truck driver oor Kornies

truck driver

naamwoord

A person employed to drive a semi truck.

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

lewyer kert

Soortgelyke frases

truck drivers
lewyoryon kert

voorbeelde

truck driver
/ lewyer kert / / /

truck drivers
/ lewyoryon kert / / /

“I’d like to get some food to them – to keep them going till relief comes. If it comes. Any ideas?” I expected that Paul would think this a dangerous, if not impossible, task to achieve. But, no. His response was as quick as it was matter-of-fact: “There’s a truck parked just to the North of the cemetery in Lygon Street, a refrigerated truck like they use to make deliveries to supermarkets. I saw it on the afternoon of day two, just before everything went black for me. The diesel engine was still idling at the time and the refrigeration unit was still running. No sign of any driver. The truck might still be there.” Amazing. “And full of food?” I asked. “Probably. I didn’t bother to check inside. Charles and I had already raided the gate-keeper’s house. We didn’t need more food at that time – and it wasn’t worth the risk of exposing ourselves by going out in the open. However, as you can see, I made a mental note of the vehicle for future reference.” “Will you come with me and David to check it out?” “Fuck off!” said Paul. “You don’t need me and, even if you did, I’m not yet that hungry.” There was nothing more to be said. I called out to David. He didn’t come. I needed to go inside to arouse him from his afternoon torpor. (Yes, I did kick him and, yes, he did complain loudly.) “Come on, Dave. We’ve got work to do.”
“My a garsa kavoes nebes boes ragdha – rag aga skoedhya bys pan dheu difresyans. Mar teu ev. Eus tybyansow dhiso jy?” My re waytsa Powl dhe grysi bos hemma oberenn peryllus - ma na ve anpossybyl yn tien bos gwrys. Byttegyns, nyns o hemma y gryjyans mann. Y worthyp ev o uskis ha heb trynn: “Yma kert kevelsys parkyes a-gledhbarth an ynkleudhva yn Stret Lygon, kert- yeynell kepar dell yw usyes rag doen proviansow dhe’n gorvarghasow. My a’n welas dohajydh an nessa dydh, kyns dhe dhos an duder oll dhe’m brys. Yth esa hwath owth oberi yn lent an jynn disel y’n tor’ na. Nyns esa sin vyth a’y lywyer. Possybyl yw an kert dhe vos ena hwath.” Ass o hemma marthek. “Ha lenwys gans boes?” a wovynnis vy. “Gwirhaval yw. Ny omdroblis vy rag mires a-bervedh. My ha Charles re omsettsa seulabrys war ji porther. Nyns esa edhomm a voes moy y’n termyn na – ha ny dela an peryll dhe omdhiskwedhes yn apert. Byttegyns, dell yllydh gweles, my a notyas y’m brys presens a’n kert ma rag gul devnydh possybyl anodho y’n termyn a dho. “A vynnydh dos genev ha Davydh rag mires orto?” “Ke dhe-ves!” yn-medh Powl. “Nyns eus edhomm vyth dhywgh ahanan ha, mars esa edhomm yn hwir, ny vien hwath nownek lowr rag henna.” Nyns esa travyth moy bos leverys. My a elwis dhe Dhavydh. Ny dheuth ev. Res o dhymm entras a-bervedh rag y waya dhiworth marder y dhohajydh. (Ya, my a wrug y botya ha, ya, ev a wrug krodhvolas yn ughel.) “Deun yn-rag, ‘Dhav. Yma res dhyn a wul oberenn.”

