na a allsa gortos. O zombis ownoryon-kethreydhogyon? Na, nyns o henna gwirhaval. Liv a gig yn fyw yw liv wosa oll, a nyns yw? Py par zombi yw mar dhewesik? Dres henna, yth heveli bos pur lowen an zombis dhe dhevorya po kig gorow po kig benow. Henn yw leverel, kig oll an dus (po ogas) – a-der an laghysi, heb mar. Ytho, prag y talvien skonya kig dhe dhen kethreydhel? 71

“I said, soldier, ‘I will see you later,” said the Sergeant. The driver of the second jeep saluted and drove off slowly. We walked swiftly to David’s cell and were allowed admittance by a third guard. David was, at that time, the only prisoner and so there was only one guard inside the prison. Three guards for one prisoner might seem like over-kill but, unless I missed my guess, the prison was about to have a major influx of additional prisoners from the rioting that was taking place within the parade ground area. When we reached the cell, we found David was slumped and torpid in a corner. “Hey, shithead!” I yelled. And, with that, David roused and gave his accustomed morning groan. (You might stretch and scratch your bum first thing in the morning but zombies have a different practice. Their morning groan is very specific to the morning, much higher pitched than any daytime groans. Immediately recognisable.) David looked at me and I felt an instant pang deep in my guts. It was one of those brother-connection things again, I suppose. A gut-feeling, even. He jumped to his feet and started to roar. In relief? In celebration? Who knows? In any event, I needed to get him under control and I needed to do so immediately. The guard opened the cell door at the Sergeant’s (not Ingrid’s) direction and I entered quickly. I slapped David’s face very hard. (“Hello, brother dear” it was not) – and the roaring instantly stopped. Had I hurt his feelings? Probably – at least, the gut- pang immediately increased in intensity. Ouch!) “We gotta move, Dave,” I hissed – and then David understood that I needed his full and unquestioning co-operation. I took his hand, as if I were leading a small child. He acquiesced. At the same time, the Sergeant (who was a pretty big unit) quietly overwhelmed and disarmed the third guard. Both he and Ingrid tied him up and gagged him. (He was not hurt.) There was a second door to the building which was routinely kept locked and barricaded – but it did not long remain so, once Ingrid had taken the guard’s set of keys. (At the time, I thought it was a fire hazard to keep it locked anyway. Yes, a bit strange to think that just then but, ...)
“My a leveris, ‘souder, y’th welvydhav diwettha,” yn-medh an Serjont. Lywyer an nessa jip a ros salusyans ha mos dhe-ves yn lent. Ni a gerdhas uskis dhe vagh Davydh. Ni a veu gesys entrans gans tressa gwythyas. Nyns esa, y’n termyn na, saw onan prisoner hag ytho nyns esa saw onan gwithyas a- berth y’n prison. Tri gwithyas rag pub prisner a heveli bos gorladhva martesen. Byttegyns, marnas my a wre kammgemmeryans, y fia yn skon meur a brisners nowydh rag lenwel an prison drefenn an freudh esa hwath ow hwarvos ogas dhe’n plen an gerdhva. Pan dhrehedhsyn an vagh, yth esa Davydh gyllys yn gronn ha heb gwayans yn kornell. “Hay, ‘benn-kawgh!” a armis vy. Ha, gans henna, Davydh a veu sordyes. Ev a wrug y hanasenn-vyttin herwydh y usadow. (Martesen, myttinweyth, ty a wra omystynna ha skravinas dha dhiwbedrenn mes taklow a’n par na yw dihaval gans zombis. Aga hanasennow-vyttin yw arbennik dhe zombis, ughella yn feur aga fych ages oll a’ga hanasennow dydhweyth. Y hyllir aga aswonn a- dhistowgh.) Davydh a viras orthymm hag, a-dhesempis, my a omglywis gloes yn town y’m kolodhyon. Unnweyth arta, hemm o neppyth yntra’n vreder, kevrenn ynredhon, dell grysav - klywyans-kolodhyon hogen. Ev a lammas a’y sav ha dalleth bedhygla. Difresyans? Rejoysyans? Piw a allsa godhvos? Yn neb kas, res o dhymm y gontrolya – ha res o dhymm y wul a- dhistowgh. An gwithyas a igoras daras an vagh wosa arghadow an Serjont – nag o arghadow Ingrid, dell notyis – ha my a entras ynni uskis. My a frappyas fas Davydh pur gales. (Nyns o hemma “Dydh da, ‘vroder ker.”) Ev a hedhis y vedhyglans a-dhesempis. Esa dhodho