Further to my most recent post that has attracted both a considerable number of comments and also aroused a little bit of controversy, here is a funny poem on a related theme. A reminder that spelling checkers have their limitations.
Ever since I started writing this blog more than three years ago, I have always sought to recognise three important things. Firstly, I am a native first-language English-speaker. Secondly, I am an expatriate, living in a foreign country – in my case, the Czech Republic. Thirdly, I am a Christian minister – an Anglican priest in the Church of England.
Therefore, as far as I am concerned, numerous consequences flow from these three things.
As a native first-language English-speaker, it behoves me to use correct English spelling and grammar; particularly so when I have written and posted many times about the numerous examples of Czenglish which I regularly encounter.
As a foreigner resident in the Czech Republic, it is essential that when I write about Czech history and geography, I get my facts and locations correct.
As a Christian minister, I have a duty and responsibility to always seek to be accurate and truthful in what I write and publish online.
In order to ensure I am true to each of these responsibilities, there are a number of precautions I take before posting anything either on this blog or anywhere else online. I always use a spell checker to pick up any spelling mistakes. And I also normally get someone else, usually Sybille, to read through what I’ve just written, to ensure what I want to say, is actually what I’ve written – not what I think I’ve written.
Of course, spell checkers do not think. If you misspell your intended word as another perfectly legitimate word in the English language, no spell checker will pick this up. An online friend of Sybille recently intended to write about ‘Public and private information’. What she actually wrote was ‘Pubic and private information’. You can imagine the hilarity that followed once this was spotted!
Likewise, I am quite thorough in checking my facts before publishing anything. For this, I use both books in my possession and online resources, always recognising that, because it’s on the internet, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s correct!
You will only know about these errors if you follow each of these links and scroll down to the comments. This is because, as soon as an error is pointed out to me, I correct the main text. But if the correction is made via a comment, then the comment still gets published, followed by a thankful and apologetic comment in response from me, acknowledging my mistake.
The reasoning behind this blogging and online philosophy of mine is quite simple. I write because I want others to read what I write, take it on-board and think about what I say. I want what I say to be taken seriously. Incidentally, it is ‘seriously’ and not ‘serious’, an ever-increasing error in spoken and written English!
This is because when I read something online which contains bad grammar, careless spelling and/or glaring factual errors, I have great difficulty in giving much credence to what that author is trying to say, even though they may be very well-intentioned. So consequently, I often do leave comments on other expat blogs, online newsletters and on Facebook, when I spot something wrong, be it a funny but unintentional typo, or a factual inaccuracy. I do this because, as I explained previously, I appreciate it when people do this for me because, so far as it is possible, I don’t want to ever be inaccurate or untruthful in what I publish online.
Most of the time, the response I get is similar to mine. The writer is grateful for the error being pointed out, their text is corrected, and a friendly acknowledgement is given. But in recent months, I’ve had a small number of rather negative responses. These have ranged from complaints that I’m ‘always finding fault’, through to the dismissive, ‘it’s vaguely right so why does it matter?’
Of course, everybody is entitled to their opinion and I am very aware that, having worked in publishing for several years before my ordination, I do possess what is usually known as ‘proof-reader’s eye’. But when these comments come from first-language English-speaking expats who cannot be bothered to use English correctly or get their facts right about the country they are now living in, I have great difficulty in giving any credence to anything else that they write about.
Am I being too harsh? Am I being pernickety (British English) or ‘persnickety’ (American English)? And I would be interested to hear about other people’s blogging/online philosophy. As always, comments and discussion are welcome.
Today is a public holiday here in the Czech Republic, as it is in several other European countries. The public holiday marks the ending of World War Two, sixty-seven years ago, on 8th May 1945.
I took the photograph on the left today. It is of a statue that stands in Námestí Interbrigády, a large square on one side of Jugoslávských partyzánu, the main thoroughfare leading from our nearest Metro station at Dejvická, to Podbaba where we live. And the person it portrays is Marshall Ivan Stepanovich Konev of the Soviet Red Army, who led the troops that liberated Prague from Nazi occupation, finally entering the city early on 9th May 1945, just a few hours after the unconditional surrender of all Nazi troops across Europe, had come into force.
