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Author: langbot
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English[en]
WHAT DID ‘THE REG’ SAY AGAIN? Picture, if you will, a seminar room full of eager boy soldiers – all about 15 or 16 years old – very earnest, very self-important and very proud of ‘the uniform’ they wore. I had once been one of those boy soldiers (or ‘toy soldiers’, as some would have it). As a fourth form student, I had been in such a seminar room at Puckapunyal army base – wide-eyed and anxious to learn the lessons of war. Like most boys of my generation, I was an Army Cadet – I think I mentioned this earlier. Hard to believe now – i.e. that most of our schoolboys would routinely be trained in the art of war – but nevertheless true. (Some would later be sent to fight in Vietnam – usually against their will.) Did we learn a lot about the true nature of war? No, not a lot, it must be confessed. But, suddenly, the meagre knowledge that I had acquired in that particular seminar needed urgently to be summoned from the deepest recesses of my memory. The topic: Jungle Warfare. What did that ‘Reg’ (regular army officer) say again? I remember him well. He was very impressive – to me, at least. Tall and athletic, his crisp, tailored uniform was adorned with shiny brass buttons. (I could never get mine to shine like that – ‘Brasso’ simply didn’t do the trick. It later turned out that the regulars no longer needed to polish their buttons at all – they’d been anodised.) He said he’d served two tours of ‘Nam. (He was in his late twenties, I suppose.) He spoke with the confidence that commanding ‘fighting men’ gave to one – or so I supposed. But why on Earth was such an experienced soldier assigned to the menial task of lecturing school kids? I can safely assume it had nothing to do with the quality and military potential of the spotty-faced members of the audience.
Cornish[kw]
PYTH RE LAVARSA ‘AN REG’? Ottomma skeusenn: stevell-semynar, leun a vab-soudoryon, meur aga frethter – oll a-dro dh’aga fymthek po hwetek bloedh – pur dhiwysyk, leun a’ga foesekter aga honan, ha prout ens i a’n ‘uniform’ a wiskens. Unnweyth, y fien vy onan yntra’n vab-soudoryon na (po, dell leverys menowgh, an ‘gwariell-soudoryon’ na). Avel studhyer yn blydhyn 10, yth esen a’m esedh yn stevell-semynar a’n par na dhe Gaslys Pukkapunyal an lu ostralek – ledan ow dewlagas ha freth dhe dhyski dyskansow breselyek. Kepar ha rann vrassa an vebyon ow henedh, y fien prentys-soudor – my a grys my dhe gampoella hemma kyns. Kales dhe grysi lemmyn – henn yw leverel, rann vrassa an studhyoryon worow a veu trenys, herwydh usadow, y’n artys breselyek. Byttele, an gwiryonedh yw. (Diwettha, nebes yntra’n vab-soudoryon a via danvennys dhe Vietnam rag batalyas ena, a’ga anvodh herwydh usadow.) A wrussyn ni dyski meur a-dro dhe’n gnas wir a vresel? Na wrussyn. Ny dhyskyn ni nameur, mars ov onest. Byttegyns, a-dhesempis, res o dhymm porres daskelwel an skians tanow ma, skians re dhegemmersen y’n semynar unnik na, dhiworth an downna kylyow a’m brys. An mater: Bresel y’n Gwylgoes. Pyth re lavarsa an ‘Reg’ (Soedhek Lu Reyth)? My a borth kov anodho yn ta. Meur y boesekter, y’m brys vy dhe’n lyha, ev o hir hag athletek, y uniform, kresik ha treghys yn ta, o afinys gans botonyow tew ha lenter. (Ny yllyn nevra gul splanna yndellna ow botonyow ow honan – ny ylli ‘Brasso’ gul henna. My a dhyskas diwettha nag esa edhomm na fella dhe’n reythow a bolsya mann aga botonyow drefenn aga bos anowdhes.) Ev a leveris ev dhe soedha yn dew dorn-dever yn ‘Nam. (Nyns o na hwath yn y vloedh dew warn ugensves, dell grysav.) Ev a gewsi gans fydhyans re dhothya dhiworth komondyans an vreselysi – po yndella dell grysyn vy. Byttegyns, prag y fia appoyntyes souder, meur y brevyans, rag wul oberenn geth kepar hag areth dhe’n skolhegyon? Salow yw dhe dhesevos nag o drefenn gnas deg po galladewder breselek an woslowysi, meur aga huriegi.