fairly oor Kornies

fairly

/ˈfɛə(ɹ).li/, /ˈfɛɹ.li/ bywoord

In a fair manner; clearly; openly; plainly; fully; distinctly; frankly.

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

der vaner own

gorer / adverb

lowr

nebes

ylyn

yn ewn

gorer / adverb

Soortgelyke frases

so fairly
mar deg

as fairly
mar deg

fairly large
bras lowr

fairly good
da lowr

fairly well
yn ta lowr

voorbeelde

Exalting him right fairly.
orth y eksaltya pur deg.

We spend a part of this report looking at life expectancy and also healthy life expectancy, that is the number of years people live in good or fairly good health.
Yn rann a’n derivas ma yth eson ow mires orth gwaytyans bewnans hag orth gwaytyans a vewnans yagh, henn yw an niver a vledhynnyow may few tus dresta yn yeghes da po da lowr.

An jynn kensa dhe vos delivrys dhe Borthmadok o "Mountaineer" war an 18ves Mis Gortheren 1863. Jynn nessa, "The Princess", o delivrys beb a dhydhyow diwettha. An jynnow-ethen 0-4-0 'ma a walosegas trenow legh hirra dhe vos ponyes ha'n komendyans sodhogel a drenow trethysi yn 1865. Jynn-Fairlie-dewblek kensa an hyns-horn o komendyes yn 1869; an jynnow-ma re wrug mos ha bos arwodh ikonek an hyns-horn yn bledhynnyow a-dhiwedhes.
An jynn kensa dhe vos delivrys dhe Borthmadok o "Mountaineer" war an 18ves Mis Gortheren 1863. Jynn nessa, "The Princess", o delivrys beb a dhydhyow diwettha. An jynnow-ethen 0-4-0 'ma a walosegas trenow legh hirra dhe vos ponyes ha'n komendyans sodhogel a drenow trethysi yn 1865. Jynn-Fairlie-dewblek kensa an hyns-horn o komendyes yn 1869; an jynnow-ma re wrug mos ha bos arwodh ikonek an hyns-horn yn bledhynnyow a-dhiwedhes.

Fairly well, Maureen - and you, how are you?
FSS: Da lowr, Maureen - ha ty, - fatla genes? / KK: Da lowr, Maureen - ha ty, - fatla genes?

yn ewn KERNEWEK KRES ADVERB (= der vaner own) KERNEWEK DIWEDHES (= nebes) fairly [dictionary]
yn ewn KERNEWEK KRES ADVERB (= der vaner own) KERNEWEK DIWEDHES (= nebes) fairly [gerlyver]

fairly
/ lowr / / /

They waded the stream, and hurried over a wide open space, rush-grown and treeless, on the further side. Beyond that they came again to a belt of trees: tall oaks, for the most part, with here and there an elm tree or an ash. The ground was fairly level, and there was little undergrowth; but the trees were loo close for them to see far ahead. The leaves blew upwards in sudden gusts of wind, and spots of rain began to fall from the overcast sky. Then the wind died away and the rain came streaming down. They trudged along as fast as they could, over patches of grass, and through thick drifts of old leaves; and all about them the rain pattered and trickled. They did not talk, but kept glancing back, and from side to side.
I a lagyas dre’n gover, ha fistena a-dreus spas efan hag igor, heb gwydh mes broennek. Dres henna i a gavas grogys a wydh arta: derow hir dre vras, omma hag ena yth esa po elowenn po ennwydhenn. An dor o re gompes, hag yth esa boghes a lasneth; mes an gwydh o re dew rag gweles pellder hir war-rag. An del a nijas yn-bann yn hwaffys tromm a wyns, ha glawennow a dhallathas koedha diworth an ebron gommolek. Ena, an gwyns a lehas dhe-ves ha’n glaw a dhallathas koedha yn fros. I a droesyas war-rag mar skon ha gallsons, dres kloutys a wels ha bernow tew a dhel koth; hag oll a-dro dhedha an glaw a eryas ha devera. Ny wrussons i kewsel, mes i a wovira war-dhelergh ha diworth unn tu dh’y gila.

