Farpais #15: Daniel Bochd a' Bhrota-Chàil

Seo sinne ann am mìos an Iuchair, a chàirdean! Ann an teas-meadhan an t-samhraidh, ged nach eil an t-sìde an seo ann an Glaschu uabhasach grianach no blàth aig an àm seo 😜

Co-dhiù…leis gu bheil an t-Ògmhios agus Fèill Eòin seachad airson bliadhna eile, feumaidh gu bheil buannaiche againn ann am farpais #sgrìobhi a’ mhìos sa chaidh. Agus tha! Fhuair sinn trì sgeulachdan an turas seo, le Eilidh, Sophie agus Steffi. Bu toil leam na sgeulachdan uile a sgaoileadh an seo, agus sin na nì mi gu h-ìosal. Ach an toiseach, cò am buannaiche againn? ...

...’S e Sophie a th’ ann! 👏

Sgrìobh Sophie pìos car brònach, le beagan dòchais ann aig ceann an sgeòil, mun chuspair a bh’ againn:

“Sgrìobh sgeulachd bheag (suas ri 200 facal) mu dhreuchd nach eil duine sam bith ag iarraidh.”

Seo e, ’s clàradh-gutha agus eadar-theangachadh gu Beurla ann cuideachd.

[Gàidhlig]

  Seo sgeul mu dhuine air a bheil Daniel.

  Bidh Daniel ag obair ann am factaraidh, ach chan e dìreach factaraidh sam bith a th’ innte. Seo an fhactaraidh aig a bheil “am brot-càil às fheàrr le Granaidh Nic a’ Ghobhainn”. Agus Daniel? Uill, ’s e neach-blasaidh a th’ ann. Gach is a h-uile latha, tha feum aig Daniel ri deich liotair dhen bhrot-chàil a bhlasadh, mar a dh’innseas riaghailtean na factaraidh. ’S e airgead math a th’ ann ach, a bheil an t-airgead gu leòr? An e sin an fhìrinn ann an dha-rìribh, a Dhaniel?

  Thèid Daniel dhachaigh an dèidh na h-obrach, ’s fàileadh a’ chàil a’ tighinn às. Chan eil bràmair aige; chan ann dona a tha a choltas, ach bidh a h-uile duine a’ smaoineachadh nach fheum e bràmair, “air sgàth ’s gu bheil e na bhramair mar-thà.” Canaidh caraidean Dhaniel aig an fhactaraidh gur e gille modhail a th’ ann, gu bheil e laghach. ’S dòcha nach e an duine as glice a th’ ann, ach bidh e ag obair cruaidh fad an latha, a h-uile latha. Canaidh teaghlach Dhaniel gu bheil e fada nas fhèarr na neach-blasaidh de bhrot-càil.

  Bu mhiann le Daniel, aona latha, a bhith na chòcaire. Tha mi ’n dòchas gum faigh Daniel an aisling aige, tha fios gu leòr aige mu bhrot-càil, sin gun teagamh!

[English]

Poor Daniel, the Cabbage Soup Taster

  Here’s a story about a man named Daniel.

  Daniel works in a factory, but it’s not just any factory. This is the factory that has “Granny Smith’s best cabbage soup”. And as for Daniel…well, he’s a taster. Each and every day, Daniel is tasked with tasting ten litres of the factory’s cabbage soup, as prescribed by the rules. It’s good money, but is the money enough? Is that really all there is to it, Daniel?

  Daniel goes home after work, the smell of cabbage coming off him. He doesn’t have a partner; it’s not that he’s bad-looking, but everyone thinks he won’t be needing a partner, “because he farts* so much.” Daniel’s friends at the factory say he’s a polite lad, and nice enough. Perhaps he’s not the brightest bulb, but he works hard all day, every day. Daniel’s family says he’s capable of much better than tasting cabbage soup.

  Daniel would like to be a chef, one day. I hope Daniel gets his dream: he knows plenty about cabbage soup, that’s for sure!

* the similarity of bràmair (with the accent; “a romantic partner”) and bramair (no accent; “a flatulent person”) being difficult to translate without losing the original meaning.

🔷🔸🔷

Meal do naidheachd, Sophie 🏆 Agus leis nach eil mi airson an dà phìos eile a fhuair sinn a chleitheadh bhuaibh, seo sgeul Steffi – seòrsa tòimhseachan a th’ ann – agus am fear le Eilidh, far a bheil i a-mach air diofar dhreuchdan nach iarradh tu!

