April 17, 2012
Following my post on Utøya last July, John Maidment asked me about the pronunciation of Breivik, and I gave an answer here. I’m still hearing the pronunciation with schwa from some broadcasters, including some Radio 4 newsreaders, so maybe that is what the BBC’s Pronunciation Unit is recommending.
I don’t want to get into a long discussion of the case, but BBC News is reporting that Breivik is claiming that he killed 77 people out of ‘self-defence’. This is a mis-translation of the Norwegian term, which is “nødrett”. Einar Haugen’s Norwegian-English Dictionary says “jus necessitatis (= case involving legal act of necessity); ytterste nødrett: ‘justifiable homicide’.”
April 14, 2012
During the 1970s and 1980s, there was frequent adverse comment in the press and to the broadcast media (I was at the end of quite a lot of complaints) about the phrase “at this moment in time”. Complainants generally said things like “what’s wrong with just saying ‘now’, or ‘at the moment’?” I think the answer is that they don’t mean quite the same thing. “At this moment in time” is more immediate than either of the other words/phrases, and emphasises this.
I haven’t heard the phrase for some time, and that is either because it’s now so common that I don’t notice it any more, or else because it’s dropped out of use again. However, a new pleonasm has taken its place: “for ever”. Programme presenters and voice-over artists are increasingly using this phrase in the context “it changed his life for ever” or “this changed history for ever”. The words “for ever” are completely unnecessary here – if someone’s life, or history, is changed, it is highly unlikely that it could be changed back by a new set of circumstances.
So why do we use these unnecessary phrases? I think it is because we need to add emphasis to our statements. To say that “something changed” sounds rather flat. To say it changed “for ever” adds that extra bit to stress the point. It is not a new phenomenon: language is constantly wearing out, and so needs to be re-invigorated by some means, and this is one of them. Eventually the new term can become so ingrained that we don’t realise it was originally a pleonasm. Take the French word “aujourd’hui”, for instance. When we learn French as a foreign language, we accept without question that this means “today”, but if we analyse it, we can break it down into its etymological components, and find that it translates as “on the day of today”, since the Old French word for “today” was “hui”, the French reflex of the Latin word “hodie” – itself a contraction of “hoc die” = “on this day”. “Hui” by itself became such an insignificant little word that in order to draw attention to its meaning, it had to be extended to “aujourd’hui”. The same is what happens in English when we hear “this casual meeting changed his life for ever”.
March 18, 2012
In a New Year broadcast, the veteran radio critic of the Daily Telegraph, Gillian Reynolds, took the BBC’s “Today” presenters to task for their umming and erring. When they were about to interview someone, she said, they must often have prepared the questions hours in advance. They give a lengthy introduction to the interviewee for the benefit of the listeners, but then, she asked, why did they preface the first question with ‘um’ as if they were unsure what they were going to ask? Yesterday (17 March) the “Today” programme talked to Nicholas Parsons, the chairman of the radio panel game “Just a Minute”, in which the contestants must talk for a minute on any specified subject without hesitation, deviation, or repetition, and asked him for his opinion of the presenters’ fluency. Mr Parsons is very polite, and said he thought they were almost perfect. He was also brought on to today’s “Broadcasting House” programme, where he said much the same thing.
The irony is that immediately after the Parsons discussion on the “Today” programme, where he was talking to John Humphrys and Justin Webb, John Humphrys interviewed two people about something completely different, and having introduced Danielle Pinnington (the owner of Shoppercentric Ltd, a market research company), he said ‘um’ before he asked the first question.
Much as I admire Gillian Reynolds, I don’t think this is hesitation or uncertainty of any sort. I think it can be called a boundary marker: “I’ve done the introduction, now get ready for my first question”, which serves to prepare both the interviewee and the listener for the change in the dialogue.
I shall be interested to see if anyone either agrees or disagrees with me.
February 22, 2012
The points of the compass provide us with an interesting example of one word having two opposite meanings:
A westerly wind is coming from the west.
A person travelling in a westerly direction is going to the west.
The same is true for all the directions. Admittedly, ‘from the west’ appears to be limited to meteorological contexts (see OED examples) but it still seems to me to be unusual for a word to be so diametrically opposed – to itself.
