Sadly, this doesn't just apply to Mums. It's a universal trend. Here's one of my poems in my local Geordie vernacular which sums it all up for me... A Lost Art?
Ah love te meet wi’ friends, an’ te hev a reet good chat,
A smashin’ way te pass the time, discussin’ this ‘n that,
As wuh set the whorld te reets that chat’s a fav’rite occupation,
A chance te join wi’ others in the art o’conversation.
But as ah look aroond these days ah worry when a see,
So many bad examples of hoo things hev come te be.
Two lasses on the Metro left wuh feelin’ ahll perplexed,
As thuh sat next te each other te communicate by text.
Heids pointed doon an’ fingers flyin, total introspection,
As thuh “tahlked” there te each other, wi’ nee meaningful connection.
Ah’ve seen a family in a pub, ahll gathered fer a meal,
It’s nee exaggeration, an’ te me it seemed surreal,
Mam an’ Dad an’ both the bairns, wi’ i-pads in thuh’re hand,
Thuh may as well have been apart, ahll in some distant land,
In sep’rate worlds thuh surf the net, oblivious o’ each other,
Just hoo does that fit in wi’ bein’ a Fatha or a Motha?
So is it any wonder that when youngsters dee speak oot,
The noises that thuh make are a meagre substitute,
Fer “proppah” English language, wi’ a sentence ahll expressed,
Wi’ grammar an’ vocabulary suitably addressed.
Nee “ah wuz like” an’ “she wuz like”, such tortured, mangled speech,
Wi’ constant interjections as thuh struggle there te reach,
Fer the words te tell thuh’re story, as thuh’re forebears used te dee,
Wi’ such easy, practiced reference te a wide vocab’lary.
Ah see recorded interviews wi’ people in the street,
A “vox pop” scene from years gone by, wi’ sentences complete,
So very diff’rent from teday, ah sometimes wonder whether,
The person bein’ interviewed can string three words together,
Withoot “yuh knah” or “kind o’ like”, or usin’ that ”ah mean”,
Te fill those yawnin’ gaps where those lost words would once have been.
An’ even social gatherin’s whork against good conversation,
Wi’ some bliddy ahwful disco blockin’ ahll communication,
As yuh sit an’ strain te lip-read what yuh’re neighbours try te say,
But the decibels still triumph, an’ those words just fade away,
So yuh smile an’ nod, an’ then give up, another chance is lost,
Te communicate wi’ others, an’ it ahll comes at a cost.
At heart wuh’re social animals, an’ wuh hev the gift o’ speech,
Te serve wor complex lifestyles, te help wuz ahll te reach,
A proppah understandin’ o’ what brings wuz ahll together,
Te cement a lastin’ friendship teks some concentrated blether.
So ah’m makin’ nee apologies, an ah may be an’ auld fahrt,
But ah mourn fer conversation, fast becomin’ a lost art…
