all of those guys oor Kornies

all of those guys

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

i oll

all of them

voorbeelde

all of those guys
all of them / i oll / / /

all of those guys (all of them)
i oll

Well, at least Charles and Paul had done better – a lot better – than my (apparently straight) other friends who’d been bitten and fled to the Baillieu with me and David. All of those guys had died – and become zombies.
Wel, dhe’n lyha, Powl ha Charles re farysa gwella – gwella dres eghenn – ages ow sos erell (oll anedha kenreydhel, dell heveli) re via brethys ha fia dhe lyverva Baillieu genev vy ha Davydh. Oll an bolatys na re vawrsa ha mos ha bos zombis.

all those guys (all of them)
i oll

“I was there on Day One, sister! I saw all those kids bitten by those first zombies – the ones who appeared from nowhere. I saw most of the guys who got bitten become zombies – or just be torn apart, destroyed. But, I also saw guys, very close friends of mine, get bitten, get sick and then recover! They ended up as well as you or I are now – or, at least, as well as you are now...” I saw her wince a little at this oblique reference to the injuries that I had suffered (at least, indirectly) at her hands. Good! I continued: “...I saw this happen with my own two eyes. Those guys recovered completely – though they’ve probably been burnt to a crisp by napalm now. All they had to remind them of their infection were the scars of the zombie bites.” I paused and sighed. Ingrid remained silent. So, I pressed the attack: “But you can believe whatever you want, doctor,” I said, “ because, actually, I don’t care anymore. I know that I’m going to die, too – and, unless I miss my guess, the “Angel of Death” will be arranging for my, very painful, passing very shortly – when he has no further experimental use for me or David. Maybe he can arrange for a ton of napalm to be dropped on me as well? What do you think?” This was a bit of theatrics on my part. I didn’t really believe that my death was so imminent – I considered that I was still far too ‘useful’ to the Captain’s research – whatever that really was (apart from sadism). I thought he might kill me but that, if that happened in the near future, it was more likely to be by experimental error or oversight. Furthermore, you will have noted that, in talking to Ingrid, I had glossed over one very salient fact: my friends had indeed survived zombie bites but they had never become zombies themselves. I knew of no case where a zombie had reverted to normalcy. As far as I knew, this was impossible. It was a definite one-way street – but Doctor Ingrid did not need to know that. “So, these guys, the ones who recovered, what do you think made them different from all the other guys – the ones who stayed being zombies?”
“Dydh Onan, yth esen vy ena, ow hwoer! My a welas oll an yonkers na bos brethys gans an kynsa zombis – an re a omdhiskwedhas dhiworth le vyth. My a welas an brassa rann anedha dhe dhos ha bos zombis – po dhe vos skwardyes yn temmyn, distruys oll. Byttegyns, my a welas keffrys nebes yonkers, sos meurgerys genev, dhe vos brethys, klavhes hag ena dhe vos omwellhes yn tien! Henn yw leverel, yth esens mar yagh avelos hag avelov lemmyn – po, dhe’n lyha, mar yagh avelos jy lemmyn ...” My a welas hy flynchya nebes drefenn an kampoellans konvedhys ma dhe’n meschyvyow re via vysytyes warnav der hy diwla (yn andidro, dhe’n lyha). Pur dha! My a besyas: “Y hwelis vy an hwarvosow ma gans ow dewlagas ow honan. An yonkers na re wellhasa yn tien – kynth yns lemmyn, yn hwirhaval, leskys oll kresik gans napalm. Rag kov aga klevesans, nyns esa travyth a-der kreythennow gwrys dre vrathow an zombis.” My a bowesas ha hanasa. Y thriga Ingrid tawesek. Ytho, my a herdhyas a-rag gans an omsettyans: “Byttegyns, ty a yll krysi pypynag a vynnydh, ‘Dhoktour,” yn-medhav, “drefenn, yn hwir, ny vern dhymm na fella. Y hwonn y teu ow mernans yn skon – ha, marnas ow bos kammgemmerys, y fydh “El Mernans” owth ordena yn skon ow thremenans, meur y bayn – pan vydh na fella dhodho devnydh arbrovel ahanan vy po a Dhavydh. Martesen, ev a allsa ordena tonnas napalm dhe vos gesys koedha warnav ynwedh. Pyth a bredeydh a’n tybyans na?” Nebes gwaridiel o hemma, dhe’m part vy. Yn hwir, ny grysyn bos mar dhegynsywyans ow mernans. Y krysyn my dhe vos hwath re ‘dhe les’ rag hwithrans an Kapten – pypynag o henna yn hwir (a-der sadystyeth). My a grysi ev dhe alloes ow ladha mes, mar hwarva henna y’n termyn a dho skon, moy gwirhaval o bos dre gammgemmeryans arbrovel. Dres henna, possybyl yw ty dhe notya, pan vien ow kewsel gans Ingrid, my re liwsa an gwiryonedh nebes: ow hothmans re dreusvywsa yn hwir brathow an zombis mes ny dhothyens nevra ha bos zombis. Ny wodhyen kas vyth may kildreylsa zombi dhe normalyta. Herwydh ow dyskans vy, nag o possybyl an dra – byttegyns, nyns esa edhomm dhe Dhoktour Ingrid a’y dyski. “Ytho, an bolatys ma, an re a omwellhas, pyth a grysydh dhe wul dhedha dihaval dhe oll an bolatys erell – an re a remaynya zombihes.”

