L is for LANGUAGE

Prior to my arrival at big school, the only 'foreign' language that I knew, beyond those words spoken in our own neighbourhood, when something went wrong, were from a young African teacher, who had arrived in our village as part of her educational training, as she shared some of her home life with us. My experience of other tongues was therefore limited to the few phrases she taught us and the overseas presenters of the Eurovision Song Contest in the days when Sandie Shaw sang barefoot. So it was rather a shock to discover that I was actually going to learn some of these languages as part of my schooling. Like most new students it all began with French, as my bearded and bald teacher tried his best to persuade our class to behave and also to learn how to conjugate verbs, but failed miserably on both accounts. By the time I had reached my third year, he had been replaced by another bald teacher and I began to think there was some correlation between languages and the follicly challenged, when from somewhere, he produced a ukulele and taught us all manner of French song, including the National Anthem, which I now sing passionately, if somewhat quietly, along with their rugby team on Six Nations afternoons.And there was more going in than the words of the songs because by the time he had left, I was more in love with Le Francais than at any time before or since. After that it became a mixture of learning to pass an exam and translating the exploits of Maigret, a poor Frenchman's Sherlock Holmes.

In the intervening period, I was force fed Latin for three years, initially by the bald, bearded one and later by the chief rugby coach, so I made some attempt to show a passing interest in Romulus and Remus and Carry on up the Tiber etc. But deep down all of us had worked out that Theology and a life hidden under ministerial robes and a white dog collar was probably not the way forward and the rugby coach was more concerned about our future scrummaging skills than our future tenses so Pompeii became buried under a river of other, more pressing interests and within a short time, the Roman Age had died out.

But that didn't stop the school trying again. This time we were bombarded with Greek, just in the vain hope that one student might tread the narrow road that leads to all things clerical. The bald, bearded one was nowhere in sight now, but this new language presented problems all of its own. It had similarities with Latin, which was now proving useful, but it also had its own set of strange-looking letters, complete with English pronunciations and I quickly discovered that what looked like the letter P to me was in fact the letter R and pronounced Rho (as in row) in this strange tongue. So, for two years, we all struggled with the wishes of our alma mater and our teacher struggled to come to class at all, while recalling the exploits, after translation, of Jason and his Argonauts, the Golden Fleece and the Minotaur and we were some way to planning our escape from Cyclops when Pegasus arrived and carried us into fourth year.

It may seem strange now, but the first words I remember in all three languages are J'aime, amo and luo, which in my native tongue translates as 'I love'. And yet in another way ,it's maybe not so strange at all for the language of love is a common one and the language of God's love for us is easily remembered. They say you can't give what you don't have and John clearly agrees with this principle when he says.'Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.' As I develop my faith, let God's love fill me so that I can speak his language and love others through my words. C'est la vie!