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The worst job I had was in a bank in Sydney, dealing with a life insurance policy called Lite Life Direct. It was tedious, repetitive and oddly stressful, and involved a lot of time on the phone. What made the situation particularly frustrating was that almost no one could understand my Scottish accent.
“Lite Life Direct,” I would say, three, sometimes four times down the line to no avail. Then I would cave: “Loight Loif Direct.” With my faux-Australian pronunciation, suddenly me and the caller would be simpatico.
This was all the more enraging because I am Australian. I was born in Sydney and spent the early part of my childhood there. My mother and I emigrated from Sydney to Coatbridge, North Lanarkshire. As a child, living in a strange country and desperate to fit in with new schoolmates, I changed my accent unwittingly. But when I returned to my home town as an adult, my adopted accent made me a stranger.
Accents are curious and fascinating things. To the listener, they say everything about us and yet absolutely nothing; change some vowel sounds and you can masquerade as an entirely different person. So I feel some sympathy for Gary Caldwell, manager of Exeter City FC, who was sent from the dugout for his behaviour towards the fourth official. The referee found him to be aggressive and showed him a red card.
Caldwell, a former Scotland defender and Celtic captain, was not known for such pugnacity when playing north of the border. He puts his newfound rough reputation down to one thing: his Scottish accent. “I didn’t swear, I didn’t run, in my opinion I wasn’t aggressive,” he told the BBC. “My accent and my Scottishness is aggressive.”
However, Caldwell suggests his disciplinary record will improve if he endeavours to sound a little bit more “Englified”. I’d like to know what Caldwell means, exactly, by “Englified”. Soft, seems to be the assertion. Relatable, maybe.
To a fellow Scot, Caldwell’s excuse is a nonsense. He’s from douce Stirling. It’s hardly the cut-throat razor tones of a Glasgow East End accent or a guttural Lanarkshire growl, in which a sincere “I love you” sounds more threat than declaration.
But it is true that English-to-Scottish accent bias is a problem. Edinburgh University is shortly to hold a conference on “linguistic discrimination” to tackle anti-Scottish accent prejudice on campus. The majority of Edinburgh undergraduates – more than 70% – either come from England, the rest of the UK or overseas, while those who went to private school make up 40% of the intake from UK institutions. Scots students report routine snobbery and ridicule from classmates.
Perceived aggression may be Caldwell’s concern, but it is only one trope. A study last year found that Scots are used in television adverts to depict working-class characters or those tight with money. Though it could be worse. “If you want somebody to be a little bit thick, West Country accents,” one advertising exec told researchers. “If you want to signify dirty-handed working class, stick a Brummie in it.”
This anti-Scots bias in England extends to the arts. One of the all-time great case studies is that of Gavin Bain and Billy Boyd. The Dundee college students had designs on becoming hip-hop stars but found their fledgling musical career stymied by their Scottish accents.
The lads, mocked by London record company executives, decided to pretend to be from California and restyled themselves as hip-hop duo Silibil N’ Brains. The quick death of their Scottish accents resulted in a £100,000 record deal, an MTV appearance and a support slot for Eminem. Sadly, the ruse went awry when Bain and Boyd found keeping up their California twang too onerous and they returned to their Dundonian speech patterns.
The English arts scene is, according to many a Scottish creative, a generally hostile space for our accents. Actor Alan Cumming complained of “insidious and subliminal racism” faced by Scots who work in London, particularly in comparison to the warm welcome afforded in the US. Similarly, the Scottish director Lynne Ramsay reflected: “I always feel as soon as [the English] hear a Scottish accent, they’re backing away.”
Caldwell has not done the situation any favours. It’s one thing for others to claim his Scottish accent is perceived as aggressive, but the football manager has gone two steps further by saying his accent is aggressive. Maybe he’s internalised the negative perceptions the English feel against a Scots brogue, but he should set an example and refuse to modify his speech.
It’s self-defeating to tackle prejudice by removing the target for discrimination. A Scottish accent’s melody and charm is a beautiful thing. It’s not incumbent on us to change our tongue; it’s on English ears to change the way they listen.
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Catriona Stewart is a Glasgow-based journalist and broadcaster specialising in politics and home affairs