Well, on the day that me and my ‘troops’ got horribly lost, we managed not to kill anyone with the Bren Gun. But it was a heavy beast and ‘Boofa’ – the guy who had originally been assigned to carry it – got pretty sick of lugging it about, uphill and down dale, through the thick bush. So, the Bren gun got passed around all day – from shoulder to aching shoulder. Those shoulders included those of the guy who was holding the ‘highly accurate, highly sensitive’ prismatic compass (i.e. me.) A Bren Gun is a substantial piece of metal and – objects that at magnetised are attracted to substantial pieces of metal. A compass needle is a magnetised object. So, voila! While the massive bloody Bren Gun was hanging from my shoulder, all the bearings that I read from the compass were wrong – and massively so. Why did no-one bother to tell us this would happen? Buggered if I know. The people that thought this unimportant were probably the same people that decided that a Bren Gun was a good thing for a bunch of brainless kids to play with. In any event, why am I telling you all this? Is it just another digression by an old man whose mind is wandering? No – at least, not on this particular occasion. During the course of my squad’s misguided wanderings, we came upon a very ‘cool’ place. It was somewhere that, no doubt, the designers of the navigation course would have intended we avoid by a wide margin – if it were known to them at all - since it was definitely not marked on the topographical map. The ‘cool place’ was a long tunnel, a very long tunnel, driven into the side of a hill. Its collapsed entrance was now completely hidden by vigorous re-growth forest. If we had walked ten metres to either side, we would have missed it completely. Obviously, an old, disused mine is a dangerous place – and subject to further collapse at any time. It’s liable to trap and kill anyone foolish enough to enter it. So, did I order my squad not to go into it? Yes, of course, I did! Did they pay the slightest attention to my detailed, strident and urgent warnings? No. not a bit of it. So, very soon, we were all blindly wandering about inside a 100-year-old tunnel, deep inside the hill, Bren gun, useless compass and all.
Wel, an jydh pan eth ha bos kellys ow bagas a skolyers, denvyth na veu ledhys gans an gonn Bren. Byttegyns, best pur voes o ha ‘Boofa’ – an polat re via yn kynsa le appoyntyes dh’y dhoen – eth ha bos skwithys ganso. Res via dhodho y dhoen oll a-dro – war venydhyow hag yn nansow hag, an dhew, dre wylvos tew. Ytho, an gonn a veu tremenys yntra’n brentys-souder oll an jydh – dhiworth unn skoedh ow pystiga dhe huni arall. Yth esa yn arbennik unn skoedh dhe’n huni esa ow synsi an kompas kenkeynek, ‘meur y nerth ha’y gewerder’. (Henn yw leverel, dhymmo vy.) Gonn Bren yw tamm alkan, meur y vraster, ha’n taklow re veu tennvenhes a yll bos tennys gans tamm alkan, meur y vraster. Naswydh kompas kenkeynek yw tra dennvenhes. Ytho, ‘voilà!’ Ha’n gonn Bren, meur y vraster, kregys war ow skoedh, redyansow oll an kompas o kamm – ha kamm dres eghenn. Prag na wrussa denvyth agan gwarnya a-dro dhe’n hwarvos possybyl ma? Ny wonn vy. Yn hwirhaval, an dus a grysi an dra ma bos heb poester o an keth dus a grysi bos tra pur dha rag bagas skolyers heb ympynnyon dhe wandra der an gwylvos gans gonn Bren avel gwariell. Yn neb kas, prag yth esov ow leverel an taklow ma dhywgh? Yw travyth marnas gwandrans gans den koth mayth eus dhodho brys ow kwandra ynwedh? Na – dhe’n lyha, nyns yw an kas an prys ma. Dres an gwandransow heb amkan a’m para, ni a dheuth dhe’n le ‘koul’ dres eghenn. Nep-tu o, heb dhout, may ervirsa dhevisyoryon an oberenn-navigasyon y talvien ni avoydya gans amal ledan – mar kodhviens yn y gever (ha sertan en vy nag o notyes war vappa topografek). An le ‘koul’ o kowfordh hir, kowfordh pur hir, palys yn ewn yn tu bre. Koedhys war an dor, y fyllsa yn tien porth an gowfordh, gorherys ha kudhys uskis gans gwylvos dhasdevys. Mar kerdhsen deg meter dhe unn tu an gowfordh, y fallsen y weles mann. Yn apert, bal koth ha usyes yw tyller peryllus – le may kyll hwarvos pup-prys koedhow an dor. Ytho, oll an dus a allsa bos beghys po ledhys ena – mars yns gokki lowr rag entra ynno. Ytho, a wrugavy erghi orth ow fara nag ens gesys entra ynno? Yn hwir! A wrussons notya an manylyon a’m gwarnyansow, tynn ha ter aga gnas? Na wrussons. Ytho, yn skon, yth esen ni ow kwandra oll a-dro yn kowfordh, meur hy oes, hy duder ha’y hirder – gonn Bren ha kompas euver hwath genen ni.

