Category: Language textbooks of yore

  • Welcome to Welsh

    We don’t need to talk about German all the time here. Let’s consider a tongue known for its siren-like hold over language nerds: Welsh.

    I received Welcome to Welsh from a family friend who was majoring in linguistics when I was in 8th grade in 1990. He had it, and knew I would want it, because if you have the language-learning bug, the moment you see a sentence like “Oeddech chi wedi meddwl am fynd i Landudno yn yr haf?” you know you will never be at peace until you learn to talk like that.

    I’m not sure how Welsh feels to young people nowadays, but back then it enjoyed a curious status in the quieter corners of American youth culture. Not only because it was the Holy Grail of language nerds, but because it conjured the Welsh imaginary which nourished and sustained the fantasy genre. For American children who read The Chronicles of Prydain or watched The Black Cauldron, names like Gwydion and Fflewddur Fflam sounded intrinsically magical; by the time those kids got to high school, bookstores were flooded with paperback knockoffs about guys named Rhys fighting dragons on misty green islands with magic swords so they could marry Princess Gwenhwyfar and go live in the land of Ionawr or whatever.

    I swear I used to see perfectly normal people reading those books, not just boys who played D&D instead of sports. Most of them probably didn’t know they were inspired by Wales – in my experience, many Americans were unaware that Wales existed and many more didn’t realize it had its own astonishing language. But anyone who developed an obsession with foreign languages or fantasy – or, God forbid, both – was sure to be pulled into the Welsh orbit. Information was scarce in those days, however. The encyclopedia could show you a map and a picture of coal miners and provide you with a few non-magical facts. You might see A Child’s Christmas in Wales on PBS. And that was about it, unless you really made an effort or had a nice friend who could send you obscure language books in the mail.

    The Wales I discovered in Welcome to Welsh was not the Wales of my imagination. Published in 1984, it featured picture stories about people who were either living in the seventies or continuing to rock seventies styles, and who enjoyed watching TV, drinking to excess, and having casual affairs with door-to-door salesmen. Their material circumstances seemed rather shabby compared to the American suburb I grew up in, yet they outclassed me by going on holidays in St. Tropez.

    “Hell, boys, do you remember the party last night? I wasn’t drunk, but you, Dai, were on the floor – you were blind drunk. And hell, there was one pretty girl there – she was like that girl on the beach in St. Tropez.” (from a story about working on the local newspaper)

    There was definitely no magic, unless wandering around the Societies Tent at the Eisteddfod counts as a magical experience. Coal (glo) is in the glossary so it’s probably mentioned somewhere, but overall there was a distinct lack of coal mining. That may be why one of the conversation openers is “Are you on the dole?” (Here the book actually taught me a new English word – I had to ask various adults before finding one who was able to inform me that it meant “Are you on welfare?”)    

    But the local Plaid Cymru candidate is on your side:

    “What is Plaid Cymru’s policy for housewives?” – “We want to give money to housewives.”

    Quirky picture stories aside, Welcome to Welsh did turn out to be a highly informative and well-organized course in the Welsh language. I loved the layout and always found the lessons easy to absorb. These sentence-building boxes on the first two pages instantly enriched my life:

    I learned a lot from this book. Not just about the seamy side of small-town life in Wales, but about grammar and vocabulary. I didn’t put in enough effort to become fluent, but I did once give Bryn Terfel a shock when he was signing autographs at Ravinia, so all the time I spent reading this book instead of doing schoolwork was totally worth it.

    Eventually I married a fellow nerd – an alliance that gained me a Welsh book.

    His is more formal and probably has better morality, but Welcome to Welsh will always be my favorite.

  • Let’s Go: tenth-century Germany

    Long before Berlitz, Lonely Planet and Let’s Go – long even before Baedeker – there was this handy German phrasebook for travelers from Francia, with the German translated into Vulgar Latin:

    I can show you all this thanks to Wilhelm Braune’s Althochdeutsches Lesebuch, which is in the public domain.

    You might think this doesn’t look like German. Well, it was a very long time ago. It’s hard to think of anything that looks the same now as it did in the tenth century.

