Nans yw lies bledhen, my a glowas drolla gans mamm koweth a-dro dhe husores bughes leel yn arenebedh Lyskerrys. Hy hanow o Mrs Harris ha, herwydh an drolla, hi o mamm dhe werther bondennow aswonys yn ta y'n dre (an hanow yw klou). Y'n drolla, an tiek a vynnsa pellgowsel gans Mrs Harris ha hi a vynnsa gwellhe bughes jest dre wodhvos yn py ke mayth esens. An drolla ma yw onan an mogha kerys genev ha my a gar an tybyans a dhyski husa bughes - mes ny drovis vy kors hwath. Yn neb kas, a-is yma bardhonek a skrifis a solempen Mrs Harris ha'n pystri a husa bughes - a pe po gwir po fals, yth yw hwath drolla hweg. A few years ago, I hear a story from a friend's mum about a local cattle charmer in the Liskeard area. Her name was Mrs Harris and, according to the story, she was the mother of a local tyre salesman in the town (there's a clue in the name). In the story, the farmer would phone Mrs Harris and she would heal the cows just by knowing in which field there were. This i...
Bardhonieth ha drollow derowel ha treylyes. Original and translated poetry and stories in Cornish. 🏳️🌈