low gear now oor Kornies

low gear now

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

maglen isel lemmyn

voorbeelde

low gear now
/ maglen isel lemmyn / / /

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.
Unnweyth arta, my a wrug bresel gans maglennow an kert: Krakk! Krakk! Krakk! Paul a’m gweresas dre y gwestyon: “Esosta sur ty dhe alloes lywya an dra ma?” (Ha dre gwestyons erell a’n par na.) Meur ras, ‘Bowl. Yn neb kas, wor’tiwedh, my a gevis maglenn isel lowr rag gasa an kert dalleth gwaya - gans lamm. “Wel, ott maglenn deg!” a verkyis vy ha ni korsyes, 4 po 5 mildir an our agan toeth. “Ni a dalvien triga gans an huni na, dell grysav, ay?” Yn kettermyn, Powl ha Davydh a hwythas yn ughel – yn keth maner poran - mes nyns esa gorthyp kewsys vyth dhiworth an eyl po dhiworth an gila. Gans hemma, yth en nebes troblys. Wosa oll, nyns o Powl hwath omwellhes yn tien. Da lowr, y fia Powl yn skon y’n Baillieu – ha ny via na fella ow hudynn vy. Ni a asas Kromman Kollji hag entra yn Kerdhva Ryel, ow kwaya troha’n dhygowbarth. Res o dhymm kavoes entrans an howlsedhes a ylli ow hemmeres dhe dharas a-rag an Baillieu. (Nyns yw possybyl na fella gul devnydh a’n fordh ma drefenn bos lemmyn drehevyansow nowydh warnodho.) Yth esa, heb mar, termyn lowr rag lywya gans rach ewn mes yth esen ow lavurya, yn effeyth, yn len-servis Kerdhva Ryel. An len-servis ma o nebes ynn hag yth en keys a-ji war an dhew du gans resyow elow koth. (Pur deg, heb mar, mes kudynn gwir pan assayen vy trabellhe kert meur.) My a aspias an entrans – wor’tiwedh – ha gwaska an fronn gans rach. Ny vynnen an jynn euthyk dhe fyllel wosa oll an hwarvosow ma – yn hwir, ny yllen perthi kov dell o dasdhallethys mars o res y wul. Byttegyns, ny vynnen kevrenna an kevrin gans an re erell. My a erviras na via hemma meur a vern dhedha, ow fowt skians a-dro dhe’n mater ma. Torn a-gledh. Y frappyes dhe du gwydhenn veur. (Krakk!) Ena, y lywyes dre (hag a-ugh) skovva porther. (Tros ughel a alkan ow therri.) Ena, y frywes der an yetbren. (Skwatt!) “Re’n jyowl!” a grias ow sos gethreydel yn unnlev. “Hmm,” yn-medhav. “Yn hwir, yth eth henna yn ta, hay!” “Eson ni ena hwath, ‘Dasik?” yn-medh Powl, gwan y lev ow krena.

But this was not the case – and I was perfectly capable of driving this thing, at low speed and in low gears, for the required distance. For you see, during my previous Summer holidays, I had worked in the yard at IPEC (a now-defunct trucking firm). I was, of course, only paid to load trucks but, from time to time, I was called upon to shift trucks in the yard to get them out of the way of essential operations. Shit! I knew quite enough to shift this baby – at 5 mph or so. Having moved the somewhat tattered driver’s seat (the driver must have been a much bigger man than I was – and tough on the fabric) and then, having re- acquainted myself with the basic controls, I crunched the gears loudly and we were off – at a crawl. I had time to try the radio – still no broadcasts worth listening to. No news. No information. What were ‘the authorities’ up to and why weren’t they here, rescuing us? After an uncommonly long time, we reached the intersection of Lygon Street and Princes Street. I executed a right-hand turn, taking down a traffic sign in the process – no matter. Then, after a further crawl towards College Crescent, I decided to abandon the idea of actually entering the cemetery. (Perhaps I wasn’t quite as good at driving trucks as I had thought.) Meantime, I caught David, in the (much less shabby) passenger seat, waving at the numerous zombies who had stopped at the side of the road to observe the spectacle of my miserable driving. Cheeky bastard! None of them waved back – I guess waving isn’t a regular zombie-thing. (And David was, and is, no regular zombie.) I pulled the truck up outside the main entrance of the cemetery and ‘parked’ in the middle of the road. (There was, of course, no other traffic to be obstructed.) I left it idling. “Come on, Dave,” I said. “We’re going to get Paul and Charles.”
Mes nyns o yndella – my a ylli yn tien lywya an dra ma, toeth isel ha maglenn isel, dres an pellder o res – drefenn bos edhomm dhywgh godhvos, y’n dy’goelyow re dremensa, my re obersa y’n garth IPEC (kowethas marow lemmyn). Y fien vy pes, heb mar, rag karga an kertow mes, menowgh, y fien gelwys rag aga gwaya y’n garth rag gasa oberennow o res pesya. Kawgh! My a wodhya moy es lowr rag gwaya an kertik ma – y doeth ogas dhe 5 mildir an our. My a janyas le an gador-lywyer – esa nebes fregys. Yth heveli bos an lywer brassa yn feur es dell en vy. (Yonker moen en vy ena.) Yth heveli keffrys y vos rust gans pann an gador. My a dhasdhyskas yn uskis maystri an jynnow- rewlyans selyek hag ena krakkya yn ughel an maglennow. Yth en ni war agan fordh – yn-unn-gramya. Yth esa termyn lowr dhe woslowes orth an radyo – hwath darlesansow vyth. (Y’n lyha, nyns esa darlesansow mann may talvien bos goslowys orta.) Nowodhow vyth. Derivadow vyth. Pyth o towlow ‘an awtoritys’? Ha, dres henna, prag nag esens i omma, orth agan selwel? Wosa hirneth tanow, ni a dhrehedhas krowsfordh stretow Lygon ha Princes. My a wrug torn dhe’n barth dhyghow, ha my kuntellys arwoedh daromres – ny vern. Ena, wosa kramyans arall wor’ tu ha Kromman Kollji, my a erviras forsakya tybyans dhe entra y’n ynkleudhva. (Martesen nyns o mar dha ow kreft avel lywyer-kert.) Y’n kettermyn na, my a aspias Davydh (y’n gador, le usyes, an tremenyas) dhe wevya orth meur a zombis re hedhsa war ryb an fordh rag mires orth an gwari- mir, ow lywyans euthyk. Bastard tont! Denvyth yntredha ny wrug daskorr gwevyans – nyns yw hemma herwydh usadow an zombis gemmyn, dell grysav – mes nyns o, ha nyns yw, Davydh zombi kemmyn vyth. An kert a hedhis a-dherag dhe jyf entrans an ynkleudhva, ‘parkyes’ yn kres an fordh. (Nyns esa, heb mar, daromres arall bos lettyes.) Y remaynya an jynn- disel owth oberi hwath yn lent. “Deun yn rag, ‘Dhav,” yn-medhav. “Y fynnyn ni mos rag kavoes Powl ha Charles.”