glywyansow shyndyes? Yn hwirhaval – dhe’n lyha, yth ynkressyas yn feur gloes an klywyans-kolodhyon. Tynn!) “Res yw dhyn fia, ‘Dhav,” a siis vy – hag ena Davydh a gonvedhas bos edhomm dhymm a dhegemmeres y gesoberyans heb kwestyons vyth. My a gemmeras y leuv, kepar ha pan ledir fleghik. Ev a ros y assentyans. Y’n kettermyn, an Serjont (meur y vraster ha nerth) a ylli yn kosel dhe fetha an tressa gwithyas ha’y dhiarva. Ev o kelmys gans Ingrid ha’n Serjont an dhew hag ena gorherys o y anow. (Ny veu shyndyes mann.) Yth esa nessa daras y’n drehevyans o, herwydh usadow, alhwedhys – mes ny remaynyas yndella dres termyn hir wosa Ingrid dhe gemmeres an dialhwedhyow dhiworth an gwithyas.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!—do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me—the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man’s hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once—once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
Mes hwath ny wrug vy mann ha gortos stag. Ny anellis skant. My a synsis an lugarn heb gwaya. My a assayas mentena an dewyn war’n lagas, orth y waya an lyha dell allen. Yn kettermyn, tatou yfarnek an golon a gressyas. Uskissa hag uskissa, ughella hag ughella, y teuth ha bos, pub pols. Certan yw, dres eghen veu euthekter an den koth! Y teuth ha bos ughella, dell lavarav, pub pols ughella! A wrewgh hwi ow merkya yn ta? My re dherivas dhywgh ow bos nervus: yndella yth ov. Ha lemmyn, yn our marow an nos, yn-mysk taw euthyk an chi koth na, tros mar goynt avel hemma a’m lenwis gans browagh na yllis y rewlya. Mes, dres nebes mynysennow pella my a wortas stag. Mes an bommyn a dheuth ha bos ughella, ughella! Dell dybis, res veu dhe’n golon tardha. Ha lemmyn ahwer nowydh a’m sesyas–an son a via klewys gans kentrevek! Our an kothwas re dhothya! Yn-dann gria yn ughel, my a ygoras an lugarn yn unn dewlel, ha lamma y’n stevel. Ev a usas unweyth–unweyth hepken. Distowgh, my a’n draylyas dhe’n leur, ha tenna an gweli poos dresto. My a vinhwarthas yn lowen ena, drefen bos an ober ogas ha gwrys. Mes, dres meur a vynysennow, an golon a besyas polsa, gans son kepar hag euryor maylyes yn koton. Byttegyns, ny wrug henna ow throbla; ny via klewys dres an fos. Wortiwedh, y hedhis. Marow o an kothwas. My a removas an gweli ha hwithra an korf. Yn hwir, marow sygh o ev. My a settyas ow dorn war’n golon hag y synsi ena lies mynysen. Nyns esa pols vyth. Marow sygh o ev. Ny wrussa y lagas ow throbla namoy.

I turned to her, shook my head and yelled: “Close the fuckin’ door. You’re letting the flies in!” Unseen hands swiftly closed the doors. I had intended to explain about Paul and Charles – bitten but recovered, apparently – but there was simply no time. They would have to make their own explanations. Well, at least everyone in the Baillieu would now eat for the first time in many days. That thought gave me some pleasure. However, David had other thoughts. Mission accomplished, he was heading back to the charnel house, the basement of the Union building. He had already left the scene of our humanitarian triumph and was trudging Northwards to his now favourite place. I had no choice but to follow – unless I wished to stay and be devoured by his mates whilst unaccompanied. Union House it was, then!
My a omdreylyas dhedhi ha shakya ow fenn. My a grias: “Gwra degys an daras euthyk. Ty a wra gasa an kelyon a-ji!” Uskis, dornow anweladow a degeas an darasow. My a vynnsa displegya materow a-dro dhe Bowl ha Charles – brethys mes omwellhes, yn apert – mes nyns esa yn sempel termyn vyth rag henna. Res via dhedha gul aga displegyansow aga honan. Wel, dhe’n lyha, pub huni y’n Baillieu a dhyb’sa lemmyn – an kynsa gweyth wosa lies dydh. An tybyans na a ros dhymm nebes plesour. Byttegyns, yth esa tybyansow erell dhe Dhavydh. Y gannaseth gwrys, yth esa ow kerdhes heb lett wor’tu ha’n chi mernans, selder an drehevyans Kesunyans. Ev re assa seulabrys le agan gormola dengerensek ha travalya dhe’n gledhbarth, troha’n le y moyha faverys. Nyns esa dhymm dewis vyth a-der y sywya – marnas y fynnen triga rag bos dybrys yn tien gans y sos ha my angeveylyes. Ytho, dhe’n Chi Kesunyans!