Are there any other words that exhibit this potentially confusing feature?
February 11, 2012
The realisation of /θ/ as /f/ in English (and similarly for its voiced equivalent) has long been thought of as a Cockney trait, made fun of by generations of comedians, and bemoaned by countless traditionalists as heralding the demise of ‘proper’ English. Less well-known is its occurrence in other varieties of English, such as certain Scots dialects, but it has never been recognized as an alternative acceptable pronunciation in standardized British English.
How long can we sustain this? It’s now heard from all sorts of otherwise apparently well-educated people. Is it to be classed as a speech defect? Lucy Worsley, the recently popular presenter of BBC television programmes on interior design (“If Walls Could Talk”), and Chief Curator at Historic Royal Palaces, uses /f/ and /v/ regularly, and yet she is clearly a very well educated woman.
How long before the various pronunciation dictionaries have to start including /friː/ alongside /θriː/, and /ˈfɜːvə/ together with /ˈfɜːðə/. This will create a whole new set of acceptable homophones, including fervour ~ further, free ~ three, and sliver ~ slither, the last of which are already confused by hyper-correcting Londoners who may talk of a ‘slither’ of wood.
January 17, 2012
Jack Windsor Lewis (here) either acclaims me as or accuses me of – according to your point of view – being a champion player of the rant against unusual pronunciations. He also names John Maidment in the same context. I can’t speak for John, of course, but my rants are always aimed at people who are speaking professionally and publicly, and who therefore (in my view) should take care that the style of speech they use, including the pronunciation of individual words, is not going to interfere with the transmission of information. Unusual pronunciations, in my opinion, hinder this by making the listener (and I include television viewers as listeners in this case) concentrate on the form of the communication rather than its content. In a parallel way, professional writers need to use both traditional orthography and accepted ‘standard’ grammar in their published work, unless they specify otherwise – as Jack does for his blog.
This, therefore, is not a rant, but an observation. I was recently at a concert where the artists introduced each item with a short talk about either the composer or the work they were about to play, or both. In introducing a string quartet by Shostakovich, one of the quartet members said that the composer had been /kəʊˈhɜːst/ by the Soviet government into making statements and writing certain pieces of music. This is an unusual pronunciation of the word coerced, and I wondered how it had arisen. She was not a professional speaker, and possibly unused to addressing an audience, so it may not be surprising that she ‘mis-spoke’ (in the manner of some American presidents).
Two possible sources for the mistake come to mind – rehearse, which is a word very familiar to musicians, and cohere. Add to that the thousand-year struggle for the /h/ phoneme to retain its ‘proper’ place in English phonology, and it is quite understandable that confusion should reign, and a nervous speaker opt for the unexpected usage I, and about seventy other people, heard.
On the other hand, if it had been a BBC presenter …
January 9, 2012
I don’t know why, after all these years, I should still be surprised by odd pronunciations, but I am. Two that have recently come my way, both from the BBC, are eviscerate, pronounced /iˈvɪskəreɪt/ by Simon Sebag Montefiore presenting the first of a series of programmes on the history of Jerusalem, and cholera, pronounced /kəˈlɛərə/ by Sharanjit Leyl as presenter of a programme on BBC World.
Mr (Dr?) Sebag Montefiore is a historian, educated at Harrow and Gonville & Caius, Cambridge. I think we can assume that he therefore learned some Latin at school and maybe he now believes that all Latin words used in English should be pronounced as if they were still Latin. I wonder how he pronounces the name of his old college?
Sharanjit Leyl, a native Singaporean, has clearly, from her accent, spent almost all her life in English-speaking environments. Has she never heard anyone pronounce the word cholera?
Neither of these two words is what you might call ‘rare’. Shouldn’t someone in the production team be listening and persuading the broadcasters to use pronunciations which do not cause the viewer/listener to concentrate on the form rather than the content of what they are saying?
A former Presentation Editor of Radio 3 used to listen to every word his team uttered on air, and sent notes each time he heard something untoward. When I was Pronunciation Adviser, I would send notes similarly with my “advice”. I can’t believe that anyone does this now. There is no longer a Pronunciation Adviser, and while the members of the Pronunciation Unit are all highly qualified and very good at what they do, I’m not sure that their management (who are not linguists, but administrators – “I’m a manager, therefore I can manage anything”) would take kindly to such notes going out in any form. I hope I am wrong.
