ACCENT ON DUTCH, by guest blogger Francie Gow

My Dutch accent has progressed in fits and starts rather than gradually. The musical training surely helped here too, as did the early exposure to the sounds from hearing my mother speak with Dutch-speaking friends and relatives. However, there were a few sounds particular to Dutch that I could recognize but had trouble imitating for a long time, as I was not forced to try very often.

The first difficult sound I remember conquering was the rolled “r”. When I was eight years old, I spent a week or two with my great-aunt and great-uncle on the family farm in Netterden. Their four sons had learned English in school, so I generally communicated in English through them. They had a lovely dog named Bonnie who could do entertaining tricks, like rolling over or jumping up to push the door closed. I was eager to give her these commands myself, but she simply ignored me when I encouraged her to “rollen” with my wimpy English “r”. I practised and practised making motor noises with my tongue. A few days later, I knew I had finally succeeded when she heard me say “rrrrrrollen” and promptly did a little flip. I could not possibly have found a more exacting—or motivating—teacher.

When I finally decided in my early twenties to learn to speak Dutch, I set about conquering the last of the challenging sounds with the help of taped language lessons and by asking for help from my relatives every time I went to visit. While my Dutch accent today is not nearly as good as my French accent, the head start that I had acquired in childhood helps me sound much more advanced than the relative beginner I really am.

Basically, I can pass for a native speaker, or at least a proficient one, for the first thirty seconds of any conversation. The disadvantage is that whenever I ask for something in a store, I get a long, detailed answer in rapid-fire Dutch. I quickly learned the phrase, “Langzamer, alstublieft!” (More slowly, please!), and I use it constantly.

The advantage is that native speakers are less likely to switch into English to “help” me, thus giving me more opportunities to practise and improve. On a recent trip to The Hague, my partner and I wanted to reserve a guided tour at the Peace Palace. I dialled the number in the guidebook and began the conversation with “Goeden dag. Spreekt u Engels?” (Good day. Do you speak English?) The man at the other end answered, in Dutch, “Yes, of course I do, but I don’t think I will; your Dutch is much too good!” Totally caught off guard, I stammered my way clumsily through the rest of the conversation. However, it did the job, and he congratulated me warmly before hanging up.

Don’t despair if your child’s early exposure to a language is inconsistent at best; it may still facilitate future efforts!

A TALE OF TWO KINDERGARTENS, by guest blogger Francie Gow

About a month after I began French-immersion Kindergarten, my Dutch grandmother died, and my mother brought me and my sister Emily to the Netherlands to spend two months with Opa. While we were there, the grownups decided to send me for part of that time (two or three weeks, perhaps) to the local school. The teacher graciously accepted me as a guest in her classroom and asked the other students to make me feel welcome. 

I have no memory whatsoever of my first month in the French Kindergarten. I presume that we were all taught the phrase “Puis-je aller aux toilettes?” (May I go to the bathroom?) on day one. We were all Anglophones, so although the teacher never used any English with us, I know that she would have used very simple sentences, lots of repetition, and plenty of contextual clues to help us along.

I do, however, have a vivid first-person recollection of parts of my Dutch experience, perhaps because it was so overwhelming. I remember an enormous sense of frustration at not understanding what was going on around me. The adults spoke to me in English and to each other in Dutch. The teacher spoke to the class as a whole in a Dutch that I could not hope to follow, as of course she was aiming it at native speakers, and then she would give me a brief explanation in English so that I could join in the activity. My classmates spoke to each other in Dutch, and to me in slower Dutch accompanied by gestures.

Had I stayed longer, I would have eventually cracked the code and become quite fluent, progressing much faster than I later did in French. I did acquire a large stock of vocabulary words over those two months, mostly related to food, a topic that came up several times a day. However, with the exception of “Ik ben Francie” (I am Francie), which was printed on one of my t-shirts, I never learned to produce a single sentence.

Because the adults were continuing to speak to me in English, no doubt at my insistence and because it was easier, I had no way to pick up verbs, an essential building block for meaningful communication. Therefore, even as my vocabulary grew, I never felt any closer to being able to speak when the time came to return home.

Of course, we all knew that the trip was temporary, so while the grownups no doubt hoped that I would benefit from the exposure to an extent, learning the language was not the primary purpose of my time there. It may have been different if we knew that I would be staying. I imagine that simple story books, read to me repeatedly by patient adults, would have granted me the entry into sentences that I so badly needed to be able to burst through the wall of incomprehension. A strong desire to make friends with my non-English-speaking classmates would have pushed me from there.