“T’” I said. (This time, I couldn’t even get the first word out – but the nurse understood my meaning well enough.) The short version was this: Ingrid and the Captain had burst into the infirmary late last night, furiously screaming and yelling at each other – their three confused goons in tow. I was on a hospital trolley, nine parts dead. Apparently, Ingrid had repeatedly called the Captain an ‘insane murderer’ – to which the Captain had, equally repeatedly, responded: “That’s insubordination, Doctor. I am your superior officer. You have assaulted me. You have disobeyed my direct order. I will have you court-martialled. I will! You can count on it.” (Or something along those lines.) This unseemly screaming match had apparently gone on for half an hour or more – during which time the nursing staff had quietly spirited me away and taken charge. They made sure that the spark of life within me had kept glowing until a doctor – i.e. some other doctor – could attend to me. The nurses had kept me going. But, according to the nurse attending me, it was not they who had revived me in the first place. According to the nurse, the ‘direct order’ that Ingrid had disobeyed was to leave me inside the decompression chamber after all signs of life had disappeared. It seems she had forcibly shoved Dr Mengele aside, rapidly opened the decompression chamber, dragged out my lifeless form – and successfully performed CPR on me. Hmm. Most curious behaviour. I still did not know what David had been doing all this time but hoped that I would find out – when I stopped feeling like complete shit. The raking coughing fits slowed a little and the nurse gave me some pain relief. I believe I slept for a time. When next I awoke, Ingrid was standing beside my bed, checking my charts. I supposed I ought to have thanked her because, despite all the abject cruelty in which she had participated, in the final analysis, she had saved my miserable neck.
“L’” yn-medhav. (An prys ma, ny yllyn leverel an kynsa ger hogen – mes an glavjiores a dhegemmeras ow styryans da lowr.) An versyon berr o yndella: y tardhsa Ingrid ha’n Kapten a-berth y’n vedhegva nyhewer, troha hanternos, ow skrija hag owth arma an eyl dh’y gila – an tri bilen orth aga holya. Yth esen war rosvoes-klavji, ogas marow. Yth heveli Ingrid dhe leverel, arta hag arta, an Kapten dhe vos “moldrer muskok” – ha’n Kapten re worthybsa, arta hag arta: “Henn yw fara diwostydh, ‘Dhoktour. Dha bennsoedhek ov. Ty re’m assaltyas. Ty re dhisobayas ow arghadow didro. My a wra dha worra a-dherag breuslys breselek. Y hwrav vy! My a’n ambos dhis!” (Po neppyth a’n par na.) Yn apert, y pes’sa an gwari-skrijans dres moy es hanter-our – ha, dres an termyn ma, an klavjioresow re’m kemmersa yn kosel dhe-ves rag kavoes charj ahanav vy. Y surhasons gwryghonenn ow mernans dhe besya bys pan dhothya medhek – medhek arall - rag ow attendya. Ytho, an klavjioresow re’m gwithsa yn fyw. Byttegyns, herwydh an glavjiores orth ow attendya, ny wrussens i ow dasvywa, yn kynsa le. Herwydh an klavjiores na, an “arghadow didro” re skonsa Ingrid aswonn o dhe’m gasa a-berth y’n chambour diwaskans wosa sinys oll a’m bywynans dhe vos mes a wel. Yth heveli hi dhe herdhya a-ves Dr Mengele, hag igeri uskis an chambour ha draylya yn-mes ow horf – hag ena hi re wrussa yn sewen DPK orthiv vy. Hmm. Ass o fara koynt. Ny wodhyen hwath pyth re bia Davydh ow kul dres oll an termyn ma mes govenek o dhymm dh’y diskudha – pan hedhsa an omglywans kawghek ma. Y lenthas nebes an shorys-basans ha’n klavjiores a ros difresyans-bayn. My a goskas berrdermyn, dell grysav. Pan dhifunis arta, yth esa Ingrid ryb ow gweli, ow redya an notyansow medhegel. Y tesevis my dhe dyli godhvos meur ras yn hy hever, drefenn, yn despit dhe oll an fellder vil may kevrannsa, wosa oll an traow ma, hi re salwsa ow honna truan.

