Dyddiad: 15 Gorffennaf 1915

Trawsysgrif:

THE KITE-FLIER.

I'd seen him often there before—
In fact, near every day,
I'd met him up there on the cliff
That overlooks the bay.
A crazy crank I took him for,
One o' those harmless wights
Ye often meet; and this 'ere one
Was always flying kites.

As reg'lar as the day came round,
You'd sure to see him there,
A-lying on the grassy slope,
His kite high in the air.
One o' those box-shaped things it was,
And this old soul's delight
Appeared to foe, day in, day out,
A-flying of his kite.

[Mae’r cartŵn yn dangos dyn yn hedfan barcud.]
Always flying kites.

I'd watched him time and time again,
And couldn't help but smile,
To think a grown-up man like him
Should think it worth his while
To spend time on such childish sport,
For so it seemed to me,
And I've no patience with a man,
Who spends time foolishly.

And then I spoke to him one day
As I was passing by,
Some slight remark about his kite,
And was it hard to fly.
He answered me quite frankly, and
Seemed not devoid o' brains,
Said he was working to improve
Existing aeroplanes.

[Mae’r cartŵn yn dangos dyn efo'r barcud yn siarad â Jack.]
Gave me quite a lecture.

"By studying the movements of
This box-kite, don't you see,
Improvements are suggested which,
If worked out properly,
Will much improve our aircraft; so
It's not lost time, ye see."
Then gave me quite a lecture on
Aircraft's stalbility.

I met him coming from the cliff
That very selfsame night.
"Hullo!" I says, when he came up,
"I see ye've lost your kite."
He smiled, and then, "Oh, yes," he said,
"My box-kite broke away."
But, strange, he was out flying a
Much bigger one next day!

[Mae’r cartŵn yn dangos y dyn yn torri llinyn y barcud.]
He cut the string.

I watched him from a distance; and
He did a curious thing.
When it was up a thousand feet,
He calmly cut the string.
Across the North Sea flew the kite,
As quick as you could wink,
The North Sea, mind ye—it was that
That started me to think.

For I remembered that he flew
His kites, and only when
The wind blew from the westward, and
I grew suspicious then.
"I'll keep my eye on you," I says,
"For things don't seem just right,
And make a point o' meeting you
Next time ye have a kite."

[Mae’r cartŵn yn dangos Jack yn arwain y dyn mewn cyffion.]
He'll fly no more kites.

I met him next day there again.
"Still flying kites, I see.
How are they made?" "Don't touch!" he cried.
"They break so easily."
I snatched it; yes, inside the kite
Was evidence complete.
A message writ in German, with
The movements of our Fleet!

The box-kites, with a little luck,
Would easy cross the sea—
It ain't that wide—and be picked up
Somewhere in Germany.
Bat whether any were received
I really cannot say.
But this kite-flier flew no more—
They sentence him to-day!

Ffynhonnell:
McMann, W. ‘Jack’s Yarns: "The Kite-Flier”.’ The Brecon County Times. 15 Gorff. 1915. 7.