“English Apart” is the name of the English language school set up by my brother-in-law Glyn and his Welsh friend Emlyn; the school in Brest (Brittany, where we spent last weekend) is a great hit with students and the employers who send them there to improve their English.

Having arrived at Roscoff early on Friday morning we – Chris, Bobbie (our youngest daughter), Martin (her boyfriend) and me – drove straight to English Apart to see Glyn. Almost immediately, Glyn enlisted our services as English folk (although, strictly speaking, I’m an Australian and Martin is Polish, not that the students would have noticed). Firstly, he introduced us to the group of students downstairs – the beginners, as we were to find out.

“‘Allo, my name…is…Sherry,” said a swarthy man of about forty eight as he held out his hand to shake mine.

“Hello Sherry!” I answered enthusiastically in an attempt to hide my surprise.

Sherry, who needed a shave, looked a tad bewildered.

“Tcherry,” he tried again.

“Oh… Cherry?” it was my turn to look confused, “What a pretty name!”

Cherry smiled.

“In England Cherry is a girl’s name,” I said slowly and in a French accent so that Cherry would understand me better.

At that moment Glyn interjected:

“He’s not called Cherry, his name is Terry, and he’s a hotel receptionist!”

“Oh,” I looked at the dark-skinned, balding receptionist with the five o’clock shadow from the day before, “sorry, but I thought you said Cherry, not Terry.”

“I ham Tcherry, no Sherry,” he laughed at the misunderstanding and nodded his head profusely.

While the going was good I made my getaway and moved on down the line to a group of three young women who were to be my students, or rather, they chose me to answer their list of questions. Already the others had been pairing off for questions and answers at tables in different parts of the large room; I was the last to get cracking and I had the biggest group.The nervous blonde introduced herself as “Kerry”.

“Kerry?” I asked to make sure I had got it right this time.

“Ker…ry,” she faltered a little.

“That’s funny,” I said, “your name rhymes with Terry!”

She looked blank.

“You know, a rhyme – a poem, a verse? Like William Shakespeare – Terry and Kerry?”

“Ah Shakespeare!” she seemed to grasp my point but I thought it unwise to pursue the matter any longer.

Then I met a shy girl with a barely audible voice; her name was “Sea Lion” or Celine as Cindy, the bright one, pointed out. Cindy asked most of the questions.

“‘Ave you hever been to Paris?” she read from her exercise book.

“Oh yes, I love Paris. I have been to Paris many times, the first time I went with a boyfriend, not Chris; that was before I was married,” I spoke incredibly slowly to ensure their comprehension.

Obviously, I tried to make my answers as interesting as possible – gesticulations helped. “I live in Dawlish by the sea (wave motions) and a railway line (choo, choo – arms making circles); “I was born in Australia” (hop like a kangaroo) – strange, they didn’t know that kangaroos come from Australia; “I am an artist” (move arm up and down with imaginary brush) – I think they think I’m a painter and decorator.

There were some vaguely embarrassing silences while I waited for either a response to my answer or the next question. My French accent, which came out quite naturally, seemed to be of some help; occasionally I noted a spark of understanding in a pair of eyes – a momentary relief from the blank expressions – and I felt something akin to the satisfaction of being a good teacher. My mind wandered ahead – I fancied that I might be offered a part-time job at English Apart.

The clever-clogs chaps upstairs were so advanced that I asked them the questions.

“How could I impress a French person with my knowledge of French?” I asked.

“Comment t’appelles-tu?” suggested David.

“That’s way too easy. Who would be impressed with that? Isn’t there something else you can think of?”

“Que pense-tu de politics Français?(What do you think of French politics?)” David looked at Vincent for confirmation.

 

Several minutes later I was still memorising my sentence to impress when Glyn appeared upstairs and commended me on my great teaching ability.

“Cindy, Celine and Caroline just told me that you’d been to Paris before with your previous  husband,” Glyn laughed.

“Who’s Caroline?” I queried.

“Kerry,” he quipped.

 

And over the phone that evening, when trying to impress a certain Portuguese friend with my increased knowledge of French (since last time) I asked:

“Que pense-tu de politics Francoise?”

Joking apart, and to be frank (or Francoise), it doesn’t look like I shall be offered that teaching post at English Apart.