Glasgow (41 page)

Thaw entered last and found the only seat left was the undesirable one in the front row in front of the teacher, who sat behind a tall desk with his hands clasped on the lid. When everyone was seated he looked from left to right along the rows of faces before him, as if memorising each one, then leaned back and said casually, ‘Now we'll divide you into classes. In the first year, of course, the only real division is between those who take Latin and those who take . . . a modern language. At the end of the third year you will have to choose between other subjects: Geography or History, for instance; Science or Art; for by then you will be specialising for your future career. Hands up those who don't know what specialising means. No hands? Good. Your choice today is a simpler one, but its effects reach further. You all know Latin is needed for entrance to university. A number of benevolent people think this unfair and are trying to change it. As far as Glasgow University is concerned they haven't succeeded
yet
.' He smiled an inward-looking smile and leaned back until he seemed to be staring at the ceiling. He said, ‘My name's Walkenshaw. I'm senior Classics master. Classics. That's what we call the study of Latin and Greek. Perhaps you've heard the word
before? Who hasn't heard of classical music? Put your hands up if you haven't heard of classical music. No hands? Good. Classical music, you see, is the
best
sort of music, music by the best composers. In the same way the study of Classics is the study of the
best
. Are you chewing something?'

Thaw, who had been swallowing nervously, was appalled to find this question fired at himself. Not daring to take his gaze from the teacher's face he stood slowly up and shook his head.

‘Answer me.'

‘No, sir.'

‘Open your mouth. Open it wide. Stick your tongue out.'

Thaw did as he was told. Mr Walkenshaw leaned forward, stared then said mildly, ‘Your name?'

‘Thaw, sir.'

‘That's all right, Thaw. You can sit down. And always tell the truth, Thaw.'

Mr Walkenshaw leaned back and said, ‘Classics. Or as we call it at university, the Humanities. I say nothing against the study of modern languages. Naturally half of you will choose French. But Whitehall Senior Secondary School has a tradition, a fine tradition of Classical scholarship, and I hope many of you continue that tradition. To those without enough ambition to go to university and who can't see the use of Latin, I can only repeat the words of Robert Burns: ‘Man cannot live by bread alone.' No, and you would be wise to remember it. Now I'm going to read your names again and I want you to shout Modern and Classics according to choice.'

He read the list of names again. Thaw was depressed to hear all the people he knew choose Latin. He chose Latin.

A STRANGLED PEEVISH HICCUP, 1982
Paul Theroux

After eleven years living in London, the American novelist Paul Theroux set out to travel clockwise round the coast and find out what Britain and the British are really like. It was 1982, the summer of the Falklands War and the royal baby. As is the way with day-trippers, Theroux's views were snapshots, but no less valid for that. Of Aberdeen, he wrote: ‘The food was disgusting, the hotels over-priced and indifferent, the spit-and-sawdust pubs were full of drunken and bad-tempered men – well, who wouldn't be bad-tempered?' Dundee, he discovered, had well-earned its
reputation for dullness, while he barely spent enough time in Edinburgh to blow his nose. Nor did he spend much longer in Glasgow
. . .

After my days being menaced by Belfast's ugly face I went by boat and train to Glasgow and found it peaceful, even pretty. It had a bad name. ‘Gleska', people said, and mocked the toothless population and spoke of razor fights in the Gorbals, and made haggis jokes. Yet Glasgow was pleasant – not broken but eroded. The slums were gone, the buildings washed of their soot; the city looked dignified – no barricades, no scorchings. Well, I had just struggled ashore from that island of antiquated passions. In Ireland I had felt as though I had been walking blindly into the dark. But Scotland made me hopeful. This sunny day stretched all the way to Oban, where I was headed.

On my way from Glasgow Central to Queen Street Station, I fell in with two postmen. They asked me where I had come from. I told them Ulster. They said, ‘Och!'

‘It's full of broken windows,' I said.

‘Aye. And broken
hids
!' one said.

The other man said, ‘We got our Catholics. Ha' ye nae heard of the Rengers and Celtics fitba matches? They play each other a guid sux times a year, but there's nae
always
a riot.'

No alphabet exists for the Glaswegian accent – phonetic symbols are no good either without a glottal stop, a snort, or a wheeze. I met rural-dwelling Scots who told me they could not understand anyone from Glasgow. The Ulster accent took a moment to turn from noise to language: I heard someone speak and then in the echo of the voice there was a meaning. But this did not always happen in Scotland: the echo was meaningless, and in Glasgow it was a strangled peevish hiccup, sudden and untranslatable.

LINGUA GLESCA, 1982
Stanley Baxter

Before visiting Glasgow it is recommended that tourists become acquainted with a few phrases to assist them in their negotiations. The following list of the more obscure Glaswegian words and phrases with approximate definitions in ordinary English may be of some use to non-Scots who visit the great cultural melting-pot on the Clyde. Stanley Baxter (1926–), the renowned comedian, was born in Glasgow, and, ably abetted by journalist Alex Mitchell, produced a series of sketches
and books aimed at enlightening the ignorant in the city's patois. Their model, apparently, was the BBC series
Parliamo Italiano.
In one justly famous scene Baxter approaches a trader at a local market and asks: ‘Zarra marra onna barra, Clara?', which he translates as ‘Is that a marrow on your barrow, Clara?'
.

