By Ray Connolly,
Research from America has revealed that stammerers have different shaped brains from the rest of us. Scientists at Tulane University, New Orleans, recently discovered that stammerers had significantly larger left and right temporal lobes (the area of the brain used in language and speech) than non-stammerers.
This new research could have significant impact on understanding a problem which has baffled the medical profession for centuries. Here, The Beatles' biographer Ray Connolly welcomes the news and describes how stammering has affected his life . . .
For as long as I can remember I've stammered, and although it interferes with my life hardly at all today, and I can speak in public or go on radio or TV without problem, the bleak memories of a boyhood of tongue-tied, face-contorted frustration never fade.
A recent survey among stammers said that 83 per cent of them were bullied at school because of their stammer. Well, perhaps I was luckier than most. My memories of being picked on by other boys are few, and there would usually be loyal classmates to take my side if it did happen.
But there was no one to support you when a teacher chose to ingratiate himself in front of the class with a joke at your expense. 'It's C-C-CC-Connolly, isn't it,' said Mr Rogan, our Latin master.
'Connolly, if you knew the answer you wouldn't be doing all that hesitating. Sit down,' said Mr Pilkington in chemistry.
Mr Wainwright attempted to unlock my disfluency by knocking my head from my shoulders, first to the left and then to the right.
I remember, too, being ignored, never invited to read out anything in class, and rarely being asked questions.
All that happened more than 40 years ago. I like to think teachers are more understanding nowadays, though I bet not all of them are.
At the time I had, I'm sure, all the attention that any stammerer could have hoped for. A whole army attended on me: an elocutionist, a speech therapist, even a psychiatrist, which was considered very dubious in those days.
The trouble was, while I would become fluent with the speech therapist, I wouldn't be able to ask for my fare on the bus home.
I realise that what I was doing to overcome the stammer in her presence was learning to act. And over the years, I got very good at it.
I suppose, by most standards, I should consider myself a success story as far as stammering is concerned. But even though I might be able to fool others, I don't fool myself.
Inside I know I'm a stammerer, full of tricks, disguises and avoidance techniques which give the appearance of
relative fluency, changing the word I intend to say at the last second, adding a dramatic hesitation in the middle of a sentence.
True, I may be able to speak with ease and confidence in professional and social situations, but the person who does that isn't the real me - it's a self-creation.
Even though I still can't read publicly to save my life, I made a funny, confident, offthe-cuff speech at my daughter Louise's wedding last year, which was probably the most emotional moment of my life.
When holding a microphone in a public place, I'm as fluent as anyone. Unknown to me until this week, this is a technique known as delayed auditory feedback, and is well known to speech therapists.
This fluent guy with the microphone is not, however, the father Louise knows at home. That's where I stammer most; when I'm totally relaxed, when I'm just being me.
The biggest difficulty I have is saying my son's name, Kieron. I should have called him Bill.
Of course, there's always the nag of a worry that my stammer will return in force in full one day, to blight my dotage as it wrecked my childhood.
I don't know whether the scientists in New Orleans have discovered something which will radically change the way stammerers are treated.
I imagine it could well lead to changes in the way speech therapists approach their role - accepting perhaps that there will always be a basic stammer caused by neurological factors, but working at the anxiety which exaggerates that stammer so much.
In the meantime, publication of the research findings might begin to help alter the way stammerers are perceived. Perhaps, one day, even morons such as the employment agent in New York who, on hearing me stammer, said, 'D'you have a speech defect? Outside!', will take a deep breath, and think twice before they speak.
Something every stammerer in the world has been told to do - even though it never works.
Research from America has revealed that stammerers have different shaped brains from the rest of us. Scientists at Tulane University, New Orleans, recently discovered that stammerers had significantly larger left and right temporal lobes (the area of the brain used in language and speech) than non-stammerers.
This new research could have significant impact on understanding a problem which has baffled the medical profession for centuries. Here, The Beatles' biographer Ray Connolly welcomes the news and describes how stammering has affected his life . . .
For as long as I can remember I've stammered, and although it interferes with my life hardly at all today, and I can speak in public or go on radio or TV without problem, the bleak memories of a boyhood of tongue-tied, face-contorted frustration never fade.
A recent survey among stammers said that 83 per cent of them were bullied at school because of their stammer. Well, perhaps I was luckier than most. My memories of being picked on by other boys are few, and there would usually be loyal classmates to take my side if it did happen.
But there was no one to support you when a teacher chose to ingratiate himself in front of the class with a joke at your expense. 'It's C-C-CC-Connolly, isn't it,' said Mr Rogan, our Latin master.
'Connolly, if you knew the answer you wouldn't be doing all that hesitating. Sit down,' said Mr Pilkington in chemistry.
Mr Wainwright attempted to unlock my disfluency by knocking my head from my shoulders, first to the left and then to the right.
I remember, too, being ignored, never invited to read out anything in class, and rarely being asked questions.
All that happened more than 40 years ago. I like to think teachers are more understanding nowadays, though I bet not all of them are.
At the time I had, I'm sure, all the attention that any stammerer could have hoped for. A whole army attended on me: an elocutionist, a speech therapist, even a psychiatrist, which was considered very dubious in those days.
The trouble was, while I would become fluent with the speech therapist, I wouldn't be able to ask for my fare on the bus home.
I realise that what I was doing to overcome the stammer in her presence was learning to act. And over the years, I got very good at it.
I suppose, by most standards, I should consider myself a success story as far as stammering is concerned. But even though I might be able to fool others, I don't fool myself.
Inside I know I'm a stammerer, full of tricks, disguises and avoidance techniques which give the appearance of
relative fluency, changing the word I intend to say at the last second, adding a dramatic hesitation in the middle of a sentence.
True, I may be able to speak with ease and confidence in professional and social situations, but the person who does that isn't the real me - it's a self-creation.
Even though I still can't read publicly to save my life, I made a funny, confident, offthe-cuff speech at my daughter Louise's wedding last year, which was probably the most emotional moment of my life.
When holding a microphone in a public place, I'm as fluent as anyone. Unknown to me until this week, this is a technique known as delayed auditory feedback, and is well known to speech therapists.
This fluent guy with the microphone is not, however, the father Louise knows at home. That's where I stammer most; when I'm totally relaxed, when I'm just being me.
The biggest difficulty I have is saying my son's name, Kieron. I should have called him Bill.
Of course, there's always the nag of a worry that my stammer will return in force in full one day, to blight my dotage as it wrecked my childhood.
I don't know whether the scientists in New Orleans have discovered something which will radically change the way stammerers are treated.
I imagine it could well lead to changes in the way speech therapists approach their role - accepting perhaps that there will always be a basic stammer caused by neurological factors, but working at the anxiety which exaggerates that stammer so much.
In the meantime, publication of the research findings might begin to help alter the way stammerers are perceived. Perhaps, one day, even morons such as the employment agent in New York who, on hearing me stammer, said, 'D'you have a speech defect? Outside!', will take a deep breath, and think twice before they speak.
Something every stammerer in the world has been told to do - even though it never works.
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