World Play: A common language

MARY REICHARD, HOST: Today is Friday, November 18th. Good morning! This is The World and Everything in It from listener-supported WORLD Radio. I’m Mary Reichard.

NICK EICHER, HOST: And I’m Nick Eicher.

I’m sure you heard Whitney Williams’ recent testimony of God’s gracious answer to one of her prayers. But we know God’s been at work in your life, too.

REICHARD: So, as we prepare for our end of year programming, we’d like you to tell us: “How God has answered one of your prayers this year.” If He’s moved a mountain or brought you through a difficult trial, we want to hear about it. If He’s quietly provided day by day–or helped you grow in faith or humility, you can tell us that, too.

EICHER: Usually the best way to record your stories is to use the recorder that’s on your cell phone. Be sure you hold it like you’re making a call, not out in front of your mouth. And we do ask, try to keep your story to under two minutes. Once you’re done, you can email the recording to editor@wng.org.

So, take a minute and record your story! We look forward to hearing how God has answered one of your prayers this year! We plan to air them during our program beginning the week after Christmas.

REICHARD: Well, it’s time for Word Play with George Grant. He recently spent some time in Great Britain and now he’s got some quirky new lingo.

GEORGE GRANT, COMMENTATOR: The Anglo-Irish playwright Oscar Wilde, once quipped, “We have really everything in common with America nowadays—except, of course, language.” Similarly, George Bernard Shaw purportedly declared, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language.”

Having just returned from a month in Britain, I concur. More often than not American English and English English are like ships passing in the night.

In England, chips are crisps and fries are chips. Trucks are lorries and lawyers are barristers. Cookies are biscuits and pretty much all other desserts are puddings. Elevators are lifts; apartments are flats; restrooms are loos; gas is petrol; closets are cupboards; diapers are nappies; and for some reason long haul eighteen wheelers are juggernauts.

And then, there is Scottish English. English speakers south of the Tweed River derive their unique vocabulary from the old Anglo-Saxon and Norman languages. North of the Tweed however Norse and Celtic roots predominate. And if you’ve ever tried to properly pronounce the poetry of Robert Burns—“Auld Lang Syne” or “Scots Wha Hae” for instance—you know how alien those words and phrases can sound to our American ears.

Now, some Scots vocabulary can be easily transliterated. Aye is yes and coo is cow; wee is small and muckle is big; mac is son and clann is family; a ben is a mountain, a brae is a hillside, a burn is a stream, and a bairn is a child. Some of the more peculiar Scots lexicon might need a bit more context: to scrieve means to write and to belter means to sing with gusto. Tatties and neeps, a side dish at the Sunday pub roast, is mashed potatoes and turnips. To ken is to know and to sain is to bless. But then, there are the words that you really must have a dictionary in hand to understand. For example, to be exhausted can be puggled or dumfungled. A scooby is a clue, a geggie is a mouth, and a stoosie is a bit of bother.

Every morning at the little seaside coffeeshop I patronized, I heard a phrase taken directly from the Gaelic of the Highlands; it has become one of my favorites: tapadh leat. It is an expression of gratitude. It simply means thanks or thanksgiving.

This year, as all the wee bairns of my clann gather around our table laden high with the Lord’s saining, I will be grateful to ken a new way to belter my thankfulness: tapadh leat!

I’m George Grant.

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