Сью Таунсенд «Мы с королевой»

Case Study 1

Действие романа Сью Таунсенд “The Queen and I” («Мы с королевой») происходит в 1992 году в Великобритании. На парламентских выборах побеждает «Народная республиканская партия», после чего членов королевской семьи лишают их особого статуса и переселяют из Букингемского дворца в обычный дом на улице с говорящим названием “Hellebore Close” - “Hell Close” (переулок Хеллебор – переулок Ад) – в рабочем районе. Королеве Елизавете и ее родственникам приходится жить жизнью рядовых граждан, сталкиваясь с разнообразными бытовыми и социальными проблемами. Между тем, дела у нового правительства идут все хуже и хуже, и в итоге Великобритания становится частью «Японской империи»… Однако в финале выясняется, что эти события всего лишь приснились Ее Величеству в кошмарном сне.

Прочтите отрывок из романа и письменно ответьте на вопросы.

1) Почему у членов королевской семьи и их новых соседей, супругов Тредголд, возникает впечатление, что они говорят на разных языках?

2) Каким образом различия в речи героев связаны с различиями в социальном статусе? Как можно прокомментировать название данной главы?

3) Какие именно особенности произношения участников разговора служат причиной непонимания? Как эти особенности отражены в орфографии? Приведите примеры лексических особенностей представленных в тексте речевых типов.

Sue Townsend “The Queen and I”

Poshos

The street sign at the entrance to the Close had lost five black metal letters. HELL CLOSE it now said, illuminated by the light of a flickering street lamp.

The Queen thought, “Yes, it is Hell, it must be, because I’ve never seen anything like it in the whole of my waking life.”

She had visited many council estates – had opened community centres, had driven through the bunting and the cheering crowds, alighted from the car, walked on red carpets, been given a posy by a two-year-old in a “Mothercare” party frock, been greeted by tongue-tied dignitaries, pulled a cord, revealed a plaque, signed the visitors’ book. Then, carpet, car, drive to helicopter and up, up and away. She’d seen the odd documentary on BBC2 about urban poverty, heard unattractive poor people talk in broken sentences about their dreadful lives, but she’d regarded such programmes as sociological curiosities, on a par with watching the circumcision ceremonies of Amazonian Indians, so far away that it didn’t really matter.

It stank. Somebody in the Close was burning car tyres. The acrid smoke drifted sluggishly over a rooftop. Not one house in the Close had its full complement of windows. Fences were broken, or gone. Gardens were full of rubbish, black plastic bags had been split by ravenous dogs, televisions flickered and blared. A police car drove into the Close and stopped. A policeman pulled a youth off the pavement, threw him into the back of the car and sped away with the youth struggling in the back. A man lay under a wreck of a car which was jacked up on bricks. Other men squatted close by, aiming torches and watching, men with outdated haircuts and tattoos, their cigarettes cupped in their hands. A woman in white stilettoes ran down the road after a boy toddler, naked apart from his vest. She yanked the child by his fat little arm back into the house.

“Now gerrin’ and stay in,” she screamed. “Oo left the bleedin’ door open?” she demanded of other, unseen children.

The Queen was reminded of the stories that Crawfie would tell in the nursery at teatime. Of goblins and witches, of strange lands populated by sinister people. The Queen would beg her governess to stop, but she never would. (…)

The Queen thought, Crawfie knew. She knew. She was preparing me for Hell Close. William and Harry ran up and down the Close, excited by the novelty of the journey, taking advantage of Nanny’s absence. Ma and Pa were at the front door of a dirty old house, trying to get a key in the lock. William said, “What are you doing, Pa?”

“Trying to get inside.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to live here.” (…)

Mama said, “This is our new house.”

William said, “How can it be new when it’s old?”

Again the boys laughed. William lost control and needed support, he leaned against the creosoted fence dividing their house from its neighbour. The tired fence gave way under his fragile weight and collapsed. Seeing him there, fallen and shrieking amongst splintered wood, Diana automatically looked for Nanny, who always knew what to do, but Nanny wasn’t there. She bent down and lifted her son from the wreckage. Harry whimpered and clung to the hem of her denim jacket. Charles booted furiously at the front door, which opened, releasing a stench of neglect and damp and ghostly chip fat. He switched on the hall light and beckoned his wife and children inside. (…)

The Threadgolds watched as a shadowy figure ordered a tall man out of the van. Was she a foreigner? It wasn’t English she was talking was it? But as their ears became more accustomed they realised it was English, but posh English, really posh.

“Tone, why they moved a posho in Hell Close?” asked Beverley.

“Dunno,” replied Tony, peering into the gloom. “Seen her some where before. Is she Dr Khan’s receptionist?”

“No,” said Beverley (who was always at the doctor’s, so she spoke with some authority), “definitely not.”

“Christ, just our bleedin’ luck to have poshos nex’ door.”

“Least they won’t shit in the bath, like the last lot of mongrels.”

“Yeah, there is that,” conceded Tony.

Prince Philip stared speechlessly at Number Nine. A street light flickered into life, casting a theatrical glow over his dilapidated future home. It continued to flicker as though it belonged in the theatre and was auditioning for a storm at sea. The driver let down the ramp at the back of the van and went inside. He’d never seen such lovely stuff – not in twenty-one years of removals. The dog in the cage at the back started to growl and snap and hurl its ferocious little body against the bars.

“They’ve got a dog,” said Tony.

“So long as they keep it under control,” said Beverley. Tony squeezed his wife’s shoulder. She was a good kid, he thought. Tolerant like.

Prince Philip spoke. “It’s abso-bloody-lutely impossible. I refuse. I’d sooner live in a bloody ditch. And that bloody light will send me mad. ”

He shouted up at the light which carried on with its storm-at-sea impression, taking on hurricane status when Philip took hold of its post and shook it violently from side to side.

Beverley said, “I got it. He’s a loony, one of them that’s been let out to die in the community.”

Tony watched as Philip ran to the back of the van and screamed at the little dog, “Quiet, Harris! You sodding little turd!”

“You might be right, Bev,” said Tony. They turned to go back into their house when the Queen addressed them.

“Excuse me, but would you have an axe I could borrow?”

“An ix?” repeated Tony.

“Yes, an axe.” The Queen came to their front gate.

“An ix?” puzzled Beverley.

“Yes.”

“I dunno what an ‘ix’ is,” Tony said.

“You don’t know what an axe is?”

“No.”

“One uses it for chopping wood.”

The Queen was growing impatient. She had made a simple request; her new neighbours were obviously morons. She was aware that educational standards had fallen, but not to know what an axe was … It was a scandal.

“I need an implement of some kind to gain access to my house.”

“Arse?”

“ House!”

The driver volunteered his services as translator. His hours talking to the Queen had given him a new found linguistic confidence.

“This lady wants to know if you’ve got a axe. ”

“Yeah, I got a axe, but I ain’t ’anding it over to ’im,” said Tony, pointing at Philip. The Queen came down the garden path towards the Threadgolds and the light from their hall illuminated her face. Beverley gasped and curtsied clumsily. Tony reeled back and clutched the lintel of the front door for support before saying, “It’s out the back, I’ll geddit.”

Left alone, Beverley burst into tears.

“It was the shock,” she said later, as she and Tony lay in bed unable to sleep.

“I mean, who would believe it? I still don’t believe it, Tone.”

“Nor do I, Bev. I mean, the Queen next door. We’ll put in for a transfer, eh?”

Slightly comforted, Beverley went to sleep.

Сью Таунсенд «Мы с королевой»