

             How  "Correct"  Is British English?
                              
 
               Copyright 1992 by Alex Gross


     The alleged differences between British and American
English have long provided a topic for learned observations,
newspaper articles and even folklore.  It is not my intention
to rehash any of this material from the past but rather to
provide a fresh look at these two language formations from
the viewpoint of modern linguistics.  The conventional view
of these differences, both in Britain and to some extent in
American scholarly circles, holds that British English is the
parent, the model, the arbiter whose usage is to be preferred
in almost all cases, while American English is, like the
country itself, merely some kind of colonial colossus run
amuck.  There is also a built-in linguistic confusion of a
different sort--the United States terms itself America, while
England is in fact called England and its inhabitants
English.  It therefore seems overwhelmingly logical to assume
that English is their language: after all, they're English,
so it's theirs, isn't it?  Or is it?  At a time when more and
more Europeans, Asians and Africans are learning English as a
second language, we really need to clarify this otherwise
confusing question.  Let us therefore see what kind of light
linguistic principles can shed upon this matter, discarding
our partisan prejudices as best we can.

     
     From the beginning, one is confronted by the assumption
that British usages are "normal" or "correct," their American
counterparts aberrant, exotic, and/or "incorrect."  Granted,
this view is increasingly seen as obsolete in the U.K., for
as the Prince of Wales, Malcolm Bradbury and others have
lamented, the standards of British English have been
alarmingly undermined by transatlantic and internationalist
tendencies.  But these very protests show that British
English is still regarded as a "norm," which many believe
they must aspire to and a few actually attain.
     
     Let us start with accent, where we will find no shortage
of British informants maintaining that American English is
extremely "nasal,"--that is, spoken through the nose.  It is
therefore further characterized as "twangy," unpleasant, or
(worst of all) unclear.  Something called British
pronunciation is supposed to be the norm for the purpose of
this comparison, and it is also naturally assumed here that
only one British accent need be considered, what is commonly
referred to in Britain (but never referred to in America at
all) as RP or `Received Pronunciation.'  Such a rash
assumption is easy enough to assail, but we will leave it to
one side for now and turn our attention to what not only
linguistics but also medical science have to tell us about
British speech, for this matter of accent is most definitely
open to scientific discussion.


     The truth of the matter, in both linguistic and medical
terms, is that it would be just as accurate to refer to
British English as excessively throaty and hold up American
as the "norm."  There is not the slightest doubt from a
physiological point of view that speaking correct British
English does involve blocking off one's throat, bronchi, and
lungs to an abnormal extent as compared not only to American
English but also the usual accents of many foreign languages.
The medical reasons for this are not at all hard to discover-
-it has in fact been known for decades that the national
British disease par excellence is bronchitis, with asthma
running a close second.  No one who has ever heard some of
the BBC's roving travelogue narrators wheezing away on the
sides of volcanos or breathlessly describing the mating
rituals of Bornean lizards can doubt the extent to which
these two respiratory ailments have found their way into
Received Pronunciation.  Such deformations are also found in
some northern French accents and in the miasmal quality of
colloquial Italian common in the Arno valley around Florence,
also allegedly a model of its national language.  I myself
developed fairly good cases of both ailments while living in
England and Florence, which greatly helped my accent in both
languages.  Thus, it may well be that British English,
long supposed to spring from a high level of breeding,
owes its origins instead to a low level of breathing.


     This whole question becomes more than academic when we
consider what impact it may have on foreigners trying to
learn English.  Is there really any reason why people from
sunny Italy, tropical Africa, or the earth's higher and drier
regions should be forced to contort their throats and
windpipes in an effort to reproduce what may be only an
accident of climate?  Can the British continue to maintain
that their variety of English is "normal" or preferable in
the light of this information?  Most probably they can and
will, but the lesson here for all those with a real interest
in linguistic truth is that all forms of speech owe something
to climatological factors, and there are specific
physiological reasons--close to engineering reasons in their
way--why various accents sound the way they do.  In any case,
American nasal sounds can make a better claim to being a
world norm than throaty British, since they can be heard in
many other of the world's languages, including not only
French and Danish but also many Chinese and Malayan
regionalects.
     
