Cyber Seance 12

[Moonwatcher]

Cyber Séance 12. 3 Apr 2005

Dzien Dobry! (jen doh-bree)

Unless you’re of Polish persuasion, you’ll probably not recognise that as the traditional Polish greeting. The Polish equivalent of “Hullawrerr Howzittgaun!”

So whit’s eh score wae the Polish patter then I hear you ask. Well, guilt, I suppose. Those of you who’ve followed my weekly rants and ravings over the months may recall me mentioning at some point that I find myself regularly dealing with other nationalities. Since last year these have included a growing number of Poles who are employed (legitimately and, for both sides, profitably) at a processing plant within which I have some responsibility.
Until now communication with these guys and gals has consisted of hand and arm gestures, various facial expressions, sketches on bits of paper, and talking slowly and very loudly. Needless to say, actual Polish has not entered into the equation.

But all that changed last weekend. Staying over Easter with my son and his partner in Manchester, I had reason to feel guilty at my complete lack of effort in trying to learn a wee bit of the Polish language and in so doing help develop the cultural bond between our two great nations. (Ah could bae a politician wae aht patter couldn’t ah?)

It came about like this.

It so happens that H, my son’s partner, works in a factory that also employs Polish workers. I was embarrassed to hear that she and others in the plant had taken the trouble to learn each other’s basic terms and phrases. This had led to greater understanding and mutual respect between the their two peoples (ther’s aht politician kickin in again, ah’m gonnae hiv tae stop aht!) Anyway, H persuaded me that learning a wee bit of the Polish would be a good thing and I’d be able to impress them when I addressed the new starts when I returned. Now, I think I’ve said before to you guys, foreign languages is jist no mah hing. Ye kin hiv meh repeat eh same French phrase a hunner times an it’ll jist go in wan ear an oot eh ither lik the wind whistlin through a Glesca close. But H is a persistent lassie. ‘It’s easy’ says she. ‘We’ll start with the greeting.’ The poor lassie really didnae know whit she wiz getting intae. As the weekend wore oan, it wiz hurr thit wiz nearly greetin!

‘Say after me’ she said as we eyeballed each other over a table in the local pub. ‘Jen-doh-bree’ that means Good-day. Say it.’
I cleared my throat, ignored the sniggering from wife and son, and gave it mah best attempt.
‘Jin-dobbly.’ Not quite matching the sound that had come from her lips but a respectable approximation ah thoat! My next of kin, sitting beside me, obviously didn’t agree. The loud guffaws resounded around the pub, attracting the attention of all and ensuring an audience for my next attempt. An audience that had already been attracted by the Glesca accent. A Glaswegian speaking Polish in an English pub – now there’s something you don’t hear every day!.
‘Very good.’ She lied. ‘Let’s try again… Jen… Doh… Bree.’ She pronounced it very slowly.
The pub held it’s breath.
‘Jen… Doh… whit’s eh last bit again?’ I hid furgoat. By now even the bar staff had stopped serving and joined the growing crowd around the table.
‘Jen-Doh-Bree.’ H persisted. ‘Jen-Doh-Bree. Jen-Doh-Bree, say it.’
‘Jen-Doh-Bree.’ I spluttered out to loud cheers, applause and a round of drinks that I didn’t pay for.
But H wasn’t finished. ‘Now that you can say hello, you have to be able to say goodbye. I sipped my pint of English, whatever it is they drink down there, and prepared myself for the next lesson. I was actually beginning to feel a wee bit Polish.
‘Right,’ said H in her best schoolmarm voice. ‘Repeat after me. Dough…ve…zen…ya.’
‘Duvvyenza.’ Came my reply. The laughter erupted again Obviously, I had become the evening’s entertainment in the pub. I’m sure the place was filling up. I reckon someone had started selling tickets outside!
‘No, Doh-ve-zenya.’ H continued undeterred.
Bae iss time mah face wiz a twisted contortion thit wid hiv won any gurning contest.
‘Dozy-enya.’ Naw that wisnae it. ‘Dovez… Dosven… Disney… Aw furr gawd’s sake ah’ll jist stick tae drawin pictures.’
Eventually, out it came. ‘Dough-ve-zenya.’ Much cheering and shaking of hands, and not a Pole to be seen. You can never find a Pole when you want one, have you noticed that?

After a reasonable rest period, it was decided to put my new found linguistic skills to the test. ‘Okay,’ say’s H. ‘We’re a group of Poles you’ve just met. What are you going to say to us?’
I sat back proudly, looked them all in the face and said in perfect Polish
‘Dough-ve-zenya.’
‘You’ve just said goodbye!!!’ she said, shaking her head. So you’ve blown it before you even got started!’

So for the rest of the weeknd I practised my ‘Dzien Dobry’ and my ‘Do Widzenia’.

Tuesday morning found me walking into a room with 10 Poles seated expectantly around a table. I was only familiar with one of them, he being one of our existing workforce who speaks English and acts as interpreter for us. The rest had arrived in the country only days before. Eager, hard working, and amicable, it must be difficult nonetheless to find yourself in a strange country surrounded by people and language you don’t understand. I decided that now was the time to test my new skill. As I stood in front of them I had a sudden surge of self doubt. What if I got it completely wrong? What if they all laughed at me? What if H was pulling my leg and she’d taught me some rude phrases that would end up with me being a mass of bruises and broken bits?

I took a deep breath and said the words…

‘Jen-Do-Bree!’ I said loudly.
Everyone smiled!
‘Jen-Do-Bree!’ they all replied.
I felt like a million dollars. [furst wan eh ye tae say ‘aye, aw green an wrinkled’ –gets eh malkie!]
‘Jen-Do-Bree!’ I said again louder. I looked at our interpreter. He looked amazed.
‘Is that correct?’ I asked him, because I still couldn’t believe it.
‘That’s okay.’ He replied. ‘Dzien Dobry is okay!’ he smiled, giving me the thumbs up.

The rest of the session went through the usual stuff. Me saying what I had to say through the interpreter. But it was different somehow. I felt there was a better rapport with these guys. It was worth the effort. At the end I wasn’t quite sure of the goodbye greeting, and I didn’t want to mess it up. I asked my man, quietly, what the phrase was and he whispered it to me. I recognised it instantly and nodded.

I looked around the table and said

‘Do Widzenia.’

They all smiled, gave me the thumbs up and said as one ‘Do Widzenia.’

I felt great as I left, and keen to learn more. As I returned to the main office I found everyone congregated in the meeting room. Our new MD had arrived and was being introduced to the staff. He’s Norwegian!!! Aw naw, whit’s hello in Norse?

Do Widzenia!

Bob.

Postscript: Since writing this, the world has witnessed the passing of Karol Wojtyl, another Pole. Although I did not share his faith, I recognise the passing of a remarkable man. I played a small part in the emergency support services during his visit to Glasgow in the 1982. I remember the crowd of 250,000 who gathered at the City’s Bellahouston Park on that occasion. My condolences to all those who mourn his passing at this time.

[AndrewP]

(message to make the Cyber Seance posts appear in sequence)