that we were lost oor Kornies

that we were lost

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

may fen kellys

voorbeelde

that we were lost
/ may fen kellys / / /

Another soldier spoke: ``Woe to us that we were ever born. Alas, O god, alas, alas! a sleep has caught us out. we have lost our lives and our children also. let us get ready. let us cross over away from the land. let us escape so we are not caught.
marghek arall a gowsas go-ni vydh pan ven genys tru a dhyw ellas ellas gans unn hun re ben toellys an bywnans ni re gollas hag ynwedh agan fleghes omdhyghtyen treussyn a'n wlas fien na vyn ni kevys

It was still dark and David and I had, I guessed, about an hour ahead of us, stumbling through the thick bush to gain my objective. I hoped that my mental picture of the lay of the land – that I had formed some years previously while on patrol as an Army Cadet – had remained sufficiently accurate. If not, the confidence I had just shown to the Sergeant could turn out to be mere bravado, particularly when the tracker dogs arrived from Melbourne. Before Puckapunyal Army Base had been set up by the military (during the first World War) there had been a fair bit of (comparatively unsuccessful) mining activity in the area. Once the military had taken over, of course, this had all ceased – and, given the lack of genuine mineral ‘strikes’ in the area, no-one had been particularly disappointed by this government decision. People quickly forgot the modest legacy of mining that the area once had. When I was a boy soldier, leading my rag-tag squad of schoolboys through the dense bushland of the Scrub Hill area, we got lost – naturally. We deviated from the planned route by many miles and were unable to make our way back to camp until hours after the time allotted for the navigation exercise had expired. The teachers and the Army instructor were very unhappy with us – and, in particular, with me – since I was the nominal leader of the squad. (Lucky squad!) Why had we gotten lost? I had absorbed keenly the navigation lessons provided to us by the regular army guys and I knew very well how to read a detailed topographic map. I also knew how to use a modern, rugged and highly accurate prismatic compass. What then had been the problem? The fucking Bren gun had been the problem! Yes, you heard it right. The Army let a bunch of stupid kids wander about the Australian bush with a Bren Gun. For the uninitiated, this is a heavy machine gun of World War II vintage – old but absolutely lethal.
Hwath tewl o hag yth esa dhymm ha Davydh, dell grysyn, ogas dhe’n our ow trebuchya der an gwylvos tew rag drehedhes ow amkan. Govenek o dhymm y trigsa kler lowr y’m brys skeusenn fas a’n pow. Homma re via furvyes nans o nebes blydhynnyow ha my patrolyes gans bagas prentys- soudoryon. Mar nyns esa kler lowr, ny via travyth saw bostyans an hardhder a dhiskwedhsen dhe’n Serjont, yn arbennik pan dhothya an keun-helerghi dhiworth Melbourne. Kyns bos fondyes Selva Pukkapunyal gans an awtoritys (dres blydhynnyow an Kynsa Bresel an Bys) y fia ena meur a valweyth – na via sewenus dre vras. Pan via kemmerys an tiryow gans an awtoritys breselek, oll an balweyth re hedhsa, heb mar. Dres henna, drefenn fowt trovyansow moen rych ynna, ny via meur a dhiswaytyans kawsys gans an ervirans governansel ma. Yn berrdermyn, peub re ankovsa istori kott a valweyth y’n tiryow na. Pan esen mab-souder, ow ledya ow fara a skolyers ankempenn der an gwylvos tew a-dro dhe Vre an Krann, ni eth ha bos kellys – heb mar. Ni a dreylyas a- dhiworth an fordh dewlys – lies mildir a-ves, yn hwir – hag ytho ny yllyn dehweles dh’agan kamp bys pan dremensa ouryow wosa an termyn rag an oberenn-navigasyon ma. Nyns o lowen genen an dhyskadoryon skolyek (na byth namoy o an dyskador an lu) – yn arbennik, nyns ens i lowen genev drefenn ow bos hembrenkyas hanwel an para. (Ass o feusik an para!) Prag y hylsen ha bos kellys? My re lonksa dihwans an dyskansow navigasyon proviyes dhyn gans soudoryon gemmyn hag ytho my a wodhya yn ta dell o redyes mappa topografek, meur y vanylyon. Dres henna, y hwodhyen keffrys dell o devnydhyes kompas kenkeynek, meur y nerth ha’y gewerder. Ytho, pyth re via an kudynn? An gonn Bren euthyk re via an kudynn! Ya, ty re’n redyas yn ewn. Lu Ostralek re assa bagas a vebyon wokki dhe wandra oll a-dro an gwylvos Ostralek ow toen gonn Bren. Rag an re anurdhyes, hemm o jynn-setha poes ow tos dhiworth oes an Nessa Bresel an Bys – koth mes ladhadow yn tien.

