Having spoken and written English almost all of my life, I consider myself quite expert. I speak no other languages with any fluency, having preferred to stick with one in order that I could attempt to master it. It has been an Herculean task.
When I was six years old, I was despatched each week to Sunday School. The teacher there would ask, before handing out hymn books, "who can read?" A few hands went up and their owners were given small, blue books. I was not among those clever boys and girls and had to sit on the floor at the front with the other educationally deficient children, or "mongs", I suppose, if I was to subscribe to Ricky Gervaise's curious view of the world. I was, however, perfectly capable of reading words at that time. I think I'd progressed to the "Janet and John" purple book, which even had different tenses. My idiocy was not in reading but in assumption. I assumed for some weeks into this Sunday School thing that hymn books - being books of hymns and, therefore, songs - were written musically and this was something I couldn't do. Staves and crotchets and quavers were beyond me. All became clear when the vicar expressed surprise to my mother that I "...couldn't read.." even though I was six! She was mortified at this embarrassing revelation.
As it happened, I read and wrote early and did both well. My handwriting was neat and orderly, especially when I moved to cursive script. I was discovered to have a good grasp of grammar while still aged in single figures and this continued into secondary education, aided by instruction in Latin. From age five to around thirteen, spelling was taught by rote; mechanical and repetitive with the added incentive of corporal punishment for failure to achieve excellence. It was only when I was embarking on studies in English toward an 'O' level GCE that I began to appreciate the quirkiness of our language and, in particular, the tensions between spelling and pronunciation.
From Fowler's English Usage through to the humorous works by Lynn Truss and others like John Humphrys and Bill Bryson, my view is now that enough has been done on grammar. Our language is changing. Whether it is through the American influences, spell-checkers, TV soap-operas and their upward inflections or the emerging patois in youth cultures, the picture we see is of an evolution in our language that needs to be embraced rather than dismissed. I find much of the change annoying but I suspect that I will be unable to halt its procession on my own. That doesn't mean that I can't stick to my guns and I suppose that I will do so, regardless of the anachronism that I will ultimately become.
A few years ago, I was listening to a programme on the radio (most likely BBC Radio 4) that included a discussion on the creation verbs from nouns. The debate centered on what had become known as "Corporate Speak". Words such as "tasked" and "championing" were made reference to. One of the experts was a linguistics professor from the United States and his final comment, in the face of opprobrium from the female BBC interviewer, was, "...honey, believe me, there ain't a noun that can't be verbed.." And he was probably right.
When I worked in the corporate world, the language was full of grammatical nonesense but it was understandable by readers and listeners alike and I suppose that that is the ultimate test of communication between fellow human beings through the spoken and written word. However, I recall a very senior executive who had realised that, in order to describe something that was happening throughout the business, he should express it as an issue that affected things "across the piece". Unfortunately for him, he had understood the phrase to be "across the piste". He was a keen and accomplished skier and this must have seemed to him to be a reasonable derivation of the phrase as I imagine that lots of different things happen across the varying ski slopes on offer. His mistake was writing "piste" in emails and what followed was the "piste" being taken out of him, mercilessly (as is the corproate way of finding chinks in the armour of bosses).
When I worked in the corporate world, the language was full of grammatical nonesense but it was understandable by readers and listeners alike and I suppose that that is the ultimate test of communication between fellow human beings through the spoken and written word. However, I recall a very senior executive who had realised that, in order to describe something that was happening throughout the business, he should express it as an issue that affected things "across the piece". Unfortunately for him, he had understood the phrase to be "across the piste". He was a keen and accomplished skier and this must have seemed to him to be a reasonable derivation of the phrase as I imagine that lots of different things happen across the varying ski slopes on offer. His mistake was writing "piste" in emails and what followed was the "piste" being taken out of him, mercilessly (as is the corproate way of finding chinks in the armour of bosses).
So, having accepted that language changes (and, by virtue of this, it is now acceptable to begin my sentence with a preposition), it's the spelling / pronunciation points that continue to occupy my interest. Let's take some examples...(note the erroneous use of ellipsis there...and there, again; but the correct use of comma and semi-colon. See what I mean? English is a very tricky language to write but, on the other hand, one that is glorious to read).
Through / Rough / Trough / Plough / Thorough / Dough: There doesn't appear to be any reason why all of these words should be differently pronounced. Why should 'rough' not be be pronounced "roo"? A golfer might feel a little silly attempting to chip his ball out of the "roo", or a pig farmer requiring his or her stock to eat, not from a "troff", but a "trow". Make up the rest yourselves, remembering the rules of aspirated consonants and the whole dipthong problem and, while you're about it, consider 'ought' and 'drought', along with 'nought' and, curioulsy, 'nowt'. The word 'nowt' is described in dictionaries as a pronoun and adverb meaning 'nothing' from the North of England but its derivation is surely from the original 'nought' that someone assumed must be pronounced in the same way as 'drought', in which nowt will grow, I suppose.
