Accent on Southern!
By Gary Wright
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet
but it would still be just as thorny.
What is commonly referred to as a “southern accent” in the United States may be one of the most distinguishable regional accents within the country. The stereotypical Southern America accent is an aristocratic British accent with a southern lilt. However, contrary to popular belief, there is no single “southern accent.” Instead, there are a number of sub-regional dialects found across the southern United States, collectively known as Southern American English. Yet these dialects often share features of accent and idioms that easily distinguish them from the English spoken in other regions of the United States, features that identify those dialects as “southern,” particularly to other Americans. Although people in the southern United States speak different “southern” dialects, they can understand one another, as can residents of the United States and the United Kingdom.
Though there is a broad divide between the language spoken in the state of Maine, southern Georgia, by the cockney British, the Bahamians, and the West Virginia mountaineers, it is truly a miracle that these languages have not branched so much as to make them unintelligible to each other. It is a fact of nature that, if languages are not allowed to blend, to flow and change, they will simply die out in favor of one that is more useful and practical.
There is an old saying that, in English, as contrasted to French and many Romance languages, accent is placed as far forward as possible; usually on the very first syllable. That so-called rule is taken to the extreme in some sectors of the American South. Some examples include pόlice, De’troit, hόtel, mόtel, gui’tar, Ju’ly, di’splay, u’mbrella, and so on. Southerners also have a tendency to rely on auxiliary verbs when there is none needed and, at times when there is no such verb. For instance, ‘I told you’ pretty much speaks for itself but, especially when asked again, the reply might well be ‘I done told you,’ so that ‘done told’ trumps ‘told.’
‘This’ always refers to me or something of mine, always meaning something close by. ‘That,‘ by extension, refers to something of yours and something that is not close by. A Southern rule of speech indicates that, if you can touch it, then it’s here and pertains to me; if you can’t touch it, then it is a ‘that’ and belongs to someone called ‘you.’ Therefore, both of these rules being true, if we combine both rules wouldn’t that be even more true? One would presume that the double negative rule would kick in; but not in certain segments of the South. ‘This here’ one over here applies to me and ‘that there’ one over there is your’n — do you think?
The use of the letter ‘a’ seems to add a mystical, magical quality to the matter being discussed in the rural South. For example, the old Hoot Owl doesn’t just make its distinctive sound. No siree, Bob. He’s jist naturally gotta take to a-hootin’ n a-hollerin’ n jist a-carryin’ on like there’s no to-morry. The wind can’t just make a blustery noise. Not hardly, Hon’, it’s gotta jist git on to a-howlin’ n a-carryin’ on to beat all get out. If you close your eyes and listen to those word descriptions, you can almost picture yourself there, in three-dimension.
The letter ‘a’ has a great many other uses that help in “color-fying” or adding specificity to the thing being discussed. Joseph Robert is not preparing to repair the unnamed object. Not on your life; Joe Bob is a-fixin’ to fix the thing a-ma-jig. Oh, Lordy! My dog’s a-barkin’ n my cat’s a-fussin’ so; it seems like I cain’t git no peace ‘n quiet this side of tarnation.
Classic, Southern lingo appears in a popular talk-song recorded by Walter Brennan in 1962 entitled “Conversation with a Mule:”
“I seed a farmer and a mule a-plowin’ over on the mountainside.
The farmer was a-munblin’ and a-grumblin’ as he plowed them furrors deep and wide.
Well, as he went along a-plowin’ He was a-swearin and a-snortin’ all the way.
I over-heered his conversation with his mule And this is what I heared him say.
Old mule, you’re the son of a jack-ass and I’m the image of God.
But here we work hitched together A-toilin’ n tillin’ the sod . . . .”
Many quaint, descriptive Southernisms seem to make little sense or have a definitive point of origin. Though much home-spun conversation has evolved over the years, a lot is simply made up on the spot. Most originates in old English brought over by the working class immigrants from Wales, England, and Cornwall. It has been peppered with generous helpings of Scotch and Irish brogue, garnished with German, Dutch, and French. Blended carefully over time, Southern-speak was served on a base of African-Americanisms and Native American terms.
Southern-speak may not be the most efficient dialect on the planet but, it’s certainly in the running for the most colorful. Folks may leave the South and eventually drop their accents but, sometimes, when they get really mad, they’ll take to a-shoutin’ n’ a-throwin’ thangs and jist generally throwin’ a real hissy fit.
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Good one, Gary, as usual. An’ ‘ow ’bout th’ ten’cy t’ e-longate th’ one syl’ble wer-ds an’ c’mpress th’ three an’ four syl’ble ones. Where “Madison, Mississippi” becomes “Ma’s’n, Mi’sipi” … and … “Where are you going becomes”, “Whey-a y’all b-ee a-go-in? Cheers to you and yours ! Joe Goodell
Thanks for your kind remarks. The good thing about the South is that there are so many good and positive things and people to write about.