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Straight away, you'll know if someone is from Galway, Mayo, Clare, Limerick, Cork, Belfast, Dublin or Donegal. I knew someone once from Gweedore on the north-west coast of our island and she had the softest of accents, having an almost natural melodic tone to it.

Our own Irish superstar of Hollywood, Killarney's Jesse Buckley, has never lost her soft Kerry blas when interviewed, and what a joy it is to note straight away from her opening words, that this woman hasn't forgotten where she comes from.

My friend with the 'bee in his bonnet' has compiled a little list of people - mostly on radio - who tend to speak with 'marbles in their mouths'. A 'park' turns into a 'pohrk' for those trying to embrace the posh tone, with the practice of replacing the 'a' sound with the 'o' one, a real giveaway sign of the accent imposters.

We've all met those too who hardly have been a 'wet week' in the States and who return with an American twang, while on the other hand, I also know people who've been abroad for years and who still retain the voice and pronunciations that they grew up on.

Radio presenter and 'traffic news woman' most mornings on Marty Whelan's programme, Sinéad Ní Uallacháin, speaks with the softest of West Kerry Gaeltacht accents - no artificial 'Os' are ever heard, just her natural blas, and again like that woman from Gweedore long ago, there's a melody or lilt in her spoken words.

I thought of this too last week when the news broke that one of the best known personalities on the Irish folk and traditional music scene had passed away, namely Caherlistrane's Dolores Keane.

Blessed with the most distinctive and enchanting of voices, she also spoke with a tone and texture which was forever true to her roots and upbringing. A great joy to hear her singing but also wonderfully refreshing to hear her speak in that broad Caherlistrane tone.

While she might have shed her mortal coil, her voice and accent will live on forever and every time I hear her version of 'My Own Dear Galway Bay' it brings back the most poignant of childhood memories, of a father returning from 'the local' on a Sunday night before delivering a rendition of the classic ballad, based on the sadness of emigration and the longing to return to one's native land. [Just as a little aside, following a recent pub conversation/query, the song was written by Kinvara native Frank A. Fahy, 1845-1935, when he lived in London: the 'other' Galway Bay song, made famous by Bing Crosby in 1947, was written by a doctor based in Galway for many years, Arthur Colahan, 1884-1952].

I thought of this too last week when the news broke that one of the best known personalities on the Irish folk and traditional music scene had passed away, namely Caherlistrane's Dolores Keane.

I thought of this too last week when the news broke that one of the best known personalities on the Irish folk and traditional music scene had passed away, namely Caherlistrane's Dolores Keane.

The roots of the artificial posh accents probably have their roots in the class system [we'll blame the English again!]. Those of a higher social status were taught to pronounce words in a special way in order to distinguish them from the native Scouser, Geordie, Brummie, Cockney or Cornish twangs. Also, instead of saying 'what' - when you mis-hear someone - we're taught to say 'pardon me' or 'excuse me'. So, what's wrong with a simple 'what'. Short, sweet and to the point.

A lot of this smacks of a strain of political correctness where no one uses swear words and especially so on television or radio. I don't know how many times I have cringed when I hear a Sky Sports commentator apologise, in case any viewer might heard a 'bad word' from an overzealous fan. My first reaction is to say: "What the fuck!" Oops, do I now need to apologise for using that word in print?

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I read a piece on the BBC last week relation to UK world silver medallist sprinter, Amy Hunt, who thought her spur of the moment comment after her recent achievement on the track in Tokyo would be 'beeped out' by the BBC. A graduate from the University of Cambridge, Amy blurted out the phrase that 'you can be an academic badass and a track goddess' and immediately thought this wasn't the proper thing to say on 'The Beeb'. Anyway, thankfully it wasn't 'beeped out', with, a bit of common-sense prevailing.

It's kind of worse in Ireland when the posh accents come into play - almost a throwback to our times when we were part of 'The Empire', and a sign of the upper classes, was being able to speak so-called 'proper English' [anything but!] where the name 'Mark' turns into 'Mork' and 'Mammy' morphed into 'Mummy' while a walk in the 'garden' becomes a stroll in the 'gawrden'. Why can't an A just be an A?

Maybe time to snap out of this little rant and I know there's hope when I listen to Jessie Buckley being interviewed . . . Sinéad Ní Uallacháin embarking of a verbal tango with Marty Whelan shortly after the crack of dawn. . . and of course when I listen to the words of 'My Own Dear Galway Bay' sung so naturally, sweetly and natively by our own late, great friend, Dolores Keane. Be true to your roots is the moral of the story, abandon the fancy twangs, and 'Up Caherlistrane'!

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