I will admit; it has been a long holiday, and one that’s not yet over. After a lot of really intensive activity at work and college (for yes, I am ashamed to say, I do not actually stay in every day and learn Irish. Instead, I venture forth into the world to attempt to become trained in such a way as to acquire gainful employment. Unfortunately, this is sometimes time consuming) followed by a Christmas break in which I’ve spent my time… well, making merry.
All of that has left little time for Irish. No, I correct myself. All of that has left plenty of time, which I have filled with TV, playing tetris, knitting, staring out of windows; basically anything that requires minimal mental effort, and can be done while eating a massive slab of Christmas Cake.
This, I think, is the first sharp incline on that journey I was talking about. The very first few steps have come easy- I now know enough to hold up my end of a conversation providing that my conversation partner does 99.9% of the talking and is prepared to repeat themselves a lot. I’ve received compliments… too many compliments in fact. Too many people smiling and telling me that it took them fifteen years to learn the language, that considering how long I’ve been trying I’m very good, and so on. But I don’t want to be ‘good considering how long she’s been learning’ girl for the rest of my life. You may as well be ‘good at maths considering she can’t add up’ or ‘good at lion taming considering that it’s actually a tabby cat called Jemima she’s got there’.
Yes, my second Oíche Chomhrá went well, but that was because the people are faultlessly kind, and willing to listen. They give up massive amounts of their time to listening to me and encouraging me to make myself understood, and I am lucky to be blessed with a sizeable propensity to make a complete fool of myself without getting too embarrassed. Some people there know me know, and I get introduced to people with words such as ‘This is Maeve- did you know she’s English?!’ This at least always stimulates the conversation enough for me to try and explain that my dad’s Irish, and I would consider myself Irish but grew up in London and have a London accent. (That’s not to say that they have anything negative to say about my English ancestry- it’s more a tone of ‘Hey Bob, check out this ‘un, she’s learning Irish and she didn’t even do it in school!’) (An alternative explanation would be to posit the theory that that’s all my newfound acquaintances can remember about me and they need something to introduce me with).
But I wallow slightly too much in my happy, self-congratulatory glow, I fear- like a massive gold bath for my massive gold head. I forget that there were awkward times too- like the time I offended a lady from Ulster because she thought I was saying Donegal was in Connacht (for the uninitiated, it is in Ulster, but there was all this business with this bunch of guys, and then yer man there, and then this other bunch of guys, and… buy me a pint or two and I’ll talk you through the last 600 years of Irish history), when actually what I was saying was that in Glen Cholm Cille I think they speak in a Connacht dialect rather than an Ulster one (I’m not actually sure, I think it depends on the teacher, and besides, I’m relying on the bizarre business of dialects for another blog entry).
Actually, the whole ‘place names’ thing is one area where I’m very weak. I’ve become very adept at asking people where they’re from in Irish, but here’s the kicker… they reply in Irish. And yes, that’s right, shocking as it may seem, every place in Ireland has its own name in Irish. No, I don’t know them. I don’t even know the place names in Ireland in English (I do know there’s a village near Derry called Muff, and it hosts a diving club. But that’s too hilarious not to know).
That area, along with areas such a tenses… verbs… grammar… pronunciation… vocabulary… and other such teensy weensy little things are what I have to work on, and I’m not gonna do it sitting on my arse and eating Christmas cake. (Well, actually, I probably am going to do it sitting on my arse and eating Christmas cake, and birthday cake, and easter cake, but I’ll be doing Irish as well). The easy part, the ‘hello goodbye my name is stacey how are you’ part is over, and it’s time for some hard work.
To encourage myself (much in the same way you might encourage cattle with a very sharp stick) I’ve booked and paid for my two weeks of courses in the summer, on the basis that I won’t want to spend that amount of euro on a holiday just to go along and not understand a word anyone’s saying. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to learn some Irish. And maybe just one more piece of Christmas cake…
thequarefolk 