     Differences in accent are one thing, but what about far
more crucial differences in actual words?  Surely no one can
fault British good taste in this regard, and American
coinages can only be regarded as a necessary nuisance to be
learned for utilitarian reasons and used as little as
possible.  But here too the situation may turn out to be
quite different than imagined.  I will not bore
the reader with such already familiar instances as elevator
vs. lift, diaper vs. nappy, etc., nor will I attempt to draw
any conclusions as to which is better.  That way lies merely
partisan madness.  There are in fact much more striking
examples of usage, ones which deeply illumine the differences
between British and American society, and it is these which
adherents of either persuasion, and especially those
embarking on the study of our language, should carefully
consider.
     
     There are in many languages certain pairs of contrasting
words, often linked in their phonetic structure, which embody
and reflect the concerns of those who speak the language.
Good and bad are often cited for English, brutto and bello
for Italian, yin and yang in Chinese.  But in addition to
good and bad, British English also possesses another basic
pair of key words.  These words do not figure in at all the
same way in American English.  They are almost constantly on
people's lips in Britain, yet they are used so differently in
the UK as to actually require a translation into American
English.  And although these two words do get used frequently
enough in America, they are simply not linked in the same
way, and their usage in the US requires a translation the
other way into British terms.  I will discuss in some detail
how these two words reflect their respective societies and am
illustrating their two-way cross-translation in the form of a
table.  The two words are rude and kind.

     
     RUDE VS. KIND IN AMERICAN & ENGLISH
     
     
               Translation into English     Translation into
               of the American Meaning      American of the
                                            English Meaning
     
     rude      overtly insulting            direct, brusque
     
     kind      actively                     civil, normally
               compassionate,                  responsive
               charitable

     
     Since it is scarcely at issue that these two words are
used quite differently in Britain and the U.S., my question
from the outset will be, in line with the title of this
article, which is in fact the "correct" usage?  And can the
question of which is "correct" be separated from larger
issues of politics, customs, and social systems?  Most
Americans who spend time in England soon become aware of
these words being used in a strange off-center way, which
they may not be able to pin down and may dismiss as "quaint"
or "eccentric" or excessively "polite."  They will constantly
find themselves being told how kind they are to have done
something, when they know perfectly well that they have not
been kind at all, merely civil or normally responsive.  As an
example, if you pass the sugar to a stranger in a cafeteria,
he may reply, "How kind of you," or "Frightfully kind."
     
     But this does not qualify as "kind" at all in America,
just barely civil, at best "polite."  This is why our table
shows "civil" or "normally responsive" as the translation
into American of the British usage.  The difference is so
great that there might be a case for dropping a footnote on
the pages of all English articles and books where the word
"kind" is used, explaining what it means in American.
Similarly, the English word "rude," which marks the opposite
of "kind," is used in an equally off-center way.  Words,
deeds, or attitudes which would scarcely merit this
description in America are constantly being described as
"rude" in England.  Very specific ritual phrases and
mutterings, which we will soon describe, must accompany any
act, question or statement in England, lest they be called
"rude."  Since Americans make their way through life without
observing any of these protocols--indeed, without being aware
of the existence of such ritual phrases and mutterings,
almost anything they do or say is likely to be labelled rude,
and so it is no surprise that the two words "rude American"
are frequently heard together in England.  This is simply
because what an American may consider the normal, direct way
of doing things, as galling as this may be to many would-be
anglophile Americans, is considered "rude" in England.  In
fact, the English word "rude" should probably be translated
as we have it in our table: "direct" or a bit "brusque."  It
probably describes the way not only Americans but many other
of the world's peoples go about their lives.
     
     Here too a relatively impartial linguistic analysis may
be useful.  The anthropologist Edward Hall has done much of
our work for us in setting up different levels of social
distance defined by different cultures and embedded in their
language (1).  His two most famous examples are the different
social distances observed by Japanese and Americans and by
speakers of Arabic and Americans.  There can be no doubt that
we are witnessing a comparable cultural phenomenon between
Britons and Americans as well, and these differences are
equally well reflected in language.
     
     The proof of this is that these usages of "rude" and
"kind" cut both ways.  Many British friends visiting the U.S.
have expressed to me their impressions that Americans are
going out of their way to be explicitly rude to them,
especially during their first weeks in the country--and often
their only ones--so that they do not discover that a
difference in social space might be involved.  Edward Hall
describes much the same thing happening to him in his
relations with the Japanese.  Most Britons unfortunately do
not remain in America long enough to break through this
barrier, and so it is supposed that Americans go on forever
being impossibly "rude" to one another but are simply too
insensitive to notice.  For this reason, I have also provided
translations of the American meanings into English: for
"rude," overtly, and often personally, insulting; and for
"kind," actively compassionate.
     
