It’s surprising how many of the expressions we use daily, without thinking, are associated with our sense of sight. I was reminded of this during the nerve-racking days leading up to my recent eye surgery. I found myself saying, “I’ll see you at the party”, for which we were collecting money “with a view to” buying a collective present, picked out by someone with vision and an eye for detail. I was feeling “blind terror” while obsessively reading patient reviews detailing the procedure I was about to undergo, and friends told me they imagined I must be feeling “optimistic” about the outcome, though I would have to wear dark glasses for the foreseeable future.

A large proportion of my translation work is concerned with the pharmaceutical industry, and its many documents detailing the trialling, manufacture, inspection, marketing authorisation and directions for use by patients and healthcare providers of many varieties of medication and devices. It’s surprising how many of these products are intended for eye care: antibiotic eyedrops, anti-inflammatory eyedrops, soothing eyedrops, eyedrops to treat blepharitis or conjunctivitis, eyedrops to reduce redness, and a wide range of medicinal ointments for eyecare. The concept of sight, and the fear of losing or jeopardising it, is of undeniable importance to us. 

Palaeontologists believe that the evolution of the eye was a key moment in the history of the animal kingdom. Scientists at London's Natural History Museum, as reported by the FT, recently researched the link between the evolution of sight and colour, with the latter being used, for example, for decoration to attract a mate or camouflage, once sight had developed well enough to be able to perceive different shades. There is overwhelming fossil evidence for a sudden burst in diversity of life: the so-called “Cambrian explosion” around 545-530 million years ago. This significant moment marked the transition from simple photoreceptors, which may have helped early worms move towards light, to a much more sophisticated and intricate organ, eventually leading to high-resolution perception. It doesn’t take much to imagine the benefits of such a development to creatures living on the seabed – being able to locate food, spot prey, be alerted to the approach of a predator are among the more obvious. 

And how much of the sensory information we receive is visual? According to the National Geographic, approximately 30% of all neurons in the cerebral cortex are reserved for processing and interpreting visual data.

With so much at stake, it is small wonder that protecting our sight is a high priority, and it’s hardly surprising that you get nervous when someone is coming towards your eyeball with a cutting tool.
Almost a year after blogging in May 2017 about some of the vision problems I was finding when spending long periods at the computer, I had laser treatment. As I mentioned in that post, working long hours in front of a screen is not an activity specific to translators, but I find the way my document is usually presented on the screen – source language on the left and target on the right, in a very small (occasionally minuscule) font size – makes for particularly close, rather intense work for which total concentration is vital. The need to focus (there’s another) on meaning, and not lose my place in the text, means that I often fail to blink as often as I might, effectively reducing the natural irrigation to the eyes.

Computer work wasn’t my only reason for taking this step. I’d been considering it for years. At minus 7 in one eye and something approaching minus 7 in the other, I’d had enough of staggering around and banging into things if I needed to get up during the night. I wore contact lenses virtually every day for 40 years and decided that was long enough. While some people manage to look intellectual or professional wearing glasses – they can lend a certain style when repeatedly removed and replaced by an individual chairing a meeting – my appearance in spectacles designed to correct such extreme myopia combined with astigmatism was more like that of a science fiction or cartoon character, with the eyes reduced to shrivelled peas behind a thick vitreous barrier. Camping was the worst. Not only the struggle to insert lenses without running water, but the tripping over guy ropes and partially hammered-in pegs when returning to the tent after dark.

It took the surgeons some time to convince me to have what is known as monovision surgery, which was not my initial preference. This essentially meant having one eye corrected to zero (20/20), and the other left slightly under-corrected (to -1) so that it could be focussed for reading. The brain, I was told, would eventually compensate for any blurring that I might experience because of this. I had gone in preferring to have both eyes fully corrected and use reading glasses. In the end I was persuaded by their obvious confidence and extensive experience of many patients.
I won’t go into detail about the procedure itself, which felt a little like having the eye clamped open and an ice cube pressed very hard into the socket. This has been extensively and eloquently described in countless reviews on the websites of various surgery providers. I’m a fairly anxious person and was mortally terrified before the surgery, but it was quickly over, and I began to feel the benefits straight away.

It’s still early days. My eyes need time to adjust and I’m not functioning fully at night-time, but so far I am getting the impression that they were right about the monovision. Being able to read an email or a message from a customer on my phone without groping around for my reading glasses, while also being able to glance up at the clock on the wall to check whether I have enough time to complete the request, is very convenient. As long as I have plenty of light, I can read, write and thus translate with no aids to my vision. Even small text is clear, and I’m feeling an enormous sense of comfort knowing that the surfaces of my corneas are no longer being compressed and suffocated by a plastic disc. Nor do I have the annoyance of having to peer over a pair of spectacles balanced on my nose when someone in the room wants to speak to me. To anyone considering laser treatment, I would say go ahead. Any minor inconvenience during the lead time or recovery period (in my case the horror of having to go without make-up) is worth it.
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I am very impressed with the care, attention to detail, skill, personal touch, technological know-how, warmth and compassion I experienced at the Accuvision clinic in Fulham. I cannot praise the optometrists, ophthalmologists, surgeons and receptionists highly enough. Their extensive and thorough testing, record-keeping, understanding, communication and the extended, rigorous follow-up have been remarkable. Here is an organisation that realises that they are doing more than simply selling a service or product – this is an intricate medical procedure that is taken very seriously. From my point of view, “thank you” does not quite cover it.

