“Sounds like you have an accent!” said a pharmacist to me last week.
“Sounds like you do as well!” I replied, detecting her Canadian lilt
“I don’t have an accent!” she retorted, as if I’d accused her of having inferior origins.
” Everyone has an accent,” was my final word. before she went off to tamper with my prescription.
That little sparring match got me thinking about language barriers. As I’m a native speaker of British English, albeit a northern version, it seemed odd to think of being faced by a barrier in Canada. But it’s there all right.
It isn’t just the obvious North Americanisms. Everyone knows you get cookies not biscuits, diapers not nappies. You go to the washroom, but not for a wash. Not primarily anyhow.
When I first arrived in Canada, the size of the language gap took me by surprise. A simple request for a tankful of petrol was met with bemused incomprehension. “You’re, like, thankful for petroleum?” Maybe they thought I was saying grace before the car got its weekly feed. It’s possible. Some places in Canada are an awfully long way from the nearest Esso station.
The communication rift was like being thirteen again. Nobody understands me! Did I have to relive that time of trouble. I wanted to write meaningful pop lyrics on the cover of my notebook again. I wanted to make statements through my clothes. Then it dawned on me. The answers weren’t to be found in the pages of the New Musical Express, but on Sing Something Simple.
I just had to find the right expressions for the right stores and institutions. These simple guidelines weren’t on the immigration papers. Toronto claims to be the most cosmopolitan city in the world: most languages spoken, most diverse ethnic mix, and so on. All cities with a huge ethnic melting pot tend to simplify language for everyday social and business transactions: Especially when the service industry is largely staffed by non-native speakers. No use trying to be witty, ironic, or overly polite. You just smile and get your point over as quickly as possible.
My conversations in banks, shops, and cafes had to be redrafted and severely pared back. I’ve travelled a fair bit, including in places with scribbly alphabets, and I used to pride myself on my resourceful communication skills. In far-flung places beyond the spread of English, you can use mime and doodles to get by: like in Australia for example.
Several years later, I’ve learned my lessons. The Canadian phrasebook has been duly swallowed, and I’m approaching near-native levels of fluency. Mind you, I still make the odd slip. Here are samples of my new language ability from everyday conversations with the locals:
“Hi. Fill up. Regular”
“Hi. Medium. Double double.”
“Hi. Good thanks.”
“Hi. Chilli deal. Wholewheat. Boston Cream.”
“Hi. Could I gedda tray with that?”
“Good morning. Is it possible to buy a ticket for the next train to Ottawa?”
“Sorry, my mistake. My Canadian English isn’t particularly hot. Allow me to rephrase that.”
“Could I gedda ticky terwoddawa?”
I made up the railway station bit. I mean railroad station. Doesn’t have the same charm somehow. The Railroad Children? I mean, they sound really destitute. Which brings us naturally enough to Jenny Agutter’s underwear and lingerie in general. The one truly great thing about living in Canada is that I get to wave at trains in pants and suspenders. I never did that on a Yorkshire branch line.
I can totally relate to that. I have a “weird” accent in English, although it’s not too noticable. I don’t have the French accent for whatever reason. People often talk to me in Russia, Lebanese or Spanish cause they think that’s where I’m from !
However, in French, it’s a whole different story. Yep, I’m talking about Québécois…
I’ve been there for a few years now, so I can understand Québécois fairly well (at least, big city slang – don’t take me to the countryside around Québec city !). But I can’t speak like them. It’s just not right in my mouth.
Couple weeks ago, I went to a McDonalds on the Quebec side. I had the hardest time ordering ! You should have seen the look on the girl face when I ask for “un coca light” ! Yes, in Quebec it’s “Diet Coke”, forgot about that one…
People usually ask me if I’m Australian – difficult to be farther from the truth.
I love accents. Our oldest son was born in Canada, but spent his early childhood first in the south then north of England.
Now, he’s spent the last seven years in Canada, and has a great accent range. From Canadian “Mommy”, through Queen’s English “Mummy” to full-on Yorkshire “Ar Mam.” Might come in useful one day!