I had not had a cold shower for years. I had not had a shower of any description since Day One. David wasn’t the only one who stank. Having filled the watering can, I stood in the corner near the tap – over the small drain – and, lifting the can above my head, played the sprinkling water over my grimy, sweaty and bloody body. I shivered from the shock of the cold water but, almost immediately, felt refreshed and reinvigorated. The muck that was caked on my skin and in my hair fell away – thanks to some fragrant soap that I was using liberally – and that, I presumed, had also been ‘liberated’ from the gatekeeper’s residence. David’s dead eyes observed the cleansing of my body with no obvious emotion. In the back of my mind, I knew that I had to get David cleaned up if ever I were to be able to pass him off as a living soul – and effect an escape from the ‘war- zone’. How much resistance to this would he put up when I insisted on this? Having dried myself – using an equally ‘liberated’ towel – I stood looking at David. He returned the stare. (He was, at least, exceptionally good at that.) “David?” I said. “Your turn now – you’re a very dirty little boy!” He seemed to like being babied by me. Maybe it evoked some distant memory of his childhood, when Mum used to scold us for being such ‘grubs’ (which we were). I can’t be sure, of course, but, in any event, he rose to his feet and approached. He stood in front of me like a small child who could not undo his buttons. (In fact, I think he may have lost so much dexterity that this task was now beyond him.) I started to undo his blood-stained rags and he did not offer a protest. Soon, he stood naked and, like a small child, waited obediently for his bath. I gently bathed his greying skin, patched with tape the odd tear in his flesh that he had suffered as a result of recent carnal activities – and then shed a tear over what had become of my handsome brother.
Ny gemmersen kowas yeyn a-dhia nebes blydhynnyow. Ny gemmersen kowas vyth a-dhia Dydh Onan. Nyns o Davydh an huni unnik gans fler euthyk. Lenwys an kafas dowr, yth esen a’m sav y’n gornell ogas dhe’n tapp – hag a- ugh an sygerva byghan. Ha my drehevys an kafas a-ugh ow fenn, my a skoellyas an dowr ow stifa war ow horf goesek, meur y lastedhes ha’y hwys. Skruth an dowr yeyn a’m gwrug degrena mes, ogas a-dhistowgh, my a omglywo bos refreshyes ha dasnerthys. Y koedhas dhe-ves an most re via kalesys war ow kroghen hag y’m blew – gras dhe nebes sebon, hweg y ethenn, may hwren devnydh meur anodho. An sebon ma re via ‘delivrys’ ynwedh dhiworth chi an porther, dell grysen. Yth esa dewlagas marow Davydh owth attendya glanheans a’m korf, heb movyans vyth apert. Y’n delergh ow brys, my a wodhya bos res dhe Dhavydh bos glanhes mar pe possybyl dhe omwul y vos enev byw – ha diank ‘greugys an vresel’. Pygemmys defens a via dhiworto dh’y gowas pan deris vy? Ow kul devnydh a dowell (‘delivrys’ yn kepar maner), my a omsyghas ha sevel ena ow mires orth Davydh. Ev a settyas y dremmynn warnav. (Ev a ylli, dhe’n lyha, gul henna pur dha.) “’Dhavydh?” yn-medhav. “Dha dro jy yth yw lemmyn – meppik pur blos osta!” Yth heveli bos da ganso pan y’n dyghtyis kepar ha baban. Martesen, y trosa dh’y vrys kov hanter-ankevys a’y flogoleth. Y hwre Mamm agan deraylya drefenn agan bos ‘kontron’ (ha henn o gwir). Ny allav bos sur, heb mar, mes, yn neb kas, ev a sevis yn-bann hag omneshe dhymm. Yth esa a’y sav a-dheragov vy kepar ha flogh byghan na ylli diswul y votonyow. (Yn hwir, possybyl o y kollsa kemmys sleyghneth yn y diwdhorn ma na ylli na fella gul an oberenn ma.) My a dhallathas diswul y bilennow re via nammys yn town gans goes ha nyns esa krodhvol vyth dhiworto ev. Yn skon, ev a sevi noeth a-dheragov ha, kepar ha fleghik, gortos yn unn wostydh rag y dronkys. Yn tov, my a badhyas y groghen loes ha kloutya gans tapa nebes skwardyow yn y geher godhevys a-gynsow drefenn y vywderyow karnal. Ena, my a dhellos dager drefenn tenkys ow broder teg.