The panel in the photograph, taken inside the Temple of Osiris in Abydos, shows the pharaoh Seti I in the presence of the god Anubis, who is symbolised with the head of a jackal.
 
 
I could go into the details of my recent trip Egypt: the significance of the Aswan Dam and the Ethiopian Dam further upstream; running out of water in the Nile; being stranded on a sandbank; the variety of food and flavoured tobaccos.

But this series of blogs has been entirely about communication and its importance, and how communication is achieved. As a linguist, what I found most intriguing was not the language of hieroglyphics, which I wouldn’t even attempt to comprehend, but how drawings and paintings were used so effectively to tell a story or record events and observations.

I’m no expert in ancient Egyptian art or history, but I had excellent guides who helped me make sense of the hundreds of images I took on my camera phone.

Egyptian history has a complexity that would challenge even the most arduous scholar. Broadly speaking, there are five time periods belonging to the ancient world: the Old Kingdom (2600-2160BC); the Middle Kingdom (2040-1700BC); the New Kingdom (1570-1070BC); the Late Period (600-332BC); and the Greco-Roman period (332BC-AD395). But there are also those stretches of time in between, the ones not characterised by influential rulers, such as the first, second and third intermediate periods, bridging the gaps following the Old, Middle and New Kingdoms respectively.
My tour began with the tombs of Rameses IV, Rameses III and Merenptah in the Valley of the Kings, followed by a visit to the Temple of Hatshepsut not far away. We then moved onto the Temple of Isis on the island of Philae. I spent a couple of days gazing, bewildered, at the images surrounding me, with no knowledge of history or the context in which to place them. It occurred to me that the best place to start was to learn the names, symbolic representations and functions of the gods in the painted figures, reliefs and statues, and how to recognise them.

Armed with guidebooks, maps, and the notes I had jotted down on listening to the guide at the various sites (yes – I’m the person at the back with a notepad and pen, straining to hear every word and hanging back to finish looking and scribbling, sprinting to catch up), I returned to the cabin and set out to memorise the information.

And so I managed to construct a simple but hopefully helpful summary. The information is difficult to condense from any one source. For one thing, worship of some gods dates back to the Old Kingdom and, over time, their role, importance, mythology, representation, and even their paternity or maternity can change. For example, Anubis was believed by some to be the son of Nephthys, while others supposed him to be the son of Bastet or Isis.


NAME
HOW DEPICTED IN PAINTINGS AND CARVINGS
MOST WIDELY KNOWN ROLE/ SIGNIFICANCE

Osiris
As a mummy, with the ceremonial curved beard, with a white crown, and carrying the flail and crozier
King of the underworld, the great god of the dead, god of agriculture

Isis
Wearing a headdress representing a throne, or wearing a vulture headdress with a serpent on the brow, or as a winged goddess or kite
A patron goddess of childbirth and motherhood, wife of Osiris, whom she raised from the dead after he was slaughtered by Set, and mother of Horus

Hathor
Most often in the form of a cow, or a woman with a cow’s ears or horns
Sky goddess. Goddess of women, fertility, children and childbirth; also of beauty and cosmetics and perfumes; and music, dance, romance, joy and many more

Horus
Usually as a falcon or man with a falcon head
Husband of Hathor and son of Osiris and Isis. Embodiment of order. Always placed in opposition to or in conflict with Set

Sobek
As a crocodile or man with a crocodile head
Associated with power and success in war, but also a protector against dangers in the River Nile

Set
Shown as a black boar, pig, donkey or another animal associated with danger or the unclean
Symbol of evil and embodiment of chaos. Believed to swallow the moon each month. Famous for battle with Horus and for murdering Osiris. Represents the desert

Anubis
Usually as a man with the head of a jackal with black fur – black being a colour associated with fertility
Guardian and protector of the dead, associated with embalming and funeral rites; he also presided over the weighing of the heart. Patron saint of lost souls. Originally god of the underworld

Bastet or Bast
As a cat or woman with the head of a cat or lion
Goddess of warfare, but later seen as having a protective role, defender of the pharaoh or goddess of the moon, or of perfumes. Protector against disease and evil spirits

Ptah
As a mummified man holding a staff
Patron of sculptors, painters, architects and carpenters, a god of rebirth and protector of Egypt

Thoth
As a man with the head of an ibis, often holding a stylus and writer’s palette
Patron of scribes and writing. Also associated with medicine, wisdom, time and magic

Nephthys
Usually as a woman crowned with the hieroglyphics that symbolise her name, which consist of the sign for a sacred temple, though can be as a kite or hawk
Wife of Set. Represents the air. Goddess of death and mourning. Believed to be the source of rain and the Nile

By the time I arrived at Kom Ombo and the Temple of Sobek, I had at least memorised a modest amount of information and felt better equipped to make some attempt to follow the stories. So what of the stories chiselled into the walls?

It isn’t always a story – sometimes more of a description of circumstances, or ongoing, eternal events. To me, some of the most beautiful paintings, dominated by the colour turquoise, appear on the ceilings of the Temple of Hathor at Dendera. By craning the neck 90 degrees and following the illustrations from one end of the building to the other, we can, for example, see how the goddess Nut gives birth to the sun every morning, then swallows it at nightfall.

