Point of Well oor Kornies
Point of Well
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Point of Well
Genys veuv yn Tokyo yn 1968.langbot langbot
‘If you mean, inventing all that about a "present", well, I thought the true story much more likely, and I couldn’t see the point of altering it at all. It was very unlike Bilbo to do so, anyway; and I thought it rather odd.’
Na skrifis, ny’n skrifis.langbot langbot
But forasmuch as that blessed estate is lost and mankind by the loss thereof fell into extreme misery and wretchedness, it is consequently to be well considered of our part by what means man was brought from so good and blessed a case to so evil and miserable an estate, which point well weighed, is a sufficient ground to cause us on the other side utterly to detest and abhor all sin.
Yw res dhymm dos dy Lun?langbot langbot
For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT, on a case of silver spoons. Bilbo believed that she had acquired a good many of his spoons, while he was away on his former journey. Lobelia knew that quite well. When she arrived later in the day, she took the point at once, but she also took the spoons.
Nyns esons i ow tos.langbot langbot
At one point, migration was so commonplace that a great deal of infrastructure existed in Cornwall to support it. In our collections you can find newspaper adverts and articles offering advice and information to migrants from Cornwall as well as records of tickets bought and families (usually poor) chosen for a new life abroad.
Hemm yw ki.langbot langbot
Every one of the various parting gifts had labels, written out personally by Bilbo, and several had some point, or some joke. But, of course, most of the things were given where they would be wanted and welcome. The poorer hobbits, and especially those of Bagshot Row, did very well. Old Gaffer Gamgee got two sacks of potatoes, a new spade, a woollen waistcoat, and a bottle of ointment for creaking joints. Old Rory Brandybuck, in return for much hospitality, got a dozen bottles of Old Winyards: a strong red wine from the Southfarthing, and now quite mature, as it had been laid down by Bilbo’s father. Rory quite forgave Bilbo, and voted him a capital fellow after the first bottle.
Yma ki du ha gwynn dhyn.langbot langbot
With the hope the Pirates would see a win after the disappointment of the week before, a few changes were made to the team, with the return of a number of players who had been given a rest. The Pirates started well and after 5 minutes they scored their first points through a penalty by Arwel Robson. However it wasn’t long before a fine move by Coventry saw them score a converted try – 7-3. Unfortunately the Pirates lost Tom Duncan through injury, but his place was well filled by Paddy Ryan and soon afterwards Rory Parata saw a gap in the Coventry Defence and scored under the posts – 7-10. Then Arwel Robson made a fine break but there wasn’t another player close enough to take his pass. However, the Pirates won a scrum penalty and Arwel made no mistake with his kick. Coventry now attacked the Pirates’ line and for a professional foul, Kiri Kiri was shown a yellow card. Fortunately the try following a quick tap penalty by Coventry was disallowed as the player had not actually kicked the ball, and so the score remained at 7-13 at half-time.
My a wor kewsel pymp yeth.langbot langbot
David and I were stuck with him for the time being. (He was just the sort of guy who could notice my lack of socks: “You’re out of uniform, soldier!” I could almost hear him saying.” Completely ‘in character’, he harrumphed and turned to me. Instinctively, I leapt to my feet and snapped to attention. I saluted the superior officer. (My cadet training had come in handy once again.) He returned my salute in a perfunctory fashion. “Sergeant, did you see what that damned-fool private just did with my luggage?” “Yessir!” I replied. The Major harrumphed again and stared more closely at me. “You look awfully young to be a sergeant. How old are you?” “23, Sir! Field promotion, Sir. At the cemetery battle,” I replied, keeping my eyes straight ahead. (I hoped he had heard of the battle – and, fortunately, he had.) He stared at the name on my chest badge. “Well, Sergeant Smith, I’m sure that’s commendable. But you still look too young to me. I blame the Vietnam War – ‘field promotions’: too easy for my liking. Never would have happened in Korea or Malaya, when I was your age.” I remained at attention. The Major had not ordered me to ‘stand easy’. I knew better than to relax without an officer specially allowing me to do so. The Major was still looking me up and down. He flicked an eye in the direction of the coffin. “Yours?” “Yessir!” I replied. “Coffin detail, Sir.” “Hmm,” said the Major. “Who is it?” “One of ours, Sir,” I replied. “Well, it would hardly be a fucking zombie, would it, Sergeant?” (A reasonable point.)
Yth esen vy ow kortos.langbot langbot
And yet, of course, David could move about by himself, grunt a bit, eat people and so on. These were clear signs of life, of a sort. So, how come the flat-lines? Where was the brain activity that seemed to be going on? Don’t know. Not my problem. Then things got a bit more interesting – though ‘interesting’ is not exactly the word I would have chosen at the time. The Captain asked for one of the cattle prods. One of the goons duly handed it over. The Captain checked to see that it was on – by applying it to David’s ear. It was indeed on – as David’s reaction amply confirmed. Then: Zap. Zap. Zap. He applied it all over David’s grey-skinned body: face, hands, feet, genitals. He was very thorough, very thorough indeed. David roared loudly from start to finish and strained at the leather – doing his utmost to snap his bonds and get at his tormentors. One of the bolts holding a strap even worked loose from the wooden frame of the chair – but not enough to matter . The Captain was smiling that slimy smile of his. (Yuck – thrice.) He was obviously enjoying himself – particularly when he applied the electric charge to what would otherwise have been David’s most sensitive areas. It was at that moment that the parallels with the evil work of Dr Josef Mengele, the angel of Death, first came to my mind. While the torture of David was proceeding in a thoroughly well-planned and systematic fashion, Dr Ingrid was keeping her attention firmly fixed on the CRT screen and making appropriate notes of what she observed. It seemed she was less interested in the finer points of the Sadistic Arts class that was being conducted by her superior than in the ‘scientific’ data it was producing. “Still flat-lining, Doctor,” she reported, in a matter-of-fact way. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable,” commented Mengele. “But the readout of the other subject, the non-zombie twin, has gone completely wild, doctor,” Ingrid added. “Quite unexpected in my view.” The Captain looked at my own screen at the same time. She was right. The squiggles of my own readout were flying off the scale.