     The reason for this different social space, at least as
far as I have ever been able to discover, is that the British
do indeed feel themselves more distant from one another than
do Americans (2).  Any violation of their personal or psychic
space by another counts as "rude."  Minimal observance or
non-violation of this space gets graded as "kind."  To my
knowledge no other European language makes such a
distinction.  One might credit all of this to overcrowding or
to class differences or once again to the weather--or even to
a combination of the three--but for whatever reason the
British choose to remain, as has been noted for ages, fairly
aloof from one another.  They are of course famous for
insisting on prolonged conversations about the weather with
strangers before they will discuss any further matters with
them.  This would all qualify as no more than anecdotal,
except that it once again has definite consequences for all
who wish to learn British English

     
     The point once again is this: out of all Europeans,
perhaps only some Scandinavians might agree with the British
on their concept of social distance and their distinctions
between "rude" and "kind."  Most other Europeans, while they
might occasionally pay lip service to such distinctions, live
lives a good deal closer to the American view.  As do most
peoples of Asia, Africa, and South America for that matter.
Should all these peoples, when and if they choose to learn
English, also be required to accept the British definitions
in this field as the "correct" ones?  And if so required, are
they likely to obey?

     
     As we shall see, this concept of "social distance" has
further consequences in every stage of learning British
English.  Let us first take a simple conversational question,
one quite likely to be asked by or of newcomers but one which
also illustrates the different rules for American and
English.  If, for example, you are in New York and you wish
to find Fifth Avenue, you may turn to most passers-by and
simply say, "Which way is Fifth Avenue?"  This is a perfectly
correct way of phrasing this question in American English,
one both used and understood by natives.  You might also say,
"Excuse me, which way is Fifth Avenue?" but you could also
get away with just saying "Fifth Avenue?" and producing the
question mark with your voice--it's not as nice, but it will
get you there.  If you felt the need to be extremely polite,
say with an older man or perhaps with a woman, you might go
so far as to say, "Excuse me, which way is Fifth Avenue
please?"

     
     In England even this last phrasing might mark you as
extremely "rude," if not actively hostile--depending on your
accent, you would be classed as a Northerner, a foreigner
with poor English, someone from the lower classes, or a "rude
American."  This is because you are obliged to say things
quite differently in England--we shall now see what was meant
by ritual phrases and murmurings.  Let us now suppose you are
in London and wish to find your way to Leicester Square.  As
astounding as it may seem, the full correct form of your
question, including all its linguistic and stylistic
subtleties, is as follows:
     
          "I beg your pardon.  I'm terribly sorry
          to bother you, but I wonder if I could
          possibly trouble you to inform me as to
          how I might find Leicester Square."

     
     This is not intended as a joke, though it may sound like
one to some.  It was the full and correct form of asking a
question during my time in England and, from everything I
hear from friends and see on TV, still remains very much the
standard.  Its multiple phrases permits your British
interlocutor 1) to realize he is being addressed; 2) to
decide whether he wishes to bother answering; and 3) to
devise some sort of reply.  Your chances of obtaining one
will be greatly increased if you pronounce the name Leicester
correctly, another hidden land-mine in the question.

     
     So much for simple, relatively neutral questions.  Now
let's suppose you really want to get down to brass tacks with
someone and have a serious discussion, even an argument if
need be.  There are in all societies rules and conventions
surrounding such conversations, and neither America nor
Britain is an exception.  Nonetheless, it would still be
possible in America to turn to someone you knew moderately
well and say:
     
          "Damn it, Jim, you're all wet about the
          Chinese.  You don't know what you're
          talking about."
     
     This would not do at all in England.  While such a
statement might lead to further and more intense argument in
America, it would not necessarily offend Jim or anyone else,
and it certainly would not lead to the end of the
conversation or a breach of friendship.  In England it almost
certainly would.  The approved British form for saying
essentially the same thing runs more or less as follows:



          "There is great merit in what you say.  I
          could not help but applaud as I heard you
          state your views, and I have on countless
          occasions in the past found myself coming
          to much the same conclusions, though of
          course I have never been able to phrase
          them as skilfully as you just have.
          There is no doubt in my mind that you are
          essentially correct in every particular,
          and I would not presume to amend your
          statement in the slightest detail.  But I
          must admit that I find myself compelled
          to point out that it might conceivably be
          to your advantage to consider the
          following circumstances regarding the
          Chinese, however irrelevant they might
          seem at first hearing....."