Much of the artwork appears to depict the importance of staying on the right side of the gods. Pharaohs Rameses II, a fascinating, powerful but evidently narcissistic character, and his father Seti I, are seen in panel after panel making offerings to the gods. In other panels, a pharaoh is seen with Anubis, jackal-god, who places a hand upon the shoulder of the pharaoh as a gesture of safe escort. These pictures show that the death process had considerable meaning to the ancient Egyptians. Rulers wanted to be assured of a safe passage into the underworld and a welcome reception once they got there.

There are countless panels containing depictions of offerings to gods – and it is worth looking closely at the objects being offered, which are often related to the characteristics of the gods in question. For example, mortals are depicted offering mirrors to the goddess Hathor, who is associated with the cosmetic arts.

Not all images are entirely religious. Secular illustrations of Rameses II and Rameses III riding a military chariot, defeating the enemy and training their offspring to fight, can be seen in large, bold carvings and paintings on the walls at Karnak, Abu Simbal and many other places, a message of prowess and invincibility that must be perpetually understood by all.
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Occasionally, the identity of a ruler is not immediately apparent, and it becomes necessary to look more closely at the cartouche – an oval-shaped inscription in which the name of a king or queen is written in the form of symbols. These are always found in tombs and temples, usually above the head of the individual they belong to and are very useful in identification and dating. The idea was to eternally encircle the name of the pharaoh, so that he would be preserved after death, and to protect him against evil spirits. Below are some examples of lettering.

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Hieroglyph M

Hieroglyph C

The symbols inside a cartouche don’t always stand for single letters, but rather sounds or syllables. If we look closely at the famous cartouche of Tutankhamun, for example, the symbol in the top left, which looks a little like a comb, represents the sound “men”, originating from a Turkish word meaning “myself”. Put together with the symbol to its right and the one below, the sound “amun” is created. On the third line, the bird symbol represents the letter “U”, with the familiar ankh symbol, the cross with a handle, which represents eternal life, wisdom and fertility, on the left. (See below)
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Egyptian art was a highly skilled and jealous profession. Sculptors and painters studied in dedicated colleges for years before earning the right to work on the temples and tombs of the pharaohs. These people were highly regarded and handsomely rewarded (in the absence of currency, payment was made in the form of goods, property and food). The remains of a village were found in the Valley of the Workers on the West Bank, the bank associated with death and burial, near Luxor, which proves that painters were accommodated in comfortable, spacious houses.

As a former science teacher, I’m always fascinated by the origins of colour, and I was captivated by the striking effect of the pigments used to record history in the tomb and temple paintings. The ancients did not have at their disposal the vast array of colours enjoyed by today’s artists, yet the variety and detail with which they painted, and the visually attractive pairing and contrasting of colours, are often breath-taking. Pigments were manufactured from locally available minerals. The pigment green, for example, could be produced from malachite (Copper carbonate). Charcoal would have provided the black colour, gypsum the whites, while yellows could be produced from ochre, a source of Iron oxides. Blues could be made from azurite and reds from arsenic compounds.

Colours also had meaning. The colour black, for example, was often associated with the silt of the Nile, which was linked with fertility. There were rigorously controlled methods for mixing the paints, treating the stone by smoothing, filling and plastering before it was painted, and the laying out of scenes in a marked-off area gridded with squares, before illustrating could even begin. Grids would have helped the artists to proportion the figures correctly. The work was subject to scrutiny and correction by master artists, and the final painting was carried out one colour at a time.

It is widely accepted that Egypt owes much of the rare degree of preservation of its historical artefacts and monuments, and thereby its thriving tourist industry, to its arid climate. Annual rainfall is extremely low. When looking at this work, it is certainly difficult to believe that these images have survived for thousands of years. But this probably means that we fail to acknowledge the extent to which artists went to ensure survival of their work. Rather than painting into a thin layer of wet plaster, as done in conventional fresco painting, analysis reveals that paint was applied to dried plaster. Varnish or resin was also applied after painting. The artists’ attention to detail is phenomenal.

The Ancient Egyptians were not the only ancient civilisation to write in pictures and symbols. Pictorial Jiahu symbols dating back to the 7th millennium BC have been found on a range of Neolithic sites in China. During the 4th millennium BC the Sumerians were also using impressions in clay to keep accounts. There are many examples of early forms of written communication at times when exchange of messages between groups of people was slow and dependent on the most basic of tools and materials, and equally basic forms of transport.
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The lengths the Egyptians went to in order to communicate and to leave us their messages made me consider the throwaway nature of our exchanges today, and how reliant we have become on instant messages and equally instant responses.
 

​I feel the need to reserve the first blog of this new year for some thoughts about my ex-colleague, Alan Yeates, who sadly passed away on Thursday 4 January. Alan was a German and French teacher and the head of modern languages at the Royal Grammar School, High Wycombe, where I taught for several years. He had been struggling with illness for some time, but his death came as a shock and a blow nonetheless.

When I left that school, almost three years ago, Alan told me that if I ever wished to apply for a job working in foreign languages, he would write a reference for me “with a heavy heart”, since he did not want me to go. It is with a heavy heart that I sit here writing this.

My feelings on the importance of learning and sharing languages can be read in most of my blog posts, and it will come as no surprise that I feel a keen sense of loss that there is now one less teacher of German in our schools. Alan expressed understandable concern that spending cuts in schools, notably at sixth form level, had led to the shrinking of modern language provision and even the disappearance of some languages as GCSE or A level options. I wish he had lived to see an upturn of this trend in his lifetime.

