Helen

For context I have a slightly mixed accent and can be a bit hard to place. I am from Southport but my whole family is from Liverpool and I have spent much of my life in Manchester. I also took part in a lot of drama and performing arts as a kid. This has meant that I have a Scouse/Lancashire hybrid accent but I also enunciate very clearly. People from Liverpool think I’m from Lancashire, people from Manchester think I’m Scouse, people from the north think I’m a bit posh, people from the south think I’m a northern scally. So I can quite often feel my voice doesn’t really fit anywhere, luckily my sister has a very similar accent to me so at least I’m not alone.

The most clear occasion that I realised my accent may be a barrier for me was in my first year of college. I was studying Classics and Ancient history as one of my AS levels and our teacher decided to take us on a trip down south to Oxford to go to a lecture about Greek pottery. The trip was very enriching and I found the lecture fascinating, so much so that I wanted to ask a question. I waited until the Q&A part of the lecture and spoke in my clearest ringing drama voice, I can’t even remember what I asked now, but I can remember the response. The don scoffed a little, and said “Pardon, what did you say?” I was quite surprised, as I said I can speak extremely clearly when I want to, but duly I repeated the question. This happened again a few more times until we both gave up, and he said something (that I’m sure he thought was very funny) disparaging about scousers and the people in the hall tittered a little.

Up until this point I had considered the idea of attending Oxford but this experience immediately put me off the idea and I instead attended a Russell group university up north.

Liverpool Lady

Having a scouse (or any regional) accent is seen as being linked to having a working-class background. That’s not the case for me. I speak with a scouse accent and was lucky enough to have a privileged upbringing in an affluent area of Liverpool. I have very middle-class background. But I have still experienced classist comments based on my accent. I’m so proud of being from Liverpool (even if I’m not a ‘proper’ scouser, being from a village further out!). The assumptions and snobbery around accents make me rage.

It wasn’t until I left home to go to uni in the mid-00s that I started to experience people treating me differently because of my accent. This was a uni up north, but RP-speaking students from down south didn’t seem to mind being on ‘our’ turf. My most memorable story of accentism is from when I dated someone from the south east. I went to visit him during the summer holidays and had to meet his group of friends, who were insufferable. One of them didn’t even introduce himself before asking ‘What’s it like living in Liverpool then? I can’t even imagine being in a council house, it must be disgusting?’. I think my jaw hit the floor. Speechless… The guy I was seeing then told his friends that I was ‘actually posher’ than them, which left me in a weird state, wanting to prove to them that accent doesn’t = money/class and what kind of idiot judges people on that anyway? But also wanting play down being ‘posh’ because I didn’t want his group of friends to think I was one of them, a snob who seemed to have a problem with anyone who was different from them. But if I went on a rant about classism then was I a fraud because I wasn’t really working class, just spoke like it in their eyes? I think I made some lame comment about him needing to leave home and get into the real world. I look back now and kick myself for not starting a full-on fight with the whole group of them. One of them is now a Tory MP, just to top it off!

Teacherfeatures

I was at a coffee machine and the man in front said I could go first as he was retired and didn’t have to go to work. He then asked what I did for a living… I said I’m an English teacher and he roared with laughter and said ‘A Scouser….teaching English!!…they’ve got no chance!’

Anon

On a winter evening train in Sussex, around 2010 or so, I had a brief phone conversation with my brother. We are from Liverpool so I accommodated (as presumably did he) but normally you wouldn’t notice. Two young families were across the aisle, some seated some standing. Phone call over, the two dads started bantering about how much they hated thieving/scrounging/whining Scousers, and chanting the name of the team that had just knocked Liverpool out of Europe. When it came to my stop, they made a pretence of not letting me off the train but in the end stood aside smiling