Living History

Where do I belong? (book extract)

The following is a chapter extract from a book by Josephine, of New South Wales. Josephine has been kind enough to allow us to reproduce an extract from her biographical story of migration from Holland, Where do I belong? on the Seniors Portal website. She was inspired to write to help other migrants adjust to changes when they arrive in Australia, and for other Australians to understand the challenges migrants face. This section of her story deals with the many differences she had to get used to when she migrated to Australia.

It's not just the language

Fortunately we come from a country where people easily adjust and it is not so hard for Dutch people to learn English. I always feel sorry for those migrants who come from countries such as the Slavic countries like Poland, Hungary, Yugoslavia and even Italy. This is even worse for migrants from Arabic countries who arrived in the later years. Spare a thought for them when you criticize their bad English.

Another factor is that Dutch men, like their Australian compatriots, are very tolerant towards their wives. We are very free to mix with others and can have morning tea with girlfriends as much as we like. So, when husbands learn to speak English while at work, we were able to communicate with our neighbours and later with our new found friends.

But it is not just the language. I remember the day that I was invited for my first ‘afternoon tea’. The neighbour across the road invited me on a Tuesday to be at her place at 4pm. This in itself was strange as in Holland you have a cuppa at about 2 or 2.30 pm. We were used to having dinner at 6 pm and so I thought I will peel the potatoes and wash the vegies before I go and set the table so that if I should be late coming home John would still have his dinner on time. Afternoon tea in Holland in those years was a simple cup of tea and a plain biscuit and maybe a chocolate as well with your second cup. So you can imagine my consternation when I entered the kitchen-dining room of my friend. The table was set with silver tea set, lace tablecloth, on which were plates with scones topped up with jam and cream. This in itself was a new thing for me as I had never heard of scones. It looked to me like bread rolls only a bit smaller than usual. I must admit it all tasted yummy and those days we did not talk about dieting either. Oh the good old times! Needless to say that I got my first lesson in making scones. I was invited to come back to learn how to make them properly. There is only one way you know, ‘my grandmother’s’ way! I still remember the lady’s name - Joyce. She had a little girl the same age as our Fred, 1½ years old. The funny thing was that Fred talked mainly Dutch to her and she could only speak English. They got on very well together.

Shopping is another story. Holland has spinach which is sold by the kilo because it has very small leaves, so when I asked for spinach and was shown those big bunches of silver beet frankly I had to learn to cook spinach all over again with the help of neighbours who thought me to be quite funny. I must admit that I always got plenty of good advice. It must have been very hard for the Australian housewives to understand this foreign woman. I got used to the sound of ‘HUH?’ which was a sign for me to be more explicit in my language. I still get the occasional HUH but only once a month or so. I must have improved over the 49 years.

There are many firsts. We were sponsored by the Dutch Reformed Church of Dee Why and they, as is usual in their churches had supper times, so we were asked to bring a plate. We arrived in time and the tables were set with all kinds of cakes and food. My plate, or rather three plates, were left in my bag. I had faithfully followed the instructions by bringing a plate for each one of us - one each for John, Fred and me. I thought they did not have enough plates for food. Later on I realised that I was not the only one who had misunderstood the saying ‘bring a plate’.

Punctuality. This is a word I do not believe the Australian people had in their dictionary. At least not in the early years of our arrival. John and I always love to have people over for dinner and it was not long before I felt comfortable enough to ask couples to come and have a meal with us. I am not a Vogue person so our meals and table settings are very simple. I was brought up by parents who made it very clear to me that I always should be myself with every one being treated the same. No class distinction. So the table was set. Knife to the right, fork to the left, dessert spoon above the plate. By 6 o’clock everything was ready with the potatoes nice and fluffy, vegies just right and gravy, a must with Dutch dinners, just the right thickness. In the next half hour I must have picked up the phone so many times but I never dialled the number, to find out where our guests were.

Finally, at 6.40 pm they arrived. Our smiles were very artificial as our pots and pans had been on and off the stove several times, the gravy needed extra water and John had to tell me to wipe my tears and wash my face. He assured me that maybe something had happened and they were stuck in the traffic. My good and faithful calm John! I slowly learned not to start cooking dinner until they arrived and to keep our guests happy with a drink and nibbles.