I often quoted Alan during my own lessons, and on my bookshelf I still have a booklet he produced as supporting material for a course on teaching languages to the sixth form, which he organised and delivered for language teachers both within the school and from other schools in the local area. I remember the course very vividly, and I have since used his ideas in the classroom, both in teaching science and languages, for classes and tutoring individuals. One of his many great teaching techniques was a collection of highly amusing photographs, which he would show to his year 12 or 13 set, asking them to invent a story in German that related to the images.

As the head of a very large department, Alan had the rare quality of being able to stand back and allow members of his team to do their jobs in their own way. He could accept a diversity of styles, recognising that the sparkling, “all-singing, all-dancing”, high-tech lessons worked for some, while careful plodding through the exercises in a textbook worked for others, and that both were valuable, both had their place, and both could lead to good results. His organisation of teaching materials was meticulous, and I have yet to see a filing system and store cupboard more rigorously systematic than the ones in his classroom.

On a personal level, he went well beyond expectations in supporting me. As a science teacher who also wished to develop skills in teaching languages, I had some inevitable adaptations to make, and I was struck by Alan’s unquestioning understanding of what some considered eccentricity on my part. On too many occasions when I had a period one French lesson, I would arrive late, breathless and flustered, having hung back to dismiss boys from assembly and spent too much time dealing with the crowd of individuals hanging outside my office first thing every morning, to find Alan waiting patiently in the corridor with my class. Never once did I get the reproach I deserved for delaying his lesson. I remember him helpfully agreeing to evaluate a lesson for me, calmly explaining what he would be looking for and concentrating on the positive aspects of my teaching when giving feedback.

A piece of advice of his that rings in my ears, something that I hear myself saying to anyone I teach, is that “nothing is too simple to revise”. How right he was here. I repeat this endlessly, and in my opinion, it applies to any subject at any level. Specification content learned in year 7 or 8 can seem simple at the time, but it can be forgotten, and preparing for tests and exams should include filling in those gaps that were not quite grasped the first time around. 

Alan leaves behind two good-natured and outstandingly able sons who are also members of the school community. Having lost my own father at a similar age, I have some sense of what they must be experiencing now, and I can only hope that circumstances and events proceed as easily as possible for them and for their family and friends, and that life will become more bearable as time moves on.

I greatly appreciate the support, help and understanding I received from Alan and what I learned from him, and I will remember him with huge fondness and respect.

 Not content with simply wearing a periodic table tie, or wiping coffee mugs with a periodic table tea towel, a former schoolteacher colleague of mine insisted on placing a clock in every science laboratory, with the chemical symbols for the first 12 elements in place of the numbers one to 12. Although this move initially seemed somewhat eccentric, I soon got used to thinking that, if I was taking assembly that day, I had to get it finished by ten past Fluorine. According to our schedule, the school day ended at a quarter to Beryllium.

It’s been a few years since I last set foot in a classroom, but I spend a few hours a week giving home tuition to secondary school pupils too ill to attend school. As anyone who has tutored individuals will know, working on a one-to-one basis can provide surprising insight, not only into areas of difficulty, but also into various misconceptions and stumbling blocks that students may be experiencing. One source of confusion is the periodic table.

Unless you’re competing in serious science quizzes – your average village pub quiz probably won’t have more than one question on the symbol for a chemical element – learning the periodic table off by heart is probably something most of us can live without. Even A level students have one provided in their exams, or at least whatever crucial information they need from it. But for most school pupils, it’s worth remembering enough to iron out some sources of confusion. One of these is the apparent mismatch between the names of the elements and their symbols.

For example, when discussing active transport in Biology, and the Sodium-Potassium pump used to move ions across animal cell membranes, youngsters are often confused by the symbols Na⁺ and K⁺. Asked to write a chemical formula for a compound containing sodium, they will usually, unless they have spent time committing the symbols and charges to memory in preparation for a test, begin by writing a letter “S”. To my mind, this raises an interesting question. Why do we assume that the symbols or names are taken from the English language? Is this the arrogance of the English-speaking world? The symbol S is for Sulphur, while that of Sodium, Na, is from the Latin word Natrium, while K is for Kalium, an Arabic word meaning Potassium.

The periodic table is a fascinating collection of words and symbols originating from many languages. We have Nickel, symbol Ni, derived from a Swedish word, Kopparnickel, which was used to describe the ore from which it was extracted. The symbol for Lead, Pb, comes from the Latin Plumbum, which is the source of the word plumber, since Lead was formerly used for water pipes before we became aware of its toxic nature. The Greek word Kryptos has provided the name Krypton. The word was used to mean “hidden”, because of its invisibility and undetectability, having no colour, smell or taste.

Sometimes the origins of the name have quite a detailed and interesting history. You will forgive me for quoting from the chemical element name etymologies offered by Wikipedia. For example, the name Cobalt comes from the German Kobold, meaning “evil spirit”. The historical explanation for this is that miners believed that it contaminated other, more desirable metals. Its compounds are also poisonous. Some chemical elements are named after gods. Uranium, whose ores are a well-known fuel source in nuclear power plants, is named after the planet Uranus, which itself was named after a god of sky and heaven in Greek mythology. Vanadium comes from the name Vanadis, another name for Freyja in Norse mythology. Others are named after countries or geographical areas. Marie Curie named one of the elements she discovered after her Polish homeland, hence Polonium. Others are named after the individuals who discovered them, or made a scientific discovery or invention that warranted the distinction of having a chemical element named after them. The one that springs to my mind is Mendelevium, since it is Dmitri Mendeleev we have to thank for conceiving the periodic table in the first place. The brilliance of this scientist cannot be overstated, but that is for a different account.