Danger / Banger: There is no reason at all why these two words shouldn't be pronounced in the same way. Using the "danger" pronunciation, I'd like to go to my local cafe and order "bainjers and mash". Similarly, using the banger pronunciation, I'd like to declare that something is fraught with "danga" or, even better, that it might be "dangerous" without the 'G' acting like a 'J'. Come to that, why is "fraught" not pronounced as is "draught", making something "Fraft with Danga, maybe?
Flange / Strange: I'd like to think I could have told my children that they should never talk to strangers, as in stran - jers, or that my engineer friend located things onto a flainje. Cowboys would sound foolish singing "...Home! Home on the Ranj..."These curiosities go some way to explain why nothing in the English language properly rhymes with orange.
There's also the matter of stress in pronunciation (no...not the stress that makes you ill; the other one - as in emphasis). Take the word 'entrance'. With stress on the first syllable, we understand this to be the act of making an entry or an entry portal itself but with stress on the last syllable, the word becomes a verb describing the act of enchanting others.
Confusion also arises from words that are spelt, pronounced and stressed in exactly the same way but have different meanings (homonyms). Take the simple word, 'wear'. It is both a noun and a verb in the matter of something fading or ceasing to function as it did when new. It is also both noun and verb in the matter of becoming attired or the things that are used to attire onself along with its use as a suffix in this context, as in 'footwear'. The word is also a proper noun for the river that flows through County Durham but in this usage, it is pronounced as 'weir', that being an overflow often found on rivers, just to add an additional complication, as well as breaching the 'i' before 'e' rule of thumb. Muddying the waters further, there's the anagrammatical 'ware', which describes pottery or other manufactured articles or items for sale and is also a proper noun for the town in Hertfordshire. Let's not forget the homophone, 'where', either.
And what about the different spelling applied to words that are pronounced similarly? Take the words 'way', 'weigh' and 'whey'. How come these words fell into usage? Were they spelled differently once those who could write realised the confusion that may have resulted from Little Miss Muffet "...eating her curds and weigh"? The addition of one letter adds more muddle with 'away' and 'aweigh' (as in anchors). 'Weather', 'whether' and 'wether' are other homophonical examples.
And yet, amidst these and thousands of other confusions, small children seem to grasp our language with consummate ease. I'm no anthropologist so, to me, the ability of our youngsters to wade (or is that weighed?) through the maelstrom of the English language amazes me. My grandson, not yet four years old, constructs complex, syntactically correct sentences and can use homonyms and homophones with ease, even though he doesn't know that that's what they are. He's no different from any other kid. He watches TV, interracts with other children, his parents and relatives. His little brother is two and a half and is on his journey into language too and it's plain to see that he learns from his older sibling, as well as from the adult humans that surround him.
There's also the matter of stress in pronunciation (no...not the stress that makes you ill; the other one - as in emphasis). Take the word 'entrance'. With stress on the first syllable, we understand this to be the act of making an entry or an entry portal itself but with stress on the last syllable, the word becomes a verb describing the act of enchanting others.
Confusion also arises from words that are spelt, pronounced and stressed in exactly the same way but have different meanings (homonyms). Take the simple word, 'wear'. It is both a noun and a verb in the matter of something fading or ceasing to function as it did when new. It is also both noun and verb in the matter of becoming attired or the things that are used to attire onself along with its use as a suffix in this context, as in 'footwear'. The word is also a proper noun for the river that flows through County Durham but in this usage, it is pronounced as 'weir', that being an overflow often found on rivers, just to add an additional complication, as well as breaching the 'i' before 'e' rule of thumb. Muddying the waters further, there's the anagrammatical 'ware', which describes pottery or other manufactured articles or items for sale and is also a proper noun for the town in Hertfordshire. Let's not forget the homophone, 'where', either.
And what about the different spelling applied to words that are pronounced similarly? Take the words 'way', 'weigh' and 'whey'. How come these words fell into usage? Were they spelled differently once those who could write realised the confusion that may have resulted from Little Miss Muffet "...eating her curds and weigh"? The addition of one letter adds more muddle with 'away' and 'aweigh' (as in anchors). 'Weather', 'whether' and 'wether' are other homophonical examples.
And yet, amidst these and thousands of other confusions, small children seem to grasp our language with consummate ease. I'm no anthropologist so, to me, the ability of our youngsters to wade (or is that weighed?) through the maelstrom of the English language amazes me. My grandson, not yet four years old, constructs complex, syntactically correct sentences and can use homonyms and homophones with ease, even though he doesn't know that that's what they are. He's no different from any other kid. He watches TV, interracts with other children, his parents and relatives. His little brother is two and a half and is on his journey into language too and it's plain to see that he learns from his older sibling, as well as from the adult humans that surround him.
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| This should explain everything...? |
So why can't I speak French?
La plume de ma tante. Janette et Jean sons dans le jardin. Et M. Sarkozy...il est un petit imbecile avec les chausseurs d'ascenseur, peut-etre? Aussi, il n'a aucune idee comment resoudre l'Euro crise, n'est ce pas?
La plume de ma tante. Janette et Jean sons dans le jardin. Et M. Sarkozy...il est un petit imbecile avec les chausseurs d'ascenseur, peut-etre? Aussi, il n'a aucune idee comment resoudre l'Euro crise, n'est ce pas?
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