Guest Blogs
Dyma ambell i flog wedi’u hysgrifennu gan gyfeillion Doctor Cymraeg. Tasech chi’n hoffi rhannu’ch teimladau a’ch profiadau o’r Gymraeg, cysylltwch â fi. Croeso i chi ysgrifennu mewn unrhyw iaith. Mwynhewch.
Here are some blogs written by friends of Doctor Cymraeg. If you’d like to share your feelings and experiences of Cymraeg, get in touch. All languages welcome. Mwynhewch.
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Finding Cymraeg (somewhere other than where you lost it).
“So ‘adre’ means ‘door’ then?”
“No, it means ‘home’. That’s why it’s on the front door”
“That’s well confusing!”
“Makes perfect sense to me!”
The house is covered in Post-It notes these days; learning Cymraeg is pretty much the first use I’ve ever found for the things. And even that small revelation came as a surprise, because I never expected that I would be trying to re-acquire a language – no, make that
MY language – that I lost the best part of fifty years ago when my parents relocated to Lloegr.
Nowadays, my story isn’t all that unusual – after all, Welsh is apparently the fastest growing language in the UK, with some 1.5 million learners registered on the popular language platform Duolingo. But how did I get here after all this time? And what are the practicalities involved in someone like me in learning what is effectively a new language?
It almost goes without saying that I’d thought about this before. For years. But I’d let all sorts of stuff get in the way. But then I met Penny on my very first Wales Women away trip to the Faroes, where the fateful conversation took place: “If only there was somewhere fans
of the women’s team could go to share information…” and soon afterwards @Wmenywod (Wal Goch y Menywod) was born. This meant me actually using my mostly-abandoned Twitter account and, in doing so, I started following any and all things football – and Cymru – related.
Many of the people I met on my travels (both real and virtual) from that day forth were Welsh speakers to some extent, which made me think a little harder about my identity; my Welshness, and being proudly Welsh and living in Lloegr. For years, the abject misery (for
that’s what it usually was back then) of following the Welsh men’s football team was the most visible expression of my Welshness. But time passed, and an unprecedented period of success co-incided with a much greater visibility of the Welsh language – and, notably,
its use by a number of our players. Fast forward to the rise of the women’s national side; in one of her earliest press conferences manager Gemma Grainger spoke of the importance of Welsh culture and Cymraeg to the players and, by association, herself. Now I watch subtitled interviews on Radio Cymru’s Twitter by Sophie Ingle, Haz James and Tash Harding and sit with my learner’s dictionary, all the while hovering over the pause button. These are extra useful, as instead of hearing about Owen’s parsnips (if you know, you know!) you get to pick up handy football phrases and vocabulary. Dw i’n meddwl bod rhaid i chi ddechrau Gareth Bale!
In years past my efforts had only ever translated into buying resources; cassettes, CDs, books – over the years I had amassed a small cupboard-full. After yet another attack of the good intentions, the item in question would be half-heartedly perused, then left lying around somewhere visible until being unceremoniously wanged into said small cupboard with all the others. This sorry state of affairs continued until an intriguing book recommendation appeared. I bought a copy – as you already know, dear reader, I’m good at this bit – but then something weird happened… I read it. The book – ‘Welsh and I’ by Stephen Rule – was a game changer. It dismissed all the things I had long regarded as problems: my proven track record of failure with languages at school, the fact that I live in England, and
the likelihood that I’d left it far too late to be able to speak Cymraeg as if I’d never left the country as a small boy.
While ‘Welsh and I’ is about the author’s journey to fluency, it emphasises that not everyone who sets out on that road will make it there – and that’s OK. Instead, we should set out what we as learners would like to achieve, and aim for that. Straight away, it becomes obvious that speaking Welsh is, for me, only really likely to happen on Wales Women away jaunts, and in fact the thing I should be concentrating on is being able to chat to my Welsh footy mates via my relatively new Twitter account. Suddenly this feels achievable.