The chemical symbols too have some interesting back stories. One theory about the symbol for Antimony, which is Sb, short for the Latin name, Stibium, is that it is borrowed from an ancient Egyptian word, sdm, or

They are by far the most puzzling obstacles I’ve encountered in my work as a translator. They tend to appear in documents unannounced, with no back story, with no key or legend to help decipher them, and are often industry-specific – or, worse, company-specific. Of course, their purpose is intended to denote the title of something, usually an organisation, procedure, device, or in my case – since much of my work is pharmaceutical – to represent a medical condition, without having to write it out in full. Fine, if you happen to be in on these mysterious meanings.

I do not enjoy acronyms. Rather than saving time by shortening the number of words to be typed out, I waste endless time trying to track down their significance. Occasionally, the initials used are familiar, and the same in both languages. PCB, or polychlorinated biphenyl, would be easily recognised within the context of a document listing substances, for example, and the same acronym is used in both French and English. No worries there. Often, however, the meanings of the letters that loom out of the shadows are less than clear and my search for a reliable rendering is fruitless. On nights working late, I have paranoid visions of some secret society locked away in some dimly lit, murky basement inventing acronyms, the connotations of which are only intelligible to a chosen few, leaving the rest of us to grope in the dark.

One of the biggest problems is that there is often no way of knowing whether the initials in question were originally conceived in the source or target language, or whether this elusive meaning is used internationally, as is sometimes the case. Sometimes a corresponding acronym does not exist in the language the document is being translated into, and it would be inappropriate to invent one, assuming one had managed to find the meaning of the original in the first place and translated it in full. To make matters worse, clients have varying tastes as to whether they want acronyms changed at all. It is possible to get into a mess.

I have recently been working on specifications for a new electrical installation in a building in a European capital. The initials ASI, which featured throughout the series of files and in French stand for “alimentation sans interruption”, can be translated as UPS (uninterruptable power supply). This was not too difficult to find, and what really helped was that all those collaborating in the translation project made contributions to a collective glossary, thus maximising consistency and saving time for us all.

However, the initials OIBT almost led me into making a grave error. After searching through my usual trusted reference sources – Linguee, ProZ term search, Reverso, WordReference – I came up with what I thought was the corresponding acronym in English, which was ITTO. It was only when checking through after completing the translation that I discovered that these initials actually stand for “International Tropical Timber Organisation”, which obviously didn’t fit the piece I was working on. After further extensive research, it transpired that the letters in this context stand for “l’ordonnance fédérale sur les installations électriques à basse tension” or in English “Federal regulations on low voltage electrical wiring”. Although grateful that I’d spotted this potentially disastrous mistranslation before delivering the completed documents, it still left me with the unanswered problem of how to represent the initials in English. As far as I’m aware, there is no FRLVEW. Even if there is, it probably means something entirely unrelated, which would be completely unhelpful to the person who will eventually have to read this account in order to understand what they have to do – which components to connect up to which, etc.

So what help is available for resolving this problem? The Harrap Business Dictionary provides a number of alphabetically listed meanings for French acronyms with their English counterparts, as does my now becoming battered hardback copy of the Collins Robert bilingual dictionary. My English-Italian Medical Dictionary and Phrasebook by A.H. Zemback offers a few obliging interpretations of abbreviations, for the names of hormones, for example. The acronymfinder.com site is also helpful, as is the acronyms page on thefreedictionary.com. Probably my favourite site is abbreviations.com, which claims to provide “910 acronyms and abbreviations related to the French terminology and jargon”.

Even with all this support, many acronyms manage to remain a mystery. This may be because there are often several alternative explanations for the same initials. For instance, abbreviations.com comes up with no less than 67 different definitions for the initials FSR. Knowing the context of your document obviously narrows the field. So if, let’s say, my document was concerned with electronics, I might be confident in assuming that they meant “Force Sensing Resistor”, whereas “Flight Status Request” would be more likely if the document had been prepared by the military. The fact that one can never be sure of which language the initials are derived from further complicates the issue. These same initials can also be Falange Social Revolucionario in Spanish.
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If anyone reading this has useful advice on this particular skill, I would welcome your suggestions. Until then, this type of code-cracking will always entail a certain amount of guesswork as far as I’m concerned.

My experience of teaching Italian is limited to taking students in years 10 to 12 through the GCSE, tutoring small groups of pupils who simply wanted to learn basic conversation, and teaching adults at evening classes. All of it was very rewarding – but I was taken aback when, about two years ago, I was asked to tutor a child of eight.

As a former secondary school teacher, I hadn't learned the tricks of the trade required to motivate a child of that age, and I have always admired the patience, stamina and dogged determination demanded of a primary teacher on a daily basis. My new pupil, of course, turned out to be adorable. She always brought with her beautifully illustrated books of fairy tales and a pink, My Little Pony pencil case. Her parents, encouraging her to learn as she has extended family in Italy, were as supportive and understanding as they could possibly have been. She had a wonderful sense of humour and she was fun to work with. Yet the striking differences between her and the secondary school pupils I had taught for so long soon became apparent. It was up to me to adapt, and for me that adaptation was a challenge.

