Jane Clifton: When does a dialect become a distinct language?
Somewhere between Billy Connolly and Robbie Burns, by way of goggle-eyed Private Frazer from Dad’s Army, lie the rolling Rs, soaring inflections and anchoring hoicks of the authentic Scots dialect. But is it an actual language or just a regional variation on English?
Ye can take the high road and Aye’ll tek the low, but it’ll be a long time afore the country’s Parliament achieves a consensus on this stramash, despite introducing legislation to encourage and restore respect for the colloquial way of speaking.
Germany faces the same dilemma. There, some Bavarians are demanding official recognition for their dialect – with some prickliness, as it’s often mocked by other Germans as incomprehensible.
As linguists can’t agree on where a dialect ends and a whole distinct language begins, these matters won’t be settled quickly.
Scots officials recently tried drafting parliamentary questions in Scots dialect, but this was not a raging success. One asked: “Is the Scots govrenment makkin ony ettles fur tae accomodate memmers ae the public wha’s wantin tae spikk wi the govrenment in the Scots leid?” (Has the government any plans to accommodate people who want to use Scots language when transacting business with the government?)
“The Scots government is richt noo in the act o takkin forrit the Scots Languages Bill,” came the answer. (The government is taking forward legislation to get Scots used more widely.)
Public reactions varied considerably but a typical one was a commenter in the Times newspaper: “Naebody in the northeast wid spik like thon.”
And there lies the problem. Dialects are composed of cherished regional differences in language usage – in some countries dozens of them – and were officials to enshrine every single one, documents and signage would become hopelessly unwieldy.
The legislation also runs counterintuitive to many Scots’ upbringing. Parents often chided their children for “aye/nae” instead of yes and no, holding some dialect to be equivalent to slang.
One MP doubted most Scots would take the new dialect push too seriously, calling it the sort of language best confined to old local comedy institutions like Oor Wullie.