It was with some horror that I listened back to a voice note I sent to a friend the other day. It was not the sound of my own voice with which I took issue – unfortunately, this has never been much of a problem for me – but the number of times whatever tirade I was on was interrupted by a meandering “ummmm”, an “or whatever” and, obviously the mortal enemy of the fluid spoken word: “like”.
I try quite hard not to judge people who use “like” a lot, because language evolves and filler words are an important part of natural speech and reliance on them usually indicates an absence of confidence. I just didn’t think I was one of them. My parents stopped correcting me when I was a teenager. I now realise it must have been surrender, rather than because their job was done.
Last week, Education Secretary Lucy Powell pledged to give “oracy” equal status with reading and writing in schools. How that will be measured is subject to considerable debate, but the news got me thinking about what and whom we consider to be “articulate”. For some time – and long before that voice note – I have suspected that my own skills could do with some work.
Classrooms are usually composed of a mix of shy children and chatty children and often, it is the latter group who are rewarded while the former are coaxed to come out of their shells. Which is perfectly reasonable, but as children get older, an “ability and willingness to talk” is often conflated with “good speaker”. The further I get into my career, the more I recognise just how different those two things really are.
I would resist describing myself as “loud”, but let’s just say that I did not struggle with putting my hand up in class. I liked doing presentations, I loved debates, my favourite subjects were French and Spanish – especially the speaking – and I ended up studying modern languages at university and teaching English abroad in the years after. I have done speeches at weddings, I speak on the radio for work, I genuinely enjoy job interviews, during which I get to talk about myself for a whole hour. I am, in fact, so comfortable with getting my point across that I cannot recognise when it would be more prudent not to.
But there’s a pretty fundamental lesson I didn’t get to grips with at school, probably because I was talking, and that is “think before you speak”. It is sincerely a novel concept to me. I process my feelings verbally, I think out loud, I do not pause to consider my position, and it is precisely this that is making me inarticulate.
No, volume is not an issue. But as I find myself trailing off another long ramble, I am realising that clarity very much is. And when you can’t get to the point, you don’t look articulate at all – you look nervous, or immature, or ill-prepared, or just plain waffly. I always thought my ability to speak was an asset. Now I’m terrified that really I’m just full of hot air.
I am reminded of this while watching The Celebrity Traitors. It is obvious that those contestants who are able to exercise restraint when it comes to the Round Tables, and who wait to construct a reasoned argument or defence on the spot rather than blurting out their thoughts all at once, benefit from greater influence over the way the table votes.
I also marvelled at the skills of the barristers last week when I attended the Russell Brand rape trial. Riel Karmy-Jones KC, who is leading the prosecution team, stunned me with her delivery in court. Concise and astute (as I am sure Ian Winter KC, Brand’s barrister will be) – she was a force to be reckoned with and has inspired me to work harder at saying things more powerfully, not simply saying things more.
It is a very active process, though. The only time I have ever spoken very mindfully has been during interviews, when I have to aggressively remind myself to breathe before answering a question and speak more slowly than feels natural. And I find myself pushing back against an impatience to say my piece, before I lose my chance, whether I’ve got my thoughts in order or not. I wish school had drummed all this into me – had taught me how to deliver my thoughts calmly and fluently, on the spot – rather than forcing me to memorise poems and speeches and presentations rote and parrot them back in front of an audience. If Powell is to make “oracy” as important as reading and writing, she will have to ensure it is taught just as explicitly.
For far too long, the assumption has been that speaking is an innate skill – and you either have it or you don’t. Lots of us reach adult life and find ourselves in either the category of “hates public speaking” or “attention seeker”. But, as I am finding, regardless of how voluble you are, oracy is something all of us can improve at. Most of us have just never been shown how.