THE RELIEF OF THE BAILLIEU It was just as Paul had described: a large refrigerated truck, ‘parked’ at a set of traffic lights in Lygon Street, the door of the cab wide open and no driver in sight – and the diesel engine was still idling. (Frugal beasts, those diesel engines.) The vehicle was otherwise untouched – what good was it to zombies? So, David and I approached, and opened the rear doors without difficulty. The driver had obviously only just started his delivery run – the refrigerated compartment was absolutely full of frozen foodstuffs of all kinds. Meat and poultry – frozen and processed. Fruit and vegetables. Pallet loads of it. Literally, tonnes of it. More than enough to feed the fugitives in the Baillieu for weeks. “Hey, Dave! Paul is a complete genius! We could have spent weeks looking for something like this.” David said nothing – not even a grunt came from him. This stuff was now unimportant to him and, I guessed, he wanted to be elsewhere (the basement of Union House) more than ever. “Too bad, Dave,” I said. “I’m not going back there.” (Not unless I absolutely had to.) I was minded to jump into the cab and drive straight to the Baillieu but I had another idea. I would drive it back to the crypt in the cemetery or, at least, as near as I could get this lumbering great vehicle to it. “Jump in, Dave,” I said. “We’re going for a little ride.” David reluctantly complied – he had no other pressing engagements. Of course, you might object that this all sounds highly improbable – and, indeed it was, the finding of the truck, at least. But there was no improbability about my being able to drive that truck. True it is that I did not possess an articulated vehicle licence and had never tried to get one. True also is that, if called upon to drive this vehicle further than the mile or so that I now needed to drive, I would probably have crashed the truck or damaged it irreparably.
DIFRESYANS AN BAILLIEU. Yth o kepar dell dheskrifsa Powl: kert-yeynell meur, ‘parkyes’ a-dherag dhe wolowys daromres yn Stret Lygon, daras an kab ledan apert ha mes a-wel y lywyer. Yth esa an jynn disel hwath owth oberi yn lent. (Bestes tanow, an jynnow disel ma.) Ken andochyes o an kert – py par devnydh o ev dhe zombis? Ytho, yth omneshas Davydh ha my dhodho hag igeri an darasow a-dhelergh heb kaletter. Yn apert, ny dhallathsa an lywyer saw a-dhiwedhes doen proviansow dh’y werthjiow – lenwys yn tien o an kertgell yeynellys gans boes rewys a bub sort. Kig bewin ha kig yar – gwrys ha rewys. Froeth ha losow-kegin. Gweliasow-karg anedha. Tonnas anedha, yn hwir. Yth esa moy a voes es dell o res rag maga an fowesigyon y’n Lyverva Baillieu dres seythunyow a dho. “Hay, ‘Dhavydh! Ass yw Powl awenek pur! Possybyl a via tremena seythunyow rag kavoes neppyth kepar ha hemma.” Ny leveris Davydh travyth - ny dheuth dhiworto rogh hogen. Nyns o poesek an materow ma dhodho lemmyn ha, dell wodhyen, ev a vynna yn feur bos yn ken le (yn sellder Chi an Kesunyans). “Ny’m deur, ‘Dhav,” yn-medhav. “Ny vynnav dehweles alena.” (Marnas esa edhomm ter dhymm a wul yndella.) Namnag erviris vy lamma y’n kab ha lywya an kert a-dhistowgh dhe’n Baillieu mes y teuth dhymm tybyans arall. Y’n kynsa le, my a allsa y lywya dhe’n gleudhgell po, y’n lyha, maga nes dell yllyn dri an kert meur ma dhodho. “Lamm a-bervedh, ‘Dhav,” yn-medhav. “Yth eson ni ow kemmeres vyaj byghan.” Akordyes o Davydh – nebes a’y anvodh – mes nyns esa dhodho deverow erell esa ow herdhya warnodho. Heb mar, y hyllys skonya a grysi an hwarvos ma drefenn na heveli bos gwirhaval – hag, yn hwir, nyns o gwirhaval mann dhe gavoes kert kepar dell gavsen. Byttegyns, gwirhaval yn tien o’m galloes lywya an kert na. Yn sertan, nyns esa dhymm kummyas-lywya rag an kertow – ha ny assaysen nevra kavoes onan anedha. Gwir o keffrys, mar fia edhomm dhymm lywya an kert ma moy es a-dro dhe’n mildir o res dhymm dhe lywya, an kert a via deghesys erbynn oll an taklow a-hes an fordh - po my a wrussa kisyans dhodho dres y ewnheans.

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.”