Jonny McCambridge: Alexa, why can’t you speak in Ulster Scots?

I have always imagined that this allows my (ahem) loyal readers to create their own version of how they believe I sound within their heads.

Perhaps there are those who mentally match my fine and fluid prose to something close to the assured and elegant speech of a David Attenborough. Or maybe others hear the devilish flourish of a Jack Nicholson delivery when they read my sentences. To give it a local flavour, some may conclude my tone is instead suited with the deep, booming and startling clarity of a Liam Neeson (feel free to write in with any other suggestions).

But, occasionally I am asked to make an appearance on the radio, or I may even meet in person someone who has read my stories, and the illusion is punctured.

As a result of this, several times I have been told that I don’t sound like how the reader imagined that I would. I always assume that this is a kinder, gentler way of saying: ‘I didn’t realise you were a great big culchie.’

For, indeed, it is so. Even though I have lived more than half of my life away from the rugged farmyard in north Antrim where I was reared, I have never shaken the strong Ulster Scots drawl that I developed in childhood.

Or, to put it another way, I don’t write the way I speak.

If I did, the maist o ye wouldnae hae a baldie noshun whaat I was taaking aboot maist o the tim ane ye wid be laist brave ane shairp ane wid thunk I’d laist me heid. Boys o!

As I say, my written voice is different than my spoken one.

It is probably true that most of us have some issues with the way we sound. It is generally a chastening and uncomfortable experience when someone hears their voice played back to them for the first time, because none of us sounds to others the way we do in our own heads.

For me, this moment occurred in third year Religious Education class when the teacher videoed my class acting out scenes from the New Testament. I assumed the key role of St Paul in the amateur production.

When the recording was played back, I was so shocked at what I heard coming out of my mouth on the screen that I stood up in the middle of the class and proclaimed: ‘Good God! St Paul is a barcy!’ (Noun: barcy. Plural noun: barcies. 1. Colloquial description of an individual with a pronounced rural accent. Pronounced: bar-see. Origin unknown, possibly north Antrim).

But, despite this early setback, over the years I have got used to, and even come to love my harsh brogue. In fact, I revel in its rustic charms and often exaggerate the effect when I’m in sophisticated company (yes, I’m quite the card at dinner parties).

I can think of no significant way that having a country bumpkin accent has disadvantaged me in life…..except for one.

She is called Alexa and she controls most of the entertainment which is consumed in my house. I may be verging towards paranoia, but I get the strong impression that she doesn’t like me very much.

There is the recurring translation difficulty. I ask Alexa to play a piece of music or a TV show and she responds archly, ‘I’m sorry, but I am not programmed in your language.’

Now, this is not the forum to open the debate about whether Ulster Scots is a real language or merely a dialect, but I do find her implication that my speech is incomprehensible, unnecessarily wounding.

It’s made all the more painful because Alexa’s pronunciation, pitch and tone is perfect. She is undeniably classy (although perhaps a little too sure of herself) and there is something in the haughty and superior way she talks to me which brings back unwelcome, repressed memories of a time when I was too afraid and intimidated to talk to girls.

Often, I am forced to resort to handing the remote control to my son and asking him to speak to her on my behalf. Alexa, of course, understands every word he utters without difficulty.

But, this is only the start of the story.

It is evening and my wife is reading our son a bedtime story upstairs and I am enjoying a cherished period of peace. I lounge in my favourite armchair in the living room in front of a roaring open fire, working my way steadily through a packet of chocolate Hobnobs and two bags of Monster Munch. The ferocity of the wind outside is making the windows shake.

Having endured several hours of playing Super Sonic the Mario Hedgehog Brothers on my son’s Nintendo, I now just want to relax, to listen to some of my favourite music. This is my special time.

I pick up the remote control and nervously clear my throat. ‘Come on,’ I tell myself. ‘You can do it.’

‘Alexa,’ I begin, trying to speak slowly and clearly. ‘Play songs by The Flaming Lips.’

There is a short silence (which I fill with fears that I am being judged and regrets that I didn’t say please), before Alexa whirrs reluctantly to life.

I sit up straight in my chair, wiping biscuit crumbs onto the floor.

An image of some pink, feathered birds fills my TV screen. A large piece of Monster Munch is suspended between my fingers, just inches from my mouth. Alexa begins to speak, voice smooth as velvet, hard as marble.

‘Flamingos or flamingoes are a type of wading bird in the family Phoenicopteridae, the only bird family in the order Phoenicopteriformes. Four flamingo species are distributed throughout the Americas, including the Caribbean, and two species are native to Africa, Asia, and Europe.’

And, for once, I have nothing left to say.

* Jonny McCambridge’s new book, Afraid of the Dark, published by Dalzell Press, is available now on Amazon

—— ——

A message from the Editor:

Thank you for reading this story on our website. While I have your attention, I also have an important request to make of you.

With the coronavirus lockdown having a major impact on many of our advertisers - and consequently the revenue we receive - we are more reliant than ever on you taking out a digital subscription.

Subscribe to newsletter.co.uk and enjoy unlimited access to the best Northern Ireland and UK news and information online and on our app. With a digital subscription, you can read more than 5 articles, see fewer ads, enjoy faster load times, and get access to exclusive newsletters and content. Visit https://www.newsletter.co.uk/subscriptions now to sign up.

Our journalism costs money and we rely on advertising, print and digital revenues to help to support them. By supporting us, we are able to support you in providing trusted, fact-checked content for this website.

Alistair Bushe

Editor