When I was about to move to Scotland someone asked innocently, “Are you going to have to learn to speak Scottish?” I blinked a bit at that, and the next question was, “Did I just say something really dumb?” We had a giggle about it but I remember explaining that people do speak English in Scotland. While there is another language – Gaelic (pronounced ‘Gallic’) – it’s not widely spoken, with few true native-speakers left on the mainland. There are more Gaelic-speakers on the Western Isles, it’s a lovely language, soft and lilting. When I moved here, though, I discovered that it wasn’t quite as simple as “everyone speaks English.” Really the only blanket-statement I can make is that no one speaks like Groundskeeper Willie!
Apparently in Scotland there are distinct dialects every 25 miles or so, and after nearly seven years I can finally pick out the local accent from others. Here, words like ‘back’ or ‘track’ are pronounced in a way that rhymes with ‘flock’, to my American ears. My husband, on the other hand, is from the far north and has a different way of speaking entirely. Long ago Sem told me that he generally modifies his accent to be better understood, but I’ve heard him go back to his ‘roots’ occasionally and it’s always a delight. ‘Farm’ becomes ‘fairm’ and ‘house’ becomes ‘hoose’ and ‘I don’t know’ is ‘I dinnae ken’.
I struggle a bit with Glaswegian, partly because of the cadence but mostly because of the speed. Sem still laughingly recalls my consternation on our first night in Glasgow after flying in from Philadelphia, when I could not work out what our waitress was asking me. Good thing I had him as a translator that time! Not so lucky on my own one day at a local village shop, though, when the woman at the cash register said something and then looked at me expectantly. I begged her pardon and she repeated herself: “Thotsabonnabog,” Bambi in the path of a speeding Land Rover had nothing on my expression, I’m sure, and her eyes went a bit steely as she said – gesturing this time – “Thot’s… a bonny… bog.” Pause. “Lovely color.” My bag! She was pointing at my bag! Relief swept through me and I thanked her, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. It wasn’t the first time I made a bit of a fool of myself here, without meaning to!
The next time I had to point to my head and apologize for my ‘American ears’ was when I worked in a small café. An elderly couple walked in and the husband greeted me cheerfully but unintelligibly. My heart stopped and my smile froze. His grin widened and he repeated himself, if anything broadening his accent even more. His wife gave him an affectionate but exasperated nudge, rolling her eyes at me and saying in a more familiar accent, “Dinnae worry, lass, we’ve been married thirty-five years and sometimes I cannae understand him either – he’s Orcadian!”
Since then it’s gotten easier (probably because I haven’t met many more Orcadians!), and only recently did I have some concerns about my American ears. I was meeting a Facebook friend from Aberdeen for the first time (hi, Mary!), and according to Sem the Aberdonians have phrases and words that are completely unique to them. He said, “The first two weeks I lived in Aberdeen I didn’t understand a word anyone said to me!” So I was a little nervous, but I needn’t have been. It was a lovely time, we understood each other just fine, and I am very glad we met! I delight in the differences, and love “local” words, wherever they originate.
I often wonder these days whether or not I would sound different to friends and family back in the States. Not in accent – I still sound as American as ever, and happily so. But my word usage has changed a bit in order to be better understood, here, which has become habit. There are all the usual things people know about: ‘boot’ for the trunk of a car, or ‘pavements’ for sidewalks, to name two. It’s other, subtler things that I have changed unconsciously. For instance, the other day I caught myself saying, “We’ll see what like it is,” rather than “We’ll see what it’s like.” I don’t say “aye” but I do say “och” though that’s more likely because I grew up with the German “ach” which is used similarly. I no longer say “bedder” for “better” – instead I’ve picked up a ‘glottal stop’ for the middle consonant sound, which I didn’t used to do. What other things I might have changed, I cannot guess. It is still strange, though, to be the only person saying “tomaydo” in a land of tomahto-eaters. But when I say “tomahto” I sound like an idiot, at least to me… so I don’t say it, which is difficult because I love tomaydoes!
Mainly, though, I’m glad I can now make sense out of toasts like this:
“May the best ye’ve iver seen
Be the warst ye’ll iver see;
May a moose ne’er leave yer girnal
Wi’ a tear drap in its e’e;
May ye aye keep hale an’ herty
Till ye’re auld enough tae dee;
May ye aye be jist as happy
As I wish ye aye tae be!”*
It’s also good to know that “Lang may yer lum reek!”* is not an insult!
*Translations in comments!
Deb Segelitz was born and raised in Pennsylvania, and is astounded to find herself living in the Scottish Highlands. Equally surprising to her is that she now has a small business restoring and selling old fountain pens. These two facts have convinced Deb that life is either beautifully random, or filled with destiny created by someone with a sense of humor. She hopes the fine north state residents will accept her as an honorary member, since she has some cousins in California who she visited once, but even more importantly because the north state folks she actually knows are fabulous people, who are also the reason for her presence here on anewscafe.com. An enthusiastic amateur photographer, Deb is grateful that she lives in a place that’s about as point-and-shoot as it gets. Her tortoiseshell cat, Smartie, rates her as an average minion, too slow with the door-opening but not too bad on the food-dish-refilling, and her husband hasn’t had her deported back to the States yet, so things must be going all right there, as well.