fairly
yn ewn adverb

Folco went home after lunch, but Pippin remained behind. Frodo was restless and anxious, listening in vain for a sound of Gandalf. He decided to wait until nightfall. After that, if Gandalf wanted him urgently, he would go to Crickhollow, and might even get there first. For Frodo was going on foot. His plan - for pleasure and a last look at the Shire as much as any other reason - was to walk from Hobbiton to Bucklebury Ferry, taking it fairly easy.
Folko eth tre wosa li, mes Pypyn a drigas. Frodo o dibowes ha prederus. Ev a woslowas rag son Gandalf, heb sywyans. Ev a erviras gortos mo. Wosa henna, Gandalf a alsa dhe Krykholow rag y gavoes, mar pe res porres dhodho, hag ev a dheffo ena kynsa, drefenn Frodo dhe vones dre droes. Y dowl- rag y blesour ha rag gul diwettha golok orth an Shayr – o dhe gerdhes diworth Hobytun dhe Gowbal Bukelberi orth toeth es.

fairly
adv / yn ewn / adv /

Fairly well, Maureen - and you, how are you?
Da lowr, Maureen - ha ty, - fatla genes?

We are right fairly.
yth on pur deg.

fairly
/ yn ewn / / /

Now that I thought about it, maybe such ‘soft’ duties had been assigned to him because of the horrors he had been through in his two tours of duty in ‘Nam. Maybe, beneath that confident and impressive exterior, the man was actually quite fragile. Can’t say now. Couldn’t say then. But it was certainly odd. In my mind’s eye, I could still see the blackboard in that seminar room. It was covered in circles and arrows but only one phrase appeared on it: “Form a Perimeter”. What did that mean? And did it only apply in jungle warfare? After wracking my brain for a while, I decided it could only have meant one of two things: 1. When entering unfamiliar territory, surround it and attack; or 2. When already in such a place, spread out and form a defensive circle around where you find yourself. I remembered the reg had spoken of his platoon being repeatedly dropped by Chinook helicopter behind enemy lines, in territory controlled by the VC (Viet Cong) – or ‘Charlie’ as he preferred to call them. Would it make sense for a small group of men to land (fairly obtrusively) at one point, immediately fan out widely and try to encircle an unseen enemy – an enemy which was, of course, entirely familiar with its own home territory? Nope, I decided. That would be plain dumb. The fragile circle that you