SPEAKING – we all do it. It's a damned nuisance, but we must be heard amid the Babel of voices that holler in the modern world. However, as languages come together, it's becoming more difficult to be understood.
In Scotland, we cannot understand each other. The most common utterance here is: "Eh?" This is because we mumble. We are a downtrodden and defeated people, treated with contempt by the rest of the world for being scroungers, fearties and so forth. Co
nsequently, our voices are half-deid by the time they leave our lips.
That said, there's more uniformity in Scotia than of yore, as regional dialects decline. Recently, I went to the theatre to see a splendid adaptation of Lewis Grassic Gibbon's Sunset Song. As most of you ken, this features the Doric of the North-East, the speak o' the Mearns.
During the interval, the talk among all the English people – well, it was Edinburgh – and the occasional Scot, was about how it took ten minutes to attune to the Doric accent. But, surely, it was worth the effort?
The Burd and I are fond of Smallville, an American television show about Superman's youth in the admirable state of Kansas. However, it takes us ten minutes to attune to some of the accents, particularly those of the young women, who speak like demented ducklings.
We hear frequently of Americans demanding subtitles because, allegedly, they cannot understand Scottish accents and are too idle to spend ten minutes attuning. If we were Americans and Smallville were Scottish (Weetoon?), we'd be demanding subtitles. But the process works both ways. They can't understand us and demand subtitles. We can't understand them and that's just tough. Both ways, it's our fault, as usual. Scotland the Blamed.
However, a blending may be under way, accentuated by developments in youthful ways of speaking. All languages evolve, and it would have been fascinating if they'd had television or radio recordings in the middle ages so that, today, we'd be able to hear what they sounded like. Generations centuries hence will be able to hear how we spoke, and I expect this will cause them much amusement. Damned futuristic swine that they are, or will be. They're not even born and already they're getting on my wick.
Today, we hear groups of young people in the supermarket and other important social centres speaking in similar ways to the Smallville girls. Or, possibly, they've picked this up from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and other young American televisual ephemera. Generally, a contribution will start with a sharp "OK", and be followed by clipped wittering.
Bear in mind that those speaking in this manner are generally the more educated and decent teens. I'm not averse to them imitating the morally sound youth of America, at least as they're portrayed on television. It helps them stay on the side of light.
Through television, we're exposed to this new manner of speaking in our household, though I fear we shall not be imitating it. We're already a bilingual household. The Burd retains her dialect, and I like it, particularly as deployed in her frequent scolding: "Dinna doe yon!" This is often occasioned after inappropriate tickling or when I'm trying to have a third whisky or eating something made for others. It means, as most of you will have guessed: "Don't do that!" Written down, you can see how the two expressions seem as if from different but related languages.
Differences in language will doubtless persist, but I wonder if mumbling will become internationalised? It's a big problem in Hollywood and even in Smallville, where on occasion we've had to replay the same bit of dialogue over and over (from one of the males the last time), and still never caught what was being said, ken? Mumbling on screen is fine in terms of verisimilitude, but dumb – and I think that's the word – for purposes of communication.
You have asked for permission to speak. I grant it. You say: "You haven't mentioned Chinese yet. What do you have to say about that?"
It is an interesting question. Presumably, you are alluding to the imminent Chinese takeover of the world. You think it might be handy to learn Mandarin, or some other fruit-based tongue, because English as spoken by Americans or Scots may fade in importance.
But Chinese is a daft language. My handwriting is bad enough without having a shot at these silly symbols. In its spoken form, one word can mean four different things according to whether you say it in a high, squeaky voice or a low, deep one. No, even the clipped mumblings of modern American movies, or the bawled sweet nothings of an Englishman in a library, are preferable to such oriental tomfoolery. There. I have spoken.
The full article contains 809 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