Omdennys ov.langbot langbot
“Certainly, Sir,” I stammered. “But our comrade is in particularly bad shape and I ...” “Sergeant, I have seen action in Korea, during the ‘Malayan Emergency’ and in ‘Nam as well. How many broken and dismembered human beings do you think I’ve seen during that service?” The question was patronising – but he did have a point. I didn’t answer. I was running out of ideas. “Open the box, Sergeant! That is a direct order!” I commenced, slowly and with feigned difficulty, to unscrew the fastenings that held down the lid. Could I delay the process until we reached the next stop? Maybe – but probably not. The Major became impatient with my progress and started to bellow at me – just as he had at the private who had carried his luggage. David was picking up on this aggravation, of course. Firstly, he could hear the angry words being directed at me and, secondly, I’m sure he could empathetically sense my growing anxiety and fear. After several long minutes, I started unscrewing the final fastening. The Major roughly pushed me aside with a curse and completed the task himself. “This is not going to be pretty,” I thought. But what could I do? As the Major commenced to lift the lid, a grey arm clad in military fatigues shot through the gap between lid and box. David’s hand closed swiftly and securely around the Major’s windpipe – and, quietly but efficiently, crushed it. David had made his first kill in the flickering of an eyelid. I knew better than to try and intervene now – there would have been no purpose. The Major’s limp body slumped to the floor of the carriage and David freed himself from the coffin. David fell upon his prey and feasted. Soon, the floor of the carriage was swimming in blood. David’s busily gnawing face was buried deeply on the flesh of his victim, as seemed to be customary among zombies. So much for getting him cleaned up. So much for fresh clothing. Was this a good time simply to cut my brother adrift? Yes, probably, on any rational consideration of the circumstances.
Da yw an gewer hedhyw.langbot langbot
Once again, I battled with the gears of the vehicle: Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Paul helpfully assisted the process by asking: “Are you sure you can drive this thing?” (and other questions in that vein.) Thanks, Paul. In any event, I eventually found a gear that was low enough to allow the truck to move off with a lurch. “Now, that’s a fine gear,” I observed as we cruised along at 4 or 5 mph. “I think we should stick with that one, don’t you?” Paul and David huffed in contempt – as one – but made no verbal reply. That was a little bit disturbing. After all, Paul hadn’t fully recovered from his bite as yet. Oh well, Paul would soon be at the Baillieu – and no longer my problem. We exited College Crescent and entered Royal Parade, heading South. I needed to find the entrance on the West side of campus which would take me neatly to the front of the Baillieu. (This route is no longer possible – too many new buildings on campus.) I did, of course, have plenty of time to keep a look-out but was conscious of the fact that we were travelling, in effect, in the service lane of Royal Parade. The width of the service lane was quite tight and I was hemmed in on both sides by rows of mature elm trees. (Very pretty, of course, but a real problem when trying to manoeuvre a large truck.) I spotted the entrance – eventually – and applied the brake very gingerly. I didn’t want to stall the bugger after all this – and I couldn’t actually remember how to re-start one if the engine stopped. I didn’t share this fact with my passengers, deciding that they wouldn’t be much interested in my ignorance on this point. Left turn. Side swipe the trunk of a very large tree. (Crunch!) Drive over the top of the gate-keeper’s booth. (Loud metallic, crumpling sound.) Smash through boom gate. (Snap!) “Fuck!” screamed my gay friends in unison. “Hmm,” I said. “Yes, that did go well, didn’t it?” “Are we there yet, Dad?” said Paul in a weak and quavering voice.
Res yw dhymm y weles.langbot langbot
I realised immediately that I’d been overly optimistic – I had thought he might remember, in the deep recesses of his ‘mind’ that he had once been the family’s resident card-sharp. Apparently not – poker was out of the question. Maybe ‘snap’? No, I thought, I would start at an even more basic level than that – just as you would start with a small child. I would spread the cards out in front of him, grouping them in their suits and lining them up according to their numbers and images. Did David still have the capacity for pattern recognition with his degraded sight and his degraded mind? David and I sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other in the semi- darkness of the crypt. He seemed to be watching me carefully as I lay out the four rows of cards in front of him: all the diamonds, all the hearts, all the spades and all the clubs in numerical order. What did he see? I sat silently as he seemed to move his head slowly in order to scan across the rows of cards – and back again. He started to make little grunting noises and then, with a roar and a violent sweep of his hand, scattered the deck across the floor. He put his face up close to mine and roared angrily once more – and then retreated to his makeshift bed and turned his back on me. “That went well,” I thought to myself, believing the opposite. I remained seated (and stunned) on the floor – but, within a short time, started to reconsider what had just happened. “If the cards truly meant nothing to him,” I wondered, “why the sudden display of anger?” Why the pointed retreat from me? That was not mere boredom or irritation. Had the cards triggered some painful memory? Was he suddenly aware of what he had now lost? I would have to wait and see. I was not going to get any more out of him today.
Pyth yw henna?langbot langbot
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