We continued up a short driveway the name of which escapes me (Melba Drive, perhaps?) and turned right – over the top of an ancient and revered tree. (I believe it had been planted by the founders of the University to celebrate some significant event or other – which no-one now remembered. It has been classified by the National Trust, I’m told. Yes, we were doing good work here!) We rumbled on a slight decline towards the Bailieu entrance – on the way collecting a couple of stray bollards (not yet classified by the National Trust). And then, as I squeezed the brake pedal once more, I drove past the entrance of the library and prepared for my pièce de la résistance. “What the fuck?” yelled Paul. “You’ve missed the doors. Now we’ll have to run the gauntlet of the zombies to get inside.” “Pas du tout. Du calme, mon ami,” I said. (Don’t forget that Paul and I could speak passable French.) “Watch and be amazed.” I brought the lumbering beast to a complete halt – without stalling it – and grinned at Paul and Charles. They didn’t grin back. Their expressions looked decidedly grim. For me, this next bit was the easiest. Prior to this day, most of my truck driving had actually been in reverse gear – shifting the trucks around the yard of the IPEC depot. So, reversing was my best thing – comparatively. And so it proved. In a single sweep, with skilful use of my side mirrors, I backed the truck to within a few feet of the library’s glass doors. I didn’t want to get too close – smashing through the barricaded doors would have been a less than desirable outcome – unless, of course, you were a zombie waiting to get inside and devour whoever you might meet. As I had been backing, I could see admiring – but definitely gaunt – faces pressed to the inside of the library’s windows. The zombies that had been milling about outside also stopped to observe my performance. Were they impressed? Who cared! I was enjoying myself.
Yth esen ow fesya a-hys rosva verr ma na borth kov a’n hanow (Rosva Melba, martesen?) ha treylya a-dhyghow – unnweyth arta dre (hag a-ugh) gwydhenn pur goth ha meur y vri. (Hi re via blansyes, dell grysav, gans fondoryon an bennskol rag kovhe nebes hwarvos poesek - lemmyn ankevys gans pub huni, heb mar. Kovskrifys o an wydhenn ma gans Trest Ertach Kenedhlek, dell yw leverys orthymm. Yn hwir, yth esen ni ow kul oberennow pur dha!) Ni a gramyas yn-unn-wrommya war leder byghan troha entrans an Baillieu – ha ni kuntellys nebes bollardys (nag esa na hwath kovskrifys gans Trest Ertach Kenedhlek). Hag ena, my a waskas yn tov unnweyth arta war droesel an fronn ha lywya dres entrans an lyverva rag pareusi ow pièce de la résistance. “Piw an jyowl!” a armas Powl. “Ty re dremenas an darasow. Lemmyn, res vydh dhyn mos yn-dann lash an zombis rag entra ynna.” “Pas du tout. Du calme, mon ami,” yn-medhav. (Na ankevewgh Powl ha my dhe alloes kewsel da lowr an yeth frynkek.) “Gwra mires orthymm, meur dha varth!” My a ylli stoppya yn tien an best ankombrys – heb hedhi an jynn-disel. My a wryslas orth Powl ha Charles. Nyns esens i ow grysla orthymmo vy. Yn hwir, y heveli aga fismens bos asper dres eghenn. Ragov vy, yth esa an essa tra, an nessa rann. Kyns an jydh na, an brassa rann a’m lywyans re via gwrys y’n vaglenn dhelergh – ha my gwayes an kertow a- dro dhe arth IPEC. Ytho, gwayans y’n vaglenn dhelergh o’m gwella tra – yn kehevelus. Hag yndella y hwarva. Yn gwayans unnik, gans devnydh kuryns a’m gwedrow- mires a-denewen, my a lywyas war-dhelergh troha’n darasow-gweder an lyverva – hag omstoppya a-berth yn nebes treys-hys alena. Ny vynnen dos re ogas dhedha – skwattya dres an darasow (re via baryes) a via diwedh le es dell o desiryes – marnas, heb mar, an pobel a dhesirya diwedh a’n par ma dhe vos an zombis ow kortos rag gwaynya entrans a-bervedh rag dybri piwpynag yllens. Ha my gwayes an kert war-dhelergh, my a ylli gweles fasow askornek, orth ow estemya, gwaskys erbynn fenestri an lyverva. An zombis re via ow kwandra oll a-dro a hedhis keffrys rag mires orth ow ferformyans vy. Ens i kemmerys yn feur ganso? Ny vern. Yth esen owth omlowenhe.