formed in this way could be attacked by the enemy both from the inside and by those still outside it. So, strike out option 1 and tick option 2. So, in the seminar, ‘Form a perimeter’ had obviously meant ‘Form a Defensive Perimeter’ – i.e. around your ‘point of insertion’ into the battle zone. (You see, I must have been paying attention, after all!) In any event, this conclusion, in my mind at least, represented progress.
Lemmyn, wosa lies blydhen ombrederans, martesen deverow ‘medhel’ a’n par ma re via appoyntyes dhodho drefenn an euth re welsa ev dres y dhew dorn- dever yn ‘Nam. Martesen, yn-dann y du war-ves, meur y fydhyans ha poesekter, yth esa yn hwir den pur vrottel. Ny allav leverel lemmyn. Ny yllyn leverel ena. Byttegyns, koynt o yn sertan. Y’n dhewlagas ow brys vy, y hyllyn gweles hwath bordh du an stevell-semynar. Gorherys o gans skrifa treys-kelyon: kylghyow ha sethenyow. Byttegyns, nyns esa saw unn lavarenn skrifys warnodho: “Gwrewgh Furvya Kylghvusur”. Pyth a styrya henna? Ha, dres henna, a bertaynya an messaj ma dhe vresel yn gwylgoes hepken? Wosa kartha ow ympynnyon dres pols, my a erviras na ylli an geryow ma styrya saw onan yntra diw dhra: 1. Pan entrir y’n le anaswonnys, gwra kylgh oll a-dro dhodho rag gul omsettyans warnodho; po 2. Pan omgevir seulabrys yn le a’n par na, res o dhywgh omlesa rag furvya kylgh omwithek oll a-dro dhe’n le na. My a borthas kov an reg dhe gewsel a-dro dh’y barsell soudoryon. Y fia gesys dhe goedha lieskweyth a-dryv linennow an eskar, yn ranndiryow rewlys gans an VK (Viet Kong) – po ‘Charli’, dell wre an reg leverel. A via herwydh reson y tirsa (poran yn apert) bagas byghan soudoryon dhe unn le hag, a-dhistowgh, omlesa ledan rag assaya gul kylgh a-dro dhe eskar anweladow – eskar, heb mar, a aswonnsa yn ta y ranndir y honan? Na via, a erviris. Gul henna a via gokki yn tien. An kylgh brottel a allsewgh furvya y’n fordh ma a allsa bos omsettyes gans an eskar dhiworth an dhew dhu, dhiworth a-bervedh hag yn-mes. Ytho, ankevewgh dewis onan ha gorrewgh tykk a-berth y’n nessa kistenn. Ytho, y’n semynar, “Gwrewgh Furvya Kylghvusur” re styrsa, yn apert, “Gwrewgh Furvya Kylghvusur Omwithek” – henn yw leverel, a-dro dhe’n ‘le ynworrans’ war bark an vatel. (Dell yllowgh gweles, yth esov vy owth attendya, wosa oll!) Yn neb kas, an konklusyon ma, dhe’m breus vy dhe’n lyha, o avonsyans ragon ni.

