On the 31st of January, the United Kingdom officially left the European Union. On that day, residents of a tower block in the ancient city of Norwich were greeted by notices headed Happy Brexit Day.
The notice stated that ‘we do not tolerate people speaking languages other than English in these flats,’ and included an invitation to people who wished to speak their own languages to return to their countries of origin. The gist of the notice was that ‘we’ are reclaiming our country, our once great island, after ‘infection’ by other ethnic groups. There was, of course, no indication of who ‘we’ might be.
It was a relief to learn that the notices were speedily taken down, and that the offence was reported to the local police, who announced they were investigating the incident as a hate crime. And local neighbourhoods protested against evidence of such prejudice, with the main messages being ‘Norwich is just not like that,’ and ‘Everybody is welcome here.’
But I have been bemused to read the result of a recent poll taken in Britain. It suggests that 26 per cent of people feel ‘uncomfortable’ when hearing foreign languages spoken. Me, I feel envious, simply wishing that I was more of a linguist. I admit I even envy my own children, who are bilingual. They switch between Greek and English so easily it is as if they have a button in the relevant part of their brains, while my own switch-over entails a definite and possibly audible grinding of cerebral gears.
As children in the monoglot Australia of the 1950s, my sister and I realised the attention-grabbing nature of foreign languages. We tried to make up our own language, and enjoyed talking it to each other as we walked suburban streets. Never mind that it was gobbledegook that even we could not understand. People at the shops certainly looked at us, and we hoped they thought we were clever.
I have just read, and it certainly makes sense, that polyglots have always been in the majority. Geography has to be a contributing factor to this; I once knew an immigrant child whose parents, from Central Europe, knew ten languages between them, and there must have been many children like him.
Circumstances also often decide the linguistic future, as I learned when a friend of mine once told me that his parents were Russian and Ukrainian, and that he had learned German and Polish in refugee camps. When he was seven he came to Australia and learned English. The same must be happening to the Asian and African immigrants of today.
'In youth, research indicates, polyglots show more mental flexibility, are more tolerant of other points of view, and develop the capacity to be good listeners. They also see nothing peculiar in moving between two or more worlds.'
But even the humblest peasant, at least in an earlier Europe, spoke dialect at home, a smattering of another language to the feudal master, and listened to Latin in church, mastering certain phrases along the way. With the rich and aristocratic, the learning of languages was automatic. Elizabeth I, for example, spoke and was literate in six languages.
And it seems that learning other languages does have a positive effect on the brain. These days, tackling another language is now regularly recommended for elderly people. Research proves that learning another language is just about the hardest work the brain can do, so that it comes as no surprise to learn that neuroscientists consider the learning of a new language a valuable weapon against the feared dementia. Just the exposure to new ideas is important, as I thought when I heard my father complain about languages such as French and Greek having genders.
In old age, the cultivation of memory and the ability to concentrate are important, but in youth, research indicates, polyglots show more mental flexibility, are more tolerant of other points of view, and develop the capacity to be good listeners. They also see nothing peculiar in moving between two or more worlds.
This last became evident to me when my then ten-year-old son was at a Greek-Australian gathering. Someone said to him, ‘I didn’t know you can speak Greek.’
‘Of course I can,’ he replied, ‘I’m Greek.’ Not long afterwards, someone else expressed surprise at the fact that he could speak English. ‘Of course I can, I’m Australian.’
That long-ago boy is now doing his best to ensure that his own sons are bilingual. And they study German at school.
Gillian Bouras is an expatriate Australian writer who has written several books, stories and articles, many of them dealing with her experiences as an Australian woman in Greece.
Main image: Illustration by Chris Johnston