I was born in An Spidéal, a Gaeltacht area in Co Galway. My parents, who were both born in England to Irish parents, were a bit detached from the Irish language. My grandparents taught them a few words and phrases, but the language wasn't forced upon them in education. Instead, they learned French and Spanish.
Despite moving to Enniskillen in Northern Ireland when I was in primary school, my parents looked favourably at their time in the Gaeltacht. My Mum often said the little village was more multicultural than Dublin: "On one side, our neighbours were Norwegian, the other side, they were Scottish, and just down the road, they were Spanish."
I always wondered what attracted my parents to the area, but then I remembered; living in a colourful, friendly village with breathtaking views of Galway Bay and the Atlantic Ocean were definitely factors. But their lack of understanding of the local language meant I wasn’t baptised until I was 10, as the local church only provided services in Irish. This anecdote is always met with laughter, and sometimes shock, when I meet fellow Irish Catholic expats abroad.
I attended a Catholic primary school, and much like other Catholic educational institutions in Northern Ireland, the Irish language was heavily encouraged. All prayers were in Irish, we had language lessons, and there were numerous pictures and signs as Gaeilge. But as I grew up in Northern Ireland, language and national identity were such divisive topics that I hid them away, especially when I attended an integrated secondary school for both Catholics and Protestants. I let my knowledge of the Irish language slide, because I began to automatically associate it with Republicanism. It was only when I reached sixth form that I realised that was an immature view to have of your own culture.
I came to Norwich three years ago to study international relations at the University of East Anglia. Many of my friends and family were confused as to why I chose a city 800km away from home. But there was just something about this beautiful little city that makes the gruelling 12-hour journey worth it.
My degree teaches me to be open-minded and diplomatic. It emphasises the importance of linguistic and cultural divide in explaining tension between nations. Surprisingly, knowing Irish has greatly helped my understanding of the subject. Even within our own borders, recognising that we have differences is often the best way to look to the future.
When I tell my English friends that I speak Irish, it is often greeted with confusion and the humorous question: “Isn’t that just English, but with an Irish accent?” Then I start speaking it, and they’re blown away by how different it sounds. This was emphasised last year, when I hosted an event at university on St Patrick’s Day to raise money for charity, and promote the language and culture. Cultural ignorance is something which sadly defines many English-speaking countries due to the dominance of the language in the world. But to be honest, I don’t blame them for not knowing about the language, as I believe that it is due to the lack of its promotion abroad.
Language in the United Kingdom has always been a divisive topic. English people do not have the same reaction to the promotion of regional languages as people in Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, and the Isle of Man. I just react proudly when I hear that they are being encouraged (especially recently with Scottish Gaelic), because they are part of the diverse range of cultures on these islands and we need to show the world that they exist.
I am so proud to know the language, and to have regained what I lost in my adolescent years. The language is a part of me. Just meeting other Irish people and saying simple phrases like “What’s the Craic?”, “Dia Duit”, “Céad Míle Fáilte”, and “Slán” gives us an instant connection, and a slight feeling of arrogance knowing the English-speakers in the room have no clue what you’re saying.