I hit the big green button at the side of the doors and they slid open just as normal. (The doors had been barricaded but never disabled – I knew this well.) I stepped through the doors and calmly – well, not that calmly – stepped towards the spot where David lay. The doors closed behind me, muffling the urgent yelling that was coming from the foyer of the library. As one, the zombies stopped their aimless milling about – and fixed me with their dead eyes. I kicked David, now twitching incessantly, in the ribs: “Get up, you lazy shit! I think I’m going to need you.” He kept twitching but didn’t exactly bounce to his feet. This was, shall we say, disappointing. The zombies started closing in my direction, forming an ever-tightening semi- circle about me. I was starting to doubt the wisdom of my plan. So, I kicked David again – much harder this time. “Come on, Dave. Your friends think I’m the first course!” This time he responded. (I never doubted him, really. Really, truly.) Groaningly, he rose to his feet and he, too, fixed me with his new-found zombie- stare. He stared at me for what seemed like (but probably wasn’t) a long time. It was plain that he knew me – I felt this in my own bowels – but how would he now regard me? (Not as lunch, I hoped.) The circle tightened further. First one, then another zombie reached out for me. Glancing touches – no grabs or bites just yet. I kept my eyes firmly on David’s: “Um, now would be a good time to have a quiet chat with your mates,” I said – with more than a little urgency. “Dave? Mate?” David got the message – eventually.
My a frappyas an boton glas meur ryb an darasow hag i a slynkyas apert kepar dell yw usyes. (An darasow re via keys mes ny viens nevra gorrys dres devnydh – my a wodhya hemma yn ta.) My a gerdhas yn hebask dres an porth – wel, nebes hebask – ow kwaya wor’tu ha’n le may hworwedha Davydh. Y tegeas an darasow a-dhelergh dhymm. Megys o an usow ter a dhothya dhiworth sal-dynnargh an lyverva. Kepar hag unnses, y stoppyas an zombis aga gwandra a-dro heb amkan – ha’m gul fast gans aga dewlagas marow. My a botyas Davydh (esa ow skwychya heb lett lemmyn) yn y asow: “Sa’ban, kawgh diek! Yma edhomm ahanas sy, dell grysav.” Ev a besya skwychya mes ny lammas ev a-dhistowgh a’y sav. Dhe’m breus vy uvel, nebes toellorus o hemma. Y tallathas an zombis omneshe a-dro dhymm, ow kul hantergylgh a dhothya uskis ha bos byghanna. My a dhallatha doutya an furneth ow thowl. Ytho, my a botyas Davydh unnweyth arta – gans nerth moyhes. “Deun yn-rag, ‘Dhavydh. Dha sos a grys ow bos aga hynsa sand!” An prys na, ev a wayas. (Ny’n doutyas nevra, yn hwir. Yn onest!) Yn unn hanasa, ev a dheuth a’y sav ha lagatta keffrys orthiv gans y dhewlagas marow y honan. Ev a besyas lagatta termyn pur hir orthiv vy – po dell heveli. Yn apert, ev a’m aswonni – my a omglywo hemma y’m kolodhyon – mes fatell y’m regardsa? (A-der avel kroust, herwydh ow govenek.) Y teuth ha bos an kylgh byghanna a-dro dhymm. Kynsa, onan anedha hag ena huni arall a ystynnas rag ow thava. Y’n kynsa le, tochyansow skav – dalghennow vyth, brathow vyth, na hwath. Y remaynya ow dewlagas fasthes dhe’n re Davydh: “Ha! Lemmyn a via termyn da rag keskows jentyl gans dha sos,” yn-medhav, meur ow mall. “’Dhav? ‘V ata?” Y tegemmeras Davydh an messaj – wostiwedh.

“That’s a very good question. Private Swooper,” I answered. “I’ve lived amongst the zombies since Day One, since the very first outbreak in Melbourne. On that day, there were hundreds of zombies all at once – and there were none the day before. None at all. As far as I know, none of those first zombies had been bitten by anyone or anything. Don’t you think that’s curious, Private?” Private First Class Brendan Swooper nodded thoughtfully – and a lot of the other GI’s in the audience nodded along with him. I continued: “My brother became a zombie within the first few days ...” (I omitted to mention that he’d actually been bitten in that time.) “... but not me. I’ve seen a lot of guys and girls, all fellow university students, bitten by those zombies, the ones who appeared on Day One, the ones who had never been bitten. None of the girls became zombies. None of them. Not one. Now, Private Swooper, that’s also mighty strange, don’t you think?” Private First Class Swooper nodded even more thoughtfully – and even more GI’s nodded along with him. (At this point, the Captain started to feel uneasy about the fact that I had the undivided attention of the GI’s – who all seemed very interested in what I had to say. He stood abruptly, started to try and silence me once again. The GI’s hissed at him – and he reluctantly resumed his seat.) “The third thing, Private, that is mighty strange is that not all the guys who got bitten and became zombies stayed that way!” “That’s not true!” yelled the Captain – who was promptly hissed down again. I shrugged, fell silent in my cage. I knew what would happen. I had won the GI’s over. I was just like them – young and unworldly - but they knew I was talking from first-hand experience. They wanted to know what I knew – and for very good reason: their lives may have depended on it. Very soon, despite the fact that the Captain tried to shut the meeting down, I was recalled to speak. Now, I knew the Captain would be most reluctant to interrupt – at least until I had said more than he could tolerate. I continued:
