A Final Thought: Ode to GH
By Mitch Allen
As a writer, I am fascinated by language, particularly English, my native tongue. Compared to Spanish, which is soft and beautiful, English is hard. Think of Spanish’s lovely mesa verde compared to its clunky English counterpart, “green table.”
Spanish also adheres neatly to simple rules of pronunciation, while English abhors rules; there always seems to be an “except-after-c” exception.
To illustrate the point, someone created the word ghoti, which is pronounced “fish.” The gh is the “f” in “rough”; the o makes the short “i” sound in “women”; and the ti is pronounced “sh” as in “nation.”
Who could argue?
We also toss in extra letters only to declare them “silent”—words like muscle, knead, and honest. It’s enough to make you gnaw your thumb. Imagine doing that in math: 2 + 2 + 3 = 4? Right, the 3 is silent.
English is ripe with confusing homophones, too, such as by, buy, bye and bi, not to mention to, too and two, and “Who’s there?” versus “Whose? Theirs?”
Making words plural is also tricky. Mouse and mice? Calf and calves? I can hear ESL students saying, “Wait, the plural of shrimp is shrimp? Now you’re just messing with us.”
Americans have an especially difficult time spelling plural words: We tend to add an apostrophe. I once saw a sign on Put-in-Bay advertising Bloody Mary’s and Margarita’s. And if you work for a firm of CPAs, look out the window at your company sign. If it reads “CPA’s,” demand a refund.
English has unsettling idioms, too. The first time I told my grandsons there was more than one way to skin a cat, they started crying. I had to tell them the cat was fine; I was just pulling their leg. It didn’t help.
I’m really not a grammar freak. After all, I grew up in Alabama and Georgia where we say everything differently. Where I come from, “I swanny, I ain’t never seen such a thing” is perfectly understandable and acceptable, along with how my grandmother used to shout before every summer thunderstorm, “Hurry! Storm’s a’ comin’! Raise the winduhs down!”
We all knew what she meant.
Instead, I strive to adhere to the adage: “Never correct anyone’s grammar. So you know grammar. That doesn’t make you smart; it makes you lucky.”
I recently wrote a poem to explain just how confusing English pronunciations can be. Good luck.
ODE TO GH
Gh is f in rough and tough
and, if that is not enough,
it’s also f in cough and trough.
But wait; something here seems really off.
Gh is highly shy, you know,
in daughter, knight and sourdough,
and though you know that horses neigh,
can you guess how much they weigh?
Do say.
In certain words like slough and through
gh becomes a w.
You won’t believe what else is up:
Gh is p in hiccough!
Near Akron in historic Ghent
gh is j, so here’s a hint:
Pronounce it like a proper gent
for Gent is what they really meant.
Gh makes no special sound
in words we like to call “compound.”
The diagraph’s not truly wedded
in doghouse, foghorn and pigheaded.
It’s okay that it’s a k
when sailing on an Irish lough,
which, like a misty Scottish loch,
rhymes with Johann Sebastian Bach.
Gh is u in Edinburgh,
where folks say ED-in-bur-uh,
but if you wear a kilt (hurrah!)
you’ll pronounce it ED-in-bra.
In a word like burgh or aargh,
gh is g, both good and hard.
Now when you are good and ready,
cry, “A ghost is eating my spaghetti!”
Ugh, how ghastly.
We’ve reached the end. I hope you see
gh is fraught with uncertainty.
Like the cat in Schrödinger’s box
gh both is—and it is naught.