     
     As many Americans may find this uproariously funny, I
must insist once again that this is not my intention.  It
truly shows how the English may address you, and it also
reflects how you must address them in your reply if you are
to have any hope of communicating with them.  You are still a
long way from expressing what it was you really wanted to
say, but at least you are on your way, and provided you have
omitted none of the obligatory politesses and murmurings and
provided your tone of voice conveys complete sincerity--and
your accent is correct and you commit no major gaffes in your
choice of words--you may have a chance of getting an idea
across.
     
     Anything less may well be dismissed as rude or
"embarrassing," another key word with different meanings in
England and the States.  Many remarks, questions, and
challenges considered unexceptional in the U.S. would be
regarded as deeply "embarrassing" in Britain.  This attitude
is in fact embedded within British libel laws, under which
statements are open to prosecution not because they are false
but because someone may find them "embarrassing."  Needless
to say, as has been frequently observed by British and
American journalists alike, these laws present a considerable
obstacle to free discussion.
     
     Once again, which of our two versions is the "correct"
one?  Is it inevitably the British one, or is another choice
possible?  This choice is ultimately a very practical matter
and belongs to the learner.  Those who speak Japanese with
all its honorifics or Chinese with its multiple self-
abnegations may find the British version a challenge, may in
fact be disappointed if a language offers any fewer
subtleties than British English.  Or they may not.  What is
important is that this level of knowledge should be available
to all learning either variety of English before they begin
their studies.
     
     The differences between the two versions of English
extend to the structural level.  There are some specific
differences between British and American in verb forms used
for declarative sentences and in how questions are asked.
They are not at all subtle differences, though they require
careful study, and they are not to be found in the grammar
books.  To begin with, the Assertive-Interrogative form--or
what I will call the "Isn't It?" structure has a totally
different function in British than in American.  In the
United States, this structure is normally used to express
doubt, even of one's own judgment, for example:
     
     "Today is the right day, *isn't it?*"
     
     "My god, I did bring that book, *didn't I?*"
     
     In England, however, this simple structure, which we all
use every day and which can color our attitudes towards our
own thought processes, is often used quite differently.  It
expresses not doubt at all, but rather confirmation of one's
previously held views or prejudices.  Two typical examples:
     
     "It's quite the best, isn't it?"
     
     "We English have always done that sort of thing far
better, haven't we?"
     
     In fact, despite the question mark, no question is being
asked at all, rather an assertion is being made.  The answer
"Of course!" is assumed, even expected.  This structure can
on occasion be used in a similar fashion by Americans, but
far less frequently than in England (3).

     
     Another British-only structure which reaffirms existing
prejudices in the mind of the speaker is what I call the
Reinforcing Conditional form, often utilizing the "I should
have thought" sequence.  It is constantly heard whenever one
expresses any idea the slightest bit novel and usually means,
if you are the one who has provoked it, that someone has
decided you are quite mistaken and will go on believing what
they always did, regardless of what you may have said or will
ever say.  If, for example, one is discussing the
permissibility of tea with lemon as a beverage, the response
may well be:

     
     "Really?  I should have thought it would be frightfully
bitter."

     
     And that is that, your conversation has effectively
ended.  Although you may go on arguing, you will achieve
nothing except to demonstrate that you are an insensitive
foreigner.  Here too the would-be learner of English must
make his or her own decision.  Mastery of the "Isn't It" and
"I should have thought" structures is absolutely central to
speaking "correct" English, though these phrases are never
taught in class and will, like much of the other material
discussed here, tend to bypass, confuse or irritate
Americans.


     I could go on at great length here about the best and
worst ways of communicating with the British, but I am
concerned here only with a serious examination of the
differences between British and American as they affect
language learning.  I have already discussed accent to some
extent, and I will now return to it only in so far as it
affects the pronunciation of individual words.  Many people
throughout the world are convinced that a British accent is
far more distinguished, cultivated and definitive than what
passes for American speech.  This of course also makes it
more "correct," and it goes without saying that the British
pronunciation of any given word must be preferable to Yankee
mumbling.  As we will soon see, this is far from being the
case.
     
