My Dad can’t say ‘coleslaw’
VERY often, less is more. It’s certainly true when using the spoken or written word effectively. Verbosity is a big turn-off and one person’s notion of ‘chatty’ is another’s idea of someone who just can’t shut up.
As a former tabloid hack, I rejoice in short sentences. I’m also frequently impressed by articulate interviewees on TV who speak concisely. But these great exponents of the Queen’s English are not necessarily from her own back yard. Even within the British Isles, the Irish appear to speak with greater fluidity than their neighbours, unhindered by hesitation, repetition or deviation. Americans are also afforded greater attention than most other speakers.
Elsewhere, it is no mean feat for non-native speakers of languages, not least of the irregular and illogical mongrel that is English, to make themselves understood. It’s an even greater achievement with no grasp of a lingo whatsoever.
My mother has a great technique which has served her well the world over: simply speaking English, not always slowly, in a cod accent of the host nation. French was her testing ground, in which exchanges with waiters, shop assistants and hotel desks became pastiches of dubbed 1970s TV programmes for kids. Perish the thought of her with a German accent asking someone’s name or the location of a newsagent’s ‘papers’.
Learning even just a couple of words is better than none and, if chosen and used carefully, it’s enough to get you by. Many years ago I worked with a Singaporean young man. Despite the city-state’s long history with Britain, my highly educated colleague appeared to speak virtually no English. Looking back, I think he was just shy, but when pressed he managed to summon up two words: ‘Oh Boy’.
Augmented by appropriate body language and facial expressions, this single phrase was used to great effect when responding to all manner of questions in our 1980s office. “That assignment was tough, eh?” (Colleague’s head shakes as he exhales with frustration). O-oh Boy… “Have you seen the new girl who works upstairs?” (Eyes light up) Oh Boy!
Sadly I moved jobs before I had the chance to ask about his favourite Buddy Holly song.
It was another two decades before I saw this conversational blagging trumped by an elderly Sicilian gardener with only one word of English, although it was supplemented by French shrugs, Russian frowns and even the occasional Indian head wobble.
“Will you be coming next week, Giuseppe?”
“Possibly.”
“Do you think it will rain later?”
“Possibly.”
“Can Juventus win the league with Ranieri?”
You get the picture.
At the end of the day, we all managed to engage satisfactorily and move on.
I marvel, however, at the interpretation skills required by some native speakers of English from within the same community to understand each other in everyday conversation. Increasingly, I witness seemingly intelligent people whose over-relaxed banter comprises sequences of randomly assembled vowel sounds, punctuated by the odd chuckle. As their voices aquaplane across the surfaces of vague words, I would have no problem telling these drawlers that I can’t understand a word they’re saying.
I’m equally intolerant of mispronunciation of English words by native speakers going out of their way to be articulate. However, I’m told that it’s wrong to criticise those trying to enrich their word power; apparently, good on them for using words they might have only read but not heard.
While not guilty of any of the above, my own father still makes me wince when using certain words. Retaining a very slight accent from growing up speaking mainly French, he refers to the opposite of manual as ‘oat-o-matic’, an emailed hotel booking as ‘con-fear-mation’ and - although this is unrelated – pronounces coleslaw as ‘call-slow’.
The latter is almost, but not quite a spoonerism – think Kenny Everett’s Cupid Stunt – but here’s my favourite verbal error.
At a point in my career somewhere between the young Singaporean and the elderly Sicilian, I spent some years in investment banking. There I encountered a clear inverse correlation between verbosity and know-how. No more so than in a loquacious corporate financier who was telling a room full of big investors about plans to list a company on the main market in London. As he got into his stride, barely able to contain his enthusiasm for the opportunity, he accidentally called a Full Listing a ‘full fisting’. Oh Boy.