Actually, although the entrance was badly collapsed and barely passable (Boofa and Chooka had real trouble squeezing through) the walls of the tunnel seemed to be in surprisingly good shape. The wooden props had clearly rotted out and many of them lay about on the floor of the tunnel in a random fashion – but the walls themselves showed little sign of crumbling. The cool, damp rock seemed pretty firm. We wandered about for a while – one of the ‘mummy’s boys’ had a panic attack and, I confess, I felt first touch of claustrophobia, too. But I was okay and, after half an hour or so, before we actually lost anyone in what turned out to be more of a labyrinth than a mere tunnel, the squad emerged back into the daylight to resume our pointless wanderings. Had I ever intended to go back? No, but that’s where David and I were now headed. I had estimated it would take David and me approximately an hour to find the tunnel. That was how long it had taken my squad to march out of the bush once my squad’s ‘rescuers’ had arrived. But they, unlike me, had known what they were doing. So, this time round, it ended up taking a little longer than I had expected. By midday next day, I was exhausted, having been stumbling about in the bush for hours and, apparently, no closer to our goal. I sat down on the hard earth and wept a little. (Okay! I was fuckin’ tired and still pretty sick! Don’t forget that I could barely walk when I’d been picked up at the infirmary and the adrenalin rush was, by this time, long gone.) David was moaning – of course. I fell asleep in the sun – but, on this occasion (unlike my unplanned snooze in the Castlemaine Gardens), it did not lead to dire consequences. I’d say it was an hour or so later when I awoke. I could hear David groaning – not a surprise – but it was in the distance and now there was an urgency about his groaning. I followed the groaning for, maybe, two hundred metres up the hill upon which I had been sleeping. David was standing (in triumph?) at the mouth of the tunnel, grinning and roaring.
Yn hwir, kynth o an porth fyllys yn tien ha namna yllyn ni y dremena, (y fia meur a galetter dhe Boofa ha dhe Chooka kyns i dhe alloes omstroetha rag entra ynno) yth o gwallow an bal yn shap marthys da. Yn kler, an jistys o leythys yn tien hag yth esa meur anedha ow gorwedha hwymm-hwamm oll a-dro war leur an gowfordh. Byttegyns, nyns esa sin vyth, po ogas, a vrywans y’n gwallow aga honan. Yth heveli bos poran krev an karn yeyn ha glyb. Ni a wandras oll a-dro dres termyn nebes hir – onan yntra’n ‘vebyon-vammik’ eth ha bos ownekhes ha, dres henna, my a omglywas ynwedh tamm a glosown. Mes da lowr en ha, wosa neb hanter-our ha kyns o kellys nebonan y’n milhentall ma (yn hwir nyns o kowfordh sempel), y tehwelas an para dhe’n golow dydh rag dasdhalleth agan gwandransow heb amkan y’n gwylvos. A bredersen vy kyns dhe dhehweles ena? Na bredersen. Byttegyns, lemmyn ow amkan o. Y kryssen y fia edhomm dhymm ha dhe Dhavydh ogas dhe’n our rag kavoes an gowfordh. Henn re via an termyn re via res dhe’m para rag kerdhes yn-mes an gwylvos wosa agan ‘sawyoryon’ dhe dhos. Byttegyns, i re wodhvia pyth esens ow kul – dihaval dhyn ni. Ytho, an prys ma, res o dhyn termyn nebes hirra ages dell waytsen. Hanter-dydh, an nessa dydh, spenys en vy wosa agan trebuchyans der an gwylvos dres lies our. Nyns esen nes vyth dh’agan amkan. My a esedhas war an leur kales hag oela nebes. (Da lowr! Euthyk skwith en ha hwath poran klav! Na wra ankevi namna yllyn kerdhes pan wrussen gasa an vedhegva – ha, dres henna, y hedhsa an adrenalyn resek y’m korf nans o termyn hir.) Yth esa Davydh ow kyni – heb mar. My a goedhas yn kosk yn-dann an howlsplann. Byttegyns, an prys ma (dihaval dhe’m kosk andowlys yn Lowarthow Kastelmayn), nyns esa sywyansow euthyk. My a goskas dres our, po ogas, dell grysav, hag y hyllyn klywes hwath kynyans Davydh – nag o marth – mes yth esa neb mall dh’y gynyans lemmyn. My a sywyas an kynyans ma dre bellder a dhew gans meter ha my kerdhys war- vann an vre may fien yn kosk. Yth esa Davydh ow sevel (meur y wormola?) ogas dhe borth an gowfordh. Yth esa ow minhwerthin, ow vedhygla.