     Many of these same people also assume that they can
achieve a proper British accent simply by substituting broad
English A's for all those frightful American "a-as-in-fast"
sounds.  Since this assumption is widespread among many
students of English, the following example may be useful as a
test of how well it works.  Try reading this passage aloud
with what you believe to be a correct English accent, and
then check your way of saying it against the "correct,"
"received" pronunciation given at the end of this article.
Unless I am mistaken, even quite a few Britons will
ignominiously fail at least part of this test, which may also
provide a measure of the difficulties involved.  Here's the
passage:

     
          "The fancy falcon cast a dastardly pass
          after an unfastened ass with asthma.  By
          Bacchus, what a disastrous aftermath!
          Mere mastery of this scanty example
          cannot mask your transatlantic,
          antipodean, or lower class antecedents."

     
     It is for readers to decide, after perusing the
"correct" version of this little quiz, how "correct" they
want their own English to be.  In fact, as few as twenty
percent of Britons are likely to pronounce this passage close
to "correctly" (and perhaps only ten percent will get it
totally "right").  These all too probable results raise
considerable questions as to whether the British should go on
teaching this as correct pronunciation and whether the
editors of the Oxford English Dictionary (our source here)
should continue marking vowels as they now do.

     
     The point of this example is to point out, in case any
further evidence were needed, that the British form of
English is in its way an armed camp, bristling with devices
to repel the foreigner, the invader, yes, the learner. These
devices may even be aimed at the people of Britain.  During
my time in the UK, I was sufficiently skilled with languages
to make it past a number of these barriers, only to find
others yet in waiting.  I believe it possible that such
barriers may ultimately be directed not so much against
Americans or foreigners--who are perhaps only an after-
thought--as against the British themselves.  It may be that
their existence has something to do with class differences in
Britain.

     
     And yet the impression persists that where pronunciation
is concerned, the British can do no wrong, that any British
pronunciation of a word must by its very nature be far
superior to anything any mere colonial might ever say.  The
influence of this belief has been evident in recent years in
the use by some American TV-casters of "weekEND" instead of
the older "WEEKend" or the occasional "checkMATE'" for
CHECKmate.  Suffice it to say that there is not the slightest
linguistic, phonetic, or stylistic reason for preferring the
former to the latter (or for that matter vice versa).  But
this is only the tip of the iceberg: leaving to one side
these questions of faddish taste, the English have long been
demonstrably guilty of committing such wholesale errors of
pronunciation all on their own that there is really no way
any objective person can possibly defend them.

     
     Here, surprisingly or not, those who disagree may not be
British but American.  So vast is the certainty in some
American circles that where pronunciation is concerned, the
British can do no wrong that I can already hear the chorus of
American objectors trying to shout me down with cries of "If
it's British, it must be cultivated" or even "Look, it's
British--let's pretend it's cultivated, even if it isn't."
Something comparable once occurred to my wife and me in
London when we attended an educational production of
Fielding's hilarious satire Tom Thumb, the play that
triggered the infamous Licensing Act.

     
     This play is obviously a comedy, replete with characters
named Huncamunca and Floradora.  It litters the stage with
even more corpses than Hamlet and contains numerous quite
funny parodies of bad pentameter lines from Fielding's time,
such as "Oh, Huncamunca, Huncamunca, Oh."  We came quite
prepared, having reread the play beforehand.  The cast and
production were quite proficient, and naturally we began to
laugh.  No one else was laughing.  Soon people around us
began to shush and hiss us and tell us to shut up.  We did
so, more or less, in somewhat servile fashion.  At the break
we were castigated: "How dare you laugh?  How dare you
interrupt the beautiful poetry?"  These good Englishmen were
unable to tell one pentameter line from another.  Because it
was pentameter, it had to be poetry.  I insert this before my
instances of what in the U.S. might be called "BBC Bloopers,"
because it shows that many British still have a tin ear for
poetry.  Or for pronunciation.  There is simply no other way
of phrasing it.