The next step is fairly obvious – after all, everyone seems to be using it – Duolingo. I like the regular commitment, and it’s full of clever tricks designed to get you using the language and – most importantly – keep you coming back for more. I’ve been using it for about 10 months now, and I’ve got two main observations. The first is, if I struggle with a question, or to read a headline or other sentence in Welsh I force myself to remember how I was at the beginning of all this; when I couldn’t understand a word of my own language. I try to turn that around and instead be proud of the bit I do understand and siapwch chi! The second came fairly early on, via the ‘difficult’ questions where – instead of assembling the answer
from a list of words – you have to type your sentence freehand. The first time this happened I don’t mind admitting I was quite moved, and the joy of being able to write even a short sentence in Cymraeg hasn’t worn thin yet; something I genuinely believed I’d never be able to do.
Now I’m out of the blocks (an inappropriate metaphor if ever there was one!) I’ve dug out the contents of the small cupboard as part of a wider campaign to immerse myself in the language. No more Stooges, no more Burning Spear or Manics but instead two Heini Gruffudd courses – ‘Hands Free Welsh’ and ‘Welcome to Welsh’ are doing heavy rotation on the stereo in my decrepit Teutonic minibus. A truly ancient ‘Welsh in Three Months’ (Hugo) – a bargain at just £1 from the hospice shop – is in the process of being converted from cassettes into MP3s. Being a librarian by profession, I can be a bit precious about books, so it’s good that my 2 nd hand ‘Welsh Learner’s Dictionary’ (Heini Gruffudd again!) was already battered and dog eared when I got it, as it goes everywhere with me these
days. Just as ‘Welsh and I’ cajoled me into making a commitment to learn the language, I can wholeheartedly recommend Stephen Rule’s other books ‘Cracking Welsh Questions’ and ‘Cymraeg Efo Ffrind’ as fine resources for the learner. Indeed, if you are dysgwr then giving him a follow on Twitter (@CymraegDoctor) is a must. I also have a couple of phrase books that I picked up cheaply and have found handy: ‘Learn Welsh’ (Heini Gruffudd) and ‘Welsh Phrases for Learners’ (Leonard Hayles).
One of my best finds ever, though, was a stash of children’s board books at a table top sale in Trefin. Don’t be too proud to consider these – they are ideal for the beginner. I’ve learned how to tell the time in Welsh from one, plus I never tire of telling small children in the library that Elmer the Elephant is actually Welsh and his real name is Elfed. And there’s more, much, much more – the world is a small place these days, and there are more online resources than I have time to even visit. But I do watch S4C – football obviously, and Pobol y Cym with the subtitles on, and their ‘Dysgu Cymraeg’ YouTube channel is gwych.
I’ll finish by saying this: if ever you’ve thought about learning Cymraeg, however vaguely, however much self-doubt you may be harbouring… go for it! I’m not fluent, and most likely I never will be, but I can do something – and a week from now I’ll be able to do a bit more! I can read and write in my own language; something I couldn’t do just 12 months ago. It feels like it’s good for me and, by association, for the language itself, surely. And if I can do it, so can you. Pob lwc!
As a footnote, since I wrote this I signed up for a Dysgu Cymraeg distance learning course through Bangor Uni. Big day today: I sat the Mynediad exam, in Bangor – the city of my birth – clad in a Gareth Bale Cymru top (hoping to channel a little of the great man’s magic). I think it went OK. I’ll find out in a couple of months apparently; meanwhile life goes on – I start Sylfaen on Monday!
Hwyl, Jaz
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NUMBER SIX AND ME
“What interview with the examiner?” asked Jackie as we hurtled along the M4 motorway towards Pontypridd and our Welsh-For-Adults GCSE. She lifted a strand of her carefully tousled curls and put it back into place.
“The one this afternoon,” I said.
“I thought the exam was this morning. No-one told me anything about this afternoon.”
“Written papers all morning,” I explained, “and then, this afternoon, a half hour interview with the examiner.”
“Christ Almighty,” wailed Jackie. “I haven’t got to talk in Welsh, have I?”
“That’s the idea,” I said. “Where have you been? Colin’s been going on about it all year.”
“I don’t listen to anything he says,” she admitted. “What am I supposed to talk about?”
“Well,” I said, “Colin’s advice was to stick to something you know. I’m going to talk about my pets and the garden.”
“I hate gardening.” Jackie was miserable.