It is not simply a question of slowing down the pace, simplifying the material or finding more engaging or colourful activities; after seven hours of being in a classroom, frequently followed by after-school training, events or practices, a year three pupil is tired. Concentration is more difficult and the shorter attention span requires a change of activity more frequently than I had been used to. In addition to this, a secondary school pupil, however disenchanted they might sometimes become, knows on some level that it is ultimately in his or her interests to do a little work to make progress and pass an exam, though they may occasionally lose sight of this goal. To a very young child, however, a term can seem like a lifetime.

My young friend and I had some entertaining lessons. We took all the fruit and vegetables out of the fridge, together with some cuddly toy vegetables collected from our local Co-op, and played shops with some euros I had left over from the holidays. We did word searches, easy crossword puzzles and played guessing games. I made use of the more basic resources on the Languages Online site to help her learn the words for members of the family, pets and colours. In fact, colours and clothes became a favourite topic. She had extensive collections of pencils and felt tips and enjoyed exercises that involved colouring in. We learned how to describe the weather and make a weather map. She liked to “interview” members of her family about their preferences and fill in a questionnaire about their favourite foods. She found it highly amusing that some Italian sentences appeared to read backwards when compared with the English, and would love to read books with pages side-by-side in both languages to hear this, since it sounded so comical to her. Nevertheless, she was learning.

I did run into some problems. In one lesson I tried to teach her to tell the time, only to find out that she had not yet learned to do this in English. I got hold of a speaking calculator and attempted to do a few sums with her and teach her the numbers from one to a hundred, but found that in doing so I was expecting too high a level of arithmetic for that age group. Even reading a story gave rise to an interesting dilemma. I have always had a very structured, hierarchical way of teaching grammar, beginning with the present, moving on to the passato prossimo and imperfetto, then progressing to the future, conditional and finally the subjunctive and passive. (Yes, the gerund tense should fit in there somewhere, I know). My choice of order is based on immediate necessity and level of difficulty. But in an Italian storybook, however young the audience, you are (quite rightly) thrown straight into the passato remoto. This makes sense in view of the fact that it is the “storytelling” tense, or the one that is used for events in the distance past, but it is yet another verb tense to contend with, and can be confusing to a child learning Italian as a second language.

The requirements for the teaching of foreign languages in primary schools, now compulsory from Key Stage 2, are set out on the foreign languages: curriculum requirements page of the Key for School Leaders website, last updated in May 2017.
There is now a broadly itemised programme of study, with skill areas to be covered before the end of Key Stage 2. This can be delivered through any modern or ancient foreign language, which gives each school flexibility, since provision may depend on staffing and location. The British Council points out that this is happening while children are still “confident and curious”, and it publishes the results of the Language Trends Survey carried out in 2015 that showed that the number of primary schools offering foreign languages rose from about 25% to 90% between 2002 and 2010.

The response to the survey, published by the CfBT Education Trust, was largely favourable, with teachers from over 1,200 UK schools taking part. It suggested that – after the move to make the teaching of foreign languages compulsory – many schools successfully made languages an integral part of “education for global citizenship”, a vehicle for developing cultural awareness and compassion in children. There are examples of schools taking a thematic approach, for example by studying sport, history or animals through a language. Many schools clearly felt that learning a foreign language developed transferable skills, which could be used in learning the mother tongue, or used in learning a different language later on.

However, the survey authors list four aspects of foreign language provision in schools that present room for improvement: the need for more staff training in this area; the need for better communication between primary and secondary schools during the transition phase; the problem of some pupils being excluded from learning a foreign language in key stages 3 or 4 in secondary schools, an issue that the authors describe as “elitist” (with schools so frightened by the prospect of dropping places in league tables, it is not surprising that some pupils are discouraged from entering exams in subjects where they are unlikely to achieve good grades); and the ongoing perception that languages are less important than, for example, science or maths. The view that languages are difficult, while not necessarily offering the same career prospects as other subjects, is also mentioned in the report.

While these four problems are all worrying, it is perhaps the second that strikes a chord with me on a personal level. During my years of teaching in secondary schools, I often heard colleagues in the language department voice concerns about how pupils entered the school with such a varied range of experience in French that teaching the children as a class was often problematic. Some pupils have to switch languages altogether, having studied something at Key Stage 2 that was not offered at their secondary school. Some of the problems I experienced with my young Italian student could have been avoided by better communication between myself and her school. I am happy to admit I made a mistake in not realising this earlier.

But the fourth issue is also deeply worrying. Even now, I still hear people say openly that “we don’t need to learn foreign languages, as everyone speaks English”. There is a need to fundamentally alter perceptions here.
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I believe strongly in foreign language teaching for primary school children, but it needs to be done fairly and consistently, with clear guidelines as to which grammar and vocabulary is taught. There is a certain vagueness about the specification as it stands. Bold though this move by the government was, we will only make real progress if it is properly valued and properly funded, with an appropriate level of training for teachers, and investment in not only recruitment but retention (teachers are leaving the profession at an alarming rate). Government also needs to convince pupils, parents and staff that foreign languages are an asset that will become increasingly vital to our students and their futures as global citizens, employed in jobs we cannot yet imagine, communicating and travelling more extensively than any generation before them. We cannot simply keep viewing foreign languages as an optional extra.
 
