Although it was certainly in existence, I have no idea whether or not “The Admiral Benbow” pub in Penzance, Cornwall, bore that name in the early 1900s, when a young lad by the name of Robert Newton was growing up there. I like to think that, had it done so, it might have triggered an association in the actor’s mind as he – in 1948 or thereabouts - was considering a role that had been offered him by the Walt Disney company. For there can be little else to account for the extraordinary parody of a Cornish accent with which Newton gave voice to Robert Louis Stevenson’s sea-cook pirate, John Silver in the 1950 movie version of “Treasure Island”.
Silver and the other members of the crew are signed aboard the HISPANIOLA in Bristol, so readers who, in 1881-2 were hooked on the serialization in “Young Folks” children’s magazine, might well have voiced Silver’s words with their own variant of the West Country twang but none, surely could have imagined what Newton eventually came up with some seventy years afterwards.
But now, ask anyone what a pirate talks like and you can guarantee that they will offer a passable imitation of Newton’ Long John Silver. What a marvellous legacy for the man – to have invented a mannerism that is now applied to every character of that ilk, regardless of whether they hail from Cornwall or not. (In fact, I’m told that Robert Newton is the unofficial – being long dead - Patron of “International Talk Like A Pirate Day”, which space prevents me from explaining here. But if you’re interested, click on the link).
Sadly, when I first read “Treasure Island” I was already tainted. Thus, every word from Silver’s lips sounded in my head like Robert Newton was speaking it. And believe me I’ve tried. I’ve made Silver a Yorkshireman, a Scotsman and even a West Indian and I simply cannot sustain it. Yet, there is little in the actual written text that should cause this.
“Nobody in this here island ever heard of Darby,” he muttered; “not one but us that’s here….Shipmates,” he cried. “I’m here to get that stuff and I’ll not be beat by man nor devil. I never was feared of Flint in his life and, by the powers, I’ll face him dead. There’s seven hundred thousand pound not a quarter of a mile from here. When did ever a gentleman o’ fortune show his stern to that much dollars for a boozy old seaman with a blue mug – and him dead too?”
I’ll bet the ghost of Robert Newton was at your elbow reading that but apart from one dropped “f” (gentleman o’ fortune), who is to say what accent is to be used?
Sometimes, written accents can jar somewhat; others can really get in the way of the story and still others can be downright impenetrable. Dickens’ version of a Lancashire accent in “Hard Times” makes Dick Van Dyke sound like he was born in Tower Hamlets.
“I ha thowt on ‘t above a bit, sir. I simply canna coom in. I mun go th’ way as lays afore me. I mun tak my leave o’ aw heer.”
And consider Joseph in “Wuthering Heights”:
“He can girn a laugh as well’s onybody at a raight divil’s jest. Does he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes t’Grange?”
It seems to be that once you begin to try to write in an accent, you are always going to come unstuck. No Yorkshireman worth his salt, even in the nineteenth century, would pronounce his aitches and nor would he have said “goes” or “laugh”. “Guz” and “laff” are the nearest phonetic equivalent I can manage for those words, yet Bronte misses them in favour of “amang”, which is… well it’s not Yorkshire, nor has it ever been. And the Brontes famously never left Haworth so it wasn’t as if they seldom heard a Yorkshire accent.
This problem is allied to the verbal mannerisms that some fantasy writers give to their characters. Why do fantasy tales all take place in some sort of ersatz Tudor England? All those “hithers” and “yons” and “lo, my Lord doth approach”. Characters in fantasy books seldom say “…let’s go quickly…” preferring instead to “…harrie us away at speed…” If they want to invoke a Middle Ages feel to their work, wouldn’t it be better to take their lead from Chaucer rather than from Shakespeare? But I digress. This is worthy of a post to itself.
So, writers must beware of trying to hand the accent to the reader. In the first place, it’s very difficult to sustain with any sort of consistency and in the second, it’s rubbish.