While I don’t remember my first days of Kindergarten, I do remember the first days of my return to the French-language classroom in December. In theory, French should have been even less comprehensible to me than Dutch, as there had been no previous exposure to French in my home. However, my only memories of the rest of Kindergarten relate to my classmates and the things we did. I remember learning that I could use the black crayon to make grey by pressing lightly instead of hard. I remember tossing beanbags through holes in a wooden board with a clown painted on it. I remember counting to one hundred. I remember building structures with blocks and pasting macaroni to construction paper. I remember singing songs. I do not remember the fact that I was doing all of this in French.

I recently asked my mother what she remembered from my Kindergarten experience. She told me that a friend of hers had once asked me whether I had learned any French at school that day and was surprised when I replied, “No.” But wasn’t I in French immersion? I looked at her as though she had just said something nonsensical. “We don’t learn French at school,” I explained, “we just speak it.”   

BUNNIES, BROOMS, AND DUTCH VOCABULARY, by guest blogger Francie Gow

I have memories from before starting school of a few Dutch-language books around the house. There were Tintin comic books in Dutch translation, but I could never do much with those beyond looking at the pictures. (I should ask my parents whether we still have them, as I might be just at the right stage for them now!) The simple vocabulary and picture books were more useful.

My sharpest memory is of a Dutch translation of Richard Scarry's The Best Word Book Ever, with its household and community scenes inhabited by cute little human-like animals and labelled in great detail. I had the original English copy as well, so I could compare if I wanted to, but it wasn’t really necessary. I would spend lots of time poring over the pictures, and some of the vocabulary just stuck.

I remember visiting the family farm in the Netherlands when I was eight years old and “playing house” with the neighbour’s daughter, who was the same age. Despite the language barrier, we were able to build an open floor plan out of bales of hay, and we did lots of gesturing to make ourselves understood. I wanted a broom to sweep up the bits of hay, and I was proud as punch when I suddenly remembered the word “bezem” from the Richard Scarry book, and she understood me right away. Using a word successfully in context was an encouraging thrill.  If Scarry’s books were translated into Dutch, I have no doubt they were translated into several other languages as well, so these may be worth hunting down in children’s bookstores on your travels. 

Not all of my books were translations. I still love the bold, colourful illustrations of Dick Bruna, whose iconic Nijntje Konijntje (“Miffy the Rabbit” in English) character is recognizable far beyond the artist’s native Netherlands. I have only just now discovered these adorable interactive Miffy websites, which of course were not available to complement the books when I was growing up. There is even a version in Japanese. Like the Scarry books, I’m certain that the books themselves are available in many more than just these three languages. They may be even easier to find: Bruna began publishing children’s books in 1953, but, unlike Scarry, he still seems to be at it today!

FRENCH IMMERSION AND BEYOND, by guest blogger Francie Gow

I first met Susan in 1982 when our parents enrolled us in the first French immersion class to be offered at our primary school in St. John’s, Newfoundland. We quickly became inseparable, no doubt because of our shared love of language and wild imaginations, and we remained close even after her family moved away in high school. Like Susan, I took to French immersion like a duck to water, despite the fact that our parents did not speak French.

My Dutch-born mother lives primarily in English, her second language, and she came away from her psychology degree with a firm belief in the benefits of second-language learning for children’s brain development.

My father was brought up in Ontario speaking only English, but a commitment to pan‑Canadian bilingualism was really taking off in those latter years of Pierre Trudeau’s leadership, and Dad wanted to make sure that I had the opportunities that came with speaking both of the country’s official languages.

My mother had intended to teach me Dutch at home, and, though I do not remember this, I even had a Dutch-speaking nanny for a while. However, when I was 20 months old, my sister Emily was born with severe cerebral palsy, and my parents’ priorities naturally turned to her rehabilitation.

After graduating from high school, I built on my French in a variety of ways, culminating in a graduate degree in French-to-English translation. While studying in Ottawa, I met the love of my life, a French-speaking Ontarian who speaks near-perfect English and very good Spanish, and who also happens to be the son of two marvellous English-to-French translators.

I am now a legal translator in Montreal, and French is the language I speak most often both at home and at work. I recently realized that my parents’ early decision to facilitate my learning of French has defined almost every aspect of my adult life.

In future posts, I will go into more detail about my experience in learning French, which Susan has labelled a commonly taught language. I also have some experience learning a less-commonly taught language, as I decided to make a real effort to learn Dutch in my early 20’s. I am by no means fluent, but I can now communicate with members of my extended family who do not speak English, and I feel much more connected to my family history. 

Of course, this blog is called LinguistKids. Although I never learned to produce any Dutch as a child, I will explore how some of my early exposure to the language supported my later efforts to acquire it.

Thank you for inviting me to contribute, Susan, and I look forward to chatting with you all in this space!