 

A friend of mine hoping to start working as a translator recently completed his first project for a paying customer. He then met with an unexpected obstacle: when the translation had been approved and he tried to request payment for the work, he was told that such payment could only be made upon receipt of an ‘official invoice’. What, he asked me, did this mean?

This blog is intended to help anyone who finds themselves in this position, and to provide details of what should be included.

A variety of invoice templates can be found on the internet, and in fact there is probably an extensive choice of readily adaptable blanks if you click on File > New in WORD, along with a selection of templates for business cards, flyers, brochures, inventories, receipts and anything else you are likely to need. However, your own design may prove more useful. This means you can be creative and personalise your invoices, and make the page layout look presentable, although I feel that as well as providing all the information that is essential to your clients, your invoices are vital to your own record-keeping, and the content is therefore more important than a flashy and colourful page. There is going to be much more detail on your invoice than on the quick, hand-written invoices scribbled by my garage mechanic for a new exhaust, for example, efficient and organised though he is.

I should mention here that some companies make invoicing easy and convenient by setting up a one-click process on their platform or site, whilst others have very strict guidelines as to what is required. However, I would strongly advise you to adapt or design a generic invoice template, which provides headings to columns, your details etc., and save this where it is easily retrieved. Specifics can be added at the appropriate time. An invoice folder is also very helpful. This way you can keep track of all the work you have completed, when it was done, who for and what the document was about. Should an invoice go missing after being sent – which can sometimes happen – you can also find and resend it without searching around your computer.

Whatever information you choose to provide, I recommend that the following details are clearly stated on all your invoices: -

• Your name, address, company name, logo (where appropriate) and contact details. (This makes it easier for the client to identify you, process the payment and file the invoice away.)
• Client name, address and contact details.
• Name of the individual within the organisation who approached you, spoke to you or took delivery of the translated document. (This means that if there is any query over the payment you can speak to the relevant person.)
• Invoice number. (It is helpful to number your invoices and keep a separate “Summary of Projects” file. You then have an at-a-glance record of all projects, dates, payments made and payments outstanding.)
• Brief description of work and/or client project code. (If you have been working on various projects for several weeks, you may forget which translation was which, and who for, and if somewhere down the line there is follow-up, feedback or comeback on a project or payment, or further additions to be made, you need to be able to work out which one it was.)
• The date the translation was due and the date of delivery. (This will make it clear to the client which period you are invoicing for.)
• The date the invoice was sent, and the date the payment is due.
• The rate you are charging per word/per hour.
• Details of any discounts you are offering or granting.
• The total amount to be paid for each project.
• The total amount due for that month. (Charging for all projects completed during a single month on the same invoice is less hassle for you and less processing for the accountant receiving it. One invoice per project – unless this is specifically required by the customer -  seems time-consuming and unnecessarily complicated.)
• Your bank details, which must include the bank sort code and account number. If the customer is based overseas, which will often be the case, they will also need an IBAN number and BIC number. These can be obtained from your bank if required. (Be aware that your bank may levy charges if you are receiving money in another currency in a bank account in sterling.  If you regularly receive payment in euros, it may be advisable to open a separate, euro bank account to avoid these charges. It is worth discussing international transfers and multi-currency banking with your bank so that you can open the most suitable account for you. Note that some banks make a monthly charge on business accounts, irrespective of currency. Shopping around is time well-spent.) Some translators and some customers prefer to transfer or receive money by PayPal, which is a safe and reliable option and straight-forward to use.

 
Unless otherwise requested, I make a habit of sending out invoices on the last day of the month, or the last Friday if the last day falls during a weekend. However, creating all your invoices on the same morning would be a laborious process and you may find that you are too busy. It’s much easier to generate them as you go along, after each project has been delivered. Then, at the end of the month, all you have to do is add up the total charge for each client and send the invoice with a short friendly covering email.
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Remember that customers may not always be in a position to pay you until they have been paid themselves, particularly if there is a chain involved, in which case everyone waits for the end-client. Accounts departments may have many invoices to process and each payment will require authorisation. My policy is to allow customers a full calendar month to pay, this being counted from the date of delivery of the invoice. This means that there can be almost 2 months between completing and delivering a document and being paid for it, but this is more realistic and relaxed than demanding payment too soon. Most companies have their own payment terms, although there are varying degrees of transparency in this area.

If two weeks elapse after a due date and the invoice has not yet been settled, I find that a polite email with a gentle reminder is usually all that is necessary to obtain the payment. Sometimes a little patience is necessary; it is very rare that someone is deliberately trying to avoid paying, and giving the benefit of the doubt is probably the best way forward. Some direct customers prefer to get the payment out of the way as soon as they receive the document. Thanking people for paying early, or repeatedly on time, shows that you appreciate their efficiency and would be happy to work with them again.

Finally, to avoid confusion and complete the record-keeping procedure, I like to mark down each payment on my “Summary of Projects” sheet, and file all paid invoices in a separate place from the others. This seems tedious, but in this matter organisation is essential. In those very busy times when projects are flying towards you quicker than you can comfortably handle them all, it is easy to forget to take these steps. And however much you enjoy the work, you deserve to be paid for it. When creating, storing, updating and sending invoices, a methodical approach means that no payments are forgotten. 

