It’s how you tell it…

I have always been fascinated by regional accents. I love hearing them – in comparison to ‘Dublin 4’ dialogue, or worse still, the ever-increasing ‘Americanisation’ of the English language. We have written about this previously, but some time back I was again reminded of the beauty of somebody retaining their own county accent.

I had a call from a person in the Department of Agriculture Office in Cavan. The lady I conversed with is highly qualified, highly educated and as they say, ‘well on top of her brief’ – and she had the broadest Cavan accent I have heard in a long while. I didn’t want the conversation to end!

There is something about Cavan people: they are so comfortable in their own skin and they don’t ever feel the need to ‘talk posh’. A strange phenomenon concerning Cavan is that while the county is in the province of Ulster, it is totally different to the sharpness of its neighbouring counties; other than Monaghan, I suppose – which is as different from Donegal as is chalk from cheese.

When I worked behind the bar, I prided myself on pinpointing where a new customer came from in our first exchanges. I didn’t always get it spot-on, but my success rate was high – and I was never far out!

Kerry folk are another people who appreciate the richness of their own accent and they generally do not change it on the way up to Dublin, or into RTÉ. Contrast this with the Connemara lady currently on radio who speaks as if she is interviewing for the job of elocution teacher at Buckingham Palace. ‘About’ is ‘aboot’, ‘ground’ is ‘grind’ – and I couldn’t even attempt to phonetically spell her interpretation of the word, ‘now’.

This individual would benefit from studying Claire Byrne, Eileen Dunne, Anne Doyle, Catriona Perry or Mary Wilson.

A Dublin accent lends itself very well to the sharp wit of its natives. Even after you think you have heard versions of all Dub one-liners, some ‘Jackeen’ at a football match will cause you to laugh heartily at a loudly delivered gem. No, the Dublin accent doesn’t do humility or ciúnas very well!

I have three Mayo grandchildren and I am a tad concerned that none of them possess a sufficiently pronounced Mayo accent. I am a Mayo football supporter and an incurable Galway hurling fan, and the western accent ‘warms the cockles of my heart’. This sentiment very much applies to Clare as well, due to our treasured Clare connections.

With all due respect to my friends in the province of Ulster, I find that the northern accent does grate a bit with me. You get used to it, but it is not as embracing as the warm accent the further south you go.

Cork, Kerry, Limerick and Waterford speak as if they are inviting you in. The Wexford and Kilkenny accents also tend to engage with their unique ‘rolled out’ words. Of course if you say anything about how they talk, you will be quickly told; ‘we do our talking on the pitch!’.

Only God knows how much I hate the Meath accent! I hate it with the same passion that a long-term prisoner must grow to hate the sound of his jailer’s voice. You see, ‘The Royals’ look on us in Westmeath as being the far-out relations that you barely have to tolerate, and don’t have to be nice to. They have more successful footballers, and except for one glorious uprising, they have kept us under the cosh and in our place for the last 140 years.

In a way, accents can be an entirely different language. My best friend, Philip, is a Meath man. His brother-in-law, Frank, is from Donegal. Philip is a farmer and likes talking about cows and bullocks. One night we were all out for a meal together in a fancy restaurant and Frank started off the evening by attempting to remove farming topics from the agenda.

This is how it went, in Frank’s booming voice and within earshot of every other diner: "Ach iiee… now Phollop… hang on a monut; I want to hear na talk tonight about your big bollo#ks." (A Donegal man’s pronunciation of ‘bullocks’ sounds like b******s!)

At this point, people all around us could be heard inhaling their soup…!

Across the pond, my favourite accent is Liverpudlian. Like the ‘Geordie’ accent, I can always identify a ‘Scouser’ – and I think it is beautiful. Maybe this dates (no pun intended) back to my roaring 20, when I once had a Liverpool girlfriend. I used try to arrange a date for a Thursday night, just to hear her say: "See ya Th-airrs-day then, Luv!"

None of the above was conducted by way of a scientific study. If you found any part of it upsetting, the editor is waiting to hear from you…

Don’t Forget

A man’s language is an index to his mind.