Bridges

Here in Cambridge, they love their bridges. That’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with bridges. Since the town is named after a bridge, I guess it is understandable. The other night we had an interesting conversation with Jim’s tutor at St. Edmunds (no Dad, Jim isn’t getting remedial help—here a tutor is an academic advisor—every student has one). He teaches engineering and he had a great deal to say about bridges. He waxed eloquent about the symbolism of bridges bringing people together and told quite an interesting story about the cultural significance of a particular bridge in Bosnia. His emphasis was that bridges connect people, both literally and figuratively.

Much of my goal in writing is to find those figurative bridges, which connect Appalachia with Cambridge. This odd pursuit has ironically led to taking a look at literal bridges. Let’s start with just a few of the many bridges of Cambridge.

Clare Bridge

This bridge belongs to Clare College and has the distinction of being the oldest bridge in Cambridge. Built in 1690, it’s the oldest because all of its contemporaries were destroyed during England’s civil war in order to make the defense of the city easier.

The Bridge of Sighs

Now that is a pretty bridge. You just wouldn’t find a bridge like that anywhere in West Virginia. In fact the thought of a bridge that connected two buildings together over a creek would seem very odd. This bridge belongs to St. John’s College. Rumor has it that it got its name not from a similar bridge in Venice, but from the sound students make while passing over it after taking exams. I read that Queen Victoria loved this spot in Cambridge better than any other. Likely it is Cambridge’s most visited tourist attraction.

The Mathematical Bridge

The Mathematical Bridge in Cambridge was built in 1749 by James Essex from a design by William Etheridge. It has been rebuilt twice, in 1866 and 1905, using the same design. Several myths about this bridge, supposedly propagated by unscrupulous tour guides, are based on the notion that someone built this bridge using a mathematical formula without any bolts or screws and that workmen took it apart for cleaning and repairs, but they could not put it back together without the use of bolts. Myth or not, if this had been in West Virginia we would have used cable ties, bungee cords and duct tape. It wouldn’t have looked so good, but we would have been able to say “No sir, you won’t find a bolt any where on that bridge.”

Give my dad and his buddies a case of beer and an afternoon with nothing better to do and, I know they could have built a bridge without any bolts. Under similar circumstances, I saw them build a cannon out of soup cans and duct tape that could shoot a tennis ball completely out of sight. Original plans called for using lighter fluid, but that only shot from the barn to the house. Once the beer was gone, that just wasn’t fun anymore so they pulled out the acetylene torch. The acetylene-fueled tennis balls were never seen again. Now that was fun!

All in all the bridges of Cambridge are, well, nice enough I suppose. Now let me show you bridge in West Virginia…

New River Gorge Bridge

The bridge was completed in 1977. Until 2003 it was the largest steel arch bridge in the world, but a bridge in Shanghai now has it beat by 105 feet. However, it is still the longest in the western hemisphere. The bridge took three years to construct. The span of the arch is 1700 feet. It stands 876 feet over the river, is over half a mile long, and nearly 70 ft wide. This bridge reduced the forty-five minute travel time from one side of the gorge to the other to less than one minute.

Now that’s a Bridge of Size. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but frankly in West Virginia, as far as bridges are concerned, if you can’t parachute from it, then there’s nothing to brag about!

Precise Language

The English love precise language. This can be a little unsettling for Americans since we primarily communicate with grunts, gestures, and body language. We have even been known to charge if you stare directly into our eyes, but I digress.

Recently I was teaching a class of Year 8 (7^th grade) students when there was an outbreak of giggling among a group of usually well behaved girls. When I approached to find out what was going on, one young lady spoke up, “Sorry Miss, Chloe belched and it smelt of sick.” This child was obviously a student of the Queen’s English. Notice that the word ‘sick’ is used as a noun. We don’t use it that way in America. In America, “sick” is usually an adjective. Also notice the word ‘smelt.’ In America, “smelt” is not the past tense of “smell.” “Smelt” is either a small fish or a way to process ore. There is one exception to Americans using the word ‘smelt’ instead of “smelled;” it only occurs among males from age 11 to 40, and only because it rhymes with the word “dealt.”