​Although I've been a translator for a few years now, and rewriting documents in English has become second nature, I still get a little anxious when someone speaks rapid Italian to me over the phone. It’s harder to follow a dialogue when you can’t see someone’s face. This is the main reason I booked an intensive course at the Istituto di Venezia Italian language school, an organisation based in both Venice and the beautiful city of Trieste - where I stayed for a week in July. The school offers Italian classes for beginners and improvers of all levels. It also provides guided excursions and activities, such as cooking lessons, in the late afternoons, and students are encouraged to accept accommodation in an Italian family, to experience full immersion in the language.

I chose the Trieste school because it’s in a region of Italy I hadn’t visited before and I’d heard positive things about the city. I wasn’t disappointed. Due to its location at the northern end of the Adriatic Sea, its proximity to Austria, Hungary, Slovenia and Croatia, and its accessibility by train to many European cities, I really felt at the heart of Europe, at a crossroads of cultures and languages.

My edition of Italian Grammar for Dummies, by Bartolini-Salimbeni, from the Wiley Brand series, calls them “the unruly children in Italian”, being “ever present, unpredictable, and idiosyncratic”. The book goes on to explain that they are “small words with big impact”, and cites one or two examples of this:

In Italian, the word “in” can mean to, at or in. eg “sono in ufficio” (I’m at the office), “lavoro in giardino” (I’m working in the garden) and “vado in Italia” (I’m going to Italy). The author even likens them to chameleons, changing their meaning according to their surroundings. Broadly speaking, their function is to indicate place, eg “sotto” (under, or beneath) and “su” (over, or above), but they also link nouns with adjectives, verbs or other nouns, and they can sometimes give rise to a disconcerting ambiguity.

For those of us who quite enjoy memorising information by rote, almost any other aspect of grammar can be learned by grasping a few rules. Committing verb tables to memory, whether in the past, present, future, conditional tenses etc., can be rewarding, and assimilating them will rapidly expand your versatility when using a language. Similarly, adverbs and adjectives, together with their agreements, follow a few manageable rules. But the logical approach of attempting to decode and utilise a pattern of behaviour will get you nowhere when it comes to these.

I refer, of course, to prepositions, and if anything is going to steer a translator towards a grammatical blunder, it’s these. We can be so focussed on unravelling the meaning of the constituent phrases of a lengthy sentence, we can often miss these tiny pitfalls, with potentially disastrous consequences and even possible mistranslation of the point the writer intended to make.

Thus “una bottiglia da vino rosso” might be hastily read as “a bottle of red wine”, which would have been “una bottiglia di vino rosso”, with the former structure meaning “a red wine bottle”, ie a bottle used to carry red wine. In fact, the word da in Italian, has multiple meanings: it can indicate function “una camera da letto” (bedroom); the word 'from' - “siamo da Londra” (we’re from London); or 'since' - “sono qui da ieri” (I have been here since yesterday); unexpectedly 'to' - “vado dal [= da+il] macellaio” (I’m going to the butcher), and many others, too numerous to list here. A similar array of possible meanings could be assigned to other prepositions, such as di or a. In Italian, there is the added complication that, as in the last example, the preposition often becomes preposition plus article. This clips and tidies up the phrase somewhat, since “in la cucina” (in the kitchen) becomes “nella cucina”, thus avoiding a clumsy consonant clutter.

Then there is the problem of which preposition is the correct one to follow a verb. Eg “ha deciso di proseguire” (he decided to proceed) but “comincio a lavorare” (I start working). These, I’m afraid, you just have to memorise separately. There does not appear to be any logical reason for the choice of one over another.

These problems are not limited to Italian.

…in Spanish, it can sometimes be difficult to know the difference between "por" and "para". Both can mean "for", but also sometimes "by", "through", "to", etc.
An example:
"Te di dinero por tu colección"
"Te di dinero para tu colección"
Both can be translated as: "I gave you money for your collection". But they actually have very different meanings.
"Por" is used when discussing exchanges - so the first phrase means "I gave you money in exchange for your collection".
"Para" is used to denote destination. So, the second phrase means "I gave you money for/to add to your collection".

Let’s now look at some examples in French sentences.

There is the possibility of an ambiguous use of “pour”:
"Pour elle, il faudrait partir en voiture". This could mean (for her sake, we should go by car), but could equally be interpreted as (in her opinion, we should go by car).
 
In the following example, “by” could be translated by two different French prepositions, giving rise to two meanings:
Au programme, le concerto pour piano de Tchaikovsky (...written by Tchaikovsky)
Au programme, le concerto pour piano par Alfred Brendel (...played by Brendel)

Now look at this source of confusion when translating “for”:
Il est là depuis une semaine (he arrived a week ago)
Il est là pour une semaine (he will leave in a week)

When translating “with”:
J'ai passé mes vacances chez des amis (I spent my holidays at my friends’ house)
J'ai passé mes vacances avec des amis (I spent my holidays with friends)

And when translating “in”:
Il a fait le travail en deux heures (he did the job in two hours)
Il fera le travail dans deux heures (he will complete the job within two hours)
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All this confirms the importance of checking a completed document or story as a whole. Reading it back, ensuring that it makes sense, is essential to avoid misleading readers. Ideally, this would be done by someone else with an outside perspective, but if contracts and non-disclosure agreements will not permit this, then “sleeping” on the problem and returning to it with a fresh view the following day can often provide new insight into intended meaning. This, of course, is one of the reasons I’m not a fan of same-day work. Writing and translation is precarious and delicate work. Rushing is risky. Such a pity that the pressures to work in haste at all costs can result in a potential loss of quality.