January 3, 2012
I thought that would get your attention!
The substance that these controversial objects are made from is causing some confusion. There are two separate materials: silicon and silicone.
Silicon is a non-metallic element, symbolised by Si, used for its properties as a semi-conductor in electronic circuits, and therefore in the insides of whatever device you are reading this on. It is a gritty sort of material. Its pronunciation is /ˈsɪlɪkən/ with a neutral schwa in the final syllable.
Silicone is a polymer: a material composed of long chains of alternate silicon and oxygen atoms, which is generally inert (i.e. it doesn’t react easily with anything). This makes it suitable for use in medical applications. In its gel form it is used in such things as breast implants. The pronunciation is /ˈsɪlɪkəʊn/ – note that the final syllable has the GOAT vowel.
Many commentators on BBC Radio today have been talking about the present situation, and discussing whether women who have had /ˈsɪlɪkən/ implants should have them removed. If any woman has really had a/ˈsɪlɪkən/ implant, I should think she has a very good case to sue for serious medical malpractice.
December 9, 2011
John Wells’ blog post yesterday deals with ejectives in English. He’s kind enough to mention my own post on this subject some time ago, but I’m surprised he believes that I think it’s a recent phenomenon. I wrote then “I suppose I first became properly aware of ejectives being used in English about twenty years ago”. I put this down to my own lack of attention to what’s going on. Later in the post I wrote “My impression is that they must have arisen some time ago”.
I didn’t suggest that they were new then, and I went on to mention the earliest I was aware of being Lionel Jeffries in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang which was filmed in 1968. I suppose it depends on how recent you mean “recent” to be: some years ago it was suggested that I give a repeat talk to a local organisation. Someone on the committee asked if it wasn’t a bit soon to ask me back. My proposer said “if 17 years is a bit soon, then I suppose so.” Lionel Jeffries was not a young man in 1968, and we can assume that he had been using ejectives in the appropriate position for most of his life by then.
I remember David Abercrombie saying that he believed that pre-glottalisation started with people born after 1926 (the year that Lionel Jeffries was born, by coincidence). How he could be so certain about that as an absolute date, I have no idea, but if he was right, then it would follow that the ejectives appeared some time later. Is this recent? In terms of the whole history of the English language, of course it is, but 1926 is now before most of us were born (except the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh, of course), so in that sense, not recent at all.
I’m delighted that John is bringing out a new edition of Accents of English. Thirty years between editions is far too long!
November 25, 2011
For the benefit of those who can’t receive BBC1 television, I shall start by saying that Garrow’s Law is a period courtroom drama, set in late 18th entury London. Garrow is a young barrister intent on improving the quality of justice for poorer people, and he is based, apparently, on a real person.
The developing plotline concerns his relationship with the wife of Sir Arthur Hill, and here is my problem: the BBC takes great pains to get the period detail correct in costume, stage setting and the like, but obviously this can’t be carried to the lengths of having everyone speak in 18th century London accents (in the same way, both British TV series of Maigret, starring Rupert Davies in the 1960s, and Michael Gambon in the 1990s also accepted that it was unrealistic to affect French accents). We’re now getting to my linguistic point.
The wife of Sir Arthur, who is either a knight or a baronet (which is hereditary), is regularly referred to as “Lady Sarah”. She has been thrown out of her home by Sir Arthur, on the grounds of her supposed adultery with Garrow, and deprived of her child (who although claimed by Sir Arthur to be Garrow’s, is being brought up by Sir Arthur). The correct usage for the wife of a knight or baronet is not “Lady Sarah”, but “Lady Hill”. For her to be “Lady Sarah”, she would have to hold the title in her own right, as the daughter of an Earl, Marquis or Duke. If she is the latter, where is her family? Shouldn’t they be defending her against Sir Arthur? If she is so aristocratic, I think we should be told. If she has no family, and was ‘elevated’ to her position simply by marriage to Sir Arthur, then she is being wrongly addressed and talked about by the whole cast.
Whichever is the back story, something is missing.
Sad, aren’t I?