Many years ago, when I was very young, I remember hearing a story about a schoolteacher who had to explain to his young students that starting that afternoon, he would no longer be teaching them in their mother language, French. A new teacher would be arriving, and henceforth all their lessons would be in German. I could not remember the reason for the change in the language of instruction. But I never forgot the sorrow and anguish of the teacher and his
students at the thought of their language suddenly being taken away from them. Does this story ring a bell with anyone else?
A few weeks ago, I discovered this story in a book I own called The Book of Virtues. It’s called The Last Lesson and was written by French author Alphonse Daudet during the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71, when the French territories of Alsace and Lorraine came under Prussian rule. Orders had come from Berlin that, starting immediately, nothing but German was to be taught in the schools of Alsace-Lorraine and all French teachers would be compelled to leave. It is a
first-person narrative told by a French schoolboy who was worried about going to school because he had not studied for an upcoming test and was afraid he would be scolded by M. Hamel, his teacher. But instead of scolding, M. Hamel, his
voice shaking with such emotion that he could barely speak, explained to the children that it was the last time he would be teaching them, they would now be taught in German by someone else, and why.
Several different themes have been ascribed to this story – national pride; patriotism; the value of education; never to take for granted the rights, privileges, and freedom you have today lest you lose them tomorrow. But it brought home to
me the crucial importance of language to our national pride and our sense of identity of ourselves, and of others. We see this every day in our own country, as the province of Quebec, alarmed by what it sees as the erosion and diminishing of the French language, is doing its best to discourage – indeed, legally forbid in places – the use of anything but French.
There was a quote going around on Facebook a while back which, paraphrased, admonished, “Never make fun of a person whose English is hard to understand. It usually means they speak another language.” I ran across this quote during our pulpit vacancy when we were blessed with a series of guest ministers, some of whom were indeed quite hard to understand. Some of us were frustrated and
unhappy about this and said so. That is understandable. It’s not easy to listen to a sermon whose message you must strain to understand. But from the point of view of the speaker, it can’t be easy to preach a sermon in a language not your first language, even if you consider yourself fluent in both languages. I would try to remind myself of this while struggling to grasp the point of a sermon I was having trouble following, and try to feel thankful and grateful to our guests for being kind enough to minister to us in our time of need. I wasn’t always successful.
In the 1970’s, when I worked as an Immigration Officer for the federal government, my job involved interviewing prospective immigrants to Canada to determine their eligibility for landed immigrant status. To help with this, we
had a staff of interpreters we could call upon when needed. They hung out in the interpreters’ room, and for whatever language I needed, I picked up the phone and one of them showed up in my office. I had great respect for them. Most of
them spoke not just two, but four or five different languages, and it never failed to amaze me how comfortably they could do this, alternating between English and another language with skill and confidence as the interview progressed. How
did they acquire their skill with languages? Almost all were European born, raised in smallish countries nestled among other smallish countries, all of which spoke different languages. Knowledge of languages other than their own, easy to acquire and maintain when opportunities to make use of other languages were plentiful, opened all of Europe to them and was, for many, a necessity at school and in their jobs. In a recent conversation with Rev. Jan, he told me that as a student in the Netherlands, he would be tested in four different languages in which he had to show proficiency, to pass his courses.
We in Canada are not so lucky when it comes to multi-lingual opportunities. We are a vast country that is supposed to be bilingual, with two official languages, but in reality it doesn’t work that way. Most folks in urban areas of Quebec, where French is the only official language, seem to manage not badly in English if necessary. Most folks in The Rest of Canada have very limited knowledge of French, gleaned, perhaps, from cereal boxes and road signs and long-ago high school French. Franco-Ontarians constitute the largest French-speaking community in Canada outside Quebec but make up less than 5% of the province’s
population. I was appalled when years ago the Ontario Ministry of Education in its so-called wisdom stopped requiring a French credit in all five years of high school, grades 9-13. Now only one French credit is necessary to graduate. In my opinion, in this country that is disgraceful.
We have travelled throughout Europe extensively, speaking only English, and rarely have we encountered a language difficulty. On one notable occasion in Paris, we wanted to visit the Musée de l’Air et de l’Espace, at Le Bourget airfield
north of the city, that housed two defunct Concordes and was accessible by subway. We were given to understand that the museum was visible from the subway station and we could walk from there with no problem. However, when we emerged from the Metro station, we found ourselves in a semi-rural area, with the museum nowhere in sight. There was, however, an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench nearby, and I determined to go and ask directions. Assuming
he would not speak English, with my limited high school French I mentally composed a French sentence to ask where the museum was. Giving no thought to what I would do if he replied with detailed directions in rapid French that I
couldn’t understand, I tentatively approached the man.
Before I got halfway through my fumbling inquiry, he interrupted me in English with the curt response, “Bus 52.” (I don’t think he thought much of my accent.) When Bus 52 lumbered along shortly thereafter, we boarded, and it deposited us a mile later in front of the museum.
Learning a second language for most people is not easy, and it seems the older you are, the harder it is. My brother Pat is a pretty smart guy who held quite a lofty position as Director with the Atomic Energy Control Board of Canada,
stationed in Ottawa. A few years before he retired, the government decided that he needed to be bilingual, which had never been necessary in his position. To accomplish this, Pat was relieved of his regular duties and sent to a year-long French Immersion program at full salary, where for eight hours a day, five days a week, he had one job, to learn French. At the end of the year he was tested in three areas, passed two of them but was not up to par in the third. He
was sent back for an additional six weeks of training, after which he managed to pass all three. The government then deemed him officially bilingual.
Pat laughs when he tells the story. In his words, “There are a lot of us in Ottawa. They call us BOPs – Bilingual on Paper.” Even after all that intense immersive training at the considerable expense of Canadian taxpayers, although he could manage not badly in casual situations he certainly didn’t consider himself fluently bilingual. So again I say, learning a second language is not easy! I have read that to learn to speak it unaccented, the age of eight is about the
cut-off point. This is borne out by my two brothers-in-law, both born in Italy and both arriving in Canada speaking not a word of English. Tony was three when he came, and his English bears no trace of an accent. Joe was nine, and his
accent is still faintly detectable at age seventy-three. Both of them can still communicate in Italian, which stood them in good stead when they travelled back to Italy as adults.
American professor and linguist Noam Chomsky once said, “A language is not just words. It’s a culture, a tradition, a unification of a community, a whole history that creates what a community is. It’s all embodied in a language.” Let us
cherish our first language, whatever it may be. For us English speakers, our language is the language of Chaucer, Shakespeare … and the great British poets. And let us embrace others who were brave enough and determined enough to learn it as a second language. They are one step ahead of most of us.