    But take a close look and sound it out – you’ll see it’s German. It starts with a list of body parts, moves on to some polite questions like “Where did you find a place for the night, friend?” (15) “What country do you come from?” (20) “What did you do there?” (22), then veers into more dangerous territory with “Hit him in the neck” (38), “Go out” (40), and “Dog’s ass in your nose!” (42). Then the accusations start flying: “Why did you not come to matins?” (60) “You lay down with a woman in your bed” (62) “Upon my head, if your lord knew you were sleeping with the woman he would be truly angry at you.” (63) A trip to tenth-century Germany can go south pretty quickly.

  • American girls won’t get up early to shine your shoes

    Deutsch für Amerikaner, my mom’s old German textbook (copyright 1960) is an interesting social-history artifact. Here’s a passage where a university student from Germany discusses the American family he’s staying with. (All these people are fictional of course, but intended to be representative of their time and place.)

    WHO IS HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD?

    The day before yesterday Prof. Welliver, who is an enthusiastic hunter, took a day off to go pheasant hunting. A neighbor who also hunts came at 6:30 in the morning to pick him up. At six he was in the kitchen frying himself a couple of eggs for breakfast. I was also up early doing a term paper and he invited me to have breakfast with him. I was surprised that neither Mrs. Welliver nor one of his daughters had gotten up to help him.

    He must have read my thoughts because he said: “Yes, my wife and daughters don’t think much of hunting and they think my enthusiasm for hunting is a bit queer.

    So I can’t expect that they’ll get up at 5:30 in the morning. Where you’re from in Germany a professor can afford to hire a maid. But I can’t do that. Our American girls and women would rather work in factories and offices than in other people’s houses. That’s understandable. And then, of course, maids can charge so much money that a university professor can’t afford to keep one.”

    Then I asked him: “May I ask a personal question?”

    “Shoot!” he laughed.

    “I can imagine your wife is tired,” I said, “but why did neither of your two daughters get up to make you breakfast?”

    Prof. Welliver laughed: “They are also too tired. The life of an American girl in high school is more strenuous than you think.”

    I looked at him with astonishment, because I knew that high school students here did not work nearly as hard as we do. He said his daughters were very popular and that meant they had to be at everything. Then Prof. Welliver saw that I had nothing left on my plate. “More toast, Karl, another egg?” Before I could answer, he had already put the bread in the toaster and cracked an egg into the pan. How friendly and affectionate it sounds when this professor with gray hair who specializes in the Reformation calls me Karl! And what a charming host he is! On such occasions I always feel something of the warm-heartedness and true humanity that could only have developed in democratic America.

    And who is Prof. Welliver’s hunting partner? A dean? A colleague? An academic? Not at all! The neighbor is the manager of a grocery store in the center of our little university town. But the two men called each other by their first names, as I noticed when the professor got into the gleaming car.

    Kolonialwarengeschäft!

    I had offered to wash the dishes. How quickly one gets used to the American way of life! In Germany I would not have dared to offer a professor my help in his house, because it would have embarrassed him even if he didn’t have a maid. The thing about the maid is not so tragic, by the way. Mrs. Welliver does not have a maid but she has a refrigerator, a freezer, a vacuum cleaner, a washing machine with automatic dryer, an electric dishwasher, in other words everything that American technology has to offer the housewife.

    However, it’s not the case that she has more freedom than a German housewife. She has many social duties. School, church, clubs and the social lives of her two daughters fill her days and some of her evenings.

    I didn’t really like the fact that neither of the two girls had gotten up to help their father. And that they made fun of his hunting seemed to me disrespectful, considering their young age. This lack of paternal authority, or male authority in general, bothers me as a German especially. I know the absolute authority of the man, as was considered a given in Germany – especially Germany before the First World War – is not ideal. I myself know German families where the daughter cleans the father’s and brothers’ shoes on Sunday mornings while the “men” are still peacefully sleeping.

    As a cultural critic, when I see something like that, I shake my head sadly. I do the same when I see Prof. Welliver’s daughters with their “boy friends” here in the house.

