When talk gets lost in translation

THERE are times when I wonder what language I actually speak. I try to express myself clearly but the other person seems to misunderstand, totally.

Years ago, in a previous job, I spent around 15 minutes trying to explain the Markets Act 1954 to a journalist — don’t ask me why — but the story that appeared in the requisite newspaper bore no resemblance to what I believed I had said.

Of course sometimes, different people can interpret the same phrase quite differently. In this neck of the woods, to knock someone up means to bang on their door at an appropriate time to rouse them from slumber. However, across the pond, it means to indulge in a little nooky, or even to put someone in the family way.

So imagine the scene, in the 1950s, when Brenda Lee arrived in northern England. She was a teenage girl from a Bible background in the American backwoods. Is it any wonder that she screamed and fled from the stage when the presenter — I’m told it was Jimmy Savile — quite innocently asked if he could come round and knock her up in the morning.

There was a similar occurrence during the Korean War when a US general asked a British officer what the situation was on the Imjin River. “It’s a bit sticky,” said the Brit, who was surrounded by countless thousands of Chinese troops and desperately needed help.

Unfortunately, the US general understood this strange phrase to mean that everything was okay and didn’t bother to send any reinforcements.

And then of course there’s the way you use language in a given situation. Back in 1986, I can remember watching open-mouthed as the Space Shuttle exploded in mid-air. I remember a moment’s silence, and then a voice saying: “We appear to have a major malfunction.” You don’t say.

I don’t do much swearing, but I would have been sorely tempted on that occasion. My dear old mum had fun and games when she arrived in Lancashire in 1948.

She was working at Eagle Spinning in Rochdale when she fell ill. Fellow mill-workers kept asking her if she was poorly, to which she replied: “No, not Polish, Yugoslav.”

You see, if you’ve got an east European name, people tend to assume that it’s Polish. Consequently, mother couldn’t understand why people refused to believe she had been born in an entirely different place.

And then when she was asked if she had any polish to polish her shoes, that really freaked her out.

For some reason, she also believed that Hitler wanted to live at Rochdale Town Hall if he won the war . . .