He spoke to me so fairly
ev a gewsys dhymm mar deg,

‘Oh yes they do!’ said Merry. ‘The Brandybucks go in - occasionally when the fit takes them. We have a private entrance. Frodo went in once, long ago. I have been in several times: usually in daylight, of course, when the trees are sleepy and fairly quiet.’
‘Agh, gwrons!’ a leveris Merri. ‘An Brandibukow a a-ji – treweythyow, pan y’s teves hwans. Yma entrans privedh dhyn. Frodo eth a-ji, unnweyth, nans yw termyn hir. My re beu a-ji dhe bo diw po teyr thro: henn o dydhweyth, heb mar, pan o an gwydh koskek ha kosel.’

fairly large
/ bras lowr / / /

So fairly you are comforted [os]
mar deg yth ov konfortys

In any event, the slight knowledge of the layout of St. Hilda’s that I had thus gained was now to prove invaluable. I knew how to get into that building and how to get myself to a room that would give me a reasonable view of the Northern exit of the campus. I dragged the uncomprehending David along with me and left the bewildered zombies to their collective fate. We soon gained the lookout that I had wanted – with no other living or non-living persons in the building to bother us. Sanctuary from the madness outside. The student room that we chose was somewhat spartan – painted concrete block walls, a bed, a desk and chair and a small bookshelf. Its tenant had been a young woman, it seemed – probably a fresher. Why do I say that? On the wall was a poster of ‘The Partridge Family’, featuring prominently a fresh-faced David Cassidy. No-one other than a first-year girl would confess to still having a crush on that particular teenage heart-throb. That would have been so uncool. And the room was scented. I can’t say exactly what the scent was (rose oil?) but it was pleasant – and strong enough to counter the pungent smell of napalm that still hung in the air. On the bookshelf sat a few of the standard (girl) record albums of the time (Carol King, Carly Simon, Nina Simone, Helen Reddy) and, beside them, some surprisingly old teenage literature (Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, The Getting of Wisdom). On the desk sat an IBM ‘golfball’ typewriter – fairly modern (and expensive) for the time. In the typewriter sat an incomplete letter which commenced “Dear Mum and Dad” and continued in a newsy fashion for a couple of paragraphs before stopping mid-sentence. I would like to have met the young woman who had once occupied this room, a young woman who cared enough to write to her Mum and Dad. I think I would have liked her. I wondered idly if she had managed to escape on the first day – and hoped that she had.
Yn neb kas, yth o lemmyn a bris marthus ughel an skians munys a-dro dh’aray an kollji re dhysksen ena. My a wodhya dell yllyn entra y’n drehevyans na ha, dres henna, dell yllyn drehedhes chambour may firys orth porth a-gledhbarth an kampus. My a draylyas genev Davydh, a wodhya travyth a-dro dhe byth esa ow hwarvos, ha gasa an zombis erell, meur aga sowdhan, dh’aga tenkys guntellek. Yn skon, ni re waynsa an bennoelva a vynnen – heb tus erell, byw po anvarow, y’n drehevyans dh’agan annia. Meneghi, yth esa lemmyn an muskotter yn-mes. An chambour-studhyer re dhewissen o nebes spartek – parosyow payntyes gwrys a vrykkys-gentevynn, gweli, desk ha kador, hag argh-lyvrow vyghan. Delghyas an chambour re via myrgh, dell heveli – studhyer y’n kynsa blydhen, dell grysav. Prag y lavarav henna? Yth esa glenys orth an paros displywyans ow tiskwedhes ‘An Teylu Partrydge’, hag ow figura yn chyf Davydh Kassidy, pur fresk y fisment. Nyns esa denvyth a-der myrgh y’n kynsa blydhen a amyttsa hy hara hwath an lammgolon arbennik na, meur y vri yntra’n myrghes y’n blydhynnyow war dheg. Nyns o na fella Kassidy herwydh an gis y’n tor’ na. Yth esa ethenn dhe’n chambour keffrys. Ny allav leverel yn ewn pyth o an ethenn ma (oyl ros?) mes hweg o – ha krev lowr rag kesstrivya erbynn fler napalm ow kregi hwath y’n ayr. War an argh-lyvrow, yth esa esedhys nebes a’n plasennow meurgerys yntra’n myrghes (Karol Kyng, Karli Saymon, Nina Symoen, Helen Reddi ha’n erell) ha, rybdha, nebes romansow, poran koth, rag an myrghes a’n blydhynnyow war dheg (‘Anne of Green Gables’, ‘Little Women’, ‘The Gettting of Wisdom’) War an desk, yth esa owth esedha jynn-skrifa IBM, ‘pell-golf’ y furv – arnowydh lowr (ha kostek) y’n tor’ na. Ynno, yth esa lyther a dhallathas “Mamm ha Tas ker”. Tekst an lyther a besyas dre dhew po tri rannskrifow kyns y hedhi a-dhistowgh, hanter-lavar. Da via genev ow tos erbynn an vyrgh re drigsa y’n chambour ma, myrgh a vern lowr dhe skrifa dh’y Mamm ha’y Thas. My a’s karsa, dell grysav. My a omwovynnas mar tianksa hi an kynsa dydh – govenek o dhymm hi dhe alloes gul yndella.

