Angella Johnson: VIEW FROM A BROAD
True story: a woman was so terrified when asked to address a group of 250 students some years ago that she booked into a clinic and had the twisted second toe on her right foot broken.
“I had put off having the operation for years,” she told me, “but as the dreaded day approached for me to give the lecture, I knew the time was right. I spent six weeks in plaster and in pain, but at least I didn’t have to give the speech.”
For some people (and I confess to being one of them), standing before a large crowd and speaking for any length of time is akin to facing a firing squad at dawn – without a blindfold.
We do strange things to keep calm. Take the company director who would unconsciously zip his fly up and down as he spoke. Nobody was brave enough to point out his elevator movements – but he probably got great applause.
I remember my last public speech. It was at an anti-racist rally. I rose nervously to my feet; saliva ducts closed and perspiration glands opened. My heart started beating a mean samba, and my eyes slowly glazed over as my brain decided to go on holiday.
I feel queasy just thinking about it. So why is it that I am currently booked to make a presentation about journalism to a party of schoolchildren? It was while contemplating this nightmare prospect that I happened to pass a majestic white mansion on Oxford Road, Johannesburg.
My eyes were drawn to a blue and white banner flapping outside. “Is your voice an asset or a liability?” it quizzed. I thought about my incoherent ramblings and opted for the latter.
This is fate, my little inner voice cried. The Voice Clinic – eureka! Why had I not thought of this before? It was as if an invisible fishing line had been cast. I decided to check it out.
“You need to be assessed so that we can draw up a course to suit your needs,” declared the well-spoken receptionist.
My assessor was Sue Parsons, an English ex-pat, who made me read a long, boring passage from Dylan Thomas’s Under Milkwood. (Not fair! Only Richard Burton has ever done it satisfactorily.) I almost fell asleep listening to myself.
“Your voice became high pitched because you were running out of breath there,” Parsons said. “You need to learn to breathe properly.”
“What do you mean breathe properly? I do breathe properly!” I responded indignantly. I’m alive, aren’t I?
“Oh, no. You’re only filling the top one-third of your lungs. You need to fill them all the way from the bottom in order to feed your voice more effectively.”
I was not convinced, but if she could rid me of my phobia it was worth a shot. I bit on the hook.
“You also have a problem with resonance,” she continued. “We want to get a deep, warm quality to the voice which is arresting and positive. You’ll sound much better once you learn to project it outwards.” She was reeling me in.
Apparently my diaphragm is weak, my articulation feeble, I clench my jaw (a definite nervousness give-away) and occasionally resort to shouting to get my point across.
By now I was dangling on the hook like a prize salmon. “The voice is not bad at all [at last, a note of praise], but you tend to be a bit monotonous [should have known it was too good to last] and there is not enough body language,” concluded Parsons.
I was caught hook, line and sinker. Book me some classes fast, I pleaded. I was able to enrol in a power speaking weekend course for business executives – who had been sent by their companies – which started the next day.
We were eight – a kind of mini-United Nations comprising three blacks (a man from Lesotho, a woman from Botswana and me – British/Jamaican), one Frenchman, one Afrikaner, a man from the south of England, a guy from Durban and a former SABC reporter with a booming theatrical voice.
Seemed Clive, the other reporter, wanted to kill the butterflies that flutter in his stomach every time he has to address a gathering. “What we want to do is teach those butterflies to fly in formation,” joked John French, our young, pin-striped motivational trainer. “But remember, the best speakers do feel nerves beforehand.”
This was to be the first of many homilies he would spout over the two days, as we sat and lapped it up like mother’s milk.
“The important thing,” said French, “is to take that initial deep breath before speaking – whether over the phone, in meetings or when greeting people.” Apparently people judge you within 15 seconds of hearing your voice.
Does that mean we need elocution lessons? (I thought of Pygmalion and Liza Doolittle – “The rain in Spain …”)
“Oh, we don’t try to change your accent,” French quickly interjected. “Most of us are just lazy about the way we speak. We don’t think of projecting our voice and finishing off our words. Remember, consonants make your words clear and vowels carry the sound.”
We did tongue exercises for lazy oral muscles: “A thin little boy picked six thick thistle sticks.” (You should have heard the Frenchman say this.)
And try saying this quickly: “I shot three shy thrushes. You shoot three shy thrushes.”
I learned that mouthing “ouch” several times is great for relaxing the jaws before speaking.
Over the two days we were forced to make impromptu speeches. After my first (the video will make embarrassing viewing one day), French announced that I mumbled (so tell me something I didn’t know).
“You’re too scared to make a fool of yourself. Don’t analyse so much … Claim your space and don’t be afraid to be out of your comfort zone.” It was all right for him to talk.
He also shattered some of my perceptions, like the popular view that a still body shows commanding control. “Gestures bring the voice alive. They reinforce the message and channel excess energy,” insisted French.
Just make sure they are not comforting gestures like picking your nose or swaying from side to side. “If you are going to move, do it with purpose,” he said.
I was a little concerned when he used Adolf Hitler, PW Botha and Eugene Terre’Blanche as examples of commanding speakers.
At the end of the course we were exhausted, but an important lesson had been learned: we all have the same problems, the same hang-ups and insecurities, and the firing squad is usually firing blanks.
We all agreed during the feedback session that learning to breathe properly was the most beneficial.
I’ve emerged as a firm believer in voice training. The schoolchildren not only understood every word I said about journalism, but seemed very interested.
Maybe it was good manners, but if any of them turn out to be award-winning writers, just remember who it was who inspired them.