Conversation. This time it has nothing to do with language but again with customs. When people have a party in Holland it is a mixed group of men and women. So what then is the difference here you might ask. We have women and men at our parties. O yes so you do. But most of the time men are in one corner and ladies in another area. It was one of the most difficult things to get used to. I was so accustomed to be together with my husband so we could share the conversation. I am not a very good small talker while John is very good at it. I hate large crowds and am much better at one to one conversations. I am not suggesting that the Australian way is not good or that we in Holland had it right. It really does not matter but for someone from another country it is again one of the things you need to learn to except and deal with.

I recently heard a story from an Australian friend who for about 4 years lived in America. As he was buying some goods in the store the lady asked if he wanted something else. This I may add must have been before the self-serve super markets.

His answer was: “I am right” with the lady behind the counter replying: “Are you saying that I am wrong?” More on this in another chapter.

It is alright to expect migrants to learn English. However, you can know how to spell, even know enough about English Grammar, but this does not mean you can pronounce it. I have a photographic memory which allows me to see the words spelled out in front of me. However, this does not automatically make me pronounce it right. This has given bad as well as funny reactions during the years I have lived here. I do not think that many people understand that it is very hard to say the th sound for a Dutch person. It took me 32 years to say ”thank you”, instead of “tank” you. I remember a particular incident at church. We did not have a pastor to preach this day and as this was in the Dutch Reformed Church, which insists that only pastors can preach, we had someone reading the sermon. He was a lovely elderly man. At the back many young people had settled in the pews. Needless to say that most of those young ones were born here and spoke the English language fluently. As the elderly man was reading the sermon he came to a sentence which read: ‘with thanks and worship’ with his Dutch accent and not being able to speak the th properly it sounded like ’tanks and warship’. You can imagine the roar at the back of the church coming from the young folk.

John and I camp a lot and our regular trip with the children when they were young was to Taree. One of the outings you do when you are in that area is visit Timber Town. Back home after our first trip there I was telling people how nice this place ‘WAUCHOPE’ was. Everyone I shared this with had a blank face and asked me where this Wauchope was. I finally realised that I pronounced it wrongly. After all when you chop wood you say chop, so why was this pronounced wau- hope and not wau – chopee! Other very difficult letters are the “ck” and the “g” as in frock and frog. This always sounded the same to me until I was teaching about the Egyptian plagues where the frocks jumped out of the water. We may laugh about it now but I shed many tears of frustration. I often had a feeling of hopelessness. One of the causes of ones tears is that you often feel you will never really belong. I must thank my Heavenly Father for carrying me through those times. I felt He was the only One I could cry out to and ask for help. This came in the form of a dear friend of ours who is a journalist. It was one of those times when I was talking about a place called Kempsey near Sydney. His reply was: “That is up North above Port Macquarie”. I know what I was talking about so why did we have this argument? He soon realised that I meant Campsie and not Kempsey. He asked me to say it again and again. He was watching my mouth very closely and observed that I did not shape my mouth correctly. He taught me to drop my jaw when I spoke the CA sound and keep my mouth tight when I meant Kempsey. I then learned that a child’s jaw will be set to the language they learn before they are 7 years old. After that it is hard to change this setting. We still get that: “You are here more then 48 years and you still speak with an accent!”

Other words which are very confusing for the migrants are: “on” and “at”, “bring and take”, “before and in front of”, “back side and at the back” and many more. In the beginning I would ask my visitors to sit ON the table instead of AT the table, and say my children were ON school. I would imagine that they got pictures of my children sitting on the roof top of the school. However, those things can be learned if people are willing to correct you. It also depends in what way correction is given.

I always will have fond memories of the many friends who came to us and helped us with kindness and patience to speak better. Please understand that this takes years of persevering.

Maybe we can train speech therapists to help us poor migrants to pronounce the English language better. I have done a lot of public speaking and most of the time people accept me with my accent. There have been times when someone was quite hurtful and told me not to speak too long as my accent is hard to understand. Fortunately they were very few and far between. Sometimes it irritates me, other times I try to laugh it off.

Josephine, Tea Gardens, New South Wales

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