As I wrote in an earlier post on this same topic two years ago, this statue is a rare sight today, anywhere in the Czech Republic or Slovakia, as it features a leading figure of the Soviet Army which, during nearly forty-two years of communism, was regarded as an army of occupation by the people of Czechoslovakia. Nearly all public monuments featuring or seeking to celebrate, ‘Soviet friendship and brotherhood’ have, since the Velvet Revolution of 1989, been quietly removed. But, because it commemorates an event that took place before the communist coup in 1948, it remains standing.
As you can see, a large number of floral tributes have been placed at the foot of the statue in recent days. Some are official, such as the ones from the Czech Military and from the Defence Office of the Czech President. Others are simple bunches of flowers, left by private individuals. Although there is a considerable dislike of Russia and Russians amongst the Czech people today, (see some of the comments on my previous post), there is a recognition that it was the Soviet Army that was responsible for liberating Prague and two thirds of what is now the Czech Republic, early in May 1945.
However, I was intrigued by one large floral tribute pictured here, whose ribbons have an inscription written in a language using the Cyrillic alphabet, presumably Russian. If anyone can tell me what it says or which organisation might be responsible for it, I would love to know.
And I was also intrigued by this inscription on the low wall behind the statue, which refers to the country as the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic, the name used only during the years of communist rule. Whereas elsewhere in the Czech Republic, specific communist logos and references have been removed from war memorials such as in Tábor, here communist nomenclature remains.
Whilst the liberation of the country from Nazi occupation is still marked each year here in the Czech Republic, what has changed since the Velvet Revolution, is the attitude of Czech people towards Germany and the German people. Most Czechs are now freely able to distinguish between Nazi Fascist ideology as exemplified by Hitler’s Third Reich, and present-day democratic Germany, still very much aware of it’s relatively recent past history.
Therefore these days, Germany is the Czech Republic’s biggest trading partner. Germans also travel here in considerable numbers to enjoy the delights of what this country has to offer and in doing so, make a major contribution to the Czech Republic’s tourist income.
On the other hand, although the part played by Russia and the Soviet Red Army to liberate the country from Nazi occupation is still acknowledged each year, those who liberated, in turn became an army of occupation. And although all Russian troops had left Czech soil by June 1991, there remains a strong feeling that Russia still wants to control its former republics and satellite states using its economic power, particularly with regard to the supply and distribution of natural gas.
Back in 1970 when I was just eighteen years old, I went off to see the world and emigrated from England to live in the Australian island state of Tasmania. As well as being a formative experience, one thing I discovered whilst living there, really surprised me. Despite Tasmania having at that time, a population of only just over 400,000, there was a great rivalry between those who lived in the south of the island, particularly in the state capital Hobart, and those who lived in the north of the island, either in the second city Launceston, or in the string of towns along the North-West coast.
Bearing in mind that Tasmania was and still is the smallest of the six Australian states, both in area and population, it did seem odd to me that there should be such a rivalry between fellow Tasmanians. Surely, they needed to stand together against the might of the other five much larger states located on ‘the mainland’, the term used by all Tasmanians to describe that rather large island just to the north of them.
Five years later, I returned to the UK and in September 1975, went to live in Lampeter, West Wales, in order to study as an undergraduate at what was then known as St. David’s University College. Wales is also quite small with a population of about 3 million. Of those, about 20% fluently speak the native language of Welsh.
Two of my best friends at university, Aled and Hedd, were native first language Welsh speakers. Yet because Aled came from Trawsfynydd in North Wales whilst Hedd was from near Fishguard/Abergwaun in South-West Wales, each used to quite regularly tell the other that they did not speak Welsh properly! This was a reflection of the rivalry between those from North Wales and those from South & West Wales and the slight variation in the way Welsh is spoken in these different parts of the principality.
I can better understand rivalries when they occur within much larger nations, especially when those nations have only become united in relatively recent times. My wife Sybille, who is German, has frequently pointed out to me the ongoing rivalry between those from the north and south of Germany. Complete German unification only came about at the beginning of 1871.
German citizens from both north and south, rudely refer to each other based on what each believes the other to supposedly eat. A South German will call a North German, ‘ein Fischkopf‘/’a fish head’, whilst a North German will call a South German, ‘eine Weisswurst‘/’a white sausage’. Sybille, who ‘ist ein Fischkopf, keine Weisswurst‘, will point out that if you drive west from Prague to the border with Germany, whilst there is a sign saying that you are entering ‘die Bundesrepublik Deutschland‘, there is a far larger sign saying ‘Herzlich Willkommen im Freistaat Bayern‘/’Welcome to the Free State of Bavaria’!
