SPELING MAED EEZI
Peter Hadley recalls his
part in one of the lost causes of Gilbert Murray
DUNCAN Wilson's recently published biography of Gilbert Murray covers many aspects of his distinguished career. In the course of a long life (he died in 1957 at the age of 91) Gilbert Murray championed many causes, of which votes for women, total abstinence and the League of Nations are a fair sample. Less generally known was his devotion to the reform of English spelling, a possibly praiseworthy objective which was destined to remain illusory. Haying myself played a modest, if involun- tary, part in that ill-fated campaign 50 years ago, I feel that it is a story worth recording. In 1937, as a young editor in the pub- lishing house of Pitman, I was recruited by the then Mr I. J. Pitman (later Sir James) to be one of a committee of the recently revived Simplified Spelling Society, with the object of preparing a new edition of the proposals for spelling reform first put forward in pamphlet form in 1912, under the auspices of Sir George Hunter. My Chief had inherited from his grandfather, Sir Isaac Pitman, inventor of the shorthand System that bears his name, a fanatical zeal for the subject, and had therefore offered to undertake publication of the proposed book.
The committee formed for this purpose was chaired by Professor Gilbert Murray himself, the other members being Profes- sor Arthur Lloyd James, the BBC adviser on spoken English, Professor Daniel Jones, Professor of Phonetics at London University, Mr Harold Orton, of King's College, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Mr Walter Ripman, the surviving author of the origin- al pamphlet, Mr I. J. Pitman and myself. Flattered though I was at finding myself in such distinguished company, and obliged to sit in on — and even participate in— their deliberations, I could not myself share their enthusiasm or feel any great confidence in the eventual outcome. That English spelling was indeed a hopeless Jumble of inconsistencies bearing little relation to the spoken word, and baffling to those, indigenous or alien, who had to master it, none could dispute: that there was the slightest chance of any far-reaching reform seemed to me highly questionable. Americanisation might eventually sub- stitute program for programme, nite for night, and sox for socks, but it was surely too much to expect that those who had themselves had to learn English the hard way could ever be persuaded to change the spelling of baths to baadhz, or always to aulwaez. Yet such curious transliterations had to be accepted in any revised system of spelling restricted to the 26 letters of the existing alphabet universally enshrined in typewriters and (then) printing presses throughout the world.
In retrospect, it seems strange that such a distinguished classical scholar as Gilbert Murray, whom one might have expected to oppose any reform of traditional spelling, should have lent his name and his remark- able intellect to the perpetration of such linguistic contortions. But as Professor Lloyd James put it: 'We're going to operate on you again — we need the swabs back.'
To us, brought up in the birthplace of our language, its history and traditions are amongst our most cherished treasures. The idiosyncrasies of its spelling are as dear to us as our ancient landmarks and national monu- ments. Its visual appearance is almost sacred. But, alas, sound is sound, and sight is sight. To expect the hundreds of millions of English speakers, present and to come, in all parts of the world, to be burdened indefinite- ly with our traditional English spelling is to expect too much.
One factor that lent impetus to the work of the committee was the news that a legacy of £18,000 — a considerable sum in those days — was waiting to be claimed by any society devoted to spelling reform. Unfortunately there was a rival potential claimant in the shape of the Society for Pure English, and so the Simplified Spell- ing Society had to get its skates on. On legal advice, it was necessary to call an annual general meeting in order to prove that the Society was properly constituted, and no such meeting had been held, it transpired, since 1908. Not surprisingly, those few who attended the meeting con- vened at Pitman House were distinctly long in the tooth.
I do not know, to this day, whether the Society beat its rivals to the legacy. However, the committee's work progres- sed, till in June 1938 the results of its deliberations finally appeared in book form. An extract from the final chapter CA Specimen of Simplified Spelling') must suffice to show future generations what was in store for them if the hopes of the Simplified Spelling Society were ever to be realised:–
To dhe lurner interested in dhe histori ov dhe langwaej dhe odd speling wood be eezili aksesibl; far more eezili dhan dhe speling ov Chaucer or eeven Shakespeare. He wood be aebl to traes derivaeshonz kwiet az eezili az nou; and he wood enjoi dhis great advaan- taej , dhat he kood not eskaep dhe soundz and deel widh leterz oenli — which iz at present soe seerius a.daenjer in dhe paath ov dhe yung stuedent ov langwaej. He wood aask himself agaen and agaen whie dhe odd speling (unliek dhe flue) deeviaeted soe freekwentli from dhe pronunsiaeshon.
By way of a postscript to my story, a brief but true anecdote. In May, 1940, as an infantry platoon commander, I was sheltering in a very muddy Belgian slit trench from a rain of German mortar bombs when the last consignment of mail from England was delivered to us. There was only one letter for me, which I eagerly tore open. It was from Harold Orton, who wrote that as the committee of the Simpli- fied Spelling Society was unable to meet in wartime, it fell to him to ascertain the opinion of its members as to whether the word bicycle should be spelt biesikl or bysikl. It was not the best of moments to apply myself to the resolution of such a difficult and important question. A fue daez laeter, I woz on dhe beechiz at Dunkirk — and I kood hay dun widh a biesikl, or eeven a bysikl, in getting dhaer.
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