Metadata
Author: langbot
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English[en]
“You haven’t been reading the papers, my friend,” I replied. Our own troops had not long returned from the war and been demobbed. The morale of those remaining had been destroyed, firstly by what had happened to them (and what they had witnessed) in that war and, secondly, by the reception they had received upon their return home. To our great shame, our soldiers were reviled in the street and ignored by those in the government which had sent them (often as 19 year-old conscripts whose ‘number’ had come up in a public ballot.) Many were even spat upon when they returned. They had not asked to go to that war and, in most cases, had only served their country in the way that their revered fathers and grandfathers had done before them. The injustice that they suffered would not be addressed until many years later – and, even then, inadequately and too late for the many who had died (often by their own hand) in the meantime. Of importance to the zombie apocalypse that was now occurring, the Australian Army was, just then, not in prime shape to meet the challenge that unexpectedly confronted the nation. But, as it turned out, they were not so far away even then. After a time, Paul and I realised we could do no more than speculate as to what may have been happening outside Melbourne. So, the conversation turned to more immediate matters. “The folks back at the Baillieu are starving, you know,” I said. “Really starving. They’ve had nothing substantial to eat since this all began – just a few snacks from the vending machines.” “And they are not likely to get re-supplied any time soon, I’d guess,” said Paul. “But why are you concerned? They kicked you out, didn’t they?” “David and I were a package deal: kick him out and you kick me out,” I said. “And they had to kick him out, didn’t they? I hold no grudges. They are still good kids.” No argument from Paul. I continued:
Cornish[kw]
“Yn apert, ny wredh redya an nowodhow-paperyow, ow sos,” a worthybis. Y tehwelsa agan soudoryon dhiworth an vresel nans o berrdermyn – hag y fiens, rann vrassa anedha, digommyttyes dhiworth an lu. Spyrys an re na re remaynsa re via distruys – yn kynsa le, gans pyth re hwarsa dhedha (ha gans pyth a welsens i) dres an vresel na hag, yn nessa le, gans ‘dynnargh’ a dhegemmersens hag i dehwelys yn tre. Meur agan meth, agan soudoryon re via milliges y’n stret ha skonya aswonn dhedha gans an governans re aga danvonnsa (menowgh pan nag ens saw nawnsek bloedh - ha pan dhothya aga niver yn ‘gwari-dall’ poblek.) Yth esa meur re via trewys warnedha pan dhehwelsens. Ny wovynnsens bos danvennys dhe’n vresel ma ha, dres vras, i re servysa aga bro yn fordh kepar dell servysa kyns aga thasow ha’ga thasow-gwynn, meur aga reowta. Ny veu konsydrys yn ewn, an gammhynseth ma re wodhevsens, bys meur a vlydhynnyow a-wosa – hag, ena, nyns o da lowr na skon lowr rag an re a vawrsa (menowgh gans aga dorn aga honan) y’n termyn re dremensa. A-dro dhe’n gordhroglamm esa ow hwarvos y’n tor’ na, nyns o an Lu Ostralek y’n gwella furv rag metya an chalenj re savsa erbynn an genedhel heb gwarnyans. Mes, dell happyas, nyns esa an lu pellder dhiworthyn. Wosa pols, y hwodhyen, Powl ha my, na yllyn ni gul travyth a-der aventurya agan tybyansow a-dro dhe’n hwarvosow yn-mes Melbourne. Ytho, y treylyas an keskows troha’n materow a res. “Yma’n dus y’n Baillieu ow famya, dell wodhesta,” yn-medhav. “Yn hwir, ow famya. Nyns eus dhedha boes vyth a-dhia dalleth an gordhroglamm – a-der nebes kroustyow dhiworth an jynnow-gwerther.” “Ha, dres henna, nyns yw gwirhaval aga bos dasdhabarys yn skon,” yn-medh Powl. “Byttegyns, prag yw henna a vern dhis? I a’th tewlis yn-mes alena, a ny dowlsons?” “Bargen kompassus o Davydh ha my: mara y’n dowlsens yn-mes, y’m towllens yn-mes keffrys,” yn-medhav. “Ha res o dhedha y dewlel yn-mes, a nyns o? Nyns eus drogvrys dhymm. Fleghes da ons hwath.” Dadhel vyth dhiworth Powl. My a besyas: