2025 Day 316

2025 Dedh Trei Hans ha Whetek

De Merher, dewdhegves mis Dû

Wednesday, 12th November

Otta radn ow whedhel. An whidlores ew mos. Rosa henwys ew hy hôr ha Tristan henwys ew hy broder. Ma 'ga ownter ow tos rag visyt.

Here's part of my story. The narrator is a girl. Her sister is called Rosa and her brother is called Tristan. Their uncle is coming for a visit.

    “Fatel ell Ownter Matthe dendyl y vownas war an mor?” 

    “Marner ew e, dhana,” theram ow coven arta, “po pescador?”

  “Morlader, martesen. Bucanyer?”, ma Rosa ow treylya gòcky.

   “Canor ajwonys ew ev. Ma va ow kil sonscrifow ha gwertha anjei a veur a vòna.”

  Thera nei ow clowes son. Carr ew. Devedhys ew Ownter Matthe. Mall ew genam gweles an ownter kevrinek ma.

   Ma Tas owth egor an daras. Marth ew genen, Rosa ha my. Nag ew an den hir pecar’a Tas. Nag eus othom dhen a vires emann dhe weles y vejeth. Ma va en cador ros ha qwethys ew y dhiwarr dre ledn.

   “Barbarossa!” Ma Rosa ow clappya dadn whistra, “Ma barv roos dhodho. Morlader ew ev.”

 “Ha Bro!” emedh Tas. “Welcòm! Pur welcòm os ta.”

   Ma Ownter Matthe ow crysla. “Durda dhis, a Vroder Bian.”

 “Tristan. Mosy. Pyjy kewgh dhe’n carr Matthe ha kerhes y seher.”

  “Ha ma canstel a vrilly, ewedh, cachys hedhyw vettin.”

   An carr Ownter Matthe ew bian, rowlys dre dorn ha gen sawor a besk. Thera nei ow tismygya ev alja bos pescador radn-dermyn.

“How is Uncle Matthew earning his living on the sea?”

“Is he a sailor, then,” I ask again, “or a fisherman?”

 “A pirate, perhaps? A buccaneer?”, Rosa is getting silly.

“He’s a well-known singer. He makes recordings of songs and sells them for lots of money.”

We hear a sound. It is a car. Uncle Matthew has arrived. I am eager to see this mysterious uncle.

Dad opens the door. We are surprised, Rosa and I. The man is not tall like Dad. We don’t need to look up to see his face. He is in a wheelchair and his legs are covered by a blanket.

 “Barbarossa!” Rosa is talking in a whisper, “He has a red beard. He’s a pirate.”

“Hi Bro!” said Dad. “Welcome! You are very welcome.”

Uncle Matthew grins. “Good day to you, little brother.”

“Tristan. Girls. Please go to Matthew’s car and fetch his bags.”

“And there’s a basket of mackerel, as well, caught this morning.”

Uncle Matthew’s car is small, manually controlled and with a smell of fish. We guess he could be a part-time fisherman.