Imbibing English

January 23, 2008

Photo: Flickr/Sunshine Hanan

It has been four months since I first arrived in London. At this point, I am reasonably comfortable enough to say, I ask “Pardon? Could you repeat that?” with decidedly less frequency than I did in September. This is owing to two facts. One, I invested in some fine Q-tips. But, more importantly, I am learning English. Again.

There are occasions when there is still misunderstanding and confusion wrought by an elongated “a” or a clipped “o”. B. related a story of his time with his friend’s British family mistaking his achievement of the Boy Scouts’ honorable ‘Order of the Arrow’ as the ‘Order of the Aero’ – a chocolate bar common to the U.K. Of course, the family was politely surprised that an American could be so proud of induction into a company of candy. But the matter was cleared up with an “Oh, you mean AHhrrow” in unison and nodding of heads and perhaps a silent, “Dear boy, it’s “Ah” and not “Air”.

We Americans and other non-British nationals still struggle occasionally. During my last rock-climbing session, I wore a ski-tested, fleece vest and showed it to my partner A. “Just got this new vest over Christmas,” I said with a touch of flair. She seemed puzzled. “A vest? Dear Jaz, that’s a ‘body-warmer’! ”

A vest, according to British English, is a sort of tank-top. It seems British English is rather pragmatic in calling a thing by what it is. A body-warmer is, naturally, used to be close to the heart and thick, thus doing what it is intended to do. Toilet paper, furthermore, is called a toilet roll. The more you think about it, the more you have to question why we call it paper to begin with. It does seem rather uncomfortable to think of using a page out of the Washington Post. And then fries are chips, chips are crisps, and I can’t begin to think what a crisp winter’s day might be named (”Day when the breath crystallizes due to the manifest condensation in freezing temperatures?”) There is still much to learn. Fortunately, my good friend T. had sent me a British dictionary that was handier than Oxford. “Knickers in a Twist: A Guide to British Slang.” After religiously devoting my morning toast and tea to mastering useful phrases, I feel much more effective in my daily lingo and have left the book for my flatmates so that we can all be more linguistically limber in this foreign country.

Returning to the U.S. for a short stint disrupted my ability to immerse in the Queen’s English. The light accent that had crept into my inflections and speech was gone within two days. On the other extreme, I was now around a combination of Texan, New York-ish, Virginian, Vermontian, and Marine Corps. By the third week, as friends and I packed into our cars and voyaged north for snow-capped mountains, I was full of “Y’all”s on the one hand and the abbreviated military speak of “Roger, wilco”s on the other. Being neither Southern nor soldier, this can only be explained as group-think or chameleoning.

Back in London now, I and my fellow students have faced another linguistic dilemma: British essay-writing and everything else. From the start, we were warned that the British academic tradition differed from that of continental Europe and the States. We would need to learn how to form proper arguments. We would need to learn our usage of grammar involved far more commas and far longer sentences (what in the States we would consider ‘run-on’s). We would need to spell things ‘correctly’. Bring out the ‘u’s, ’s’s, and extension of words like ‘ton’ to ‘tonne’.

But we have apparently not yet succeeded. One lecturer informed our class rather shortly that we failed to succeed in achieving the standards demanded of a Master’s course. As we exchanged puzzled looks, she lambasted the writing as too wordy, not well structured, having grammatical errors, and from the sounds of things, being general rubbish. Quick to clarify, the lecturer noted it had little to do with language barriers. In fact, she said with a slight afterthought as some of the students had to pat others reassuringly on the arm or provide some water to those looking a bit pale and on the verge of fainting, “You should all take an English course. This applies to the native English speakers as well.”

Making a mental note to learn how to write… wait a minute. Unless I was very much mistaken – or that this language I considered English was actually Amharic and someone had told me otherwise – I thought we were speaking and writing in said language? The marks on the essays will determine who is right.

In the meantime, my Italian, Indian, Syrian, and American flatmates will continue to muddle on in the kitchen at the end of these long days of picking our way through the English language. It seems we understand each other reasonably well. For now, that is enough. If not, we will begin taking up Italian. At least then we will all be reasonably adept at ordering our coffee at Caffe Nero.

Life is never dull.