“Govynn pur dha yw henna, a Souder keth Stevyer,” a worthybis vy. “My re drigas yn mysk an zombis a-dhia Dydh Onan, a-dhia an kynsa tardhans yn Melbourne. An jydh na, yth esa kansow a zombis – oll anedha re dhothya yn kettermyn. An jydh kyns, nyns esa zombis vyth. Mann. Kemmys hag a allav leverel, nyns esa nagonan yntra’n kynsa zombis na a via brethys – po gans zombi arall po gans denvyth. A ny grysydh bos henna pur goynt, a Souder keth?” Souder keth, kynsa gradh, Brendan Stevyer a benndroppyas, meur y brederyans, ha ganso lies souder yntra’n woslowysi. My a besyas: “Y teuth ha bos ow broder zombi nebes dydhyow wosa Dydh Onan ...” (Ny gampoellis vy y vos brethys y’n termyn na.) “...Byttegyns, ny dheuth vy ha bos onan anedha ow honan. My re welis meur a yonkers ha myrghes, kesstudhyoryon oll, brethys gans an zombis na, gans an re na via nevra brethys. Yntra’n myrghes, nyns esa zombis vyth. Arta, mann yntredha. Hag, ytho, a Souder keth Stevyer, henn yw euthyk koynt ynwedh, a ny grysydh?” Souder keth, kynsa gradh, Stevyer a bendroppyas gans moy a brederyans hogen – ha ganso moy yntra’n soudoryon Amerikanek. (Y’n termyn ma, y tallathas an Kapten bos nebes anes drefenn attendyans an soudoryon dhe vos warnav fast – hag oll anedha a heveli bos pur dhidheurys yn pyth esen ow leverel. A-dhistowgh, ev a sevis hag assaya gul dhymm tewel arta. Y sias orto ev an soudoryon Amerikanek – ha, meur y anvodh, ev a dhasesedhas.) “An tressa tra, a souder, hag yw koynt dres eghenn yw hemma: yntra’n oll an yonkers a veu brethys ha zombihes, yth esa nebes na wrug triga yndellna!” “Nyns yw henna gwir!” a armas an Kapten – ha’n woslowysi a-dhesempis a sias yn ughel orto arta. My a dhrehevis ow diwskoedh ha koedha tawesek y’m bagh. My a wodhya pyth esa ow tos. My re waynsa kolonnow ha brysyow an soudoryon Amerikanek. Yth en kepar dell ens – yowynk hag anfel. Byttegyns, y hwodhyens bos dhymm perthyansow gwir, henn yw leverel, ragdha, derivadow dhiworth an bennfenten. Y fynnens godhvos an pyth a wodhyen vy – ha drefenn reson pur dha; yn hwirhaval, aga bywnansow a allsa kregi warnedhi. Yn skon, yn despit dh’assayans an Kapten dhe worfenna an kuntellyans, y feuv daselwys rag kewsel. Lemmyn, my a wodhya bos anvodh an Kapten dhe’m goderri – bys may lavarsen moy es dell ylli godhevel, dhe’n lyha. My a besyas:

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.)
FO Yth esen ow kogoska y’n vedhegva. Hanternos o – po ogas. Yn mes, war blen an gerdhva, yth esa ow hwarvos tervans meur. Sonyow dornow ow frappya fismens, ha botas war rannow erell an korf, a allsa bos klywyes yn kler. Yth esa soudoryon ow skrija hag owth arma – Ostralek ha Yanki – yth esa braslavarow skruthus ha’n gelwans a henwyn drog. Yth esa re erell owth assaya yn euver rag konstrynya an freudh: arghadyow disobayes, hwibanans an withysi-gres vreselek. Yn skon, an selva dhien re dhothya dhe blen an gerdhva mayth esa kansow soudoryon yn omladh settyes nerthek dres eghenn. A-dhesempis, ughhewoel en vy – adrenalyn a yll gul henna. Wostalleth, my a brederis yn sempel: “Pyth a hwer?” Byttegyns, my a erviras yn skon bos froeth martesen dhe’n has plansyes genev yn brysyow an soudoryon Amerikanek. Has dout. Has omdowl. Yth esa yonkers, polatys onest, ow shyndya an eyl ha’n y gila war blen an gerdhva. Martesen, nyns en den mar jentyl, wosa oll. Mes, yn neb kas, res o dhymm devnydhya an tervans sordhyes genev rag gul ow diank. Meur ow skruth, my a wrug diswul an kolmansow re’m dalghennsa dhe’n gweli – yn hwir, y hallsen aga diswul kyns mes my re via mar glav ma na wrug assaya hogen. My a swaysas ow diwesker rag gorra ow dewdroes war an leur, an kynsa prys wosa nebes dydhyow. Yth assayis sevel. Kawgh! Pur wann en vy hwath drefenn an torment hag ytho y tasgoedhis, heb anall, war an gweli. Pyth a allsen gul? Ny dalvien gasa an deray ma dhe dremena. Res o dhymm sesya gwayn dhiworto. Ny dhothya arta an chons owrek ma. Y hyllyn klywes levow ughel ow tos dhiworth yn-mes, levow Ostralek, ow leverel taklow kepar ha: “Gwra ladha an aspier euthyk na! Kav an aspier-zombi! Ladh an ki byghan.” (Ha lavarow erell kepar ha’n re na.)

