BY ROY BUCHANAN
A coastal town in south-west Scotland is called Kirkcudbright. Well; not quite. It is pronounced Kerr-coo-bray but please tolerate the laughter of the natives when you ask for directions. A suburb of Glasgow appears as Milngavie on sign-posts but say Mull-guy to ensure you are treated as a knowledgeable visitor. I show-off by getting it right every time but I should, I am a Scot from Falkirk in Stirlingshire.
My older sister married a man from the West Country hence I became familiar with place-names in Devon and Cornwall. We took a trip to the fishing village of Fowey but only after I was given a lesson followed by a rehearsal in the pronunciation of this picturesque spot. Saying Foy-ee saved me from embarrassment. I needn’t have bothered; the townspeople are friendly claiming that only Cornishmen know how to say it without practice and their pasties are delicious too.
As a teenager I spent my weekends cycling in North Yorkshire. My favourite route was the B1257 from Stokesley to Helmsley that passes the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey, pronounced Ree-voh. This Cistercian monastery, lying in a beautiful green valley, is a reminder of Henry VIII’s bitter argument with the Pope and his nefarious behaviour that followed. In 1536 England had over 800 monasteries housing 10,000 monks and nuns. Four years later they had gone. On way to this historic site you will pass through the village of Chop Gate. The locals say Chop Yat, it’s Yorkshire dialect.
Closer to home, Chertsey is pronounced with ‘ch’ as in Church not as ‘k’ as in Christmas. If it were, the town would be called Kertsey which sounds like something ladies do in the presence of the Queen. There is nothing worse than corny humour, is there?