Cò mise? (le Steffi)

  Nuair a bha mi glè òg, dh’fhalbh na daoine bhuam. Bhon latha sin, choimhead mi às mo dhèidh fhìn. Dh’fhàs mi àrd is na bu sine.

  Chan urrainn dhomh falbh às an àite far a bheil mi. Mar sin, ’s e bean an taighe a th’ annam a-nis. Tha àite-fuirich agam fon mhullach agam. Bidh mòran beathaichean is daoine a’ cèilidh orm agus fuirichidh feadhainn aca. Ach cha phàigh iad sgillinn ruadh! Air a chaochladh - buailidh cuid dhiubh mise!

  Nì mi stuth-togalach cuideachd. Ach air sgàth ’s nach bi duine sam bith gam phàigheadh, cumaidh mi e.

  Nighidh mi an t-adhar leis a’ mhullach agam. An uair sin, bidh an t-adhar beagan nas fhuaire is bidh dà-ogsaid carboin nas lugha ann. Cò eile bhiodh a’ dèanamh sin? Bhiodh a h-uile duine ag ràdh gum biodh sin ro dhaor. Ach an àite “tapadh leat” a ràdh rium, marbhaidh na daoine mi, gus an stuth-togalach agam a ghabhail.

  Cò bhiodh ag iarraidh an dreuchd agam a dhèanamh, is cò mise?

Who am I?

  When I was very young, people took their leave of me. From that day on, I’ve looked after myself. I’ve grown to be tall, and older.

  I’m unable to leave the place that I’m in. As such, these days I’m the lady in charge. I have a place to live, beneath my rafters. I get many visits from animals and people, and some of them do stay. But they never pay a single penny! Quite the opposite – some of them take to hitting me!

  I also produce building materials. But since no-one wants to pays me, I keep it for myself.

  I clean the air with my woodwork. The air is a bit cooler afterwards, containing less carbon dioxide. Who else would do this job? Everyone would say it would cost too much. But instead of thanking me, people kill me, to get their hands on my building materials.

  Who else would want to do my job, and who am I?

🔷🔸🔷

An dreuchd as miosa (le Eilidh)

  Dreuchd as miosa? Dè bhiodh ann?

  Ghoogle mi e. Fhuair mi a-mach mu Itheadairean nam Peacaidhean san àm a dh’fhalbh, agus Luchd-cruinneachaidh Gannrachadh na h-Oidhche. Mo chreach! Gun teagamh, ’s e obair a th’ innte a bhiodh gad ghannrachadh! Thàinig mise car faisg air nuair a dh’obraich mi le pònaidhean, ’s mi a’ cartadh stàball. Ach, chan e sin an dreuchd as miosa.

  Cò bhiodh na Phrìomh Mhinistear leis an uallach ’s an fhreagarrachd gun abhsadh, ’s e fo lom-sgrùdadh a’ phobaill agus nam meadhanan? Cò dh’iarradh a bhith a’ co-dhùnadh mu dheidhinn cìsean agus buidseatan? Chan e mise a bhiodh ann! An aìte sin, bhiodh tu airson a bhith nad neach-smàlaidh no nad speuradair ma tha thu airson cunnart a shireadh.

  No neach-glanaidh? ’S e obair chorporra a th’ ann a tha a’ tarraing tuarastal ìseal. No a thuilleadh air sin - glanadh air sioft na h-oidhche. ’S dòcha nach fhaic sinn iad, ach am bi sinn fiù ’s a’ mothachadh na h-obrach a rinn iad?

  Co-dhiù, ’s e obair dheusanta a th’ innte, neo-choltach ri luchd-brèige a chuireas fòn thugainn, a’ feuchainn ri faighinn a-steach dha na cunntasan banca againn airson airgead a ghoid. Seadh, tha mi a’ creidsinn gur e sin an dreuchd dhona.

The worst job

  Worst job ever? What would it be?

  I googled it. I found out about Sin Eaters from times past, and Night Soil Collectors. Good grief! This work would soil your reputation, no doubt about it! I got a taste of it when I worked with ponies, mucking out a stable. However, that’s not the worst job.

  Who would want to be First Minister, with constant responsibility and accountability, and a life magnified by the public and the media? Who would want to make decisions regarding taxes and budgets? It wouldn’t be me! Instead, you’d rather be a firefighter or an astronaut if you were looking for danger.

  What about a cleaner? A physical job, bringing low pay. Or more than that – cleaning on night shift? We don’t see these people, that’s for sure; but do we even notice the work they’ve done?

  At any rate, it’s a decent job. Not like the cheats who call us up, trying to access our bank accounts and steal money. Yep – as jobs go, I think that’s the bad one.