“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:

So, the other groups had been left to their fates as well. Again, why? Were they, too, so worthless? Then, a few hours after that, all the phones went dead and, at the same time, the TV broadcasts stopped completely. A curious coincidence, you might think. Actually, the TV broadcasts stopped in the middle of ‘The Jetsons’. (But, don’t worry, I’d seen the episode before and well knew that Mr Spacely ultimately reinstated George Jetson – and even gave him a raise! So, I was able to assuage the understandable anxiety that the interrupted transmission had caused to the other survivors by advising them of George’s fate.) After that, we were merely left to speculation as to what was happening outside the campus. (A search for a short-wave radio turned up nothing.) Our discussions went around in circles for hour upon hour. What else was there to do? After all, the library’s snack-food vending machines had already been looted. The single fact that gnawed at all of us was this: one day there were no zombies and the next day there were hundreds of them – all young, all male. How was that possible? We had seen for ourselves that the infection spread by bite, by saliva, I suppose. We had also seen that guys who were bitten took at least two days to succumb – and then return as zombies. In David’s case, of course, he’d lasted for a whole seven days so far. (Though it didn’t look like he’d go much further than that.) So, let’s suppose there was a “Patient Zero”, the first guy to be infected, being treated somewhere in one of the hospitals or clinics around Parkville. How does he manage to bite hundreds of other guys, more or less simultaneously, and instantly turn them into zombies? There were a few of those sheltering in the Baillieu who were studying either biochemistry or medicine. They confirmed what we were all thinking: that’s just not how epidemics work. So, how ...?
Ytho, an bagasow erell re via gesys rag metya aga thenkysyow ynwedh. Unnweyth arta, praga? A nyns ens i heb gwiwder keffrys? Ena, wosa lies our, oll an pellgowseryow a verwis ha, kettermyn, y hedhis yn tien oll an darlesansow-bellwolok. Dell hwarva, an darlesansow a hedhis yn kres an “Jetsons”. (Mes, ny vern, my re welsa an hwedhel ma kyns ha perthi kov yn ta Mester Spacely dhe restorya Jori Jetson dh’y soedh – ha ri dhodho moghheans y wober hogen! Ytho, my a ylli sewajya fienas naturel an dreusvyworyon erell yn kever gordhyllans Jori.) Wosa henna, ny yllyn ni saw desevos a-dro dhe’n hwarvosow a-der an kampus. (Agan hwithrans rag kavoes radyo a donnys berr o heb sewenyans.) Our wosa our, nyns eth agan dadhel dhe le vyth. Byttegyns, a-der dadhel, pyth esa bos gwrys? Wosa oll, jynnow-wertha boes y’n lyverva re via seulabrys preydhys- oll. An wirenn unnik a gnias warnan o hemma: unn jydh, nyns esa zombis vyth; an nessa dydh, yth esa kansow anedha – yowynk oll, gorow oll. Fatell o henna possybyl? Ni re welsa agan honan bos lesys an klevesans dre vrath, dre drew, dell heveli. Dres henna, ni re welsa an dus re via brethys dhe besysa bywa dew dhydh, dhe’n lyha, kyns aga mernans – ha kyns aga dehwelans avel zombis. Heb mar, Davydh re dhursa moy es dew dhydh. Ev re wodhavsa seythun dhien bys lemmyn – mes ny heveli ev dhe besya moy es henna. Ytho, gwren desevos bosva “Perthyer Mann”, an kynsa den bos klevesys. Ha gwren desevos y vos ow dyghtyes yn neb le a-dro dhe Barkville, yn onan a’n medhegvaow po klavjiow eus kevys ena. Fatell wra ev dynsel neb kansow yonkers erell, ogas yn kettermyn, hag ena, a-dhistowgh, treylyes ons i dhe zombis. Yth esa nebes yntredon a woskeusi y’n Baillieu a studhya po bywgemigieth po medhegieth. An re na a afydhyas pyth eson ni oll ow prederi: nyns yw henna dell ober an klevesow epidemyk. Ytho, fatell ...?