by
Frank Hatton

I was looking around recently, at the number of fast food outlets which we have inherited from the rest of the world over the last twenty or thirty years. We have the Indian curry houses, the Chinese restaurants and ‘take aways’, the kebab shops, the Italian, the Greek, the Japanese, the French, and goodness knows how many other types,.... they are too numerous to name. From the USA we have MacDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken, plus Budweiser beer, and again, probably lots of others which do not come to mind at the moment. The point being that these places are in abundance, and whatever the nationality, no matter where you may travel in our country, you can usually get something to eat or drink akin to the fodder back home. All of which serves to remind me of the dire straits in which I found myself on my last couple of visits to the USA....... Now I, like many of my fellow countrymen, am an avid enthusiast of our British beer, and having done more than my fair share of travelling around the world, I can honestly say that I have never found any other beer which will satisfy me. This includes places like Germany, France, Italy, in fact almost all of Europe, Scandinavia, Finland, South America, Central America, South Africa, the Far East,... Malaysia, Singapore, Bangkok, Hong Kong, etc., and many others. Now, as I said, I did find myself not once, but twice in situations in the USA, where I was in dire need of a British type beer. The first time was on a trip around Arizona, Nevada, and California, when after several weeks of travelling, and having endeavoured to slake my thirst with various types of the native brew, I suddenly found myself at Lake Havasau on a bright and sunny day, and there beside the lovely old London Bridge, which now spans the Colorado river, was, a London telephone box, a red London bus, and wonder of wonders, a replica of a London pub with a sign proclaiming the sale of Watneys London Bitter. As I staggered towards this beautiful sight, with visions of a foaming pint glass in my mind, I saw the dreadful news on a sign that the place did not open until some two hours time. Unfortunately, my travelling companions were not of the same mind as myself, and did not see this as a sufficient importance to spend another two hours or so awaiting the opening of the establishment, so, I was dragged away, kicking and screaming toward the fair city of Las Vegas and points north. The next episode, later the same year, had a happier ending, in that my son and I had set off from Miami, FL. by car, on a trip which took us up on a sort of zigzag through GA, SC, NC, VA, WV, DE, and so on up thro’ PA, NJ, NY, and thro’ New England into Canada, and then back down into the USA, via Detroit, and then across IN, and points westward,...... please believe it was a long and thirsty journey, until at last I surrendered, and left him to continue his maniacal wanderings, while I caught a plane back down to Florida, where I met up with my wife and daughter. They had driven their hire car to Ft. Lauderdale and were too terrified to drive any further on what to them was the ‘wrong’ side of the road, so, I, as their knight in shining armour, took them up to Orlando. After the wonders of Disneyworld, we went to the Epcot Center, and there in the British sector, we were welcomed with the sight of a replica British pub. I tell you my friends, that as much as I had enjoyed the trip over the preceding three weeks, that sight was one of the happiest moments of my long and fruitful life. We went into the bar area, and there was this beautiful sign announcing the sale of Watneys Bitter, and on the menu alongside, a succulent dish of Steak and Kidney Pie and Chips (French fries). Well, I ordered up the first pint, along with the necessary plates of food, and gave the guy some money, but before he had gotten back with the change, I had downed the first pint, and was ready for the second one. From the look on his face, I got the feeling that he had never seen anyone drink a pint of beer so quickly. Those of you who are long term readers of this little column will remember that I have long held the viewpoint that the bottom line of life is a thing called happiness, and I would hazard a guess that that particular moment in time was the nearest thing to euphoria I have ever experienced. Now, whilst on this subject of being cheerful, it seems an opportune moment to raise a smile by relating a story I either read or heard recently, and it matters not where. A man went to his doctor regarding his suspicion that his wife was going deaf. He asked if there was any way he could test her without her being aware of it. The doctor suggested he wait his chance, and get behind her without her knowing, and test her hearing by moving closer as he was speaking, until she heard him. So when the guy next came home from work, he found his wife in the kitchen with her back to him. He started speaking in a normal voice at the kitchen door, “What’s for dinner dear?”. No reply so he moved a little closer, “What’s for dinner my love?”, still no reply, so moving closer still, “What’s for dinner sweetheart?”, after no reply again, he moved right up close behind her, “What’s for dinner darling?”. This time she turned round and said, “I’ll tell you again for the fourth time, it’s chicken!!!!” An American tourist visited an English farm in the county of Yorkshire. “It’s pretty small,” he said to the farmer, “do you know, back in Texas, I can get into my car, and drive, and still not get off of my land all day.?” The dour old Yorkshire farmer said, “Yes, I know the problem, I used to have a car like that myself. You will no doubt be aware of the number of British films that have proved to be popular in the USA, and in the main, they do not present any difficulty in following the dialogue. However, there have been a few films where the use of what we call ‘Cockney rhyming slang’ has made them difficult, or even impossible to understand. I hasten to add that quite a number of our own population, who were born and raised away from the London area, have suffered this problem, because they are not too familiar with this mode of speech themselves. As I may have mentioned in the past, I was born and raised in the Notting Hill area of London, and hence I was immersed in the frequent use of the rhyming slang, so while not claiming to be an expert, I do understand most of it. What makes it even harder to understand is the practise of only using the first word of the rhyming equivalent. To give a small example of how it works, consider the following; I went for a ‘ball’ down the ‘frog’, and had a ‘butchers’ in my local ‘rubber’. After a few pints of ‘pigs’, I was a little ‘Mozart’, so back I went to my ‘trouble’, hung up my ‘titfer’, went up the ‘apples’ and climbed into ‘Uncle Ned’. Ball = Ball of chalk = Walk------Frog = Frog and toad = Road Butchers = Butchers hook = Look------Rubber = Rubber dub-dub = Pub Pigs= Pigs ear = Beer--------- Mozart = Mozart and List = Pissed Trouble = Trouble and strife = Wife--------Titfer = Titfer tat = Hat Apples = Apples and pears = Stairs-------Uncle Ned = Bed. Other common examples are; Plates = Plates of meat = Feet.------Boat = Boat race = Face. Daisy roots = Boots.---- Rosie Lee = Tea. Jam jar = Car.--- Barnet fair = Hair---Dog and bone = Phone Whistle and flute = Suit ----- North and South - Mouth. There were many, many others, but, the usage is fast dying, and it will not be too long before it dies completely. In fact, up until the early half of the 1900’s, there was also a strange language called ‘backslang’ in general usage in London which dated back for a couple of hundred years. It had almost gone out of use when I was a small lad, but, there were a few of the old boys who could still speak and understand it. It was used mainly among the cockney traders in the market places, and was designed to confuse any nearby customer or stranger. It was quite complex, and consisted of taking a word and cutting off the first letter and transferring it to the end of the word and adding another vowel sound. Again, while I know of a few examples of backslang, it is difficult to put into writing because the phonetic sounds produced do not line up with the words intended. There was no way that one could decipher the words as they were spoken, you had to be familiar enough with the technique to recognise the sounds being made, and know which word it represented. Whilst on this subject of the English language, ..... I have composed a little poem which will emphasise just how peculiar it is, and in order to maintain your interest, I will include it in the next issue of ‘From over the pond’. 'til next time, Frank Hatton

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