The Czech Republic is a relatively small nation with a population, according to the 2011 census, of about 10.5 million people. As I explained in a previous post, the country is made up of what was historically known as Bohemia and Moravia, together with a small part of Silesia. Bohemia forms the western part of the country with Prague at its centre, whilst Moravia forms the eastern part where the country’s second city Brno, is located. And as I have discovered, there is quite a rivalry between Bohemia and Moravia.
I first became aware of this rivalry, when Honza, a Czech member of my Prague congregation, said to me, that he would never leave his car, with its number plates indicating he is from Prague, parked unattended in Brno, fearing one of the local Moravians would damage it! The second letter of a seven letter/digit Czech number plate, indicates where the car is from. ‘A’ is Prague, ‘B’ is Brno. In case you’re wondering why Prague isn’t ‘P’, it is because ‘P’ is used for Plzen.
More recently, my friend Katka from Brno remarked that, “…as many of my fellow townspeople like to point out, our favourite view of Prague is in the rear view mirror of a car!” I think you can see from these two remarks, there is quite a friendly rivalry, which can at times, become a certain animosity, between Prague and Brno – between Bohemia and Moravia.
Some of this rivalry can be relatively light-hearted. Back in October 2011, I listened to a speech by the Mayor of Brno in which he declared that Brno was the largest city in the Czech Republic, despite only having a population of no more than 400,000, whereas the population of Prague is 1.3 million. However, his reasoning was based on the fact that Prague is officially a region in its own right, whereas Brno is a city within the region of South Moravia.
Another reason for this rivalry is linguistic. The Czech word ‘Cesky’ can mean both ‘Czech’, referring to the whole country, or ‘Bohemian’, only referring to Bohemia. This was reflected in the recent 2011 census when in answer to a voluntary question, over 500,000 people declared themselves to be ‘Moravian’ rather than ‘Czech’.
Besides the linguistic explanation, I think another reason for this rivalry is that Moravia doesn’t have the country’s capital city – for some things, you have to travel to Prague in Bohemia. This in turn leads to Prague people looking down on the citizens of Brno. In many ways this reflects a wider attitude to which I was alerted very early in my time here. Czech people (both Bohemians and Moravians) look down on Slovaks, who in turn look down on Ukrainians!
Just like Tasmanians and the Welsh, once Czech citizens are outside of their nation’s borders, they stick together regardless of where they originally come from. But as a foreigner living in the Czech Republic, it is good to be aware of the Prague-Brno / Bohemia-Moravia rivalry, if only to be able to appreciate the humour it engenders.
The longest river wholly within the Czech Republic is the Vltava, known to Germans as the Moldau. It rises in the Šumava mountains near the Austrian border and then flows north through the centre of Prague going on further north to join the Labe/Elbe at Melník.
The Vltava was portrayed musically, by the nineteenth century Czech composer Bedrich Smetana, in the second of six symphonic poems that form his symphonic cycle called Má vlast – My Fatherland. Click on this link below and listen to the music whilst enjoying my illustrated guide to the river.
The picture at the beginning of this post is the view most tourist visitors to Prague have of the Vltava, overlooked by St Vitus Cathedral and the walls of Prague Castle. On the river in the foreground, is an ancient paddle steamer, one of the many boats that offer trips on the river through the centre of the city.
Above is a view looking upstream from Letna Park. The second of the bridges is the first and most famous crossing of the river – Karluv most/Charles Bridge.
This is Ostrov Štvanice/ Štvanice Island – the building located where the river divides is a former small hydro-electric plant. Behind it lies the navigation channel leading to a lock whilst the rest of the river flows over a weir in the foreground.
Major engineering works were carried out in the nineteenth century to improve navigation with the construction of locks and new artificial channels to bypass obstructions. This is Podbaba Lock which is located very close to the Chaplaincy Flat where we live.
The Vltava is now increasingly used by private pleasure craft, many of which moor here below the ancient citadel at Vyšehrad, south of Prague city centre.
Beautiful and useful as the Vltava is, like any river, it can overflow and cause serious flood damage. Here is a reminder of past flood levels, reading upwards they mark the floods of 1890, 1845, 1784 and 2002.