If Chloe had been an American, her friend would have likely said the following: “Um, Mrs. Leonard, but Chloe like, uh, burped, and when she burped it smelled like, you know, barf!” One thing I find strangely comforting is that British children also find bodily functions humorous; I would have to feel bad if it were just an American thing. However, hearing such humor expressed in precise terms by 12 year olds leaves me feeling uneasy. I know precise language isn’t a bad thing, but for the American listener it takes some getting used to.

I think the American ear tends to tune out precise language. Paying attention is too much hard work. We simply do not have the patience to hear every word, which is a requirement for understanding precise language. We are much happier just getting the general idea. One reason Americans talk so much is that we don’t use precise language, so it takes us twice as many words to say anything at all. We also assume the listener only perceives about half of the words we say, so we tend to speak in generalities and repeat ourselves a lot. In other words, since we don’t use precise language, we have to use a whole lot of words to say anything at all, and if the listener only listens to half of what we say, redundancy makes sense and we tend to repeat ourselves.

This difference in communication style could very well be what gives the British the erroneous notion that Americans talk too much. Actually we talk just the right amount to communicate with other Americans. The problem is that the British listener tries to make precise sense out of every word we say, so not only do they come away exhausted, but also with the mistaken impression that we don’t know what we are talking about. Quite the contrary, we know exactly what we are saying, generally speaking.

All of this has implications for Jim’s dissertation. He has a limit of 80,000 words. Most British universities have a limit of 100,000 words, but this is Cambridge, and they figure with a higher standard of precise language, their scholars should be able to streamline by 20%. I wish Jim’s dissertation supervisor much luck. Given the example of Chloe’s story above, I figure it takes Americans two words for every one British word to express any thought. He clearly he has his work cut out for him.

Not all American communication is dependant on a large number of words, however. Jim’s Grandfather, who was born, raised and lived most of his life in the hill country of Eastern Kentucky, was what we refer to as a man of few words. When Papaw Meek spoke, we did indeed cling to every word, because we knew they would be few and profound. One time we were visiting when Sara was three. She had been rather naughty and I was compelled to implement some discipline in the presence of Jim’s grandparents. Upon seeing my discomfort at the situation, Papaw came up to me and said, “You’re alright. You gotta keep ‘em down there. Don’t let ‘em get up here.” What he said to me was hardly precise language, but it spoke volumes. With a glance and a hand gesture to indicate just where ‘down there’ and ‘up here’ were, Papaw showed me his approval. He let me know that, in his opinion, I was doing the right thing by disciplining Sara.

Americans find the task of listening to precise language difficult. British public speakers know that if you use precise language you must speak slowly and with good diction for the hearer to comprehend every word. In addition to the use of precise language, the English also insist on employing the principle of being sensible. The final product of these principles will lack certain elements that American listeners need in order to remain conscious.

A case in point is our pastor here in Cambridge. He is a wonderful minister. His preaching is relevant, well reasoned, biblically sound, and spiritually insightful. Our first Sunday here, we realized his delivery met all BBC specifications for sensible public speaking. The second Sunday was the same, but then something extraordinary happened: he went to Texas for two weeks. His first Sunday back he was a changed man. His sermon was filled with colorful metaphors, large sweeping gestures, and humor. His range of inflection had doubled. He smiled and nearly winked when he said something funny. At times, he stepped away from the lectern, and once he even laughed at his own joke. Jim and I knew immediately, it was Texas.

By immersing himself in American culture, the American style of communication had an effect on our pastor. After about a month, “Texas” wore off a bit, but we still see little glimpses here and there. Since it isn’t sensible to send all of our English friends off to Texas, I guess it is up to us to get used to precise language.