The Sergeant vaulted into the driver’s side of the jeep and took the wheel. He took off with a chirp of tyres on concrete. The dishevelled Ingrid sat beside him and another jeep followed us. Ingrid leaned over the back of the seat and yelled at me: “We’re gonna need you for this next bit. We’re gonna try to retrieve David from the cells.” Yes! My adrenalin kicked right in. The Sergeant leaned over his own seat and also yelled at me, as if to emphasise what Ingrid had just said: “And no more of this chicken-shit falling-over garbage neither!” “Yessir! Er, no sir!” I replied in my best available military fashion. My legs would definitely work next time I needed them. The military prison was only a short jeep-drive away from the infirmary. It was a modest but sturdy wooden structure, circa 1940. It never housed more than a few prisoners, mostly guys who’d gotten drunk in town and needed to cool off – or soldiers who had ‘lost track of the time’ and gone AWOL (absent without leave). The prison had never previously held a zombie – or a zombie’s brother, for that matter. It was neither fortified nor particularly secure – and had never needed to be. The two jeeps arrived in a cloud of dust and screeched to a halt. The driver of the second jeep stayed put. The Sergeant, driver of the first jeep, leapt from his seat and ran to the guards standing at the door of the prison building. “Stand down, men,” he barked, as they started to salute him. “This is urgent security business.” They both looked straight ahead and snapped to attention, rifles at the ready. The more senior of them (a corporal) said: “Sorry, sir. We’re not permitted to take orders from any of the U.S. NCO’s (non-commissioned officers).”
An serjont a lammas yn tu lywyer an jip ha kemmeres an ros yn y dhiwla. Ev a dhallathas yn fordh gans tynkyans a ruber war gentevynn. Yth esa Ingrid, hwath ankempenn ha dygribys heb mar, a’y esedh - ha jip arall a sywyas. Ingrid a boesas war-dhelergh ha garma orthymm: “Rag nessa rann an gwari ma, y fydh edhomm ahanas jy. Ni a vynn assaya dhasgavoes Davydh dhiworth an vaghow.” Ya! Yth esa ow pompya ow andrenalyn lemmyn. Yn y dro ev, an Serjont a boesas war-dhelergh ha garma keffrys orthymm – kepar ha pan esa ow mynnes poesleva lavarow Ingrid: “Ha byth moy a’n kawgh mabyar ma, koedhans war an leur namoy!” “Yasyrr! A, nasyrr!” a worthybis vy, y’m gwella fordh breselek. Yn sertan, yth obersa ow diwarr an nessa prys a via edhomm anedha dhymm. Nyns esa an prison breselek saw pellder kott a-dhiworth an vedhegva. Drehevyans sempel mes nerth lowr o, gwrys a-dro dhe vlydhynnyow 1940. Ny synsis nevra saw nebes prisners, an rann vrassa anedha re via polatys re alsa ha bos medhow y’n dre ha mayth esa edhomm dhedha a omgoselhe. Yn fordh arall, yth esa soudoryon may fia, yn apert, ‘koll an eur’ hag ytho i re alsa ha bos EHK (Estrigys Heb Kummyas). Ny synssa nevra kyns an prison zombi – po broder zombi, rag an mater na. Na kerys na diogel yn arbennik o – ha ny via kyns edhomm vyth bos yndella. Y teuth an dhew jip yn kommolenn a dhoust hag i a hedhis yn unn skrija. Y triga yn y jip an nessa lywyer. An Serjont-lywyer, y’n kynsa jip, a lammas dhiworth y esedh ha resek troha’n withysi a’ga sav orth daras drehevyans an prison. “Sevewgh a-denewen, ‘wesyon,” a harthas hag i salusys dhodho. “Negys sawder moyha ter.” An dhew gwithyas a lagattas a-dheragdha ha sevel a-dhesempis yn attendyans. An kottha gwas, korporal, yn-medh: “Drog yw genev, Syrr. Ny res kummyas dhyn rag degemmeres arghadow dhiworth SHK (Soedhogyon Heb Kommyssyon) an Statys Unys.”