SHURSEL, HULLAWRERR, YURTHERR: Words of greeting.

GOARRA, used in various contexts, as follows –

GOARRAMADRI, an acute thirst has assailed me.

GOARRAFAGOANYE, a request for a cigarette.

GOARRAHELL, used when declining to give the importunate person a cigarette.

Various terms are used by the natives when discussing the vagaries of the weather.

SWAARMRADAY, the temperature has risen.

RASUNZOOT! a miracle has taken place!

SPELTINARAIN, we have returned to normal climatic conditions.

SELLUVAKOLNOO, the temperature has now fallen.

MASPUDZIZFROZE, my feet are extremely cold.

Many Glaswegians seek their holiday pleasures abroad. Foreign doctors might find it advisable to acquaint themselves with some of the terms used in describing the symptoms of various ailments.

MADIALZBEALIN, some skin is no longer adhering to my face.

MACHAMPURZIZBROON, even my dentures are sunburnt.

AVAHEIDANAHOF, the modestly-priced wine is stronger than I thought.

AVASERRKYTE, I am suffering from stomach pains.

AMOFFI PEELIWALLI, the large seafood meal I ate has made me somewhat frail.

ASATOANA DAUDAGLESS, I failed to notice the broken wine bottle before I sat down on the beach.

On their return from a sojourn in mainland Spain or Majorca many Glaswegian natives display their snapshots with pride. Expressions that accompany their photographic exhibition are –

WANNISEE WURPHOTIES? Can I induce you to suffer an hour of extreme boredom?

ERRMAMURRAPAIDLIN, that is a study of my mother seeking a sea-water easement of her painful corns.

WEEFELLA BELLAFELLINWI, a small gentleman who took Bella out in a pedalo which capsized.

RAWEANFLIN SAUNABOOT, the child merrily throwing sand about.

SKELPINFURRAWEAN, father cutting short the child's enjoyment.

MAWYELLINHURHEIDAFF, my mother has inadvertently sat on a bee, wasp or hornet.

Foreign students of our language are surprised to find that it contains words which are apparently of Japanese origin. A common greeting is –

HEHYU or HIYU

Other words borrowed from the Land of the Rising Sun are –

OBI JINGSAM WABBIT, I am exceedingly fatigued.

WANNA SUKAT, as in the hospitable invitation ‘Do you want a suck at my orange?'

GONNIGEISHASANG? Are you going to favour us with a ballad?

UCHAMSHI, I am somewhat diffident.

WHITWUNNA THREETHURTI? A request for racing information.

OMI WHITATUMMI, a comment made on observing a gentleman's pendulous stomach.

SAMURAI BUNGFU, a lady's rebuke to her bibulous husband, Sam.

THE WOMAN IN GOVAN LIBRARY, 1983
Jimmy Reid

Jimmy Reid (1932–2010) came to prominence in the early 1970s when he was one of the leaders of the Upper Clyde Shipbuilders work-in to try to stop the Conservative Government from closing down shipyards. In a speech that is regarded as one of the most powerful he ever delivered, Reid told workers: ‘There will be no hooliganism. There will be no vandalism. There will be no bevvying . . .' Born in Govan, Reid was an autodidact, an avid reader of G.K. Chesterton, George Bernard Shaw and George Orwell. The speech from which this extract is taken was delivered without notes at a Scottish Library Association Conference
.

Libraries played a very important part in my own education, if you can call it an education. In terms of formal scholastic qualifications I have none – not even an ‘O' level. Not because I was a total ‘bampot', as they say, but I left school at fourteen and, to tell you the truth, we did not take exams at that time. I passed my eleven plus. We still had the eleven plus in those days. I think it was out of 150, and I got 148½, which was not a bad pass mark. I am not indicating anything here, because I did not think about the eleven plus at that time. When I grew to maturity I thought even less about it as any kind of guide for measuring the intelligence of human beings, because people, particularly children, develop at different levels.

Anyway, I passed the eleven plus. I don't know what it is now, but they streamed you in those days, and in Govan we were streamed into the academic stream that was based on Oxford and Cambridge. I did Greek, French and Latin, but my expectations never involved higher education. I did not know anybody who went to university from the streets of Govan. You normally assumed that at the first opportunity you were out to work. I must confess I never found the smattering of knowledge about Latin verbs of great assistance in the shipyards, but do not knock it for that reason.

I must also add that I have no recollection of my formal education, particularly at secondary school, stimulating or generating the slightest interest in any subject, in any subject at all, yet at the age of twelve or thirteen I was a voracious reader and pestered the life out of the woman in Govan Library. She swore blind that I could not be reading all the books I was taking out! Now, I was not exactly a bookworm – I used to play football and do all the other things with the lads. The truth is that for whatever reason, I started reading and by the time I was thirteen or fourteen had read every thing that Shaw had ever written, including his novels (which were not very good), and, to this day, I am still a voracious reader.