Take care fairly to comfort him,
Gwayt yn teg y gonfortya

fairly good
/ da lowr / / /

fairly
/ der vaner own / / gorer / adverb /

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, with a broad smile. (Yuck – again.) “We have a few little, shall we say, ‘games’ to play this morning,” he continued. Then he turned to Ingrid and ordered: “Doctor, shave their heads and apply the electrodes, if you would be so kind.” “Electrodes”? That didn’t sound very promising. What was left of my afro was roughly shaven – David’s hair, too. I didn’t really care much about this but David grumbled and moaned enormously. (I wondered idly whether all zombies were such whingers.) I hadn’t previously noticed that he – or any other zombie, for that matter – took any particular pride in their locks. Indeed, all the zombies that I’d met seemed to make it a badge of honour to clot their hair up with as much dried blood and congealed gore as they could. It was just the indignity of the thing, I suppose. Soon, my newly-bald head was covered with shiny, stick-on electrode pads – carefully placed on me by the tasty (?) Ingrid. The electrodes were then attached to an ancient-looking EEG (electroencephalogram) in order to measure my brain waves. Ingrid and the Captain then started to take readings from the cathode ray tube. Lots of lovely wiggly lines being traced across the screen. What did it mean? Dunno. I suppose it meant my brain was working. Beyond that? Ask someone else. They did this for a while and made a whole bunch of fairly boring and unintelligible (to me, at least) remarks. Then it was David’s turn. Same deal: carefully placed, stick-on electrodes all over his bald cranium, hook up to EEG, read out screen. Result? A screen full of flat-line tracings. Not even a faint wobble on any line. Not the slightest tremble. “This man is dead,” observed Ingrid. (What a genius!) “Hmm,” responded the Captain. (Another genius.)
“Myttin da, a dus jentyl,” yn-medh ev, ledan y vinhwarth. (Thukk – arta.) “Yma dhyn nebes ‘gwariow’ yw res dhe wari an myttin ma, y hallsen leverel,” a besyas ev. Ena, ev a dreylyas dhe Ingrid hag erghi: “’Dhoktour, gwra divarva aga fennow ha gorra warnedha an elektroedys, mar pleg.” “Elektroedys”? Nyns o da genev, son an ger na. Remenant a’m afro a veu divarvys yn harow – blew Davydh ynwedh. Yn hwir, nyns o govisyon dhymm yn y gever mes Davydh a grodhvolas ha kyni meur. (My a omwovynnas, heb porpos gwir, mars o oll an zombis kynoryon a’n par na.) Ny verksen kyns ev dhe klywes goeth arbennik yn y vlew – na, dres henna, zombis erell. Yn hwir, dell heveli, oll an zombis neb a vetsen vy re wrussa anodho arwoedhik enor dhe gowla aga blew gans kemmys goes sygh ha kemmys krow kowlys hag i a allsa gul ganso. Y tesevav bos yn sempel onan an moethow pur dhedha. Yn skon, gorherys o’m penn, moelhes a-nowydh, gans padynnow-elektroed glusek ha lentrus. Y fiens gorrys warnav gans Ingrid (an sawrek?) Gwivrennow dhe’n padynnow a veu stegys ena dhe grammelektrokefalek (GEK), gis koth, rag musura ow thonnow-ympynnyon. Ena, Ingrid ha’n Kapten a dhallathas kemmeres redyansow dhiworth skrin an bib golowynnow kathoedek (BGK). Yth esa meur a linennow ow krysya tresys a-dreus an skrin. Pyth a styrya hemma? Ny wonn. My a dhesev ow ympynnyon dhe vos owth oberi. Dres henna? Gwra govynn dhe nebonan arall. I a besya y’n fordh ma dres berrdermyn ha gul nebes kampoellow skwithus lowr na yllys bos konvedhys (genev vy, dhe’n lyha). Ena, tro dhe Dhavydh o. An keth tra o: gorrys yn le gans rach, padynnow- elektroed glusek oll a-dro y benn moel, gwra fast an gwivrennow dhe’n GEK ha lenna pyth a dhiskwedhas an skrin. An sywyans? Skrin leun a dresyansow lin-platt. Nyns esa trebuchyans ydhil hogen war neb linenn. Kren vyth. “An den ma yw marow,” observyas Ingrid. (Ass o hi awenoges!) “Hmm,” a worthybis an Kapten. (Awenek arall.)

You will need to be fairly confident in your Cornish and keen to have a go.
Y fydh edhom bos kyfyansek lowr yn dha Gernewek ha gans mall dhe assaya.