     
     We've seen what the British do to their own language--
now let's look at how they handle foreign words and names.
It isn't as though one can't hear such names and places
mispronounced in the U.S.  But the British do it with
absolute abandon, as though that's what the blighters deserve
anyway, and "our" way of saying their words is better than
"theirs" anyway.  Not a touch of false humility here.  Before
I get upset by Scarlatti pronounced with not one but two
short "a"s, a truly difficult feat (try it yourself), I
should perhaps explain that in the pronunciation of Latin the
British never went through the great century-long debate we
had in the US between advocates of Church Latin and
neoclassical Latin.  It never occurred to Britons (nor does
it today) to pronounce Latin in any but a totally English
way, complete with modern English accent and diphthongs.

     
     This fairly typifies their approach to pronouncing
foreign words.  But the actual examples one hears continually
on the BBC suggest that there is no approach or method at
all.  Each announcer seems to invent his own mispronunciation
as he goes along.  We will quite overlook the announcer
totally unable to say Brest-Litovsk in any form and also not
dally to fight over PortuGUESE for PORTuguese.  Or the 1991
cultural extravaganza about the history of map-making, where
one heard both "Magellan" and "longitude" pronounced with "g"
as in "go."  Nor will we really bother with MY-thology where
Americans would say "mith-ology," or quite the opposite logic
of ID-olatry for US eye-dolatry.  There is simply no logic
for these British choices, and we suspect they are just
making things up as they go along.

     
     Matters do become a mite more serious when we come to
the name of a part of the world that has been in the news for
at least three decades, and in the Bible before that.
Apparently the entire British population is suffering from a
collective eye disease, and not a soul in Albion is capable
of seeing that the name Sinai (as in Sinai peninsula, Moses,
and all that) has two--and only two--syllables.  I do not
believe I have ever met a single Briton--or heard a single
BBC announcer--who did not add an extra "ee" and pronounce it
SIGH-nee-eye.  I really would like to know the reason for
this.

     
     Perhaps because I am partial to aspects of Japanese
culture, I find the pronunciation Sam-Your-Eye for Samurai
(closer to correct, Sah-moo-rye) even more wrenching.  But
the worst of all is yet to come: not only every British
announcer in the world pronounces it this way, but even the
late Graham Greene, an author whom I had long respected,
recently let the U.S. have it for its deeds in Nicker-RAG-
You-Ah.  Like many Americans I have mixed feelings over
certain events in Nicaragua (which nonetheless recently
decided at the polls against Mr. Greene), but his
pronunciation alone has convinced me that he could know
virtually nothing about this land.  It was every bit as anti-
Hispanic as American policy.  Perhaps as punishment he should
have been made to spend the last of his days in Man-NAG-You-
Ah, Nicker-RAG-You-Ah and pronounce both of these names
correctly several hundred times each day.  If he did, it
would sound more like a lilting Mah-nah-wah, Nee-ka-rah-wah,
with almost no "G" sound at all.  Once again, one may ask, is
there any reason why foreigners learning British English,
many of whom will be able to pronounce these words more
correctly, should be forced to duplicate such grotesque
examples?

     
     None of the examples I have presented would be of more
than anecdotal interest, were it not for a slightly more
disturbing factor that has recently become evident.  It may
turn out to be of no lasting significance, but the widely
respected editor of a major British publication on language
has recently declared something of a war on American English.
This gentleman has actually proclaimed his variety of British
English as a major means of preventing a "shallow Dallas or
Coca-Cola uniform world culture with bad English as the
international language."  English eccentricism being what it
is, it is probable that we will hear no more of this.

     
     And yet there are some strains in the current British
make-up suggesting that such linguistic fascism may be more
than a flash in the pan.  When Dean Acheson pointed out a few
decades ago that the British had lost an empire but not yet
found a role for themselves, it provoked a degree of anger
among the British difficult to imagine for those who did not
witness it.  And yet this observation had--and has--a ring of
truth to it.  If the British have not been successful in
finding a new role in the world, it has certainly not been
from want of trying.  When Stalin died in 1953, millions of
Britons mourned almost inconsolably, for they had come to
believe that communism/socialism would provide them with a
surrogate emotional empire.  And all through the 'Sixties and
'Seventies a belief in socialism as the "wave of the future,"
with Britain as its vanguard, was frequently invoked to
justify looking down on Americans and their language as a low
and reactionary life-form.  Now communism is dead, and
socialism has been--whether rightly or wrongly--challenged in
many countries, so it is not surprising that the British
would be out role-hunting again.  Nor is it surprising that
some might be hoping to find that role in a neo-imperialist,
neo-colonialist campaign for British English.  In a world
full of so many potentially dangerous atavisms, one can only
hope that their quest will not prove successful.