“And Colin said,” I added helpfully, “that the examiner always asks what you would do if you won the lottery and that makes things easy.”
“Why easy?”
“Because Colin says you can show the examiner all the different tenses that you know: the woulds, the should, the coulds and so on.”
“Stuff Colin,” said Jackie.
It was lunchtime. I was calm. No, I wasn’t. I was terrified. The written paper had been fine. Written papers are what I do best. Me, a pen, a piece of paper and the clock. I can do written papers. I can’t do interviews. In English, I can’t do interviews. In Welsh, I stand no chance at all. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t …
The door opened and the secretary appeared looking for the next victim.
“Maria?” I think it was the fact that I was hyperventilating that betrayed me. “Don’t be nervous. I’ve given you to examiner Number 6. He’s very nice.” She ushered me into the room where Number 6 was pacing up and down like a prisoner.
What do you suppose it is that can turn a mature, reasonably intelligent woman into an incoherent and almost incontinent wreck? Nerves? Lack of confidence? Insanity? Whatever it is, I had it by the bucketful that day.
We started on Hello, how are you? What’s your name? He was speaking slow perfect Welsh. Me? Well, I was managing the slow but then something in my brain snapped and my composure disappeared, quickly followed by my dignity.
“Have you got any pets?” asked Number 6.
“I got one cat and five chicken,” I stammered. “I had six chicken but one chicken dead. She had her death last week. She was Henrietta chicken but called Number 6 like you. Because when I am giving chicken food, I shout names: Julie! Bud! Barbie! Molly! Nen! Here is five chicken but where is Number 6? She missing always. Now she is dead. She had her death last week.”
“Was she old?” asked Number 6, slightly stunned.
“She was ill,” I replied, gravely. He opened his mouth to say something but he was too late. I was off again. There was a funeral. She is under the rose. The five chicken others are in a line by the fence and they are singing ‘Ooooooooh!’ My father digs in the geography. Not the geography. The earth.” Boy, oh, boy, was I hitting my stride now. “I give Henrietta chicken to the earth. Not the earth. The ground. She is Number 6, like you. I am singing ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ but the five chicken others are not sad. The five chicken others are waiting for the raining worms. They know it will rain worms when my father digs an arsehole. Not an arsehole. A hole.”
I was at this point that I realised that I wasn’t using all the tenses I knew, so I was disappointed to hear Number 6 say,
“Thank you. I think that’s enough.”
“No!” I shouted, suddenly a woman possessed as I saw my pass grade being buried along with Henrietta chicken. “You must ask to me what I would do if I were to win the lottery. There is a want on me to tell you. There is knowledge with me for you. I would like to retire. I should give money to my family. I could enjoy living.”
“I said that’s enough.” He clicked the recorder off and escorted me to the door.
“Thank you very big,” I said. “You have been OK.”
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It was some months later that I, the proud owner of a Using Welsh as a Second Language (Adults) GCSE certificate, found myself in the position to help someone less fortunate. Standing on the other side of the counter in the St David’s Eisteddfod Charity Shop, the fraught looking assistant was wearing a badge which proclaimed to the world that she was learning Welsh. How could I do anything other than help the poor woman develop her linguistic skills?
“Good morning,” I said in the language of Heaven, and recognised the look of horror that spread across her face. “My father would like a radio. Is there a radio with you in this place?”
“A radio?” she repeated. “Your father? I believe he is in the window. Last week. I am in the window. Is he also in the window now? Look!” She examined the contents of the window. “No! He is gone! I am not in the window. No radio. But I am on sale too. I am very tired,” she said, apologetically.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “It’s no odds to me anyway. My father would like a radio because he is old. That’s all.”
“Shame on him,” she said. “And last week he was in the window with me. Now I am gone. There is a lot of badness with me.”
“As I said, it’s no odds to me. I thank you from my heart for your trouble.”
“Thanks to you very, very big,” she replied, “and fun and games to your father.”
“Big fun to you too and all luck in learning Welsh,” I said and bent over to pick up a leaflet advertising a range of courses that would lead to a Using Welsh as a Second Language (Adults) ‘A’ level certificate.
Oh, yes….
Maria Lalić, 2005
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MWY I DDOD / More to come
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