Editorial #287

In this issue, Sandy Walls has reported on research showing how whales have some sort of language system. The largest mammals, inhabiting huge oceans, learn and teach each other songs. Please stay with me as I reflect on this groundbreaking discovery. 

My British flatmate’s friend from home visited a few weeks ago and laughed when my friend used the American “practice” instead of the British “training”. Last weekend, one of my fellow Americans used “tom-eight-toe” instead of the Australian “tom-atoe”. Even I, a native of the American South, caught myself recently with the classic “jumper” misnomer. For years, I have attempted to ignore differences in accent. I am a proud proponent of the idea that if you only talk about the correct way to pronounce “crayon” or “garage” when you meet someone with a different accent, you will never get to the conversation topics that build connections and relationships. It’s a fine conversation opener, but too often I’ve seen (and experienced) the subject taken too far. I’d rather talk about our similarities than our differences. 

So, for three years now, I have ignored accents. I haven’t attempted to learn the regional accents of the UK, I barely notice international accents when I meet someone new. I have convinced myself that accents don’t matter — that is until my sister asked why I sounded so British over Christmas. She wasn’t necessarily right, I definitely don’t sound British, but she wasn’t wrong — I did sound different. Maybe it was the one or two pieces of slang or the way I was telling her to take the exit to Target. My voice had changed. 

As an English Literature student, I have known language to be a powerful connector that ties us together, but I have realised recently this is especially true in St Andrews. The international student voice congeals based on who you spend time with, but so does your behaviour. Your music tastes broaden when someone new has the aux, a random word said at the pub as a joke makes its way into your everyday vocabulary, and your coffee order changes when your friend makes you try a London Fog. Although the sentiment may not be as dramatic as I am a mosaic of everyone I have ever loved, perhaps, in St Andrews, it is pretty close. 

My accent isn’t British now, but St Andrews has changed it. Most of us have learned some words here or there and we may say these words for years just because our paths cross in this small town. Call us whales singing to each other through the deep blue, but I like the thought of saying herb the way you do because of all the times we’ve cooked together. 

Have a great week, St Andrews, and enjoy this week’s issue. Take a break from the library to go outside with a friend to try out the puzzles page, if weather and deadlines permit, and have a (well-deserved) break next week. Riley.