     
     All of the instances I have suggested simply overwhelm
reason, but I will now do my best to recall some semblance of
objectivity and sum up my theme in a cogent manner.  I
apologize to my many British friends and colleagues within
Albion and around the world if I have inflicted any real pain
upon them.  My apology is real and heart-felt, for I have
lived in Britain long enough to have gained profound respect
for its history and culture.  But I do think it is a
legitimate part of my exercise to ensure that a people who
has heaped so much condescension on others over so many
years, particularly where language is concerned, should have
at least some passing notion of what it feels like to be
condescended towards in this regard.  


	As I have said earlier, it is
extremely important that those many people now learning
English should have some idea what they may be getting into
when they choose to learn one variety or another.  There is
really no way to learn a foreign language without also
absorbing a great deal of its social, political and
philosophical outlook.  This is equally true whether one
chooses to learn British or American English.  It is for
learners themselves to choose, but they must have all
necessary knowledge available to them in order to make an
informed choice.  Whether they ultimately choose British or
American or another language altogether, let us hope that
they make a wise choice leading all of our nations to an era
of sustained world peace.



                     SOLUTION TO THE MYSTERY
                  OF THE "ALL-TEASE FALCON"

                                   
     And here is the "correct" pronunciation for our passage.
Source is the OED or any upper-class Oxonian type available,
who will breeze through the test without blinking and wonder
what all the fuss is about.  The only real catch is the word
"falcon" itself, which has neither a broad nor a short "A"
but a choice between "faw-kun" and "fawl-kun."  For the rest,
the broad A's (A as in fAther) are capitalized.  The others
are short, with just one strange exception: "what" given as
"wot," rhyming with "not" and not an "h" sound in sight.

     
          "The fancy fawlcon (or fawcon) cAst a
          dastardly pAss After an unfAstened ass
          with asthma.  By Bacchus, what (wot?) a
          disAstrous Aftermath!  Mere mAstery of
          this scanty exAmple cannot mAsk your
          transatlantic, antipodean, or lower clAss
          antecedents."

     
     If you don't agree with my version, don't argue with me:
take it up with the OED or the British at large.  A number of
them may well agree with you.


     
     NOTES:
     
     1.  Hall's most famous work expounding this theme is The
Hidden Dimension, Doubleday, Garden City, NY, 1966.  He
discusses allied themes in Beyond Culture (1977) and The
Silent Language (1959).
     
     2.  The British computer translation consultant John
Newton provides me with a dramatic instance of this social
distance.  He was travelling on a Spanish airplane when the
captain's voice came over announcing: "Senoras y Senores,
ahora estamos volando sobre la ciudad de Madrid, por abajo se
puede ver el Paseo de....."  ("Ladies and gentlemen, we are
now passing over the city of Madrid, down below you can
see.....").  He found himself wondering how one could
possibly translate this event, familiar to those flying the
airlines of most nations, into British English for a British
audience.  British pilots certainly would not do this sort of
thing, nor have British passengers been inclined to request
it.
     
     3.  I first described the "Assertive-Interrogative" form
in the mid 'Seventies, and when I came to write this article,
I wondered if I wasn't being a bit hard on the British about
it.  I was close to softening my approach when I discovered
John Algeo's "It's a Myth, Innit?  Politeness and the English
Tag Question," published in The State of the Language, Univ.
of Cal. Press, 1990 and in a longer form in English World-
Wide 9 (1988): 171-91.  Algeo is far harder on the British
than I have presumed to be--he openly states that they are
not a "polite race" and identifies five different categories
of these "tag questions," which he ranges from informational
and confirmatory to peremptory and aggressive.
     
     
     Much of the contents of this article is abridged and
adapted from the English chapters of the author's Inside the
'Sixties, What Really Happened on a World-Wide Scale, an
unpublished manuscript.
     
     Alex Gross resided in London between 1963 and 1971,
where he and his wife were active in the theatre, literary
and artistic worlds.  He served as a literary adviser to the
RSC from 1965 to 1970, and his translations of German plays
were produced by them and other British theatre companies.
Several members of his family have been and remain British
subjects.  His father, who published the A to Z Guide to
London, knew Lloyd George, and Lloyd George knew his father.


	NOTE:  This article is scheduled to be published in two
parts in the February and March 1992 issues of Translation News.