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Skeealyn Vannin, Disk 3 Track 11: Speaker: Charles Watterson

Date(s): 1948

Creator(s): Irish Folklore Commission

Transcript: Cushag (Josephine Kermode) ‘Traa dy Liooar’

There’s a wickad little fella that goes among us here,
An’ the wickadness thass at him is tellin’ far an’ near;
He’s prowlin’ in the haggart an in at every dhure,
An’ coaxin an’ persuadin’, - an’ his name is

The fields is full of cushags, the gates is patched with gorse,
You’ll hardly see the harness for the mire upon the horse;
The cows is shoutin’ shockin’, an’ puzzlin’ for sure,
Is the waitin’ doin’ on them at the tejus

The house is all through others, the childher’s late for school,
The man is spendin’ mos’ the day in lookin’ for a tool,
An’ the wumman’s tired thremendjus with clearin’ up the flure,
An’ the wan that’s doin’ all the jeel is that tejus

There’s a power of foes within us, and enemies without,
But the wan that’s doin’ mos’ the jeel is that dirty lazy lout;
So just you take an’ scutch him, an’ put him to the dhure,
An’ naver let him in again, that tejus

Juan Noa: ‘Took at the Phynoddries’

Are you for seein’ boganes an’ things?
They’re sayin’ the like is in!
Cajolin’ Ben-varra, that sings an’ sings -
An’ kute lil’ things wi’ butterfly wings -
Tha’s dancin’ all night roun’ the mushroom rings,
An’ phynoddries as imprant as sin!

Imprant! Gogh, ay, an’ cughty, too!
An’ as cussard as the jouyll!
Avar seein’ what jeel they can do -
Stoppin’ the churnin’ an’ sourin’ the stew -
An’ sweelin’ for divilment, like the curlew -

Sayin’ the like is in ye says! -
Gogh, wa’n I took at them wance,
Aftar bein’ after the baes’es all day,
I went in the haggard an’ lay in the hay, -
All roun’ me, the phynoddries began to play,
An’ skip, an’ dance, an’ jump

Va’ltin’ over each other’s backs,
An’ avary mortal caper;
Cloutin’ each-other lil’ whacks -
Up the ladders, an’ over the stacks,
Like win’ scat’rin’ leaves ripe as paper.

An’ there was I in a kind of a doze
An’ the lil’ fallas playin’ all roun’ me;
An’ one lil’ falla comes up quite close -
An’ ups wis’ a feather an tickles me nose !
I ups and after the lil’ rascal -
An’ like bees they swarmed roun’ me, aye, an’ boun’ me.

An’ all of a sudden, they turnt me into a horse !
An’ drove me helter skelthar -
Down the broos, through the gorse,
Through the ling, an’ over the moss -

Aye, drove me without a pause,
Stickin’ theer lil’ spurs into me
An’ raggin’ and tearin’ me hair
An’ scutched me into a legless wonder

At las’ I fell, clane urr o’ win
Thryin’ to clear a gorse-bush.
They o’ny danced roun’ me as imprant as sin,
Then off they goes, with a laugh an’ a grin -
Lavin’ me meself again,

An’ theer they foun’ me at break of day,
All tremblin’ an’ threigh in the gorse
‘Boghtynid!’ they said, for thee to be sayin’
It was the phynoddries that took thee away,
But navar you min’, naver interfere when the lil’ people are at play,
Or they may turn thee into a horse!

Language: Manx

Collection: Sound Archive

Level: WHOLE

ID number: SA 0579/3/11


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