In the early days of examinations an inspector came to a school, and in the course of the reading stopped to ask the class the meaning of the word curfew in Gray’s line:
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
There was complete silence in the room. He tried to coax the boys on to an answer, but without effect; until the teacher, losing patience with them, exclaimed in vexation, ‘Stupit fules! d’ye no ken what’s a whaup?’ whaup being Scottice for curlew.
A clerical friend of mine was, many years ago, visiting a parish school in Argyleshire where Gaelic was taught as well as English. He spoke to them in Gaelic, and asked them to spell one of the words he had used. They looked in blank amazement at him, and gave no reply. At last the master, turning round deprecatingly to the clergyman, said, ‘Oich, sir, there’s surely no spellin’ in Gaelic.’
A story is told in the north of Scotland of a certain school in which a boy was reading in presence of an examiner, and on pronouncing the word bull as it is ordinarily sounded, was abruptly corrected by the schoolmaster.
A DOMINIE’S PRONUNCIATION
‘John, I’ve told you before, that word is called bull’ (pronouncing it like skull).
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the examiner, ‘I think you will find that the boy has pronounced it correctly.’
‘O no, sir, we always call it bull in this parish.’
‘But you must pardon me if I say that the boy’s pronunciation is the usual one. Have you a pronouncing dictionary?’