“Glor, someone stole 'haych.’”
This simple statement snapped me to attention for two reasons.
The “haych” in question was part of a very expensive movie encyclopedia I had to fight my former boss tooth and nail to acquire for my own writing needs, so I did not take it lightly when they were hijacked by my co-workers.
The person alerting me to this grievous crime was “Nigel,” a delightful chap who crossed “The Pond” as a relative lad but still retained his charming English accent. Never missing an opportunity to tweak his nose about it, I said, “Nigel, I know all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, and ‘haych’ isn’t one of them.” His reply to my good-natured teasing was always the same. “Glor, don’t make fun!”
Fun? Bollocks! I think I’m like most Yanks. We’re suckers for an English accent. I was supposed to be Nigel’s supervisor, but whenever he’d whine, “But Glor, I cahn’t,” in reply to one of my work-related requests, I’d let him off the hook. He could have stolen my lunch and I would have looked the other way.
Even more beguiling than the accent, though, were Nigel’s colloquialisms. If I expressed a wistful hope for, say, a new computer or the swift completion of a never-ending project, Nigel would bring me back to earth with a deadpan, “Not bloody likely.” “Are you mad?” was his comeback to any question he deemed silly, unreasonable or downright, well, mad. But the one word he uttered that never failed to slay me was “ta,” his appreciative response for the loan of a stapler or the offering of a coffee Nip. I used to keep a box of them in my desk drawer just so I could hear him say it.
Although I stayed pretty close to the Nige after he left the company, the passing of time did eventually take its toll, turning our cascade of contact into a trickle. But thanks to Facebook, that global, non-stop reunion party, I recently re-connected with Nigel to find that he’s moved back to Old London Town.
Scrummy! If I ever jet to Jolly Old, I’ll not only have a mate to get pissed with at the boozer, but I can take the piss by having a go with my British slang on the other punters.
More on that smashing subject in next week’s “The Bite.” Cheers!
The gee whiz slang of the Brits has infiltrated our consciousness thanks to the sixties brit invasion (when an english accent could bring you free drinks at any US tavern) and the movies. I spent a little time in England and don't recall the locals sounding like Goodbye To Mr. Chips at all.
ReplyDeleteThe first draft of this article included a bit about the Brit invasion, when we all found out that a "fag" was a cigarette and a "drag" was not something you took off a "fag" (no double entendre intended there) but a tiresome situation. And, the first time I heard Cockney rhyming slang was in the Brit flick, "To Sir With Love." Still love the Lulu-sung title tune.
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