    These visits by the “boy friends” are arranged through long telephone conversations. When the girls speak to their young men, neither the professor nor Mrs. Welliver nor I can get on the phone, because these conversations go on for hours. They giggle, and the most trivial things are discussed earnestly, to the point where you could think these girls were not entirely normal. But that’s not true. That’s just how they talk with their young friends. When I talk to them, all at once they become different people, very mature, very intelligent and full of interest in anything that is worth knowing.

    If the “dates” come into the house, they have no consideration for anybody. The young people laugh and scream and dance to loud music from the record player. The fact that their father is sitting in his office upstairs working on one of his publications obviously does not bother them at all and their father doesn’t say anything. I always expect the door to his office to fly open and for him to demand quiet with a thundering voice. But that is a German expectation. The office door opens, but the professor just goes down to greet his young guests and tell them “Have a good time!”

    But there’s one more thing I should mention. The girls’ long telephone conversations prevent me from using the phone, but they’re useful to me nonetheless. I have to listen, because the phone is at the foot of the stairs near my room. This way I can expand my American vocabulary and my list of untranslatable words. But I still don’t know why a certain Bill is “a card,” a certain Joe is “a square,” a certain Bob is “a doll,” and a certain Hank is “a creep”.

     

  • On the German standard of living (ca. 1960)

    As a graduate student, my mother had to take some German and her textbook was Deutsch für Amerikaner by C.R. Goedsche and Meno Spann, published in 1960. I’ve been leafing through it off and on.

    This week’s fiction in The New Yorker is all about people trying to express themselves in an intermediate German class, so this might be a good moment to offer the Internet an excerpt from Deutsch für Amerikaner. Here Fred Fletcher, a Minnesotan studying in Germany, and his pals Bill and Larry discuss household appliances and other fascinating topics with their German friend Wilhelm. (Translation mine – this is a hasty translation where the stilted style of the original will come through. It’s a foreign-language textbook, after all. The stiffness of expression is part of the charm.)

    ***

    Bill: Of course I am homesick. I want to see skyscrapers again and eat in a restaurant with air conditioning, and last winter in my often-cold room, I dreamed of our beautiful centrally heated houses in Wisconsin.

    Wilhelm: You could also complain that we Germans often don’t have a telephone in our houses yet, no refrigerators, washing machines, televisions or whatever else the comforts of modern life demand. In America, of course, you have all that in almost every house.

    Bill: And why do you not have it here in Germany?

    Fred: You must ask “not yet” because it won’t be long before the Germans also have everything we have in America. It’s only a question of time. The old houses in Germany do look romantic, but it’s hard or impossible to modernize them. In the new houses central heating, air conditioning, etc. are being built in, and they’re springing up like mushrooms.

    Wilhelm: You talk as if Germans were Americans. But we have our cultural traditions and you aren’t familiar with them. Perhaps the German does not wish to go along with material progress. Have you ever thought of that?

    Fred: I have considered this question in detail and am convinced that the German will not resist modern progress. He wants our standard of living and with this standard of living he will change his life, he will Americanize it.

    Wilhelm: We Germans are proud of our wine, which generations of vintners have cultivated through the centuries. For us, that is part of a high standard of living. You Americans are proud of your bathtubs.

    Fred: A shiny enamel bathtub into which hot and cold water flow in unlimited quantities is just as much a cultural product as a good Rhine wine that has almost two thousand years of tradition behind it.

    […]

    Larry:  …it’s nice that some young German man, instead of spending hours in a night club, puts his skis over his shoulders and goes to the Alps with a friend or girlfriend. Such a young man is healthy, strong, has a feeling for nature and […] muscles, and his girlfriend likes him or loves him because he is “a natural person.”

    Fred: […] Why didn’t you add that this girl’s mother does the laundry by hand because that’s how Grandma did it, that the girl doesn’t wear makeup like American girls, etc.? Let me tell you something. This girl will soon buy herself a washing machine. In a fashion journal influenced by America she will learn how she has to put on makeup and do her hair to show more “glamour” (there’s no German word for that) and then she will prefer a slim young man who takes her to a night club in his sports car to the romantic with his strong muscles and his deep feeling for nature.

    ***

    Well! Sorry, Germans of 1960: The American way of life is coming for you!