Modern communications as well as the mobility of Americans since the mid-20th century has brought us prosperity as well as a far more knowledgeable understanding of the world than many held prior to this modern era.

That mobility and world view has come with losses, however, and among them are the uniquely nuanced variations of English — dialects — and colloquialisms that formed rich regional cultures in every corner of America.

Our language, like our milk, has been homogenized — a rather bland form of English inculcated into recent generations by hours in front of movies, televisions or other mass communications devices — and learned as we have moved from one community and career opportunity to another. 

(Homogenized perhaps, but not pasteurized. Far too much of today’s speech is what might be called bacteria-laden, with crude speech ever more acceptable. Where’s our mother’s soap for mouth-washing when we need it?)

Many in the Deep South still have various flavors of Southern drawl and many New Englanders still have the “down east” dialect that has been uniquely theirs. Along coastal Virginia and North Carolina, particularly in isolated communities such as Tangier Island, there are still remnants of the Old English dialect we generally call “Tidewater.”

I’ve always been modestly interested in our local dialect, probably because, according to others, I still practice it, though I naturally don’t notice that I do.

It was first brought to my attention 56 years ago this summer when a salty old chief petty officer heard me say something while I was in basic training for a stint in the Navy.  He asked if I was from Norfolk.

“No, chief. I’m from Smithfield.”

“Where’s that?”

“About 25 miles from Norfolk.”

Having served in Norfolk several times, that Navy chief had nailed my dialect.

More recently, I did a bit of research to learn more about the way Tidewater residents of my generation and earlier spoke. Turns out, it’s a variation of a speaking style that can be found — undoubtedly with local variations — in much of the English-speaking world.

According to linguists, our use of the language is known as “non-rhotic.” Sounds exotic, but it really isn’t. It just means that we don’t pronounce “r’s” when they occur after vowels. We only use them when they are followed by a vowel. 

That part makes sense to me. It would be pretty difficult to ignore the r in “rain” and still say the word. 

But I clearly do drop the “r” from many words, as do a lot of folks who learned to talk at the knee of their Tidewater native parents.

For example, when we talk about the James River, it comes out “rivuh.” Likewise, we look at ourselves in a “mirruh” and are all-too-often “supprised” rather than surprised by how old we’re getting. And corn comes out “cawn.”

A Tidewater native who retains the dialect pronounces ever as “evuh.” We do put an r in the word every, but in that instance we drop the second e and it comes out “evry.”

There are other not-so-subtle indicators of the Tidewater dialect, probably the best-known being our pronunciation of “out, about and house.” I’m not sure how to spell them phonetically, but they’re pretty close to “ote, abote and hoas.”

I had a friend in college who was a native of Tangier Island. He had that really heavy, early English dialect found mostly on the middle Chesapeake.

I saw him years later and he spoke in precise English, with no discernable dialect. I asked him where it went and he said he had worked hard to eliminate it since he alone among his co-workers had spoken like that.

I find it sad that these dialects are disappearing, but understand that it’s natural for people to want to fit in. 

The colloquialisms of yesteryear had a certain straightforward approach that has mostly, and regrettably, disappeared. Of course, most of the symbols from which those sayings grew are gone as well.

 

John Edwards is publisher emeritus of The Smithfield Times. His email address is j.branchedwards@gmail.com.