the First Words are the Deepest
(c) Martin Richards
Learning a foreign language, French, at school was no fun at all. I could not be motivated to sound like a frog. Even though one of my classmates was half-French, I couldn't get the words out. I couldn't see the point. Perhaps because I had my eyes closed!
So in 1986, when I realised that I would probably be moving to Sweden I had to face up to the prospect of learning the foreign language, Swedish. If you don't know any Swedish, well, it's kind of like German, but softer. Perhaps like Dutch, but slower. And it's nothing like French, or English. No, that's not true, Swedish and English have many words in common. The biggest difference is the sound. Kind of like a duck. Förlåt mig, men så lät det i början << that was an apology to any Swedes who might happen across this text.
Not that the sound of speaking Swedish is the big issue. The big issue is daring to speak in a different way than normal, sounding like someone other than who you think you are. Crossing that threshhold was a bit of an adventure, and in time opened the way for me to guide others across their threshholds - real and metaphorical. Here is that adventure, it's quite short.
In 1986, I was staying with two friends in Sweden, who both spoke English, and I was having quite a good time of avoiding speaking Swedish. Gradually my friends tired of making the effort of speaking English, and began to encourage me to say a few words... or just one word ... in Swedish. Faced with such persuasion I was surprised to find how creatively I could resist, avoid and cope without speaking Swedish; denying the mounting fact that I would have to, just have to, speak like that soon.
One fine afternoon push came to shove. I was getting hungry for something to eat, and my friends were doggedly determined to teach me a lesson, a Swedish lesson. The opportunity for learning finally arrived. I was seriously hungry and unable to buy any food for myself. Not for lack of money, but for lack of words. I didn't know how to ask for what I wanted. I could point, but that seemed demeaning.
We were near an open market, and there was a fruit stall. I told my friends that I could really do with an apple, or a banana; or something. My friends took my request and turned it back to me. "What do you want the most?". I looked at the fruit on display and said "A pear please.". After a pause came their parallel encouragement, "Then go and ask for one. I could, of course, have gone over and pointed at what I wanted to buy. The grocer would have got the message, yet somewhere deep inside I knew that the time had come to make that first utterance. Not just for sake of the food, but for the means of getting food later. In the back of my mind were the words "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for life".
So here was my fishing lesson. "What's a pear called?" I asked. "Päron" they told me. It sounded like "pear on". "A pear on what?" I asked. "A pear on toast?". Silly joke, but it helped ease the tension.
And then it happened. Seemingly very slowly, I went over to the fruit stall and said "Päron, tack." I knew to add the word "tack" to any request in Swedish, and it seemed appropriate. The pear and some money changed hands and there I was, pear in hand, triumphant. It was the sweetest, juiciest pear I had ever tasted.
This threshhold crossing became something of a habit. Not long after the "Pear Crossing" the opportunity to learn another vital phrase made itself available.
In Gothenburg there are trams. Ancient forms of transport, like a cross between a bus and a train (just in case you've never seen one). In order to travel on one of this trams you needed to buy a ticket. Up until now my friends had seen to it that I travelled legally, and had been buying tram tickets for me. Now, they were growing tired, either of the expense or of taking repsonsibility for me, one or the other. Either way I could feel that it was getting close to the time when I would need to buy a ticket for myself so I asked "What's it called?". "Ett häfte"... now that's hard to render in English, the nearest word is "hefty".
On this day of stepping across the threshhold into the world of trams I was going to gain the ability to travel. Not only this journey into town with my friends, but any journey, anywhere - even without my friends. So the words were particularly meaningful to me... "Ett häfte tack" I said to the tram driver, paid, and received a strip of folded tickets that I could us for this tram journey into town. And as I sat in my I-paid-for-it-myself seat, I knew that I would soon explore Gothenburg by tram until I knew as much of it as possible.
But that, as they say, is another story...
More
Learning a foreign language, French, at school was no fun at all. I could not be motivated to sound like a frog. Even though one of my classmates was half-French, I couldn't get the words out. I couldn't see the point. Perhaps because I had my eyes closed!
So in 1986, when I realised that I would probably be moving to Sweden I had to face up to the prospect of learning the foreign language, Swedish. If you don't know any Swedish, well, it's kind of like German, but softer. Perhaps like Dutch, but slower. And it's nothing like French, or English. No, that's not true, Swedish and English have many words in common. The biggest difference is the sound. Kind of like a duck. Förlåt mig, men så lät det i början << that was an apology to any Swedes who might happen across this text.
Not that the sound of speaking Swedish is the big issue. The big issue is daring to speak in a different way than normal, sounding like someone other than who you think you are. Crossing that threshhold was a bit of an adventure, and in time opened the way for me to guide others across their threshholds - real and metaphorical. Here is that adventure, it's quite short.
In 1986, I was staying with two friends in Sweden, who both spoke English, and I was having quite a good time of avoiding speaking Swedish. Gradually my friends tired of making the effort of speaking English, and began to encourage me to say a few words... or just one word ... in Swedish. Faced with such persuasion I was surprised to find how creatively I could resist, avoid and cope without speaking Swedish; denying the mounting fact that I would have to, just have to, speak like that soon.
One fine afternoon push came to shove. I was getting hungry for something to eat, and my friends were doggedly determined to teach me a lesson, a Swedish lesson. The opportunity for learning finally arrived. I was seriously hungry and unable to buy any food for myself. Not for lack of money, but for lack of words. I didn't know how to ask for what I wanted. I could point, but that seemed demeaning.
We were near an open market, and there was a fruit stall. I told my friends that I could really do with an apple, or a banana; or something. My friends took my request and turned it back to me. "What do you want the most?". I looked at the fruit on display and said "A pear please.". After a pause came their parallel encouragement, "Then go and ask for one. I could, of course, have gone over and pointed at what I wanted to buy. The grocer would have got the message, yet somewhere deep inside I knew that the time had come to make that first utterance. Not just for sake of the food, but for the means of getting food later. In the back of my mind were the words "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for life".
So here was my fishing lesson. "What's a pear called?" I asked. "Päron" they told me. It sounded like "pear on". "A pear on what?" I asked. "A pear on toast?". Silly joke, but it helped ease the tension.
And then it happened. Seemingly very slowly, I went over to the fruit stall and said "Päron, tack." I knew to add the word "tack" to any request in Swedish, and it seemed appropriate. The pear and some money changed hands and there I was, pear in hand, triumphant. It was the sweetest, juiciest pear I had ever tasted.
This threshhold crossing became something of a habit. Not long after the "Pear Crossing" the opportunity to learn another vital phrase made itself available.
In Gothenburg there are trams. Ancient forms of transport, like a cross between a bus and a train (just in case you've never seen one). In order to travel on one of this trams you needed to buy a ticket. Up until now my friends had seen to it that I travelled legally, and had been buying tram tickets for me. Now, they were growing tired, either of the expense or of taking repsonsibility for me, one or the other. Either way I could feel that it was getting close to the time when I would need to buy a ticket for myself so I asked "What's it called?". "Ett häfte"... now that's hard to render in English, the nearest word is "hefty".
On this day of stepping across the threshhold into the world of trams I was going to gain the ability to travel. Not only this journey into town with my friends, but any journey, anywhere - even without my friends. So the words were particularly meaningful to me... "Ett häfte tack" I said to the tram driver, paid, and received a strip of folded tickets that I could us for this tram journey into town. And as I sat in my I-paid-for-it-myself seat, I knew that I would soon explore Gothenburg by tram until I knew as much of it as possible.
But that, as they say, is another story...
More
