Am I a Hypocrite and is it time for me to Hypo-quit?

Tags

accents, Administrative Officer, Caribbean, etiquette, French, German, hypocrite, Irish, Jamaican, Judge, language, Ministry of Justice, patois, South African

Courtesy: Google Images

I am fascinated by accents. Any accents – I’m not fussy. I love to place accents and very often I get it wrong. I once asked my South African neighbour if he was from Australia. Another time, I confused an Irish accent with a French accent. Exactly! That’s how wrong I sometimes get them. But I’m very keen to learn and on the rare occasions when I do get it right, then I am often rewarded with a very welcoming smile and the opportunity to converse with ‘my new accent’ and the person accompanying it.

Recently, however, I am wondering should there be some sort of unwritten etiquette governing the use of accents in everyday life? And not just any accents, but the ones that don’t belong to you, I mean. For example if you are not from Germany, then should you attempt to speak, say English embellishing your words with a strong German tone to make your German acquaintance feel more comfortable? I have been giving this serious thought after talking with (I’ll call her) Linda, who told me that after a few days in her new job working at the Ministry of Justice, she happened to find herself in the enviable position of engaging in conversation with one of the judges who worked there. The conversation went something like this:

Judge: “Hello, I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new here?”
Linda: [A little shy and perhaps somewhat overawed] “Um … yes, I only started working here a few days ago.”
Judge: “You’re not from here are you? What part of the Caribbean are you from?”
Linda: “Well I was born here …”
Judge: “No … no. Where are your ….?”
Linda: “But my parents are from Jamaica”
Judge: “Ohh … ah Jamaica you come from! ‘Ow tings back a yard?”
Linda: “Pardon?”
Judge: “Oh well, enough of this nonsense! Ho ho ho …” Perhaps a little embarrassed and surprised by Linda’s reaction to his attempt at what he perceived to be his friendly attempt at the Jamaican ‘language’, his face turned bright pink as he went on his way, nose in the air, wig slightly askew and the tail of his black robe swishing in the air of mild confusion.

When Linda related the story to me that evening I was quite astonished that a judge would have nothing more sophisticated to say. His enquiry about the state of the country using what to me sounded like a feeble attempt at Jamaican patois to a new and junior member of staff on first meeting disturbed me. Was the only way that he felt he could connect with someone from a different country to speak to her in what he assumed to be, her language? Was this an attempt to put her at ease and show her that he could ‘get down with the lingo’ so to speak? What if Linda had spoken to him in an ‘upper class’ refined accent in a bid to elevate herself to his level and make him feel at home? “Oh, what ho! Judge Snodgrass. Delighted to meet you old boy!” Would he have found that charming or patronising? I wonder.

Later, on reflection, I thought to myself, wasn’t I being a tad hypocritical? Earlier that same year whilst in the process of moving home, we were blessed with the services of an excellent removal company and one of the employees was an Irish man. He was amiable and amusing. At no point did he attempt to speak Jamaican to me, but during the course of the move, an opportunity arose for me to try out my Irish. The van was parked outside my new neighbour’s home thereby preventing access to her driveway. She was Irish. She very kindly said it was not a problem while she parked further down the street. I came back to the Irish removal man [John] and said in my best Irish accent:

“To be sure, to be sure, it’s one of your countrymen over there!”

Did John take umbrage? No he did not. But with the broadest smile informed me that I had a lousy Irish accent!
And another time, on finding that a fellow-blogger hailed from Australia, I immediately started making references to ‘Sheila’, ‘barbies’ and a few ‘fair dinkums’ – all in the same sentence! And again, nothing was said in retaliation, and my comments were taken in the spirit of friendship.

This leads me then to re-examine my reaction to the Judge’s remarks. Was he perfectly within his rights to speak Jamaican when the occasion calls for it? Was he justified in his behaviour? Am I being judge –ist? Am I a hypocrite and is it time for me to hypo-quit?

~ Marie Williams – 2018

The Irish Question: Jenny M*, Jenny C* and Me.

Tags

acceptance, betrayal, dinner lady, embarrassment, friendship, Ireland, Irish, life lessons, refusal, school dinner, scool, trust

Warning: this post contains language which may offend.

“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for”. – Bob Marley

 

Jenny M

This story has very little to do with politics or Ireland, but it features memories of a time when I was a school girl many years ago. And the reason I have decided to talk about it is because it threw up a very important lesson about friendship for me at a time when lessons were being learned continually, but of course, the effect of a lesson learned in childhood does not have the poignancy of a lesson learned and reflected on when one is much older.

What actually happened was this: As a ten year old, I became friends with Jenny M who was a lovely Irish girl. She was bright and funny and smart. What I did not know at the time was that Jenny M would betray me and our friendship with little thought to the consequences. Now as ten year olds, if you cast your mind back, what is the most important thing to a child? My answer would be, finding solidarity with someone likeminded, feeling a sense of belonging, being accepted and being happy. Unless you’re far more advanced than your years, and you aspire to greater things, just knowing that there is someone in the class room and the playground who you can identify with goes a long way to feeling at peace in your own small world.

It was lunch time, and we were queuing for our lunch. Imagine: noisy, boisterous girls and boys, a dinner hall, buzzing with chatter and laughter. China and cutlery clinking against the backdrop of hungry children, released from classes and lessons, not silenced by the need to conform. Individuality coming to the fore, wanting to impress, wanting to assert their sense of who they are, vying for attention, perhaps a little confused about their place in the world, but on a huge learning curve.

The school dinner lady (one of say 2 or three others) was serving the meal. I don’t know how hungry Jenny M was, (she may not have had breakfast that morning) but she boldly asked for three sausages. The Irish dinner lady refused saying that Jenny M was only allowed two. Jenny was upset, angry, embarrassed that she had asked but had not received. She turned to me, and whispered: “The Irish c*w!” and swearing me to secrecy: “Don’t tell her I said so!”.

Wanting to be a good friend, shy, wanting Jenny’s approval and feeling accepted and part of a great confidence, I smiled, shook my head, and promised not to repeat what she had said.
Several days later, the incident still fresh in my mind, Jenny M and I were in the school playground and I can’t remember the exact thing that happened, but it involved the Irish dinner lady. Thinking that I had a good friend and confidante, I approached Jenny M and told her what happened. Believing that she was a true friend I repeated her words: “…the Irish c*w!” And asked Jenny, as she had asked me not so long ago not to tell Mrs I.

So what did Jenny M do? She promptly went straight to Mrs I, our Irish dinner lady and said: “Miiissss …Marie said that you are an Irish c*w”. Mortified, I could hardly believe what I heard and saw. This supposedly good friend had betrayed me with little thought as to how I would feel, and how much she had betrayed our friendship.

Of course I was hauled to the Headmaster’s office and I was duly reprimanded. But that day I learned a very important lesson as a 10 year old. Be careful who you put your trust in. In a way it was a
good lesson, painful yes, but it stood me in good stead for the rest of my life. At the time, I had no words for how I felt. I think I forgave Jenny M. Now, looking back, clearly this incident impacted me and the way I view others. Was Jenny a real friend? Should we factor into friendships, the possibility that a friend is capable of betrayal and should we take into account what may/may not have been going on in their life at the time of betrayal. And is betrayal ever something that can be forgiven if there were extenuating circumstances? As 10 year olds – do we know who we really are and do we have the maturity to be a true friend?

I will have to speak about the other Jenny in part 2 of ‘The Irish Question’.

~ Marie Williams  2016

 

*Jenny M and Jenny C are not their real names.