Far better to indicate the accent by making it clear from whence the character originates and then write in plain English? Readers can tolerate the odd “ain’t” and dropped consonant or whatnot but if it’s becoming difficult to write the accent, it’s probably difficult for readers to interpret it. Writers would be well advised to take their cue from Robert Newton. He heard Silver’s voice; he didn’t read it. And thus, he invented it.
Silver and the other members of the crew are signed aboard the HISPANIOLA in Bristol, so readers who, in 1881-2 were hooked on the serialization in “Young Folks” children’s magazine, might well have voiced Silver’s words with their own variant of the West Country twang but none, surely could have imagined what Newton eventually came up with some seventy years afterwards.
But now, ask anyone what a pirate talks like and you can guarantee that they will offer a passable imitation of Newton’ Long John Silver. What a marvellous legacy for the man – to have invented a mannerism that is now applied to every character of that ilk, regardless of whether they hail from Cornwall or not. (In fact, I’m told that Robert Newton is the unofficial – being long dead - Patron of “International Talk Like A Pirate Day”, which space prevents me from explaining here. But if you’re interested, click on the link).
Sadly, when I first read “Treasure Island” I was already tainted. Thus, every word from Silver’s lips sounded in my head like Robert Newton was speaking it. And believe me I’ve tried. I’ve made Silver a Yorkshireman, a Scotsman and even a West Indian and I simply cannot sustain it. Yet, there is little in the actual written text that should cause this.
“Nobody in this here island ever heard of Darby,” he muttered; “not one but us that’s here….Shipmates,” he cried. “I’m here to get that stuff and I’ll not be beat by man nor devil. I never was feared of Flint in his life and, by the powers, I’ll face him dead. There’s seven hundred thousand pound not a quarter of a mile from here. When did ever a gentleman o’ fortune show his stern to that much dollars for a boozy old seaman with a blue mug – and him dead too?”
I’ll bet the ghost of Robert Newton was at your elbow reading that but apart from one dropped “f” (gentleman o’ fortune), who is to say what accent is to be used?
Sometimes, written accents can jar somewhat; others can really get in the way of the story and still others can be downright impenetrable. Dickens’ version of a Lancashire accent in “Hard Times” makes Dick Van Dyke sound like he was born in Tower Hamlets.
“I ha thowt on ‘t above a bit, sir. I simply canna coom in. I mun go th’ way as lays afore me. I mun tak my leave o’ aw heer.”
And consider Joseph in “Wuthering Heights”:
“He can girn a laugh as well’s onybody at a raight divil’s jest. Does he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes t’Grange?”
It seems to be that once you begin to try to write in an accent, you are always going to come unstuck. No Yorkshireman worth his salt, even in the nineteenth century, would pronounce his aitches and nor would he have said “goes” or “laugh”. “Guz” and “laff” are the nearest phonetic equivalent I can manage for those words, yet Bronte misses them in favour of “amang”, which is… well it’s not Yorkshire, nor has it ever been. And the Brontes famously never left Haworth so it wasn’t as if they seldom heard a Yorkshire accent.
This problem is allied to the verbal mannerisms that some fantasy writers give to their characters. Why do fantasy tales all take place in some sort of ersatz Tudor England? All those “hithers” and “yons” and “lo, my Lord doth approach”. Characters in fantasy books seldom say “…let’s go quickly…” preferring instead to “…harrie us away at speed…” If they want to invoke a Middle Ages feel to their work, wouldn’t it be better to take their lead from Chaucer rather than from Shakespeare? But I digress. This is worthy of a post to itself.
So, writers must beware of trying to hand the accent to the reader. In the first place, it’s very difficult to sustain with any sort of consistency and in the second, it’s rubbish.
Far better to indicate the accent by making it clear from whence the character originates and then write in plain English? Readers can tolerate the odd “ain’t” and dropped consonant or whatnot but if it’s becoming difficult to write the accent, it’s probably difficult for readers to interpret it. Writers would be well advised to take their cue from Robert Newton. He heard Silver’s voice; he didn’t read it. And thus, he invented it.
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