David and I were sitting towards the rear – we were not so studious. David abruptly turned and looked to the rear exits: both open and both so far unblocked by the things. “Get out the rear,” he yelled. “The back doors are open.” It was a good call, a very good call. And enough of the students heard it above the screaming and mayhem that, almost as one, they surged towards the rear of the auditorium. Hitherto unathletic students literally leapt over the seats and desks and fled, without a backward glance, while the beasts busied themselves, feasting on their victims in the front rows. But not Dave. One of the students, a mature-age student, had left a guitar behind in his haste to escape. David seized it and threw it to me. “Here! You know what to do.” I didn’t, of course – but I soon learned, once David himself seized a hockey stick, similarly left by one of the girls. (Yes, strange but true: a guitar and a hockey stick in a French lecture.) David raised the hockey stick and brought it down hard on the head of one of those creatures as it rushed at him. It didn’t get up again. I did likewise with the guitar as another one ran at me. This one also went down but the guitar shattered on impact with a sickening twang. I would not be taking any of the others out with this particular ‘axe’. David’s hockey stick was, however, not so fragile. He wielded it again and again. I’m not sure how many he felled but, by the time he struck his last beast with the now-bloodied hockey stick, there was only one other left in the lecture theatre. The problem was that this remaining creature was, at the time, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with me – and I was rapidly losing the contest. Dead people are so enormously strong, aren’t they? David did not have a clear shot at him because my body was between him and the beast. So, he tried to push me aside to create an opportunity to strike at it. As he pushed me, it lunged forward – and, momentarily, its teeth sank into his left forearm.
Yth esen ni, Davydh ha my, owth esedha wor’tu ha delergh an arethva. A- dhistowgh, Davydh a omdreylyas rag mires orth an mallborthow a-dhelergh. Yth esa an dhew hwath apert – hag ytho anlettyes gans an draow. “Dienkewgh war-dhelergh!” a armas Davydh. “An mallborthow yw apert!” Galow da o henna, galow pur dha. Yth esa lowr yn mysk an studhyansow re’n klywsa, yn despit dhe’n skrijiansow ha’n deray, may kwaysons i avel tonn troha delergh an arethva. Studhyoryon re via kyns gwann aga horfow a lammas a-dhistowgh a-ugh an esedhow ha’n deskys – ha fias dhe’n fo. Nyns esa gowolok vyth war-dhelergh dhiworta ha’n vestes andhenel ow kul fest gans aga vyktyms a’n esedhow a-rag – gowolok vyth a-der dhiworth Davydh. Onan yntra’n studhyoryon, huni kottha, re assa gitar hag ev tienkys. Davydh a settyas dalghenn warnodho ha’y dewlel dhymmo vy. “Ottomma! Ty a woer pyth dhe wul.” Yn hwir, ny wodhyen pyth dhe wul – mes, yn skon, my a dhyskas kettell settyas Davydh dalghenn war welenn hokki, gesys yn kepar maner gans onan a’n mowesi. (Ya, koynt mes gwir: gitar ha gwelenn hokki yn areth yeth frynkek.) Davydh a dhrehevis an welenn ha’y iselhe yn krev war benn onan an groaduryon hag ev ow fyski trohag ev. An dra a goedhas dhe’n leur. Ev a drigas ena. My a wrug an dra gethsam gans an gitar dhe huni arall hag ev ow resek troha my. An huni ma a goedhas keffrys mes an gitar a veu brywys, euthyk y dros. Ytho, ny vien ow ladha kroaduryon erell gans an ‘voel’ na. Nyns esa mar vrottel gwelenn hokki Davydh. Ev a’n kledhyas arta hag arta. Nyns ov sur pes kroadur a via weskys ganso mes, pan frappyas y dhiwettha best gans an welen woesys, nyns esa saw onan arall a veu gesys y’n arethva. Byttegyns, yth esa kudynn: an huni a remaynya, y’n tor’na, a omworrsa yn omladh, dorn dhe dhorn, genev vy – ha’n omladh ma o ogas kellys genev. (An dus varow yw mar grev, a nyns yns i?) Nyns esa chons kler dhe Dhavydh y frappya drefenn bos ow horf yntredho ha’n best. Ytho, ev a assayas ow herdhya a-denewen rag gul chons dh’y weskel. Hag ev herdhyes, an best omherdhyas war-rag – ha, dres pols, y dhyns a sedhas yn ragvregh gledh Davydh. 9