Dropped Aitches and a Case of Hypocrisy
Mr Piper was a great teacher – at least he was by the standards back then. Now, almost fifty years later, he’d probably be thrown out of his job for being a bullying monster. But I thought he was all right; extremely strict, but scrupulously fair with it; and the English lessons he taught are seared into my memory as if with a branding iron. Why? Because you dared not let your attention wander and if you made a stupid error, you’d be hauled out to the front of the class and forced, red faced, to demonstrate your stupidity on the blackboard. This would then be topped off with the punishment of the dreaded two hundred lines. Yes, the poor boy or girl would feel humiliated – unforgivable in today’s teaching environment – but they would never, and I mean never, forget that particular lesson. And nor would anyone else come to that; for there but for the grace of God, went they.
Even all these years later, I cringe when I hear supposedly highly educated people make some of those same silly mistakes. I once heard Prime Minister David Cameron stand up in parliament and speak about ‘a exercise’. What?! A exercise? A exercise? Mr Piper would have descended on him like a ton of bricks. I can remember one poor lad making the mistake of saying pro-noun-ciation rather than pro-nun-ciation. Cue the red faced trip to the blackboard followed by the compulsory two hundred line of, “I must pronounce pronunciation properly.”
However, the mistake that sticks in my mind most acutely is one that’s become so commonplace today, it’s almost accepted as the correct option. I can recall it as clearly as if it happened this very morning. This time, the poor unfortunate miscreant was a lad who, at a full twelve years of age and being in the ‘top stream’ should have known better. His crime? He dared to utter that terrible and taboo word, ‘haitch’. How well I remember Mr Piper’s rage; how vividly I recall the boy’s embarrassment as he had to spell it correctly on the blackboard. I clearly remember the words of his lines as well. “There is no H in aitch.” And the fact that he had to write it no less than five hundred times has branded it into my psyche all the clearer. Yes, this is indeed a most heinous crime that makes my blood pressure rise to boiling point every time I hear it – which is now frighteningly often. Frightening because of the danger to my health!
Not many people know the etymology of this particular faux pas. In fact it dates back to the nineteenth century when growing social mobility allowed some of London’s east-ender’s to climb the socio-economic ladder. Ashamed of their propensity to drop their aitches, they overcompensated and added them at any and every opportunity. Think Lady Penelope’s chauffeur, Parker, on the puppet version of Thunderbirds and you’ve got the idea.
But what about the hypocrisy, I hear you ask. Well, I’m afraid the hypocrisy is mine. I frequently rail against highly educated university graduates making mistakes such as saying, “I bought this along to show you,” instead of, “I brought this…” I’ve even heard a well-known TV presenter say “pacific” instead of “specific”! Aagh!! But then I hear recordings of myself speaking. In my head it sounds perfect with well-chosen words all flawlessly enunciated. In reality though, my thick estuary accent makes my dropped aitches all the more noticeable. Mr Piper would be outraged by my ‘ypocrisy.
