THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, October 19, 1994 TAG: 9410190076
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E01 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY SARAH MISKIN
LENGTH: Medium: 72 lines
Sarah Miskin is a Fulbright Professional Exchange Scholar from New Zealand working as a reporter for The Virginian-Pilot and The Ledger-Star. She will be writing occasional stories detailing her experiences in America. In today's installment, Sarah tells us about getting used to a different way of speaking English.
YES, I DO TALK funny, but no, I'm not from England, Poland or ``up north.'' And I'm certainly not from Australia - that's about the worst insult you can give a New Zealander.
Since arriving here, almost everyone has picked straight away that I'm ``not from around here,'' simply by the way that I talk.
While I have always been aware that I had a down-home Kiwi way of speaking, at home I fit into the middle of the range of accents.
My strong New ``Zel-und'' pronunciations announce me as a small-town kid who went to a public school. This falls between those who went to private schools, who have a proper ``Queen's English'' accent, and those from the more remote areas, particularly the bottom of the South Island, who turn all statements into questions and add ``eh'' to everything. (As in ``Nice day, eh?'')
It is common for Kiwis to be taken as Aussies (Ozzies) when overseas, just as at home we hear American and Canadian accents as being from the same place. To a Kiwi, however, there is an enormous difference between our tongues. (We say six, they say sex; we say fish and chips, they say feesh and cheeps.)
Having always seen the New Zealand accent as somewhat grating, I am surprised that many people here say I have a ``pretty'' accent . . . nasal, yes; odd, yes; harsh, maybe, but pretty? Food for thought.
My accent, I have discovered, is the least of my worries. Often I am asked to repeat my statements, not so much because of the accent but because my speech tends to be peppered with Kiwi slang.
I only became aware of how different this is when my first statement on stepping off the plane was ``I'm knackered,'' meaning I was exhausted. Wouldn't anyone be after traveling 24 hours to get here, the first 11 of which were spent sitting next to two Aussie males who drank 17 free bourbon and Cokes each before moving on to Cognac. (Even they could not match the guy at the back of the plane who downed 30 vodkas in 90 minutes before being extremely ill.)
On arriving at the house of my Fulbright Professional Exchange counterpart, Earl Swift, I discover he has purchased a copy of ``A Personal Kiwi-Yankee Dictionary'' by Louis S. Leland Jr., in anticipation that he may have some trouble understanding Godzone English.
I look up the word ``knackered'' and find: ``If you are knackered, you are BEAT and no wonder. A horse knacker was traditionally the person who took the old broken down horses and converted them into dog food and glue in the knacker's yard.'' At home, if you're beat, you're black and blue.
I had been warned of a few basic word differences, among them toilet (bathroom), rubbish (trash or garbage), car-parks (parking lots), wardrobes (closets), car boot (trunk) and biscuits (cookies).
After raising a few eyebrows with some of my more colorful phrases, I take another look at Leland. I find a lot more words with different meanings, ``false friends'' as he calls them, and resolve to be more careful in my choice of words - they could get me into a lot of trouble. To us, rubbers are erasers.
Three weeks into my stay, I can now pick differences in U.S. accents, although I can't yet tell where people are from.
Fairly soon I expect to switch into how y'all speak . . . but my friends may need a Kiwi-Yankee dictionary to interpret my speech when I get home. At worst they could ship me to Australia. by CNB