I think I probably started life bi-lingual. At any rate, reportedly I used to chatter away in some anglo-arabaic hybrid with Mabruk (the statuesque, turbanned Sudani who looked after me in Khartoum). Sadly nothing of the language has stuck apart from a few orphan phrases - 'men fadlak' (please), 'shukran' (thank you), 'hasan fikra' (better idea), and something remembered as 'cut a carrot', the meaning of which has faded (perhaps, 'a'ta katra' - 'give me lots' ?)
'Give me lots' is possible. The combination of formula milk and a hot climate (it was 110 degrees Fahrenheit on the day I was christened) played havoc with my metabolism, and I went from starveling to piglet and back again with alarming speed. On one occasion a group of Sudanese girl guides peered into my pram and remarked, 'Kabir ahmar tama tim', which meant, 'Big red tomato'. Thanks, girls. Nothing like a good deed.
Monday, 8 October 2007
German
My only proper brush with german was in Austria. When they meet someone out walking, the Austrians invariably call a greeting. It sounds as if they are politely commenting on the day in broken english. 'Iss goot' they say, 'Is good'.
This much language I can handle, and I spent a gregarious week calling 'Iss Goot' in my best Bavarian accent to everyone we passed. As it happened most of them were British, and just giggled feebly. The locals looked a bit surprised, which made me feel a big success - an ambassador for good manners - hands across the water, and all that. It wasn't until later that I discovered that what they had actually been saying was 'Grüß Gott' ('Greet God').
One of the great advantages of making a prat of yourself abroad is that nobody knows you personally. They just think all Brits are prats, and contemplate armed invasion, World Cup victories and the like.
This much language I can handle, and I spent a gregarious week calling 'Iss Goot' in my best Bavarian accent to everyone we passed. As it happened most of them were British, and just giggled feebly. The locals looked a bit surprised, which made me feel a big success - an ambassador for good manners - hands across the water, and all that. It wasn't until later that I discovered that what they had actually been saying was 'Grüß Gott' ('Greet God').
One of the great advantages of making a prat of yourself abroad is that nobody knows you personally. They just think all Brits are prats, and contemplate armed invasion, World Cup victories and the like.
Sunday, 7 October 2007
Afrikaans
I got off to a bad start with afrikaans, when Carin told us about an english friend visiting a restaurant in Cape Town, who had wanted to compliment the waitress on the cuisine. Mischeviously they told him that 'jy het oulike boudjies' (prounounced something like 'yite oleker bokis') means 'the meal is delicious'. What it actually means is, 'You have a nice bum'.
Unfortunately this useful phrase has stuck in a way that all those years of Latin and Greek have not. Even more unfortunately, by my third pint I generally become convinced that it would be a witty and amusing thing to say to the inevitable SA girl behind the bar. Which generally it isn't.
Unfortunately this useful phrase has stuck in a way that all those years of Latin and Greek have not. Even more unfortunately, by my third pint I generally become convinced that it would be a witty and amusing thing to say to the inevitable SA girl behind the bar. Which generally it isn't.
French
Considering french was taught at me for seven years, it's remarkable how little I absorbed. Aside from the usual franglais road directions to lost foreigners -'Allez a droit, et a droite un plus temps, puis prenez la gauche apres les lumieres traffique' - and once allegedly nearly causing a diplomatic incident by wishing a flemish Belgian 'Bon soir' on the office telephone (well, how was I supposed to know about the cultural politics of Flanders and Wallonia?), the zenith of my french-speaking career was a long conversation with a hitch-hiker in Skye.
The apparent fluency of this impressed my wife no end. What she didn't know was that the exchange revolved mainly around my not remembering the word for 'bus'. The nearest I could get was 'camion', which I seemed to recall meant a 'light lorry'; one of those essential words once included in every school vocab list. The poor girl must have been puzzled by my persistent assertion that she could travel on to Uig in a light lorry fitted with chairs, and seemed highly relieved when we dropped her off at a handy light lorry stop.
Of course the best reason for learning french was putting an end to grown ups resorting to it when they didn't want their children to understand what they were saying. 'Pas devant les enfants', and all that. So annoying, and so disappointing when you finally acquired enough french to discover that you hadn't been missing anything interesting anyway.
The apparent fluency of this impressed my wife no end. What she didn't know was that the exchange revolved mainly around my not remembering the word for 'bus'. The nearest I could get was 'camion', which I seemed to recall meant a 'light lorry'; one of those essential words once included in every school vocab list. The poor girl must have been puzzled by my persistent assertion that she could travel on to Uig in a light lorry fitted with chairs, and seemed highly relieved when we dropped her off at a handy light lorry stop.
Of course the best reason for learning french was putting an end to grown ups resorting to it when they didn't want their children to understand what they were saying. 'Pas devant les enfants', and all that. So annoying, and so disappointing when you finally acquired enough french to discover that you hadn't been missing anything interesting anyway.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
Italian
I prudently took a phrase book with me to Italy. On the day we arrived I found I had forgotten to pack toothpaste. Over wine and pasta that evening I learned from my book how to ask for toothpaste in a shop, and practised it until everyone agreed my accent sounded flawless; 'Mi scusi. Vorrei il dentifricio, per favore.'
The following morning we all walked into the village. Everyone wanted to hear me ask for toothpaste. All the way down, in the early morning sunshine, my lips were moving. 'Mi scusi. Vorrei il dentifricio, per favore. Mi scusi. Vorrei il dentifricio, per favore.'
We went into the shop. It was a supermarket. I picked some toothpaste off the shelf. I paid for it. When I was given my change I muttered 'grazie'. Everybody clapped.
My unused italian phrase is lodged immovably in my brain like a raspberry seed between the teeth, occupying space that I increasingly need for other, more important things. Like remembering why I have gone upstairs.
The following morning we all walked into the village. Everyone wanted to hear me ask for toothpaste. All the way down, in the early morning sunshine, my lips were moving. 'Mi scusi. Vorrei il dentifricio, per favore. Mi scusi. Vorrei il dentifricio, per favore.'
We went into the shop. It was a supermarket. I picked some toothpaste off the shelf. I paid for it. When I was given my change I muttered 'grazie'. Everybody clapped.
My unused italian phrase is lodged immovably in my brain like a raspberry seed between the teeth, occupying space that I increasingly need for other, more important things. Like remembering why I have gone upstairs.
Gaelic
I do not have the gaelic, aside from the usual familiar greetings and toasts. When my grandfather first bought a house in the highlands (he had spent his early life in Glasgow), he walked into the village shop and introduced himself. It was something of a meeting place, and there were several local men gathered there. As he left one of them said something in gaelic, and the others laughed.
My grandfather went home, ordered a gaelic dictionary and grammar, and over the next few months taught himself to speak the language - or enough of it to hold a simple conversation. It was an impressive achievement, because it is a difficult tongue.
The next time he visited the shop much the same thing happened. He had crossed the threshold to leave when he turned back and, in gaelic, commented on the weather before wishing the assembled men good day.
He left to a stunned silence, and from that day on - he lived there for forty years - they always respectfully spoke english in his presence.
My grandfather went home, ordered a gaelic dictionary and grammar, and over the next few months taught himself to speak the language - or enough of it to hold a simple conversation. It was an impressive achievement, because it is a difficult tongue.
The next time he visited the shop much the same thing happened. He had crossed the threshold to leave when he turned back and, in gaelic, commented on the weather before wishing the assembled men good day.
He left to a stunned silence, and from that day on - he lived there for forty years - they always respectfully spoke english in his presence.
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