Orite Butt: To say ‘hello’ or not to say ‘hello’

Stephen Price

Back in the pre-internet-everywhere days of the early 90s, friends of my parents who’d settled in our village from the south east of England were reflecting on their move to Wales which had come about after a memorable holiday here some years prior.

Their Welsh holiday had not only been a revelation in terms of scenery, but also in etiquette.

“Everyone says ‘hello’ wherever you go – even the kids!” they remarked.

Being a child myself back then, I thought little of it, but in the years since it’s one of those memories that come to the surface now and then – most often after encountering others on walks around my square mile, or elsewhere in Wales.

I’ll do my best not to stereotype, and keep it to the personal and the familiar, but growing up in what was Gwent, or the Heads of the Valleys as per the road name, that’s just how it was.

Pass a stranger on a walk with the dogs, you say hello/alright*/good morning and the like, and then go on with your day.

(*And no, it’s not really a question, the answer is usually just ‘orite’ in return – to tell us your woes is to give too much away.)

Only, for anyone paying attention, or initiating the ‘orite’, the ‘hello’, the ‘shwmae’ – the contract of old, the etiquette of old, is not quite what it was, and it’s been breaking down since around the time that lovely old couple themselves gave it such high praise.

Indicators? What are they?

Along with indicating on the roads, which now seems to be less the done thing and more a luxury to be on the receiving end of, the ‘hello’ offered to a stranger is now fraught with tension.

As my home village grew in popularity with tourists and second home owners and the like, I remember friends sharing similar experiences of saying hello to a stranger in passing while on dog walks or hikes.

How strange it first felt to go unacknowledged, no one around for miles, and a hello being either ignored or, comically, a confused awareness that your kindness, your breaking of any tension, your openness, could make a stranger appear as though they’re about to lose their life to a village idiot.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m mostly a smiley, open, offerer of the ‘hello’ or ‘orite’ wherever I go in Wales (we seem to innately know it’s not needed much outside of Wales, us village idiots).

That is, until, now.

Something has changed. The ignore that broke the camel’s back perhaps.

Just before sitting down to write this, I used a credit to purchase The Courage to Be Disliked by Fumitake Koga and Ichiro Kishimi (I’ll report back if anyone’s interested).

I don’t feel I need to be liked, not by any human outside my own circle (but every animal of course – their approval is always wanted), but the book has called me for some time, and I can’t wait to read it.

And to, perhaps, begin my own new chapter of being colder. It might save me some time, save me some some focus. Make me feel like less of a mug.

Cymuned

To my own surprise, I haven’t only ever lived in my little patch of the world all my life, having lived in west Wales, Swansea and Cardiff for some time, and the unwritten ‘hello’ contract is different in all these places, but it exists nonetheless.

It’s tension breaking, it’s a dilution of threat, an unsaid openness to kindness.

Would I say hello to everyone while walking down Queen St or Chippy Lane? Well, it depends how much I’d been drinking back in my twenties, but village idiots we’re not. As a people, I think, oops I’m stereotyping, the Welsh (collectively), or at least the Welsh of the valleys, have been a warm, kind bunch. And perhaps that’s been to our detriment.

A foolishness to be such a mug as to be kind, and to think others will be in return. Am I digressing again..

But I do recall the feeling of relief, of home, coming back from Ceredigion where I’d encountered fewer natives than my west Wales dream had envisaged, and walking my dogs around Bryn Bach Park, Tredegar, one day after barely chatting to a stranger for months on end.

The pure joy at strangers, young and old, saying hello, talking to my nephew, talking to my dogs, reminding me what it’s all about: Community.

A reflection of oneself

As pointed out by Natural Resources Wales, in their advice to walkers in Wales last Christmas: “Be nice, say hello, share the space: spread some joy this festive season and say a ‘hello’, ‘shwmae’ or a ‘happy holidays’ to those you see, just a simple one or two words could transform somebody’s day (it’s actually in the Countryside Code for Wales – we are a friendly bunch!)”

Three months ago, a user on Reddit asked: “Living in London, one of the things that I noticed whenever I went into the countryside as a kid was how friendly people were: they would wish you a good morning or whatever as you passed them by.

“This politeness seems to be getting less and less and the last few times I went out I’ve had people appear on the horizon, march towards me down the path, and then go right by me, as though we were passing on a crowded London street, despite being the only people for miles around. Not so much as a nod or a grunt.

“It feels incredibly awkward – especially on those occasions when I say hello and they ignore me – and I’m really not sure how to deal with it! Any suggestions for how to deal with this?”

The first three responses couldn’t have been put better:

1. “People moved out of London.”
2. “Ha, fuck yes this rings so true. Surrounded by ex-London neighbours and the difference is palpable.”
3. “Yep. I live in Hertfordshire and it’s full of ex-Londoners (including myself). It’s probably 70/30 here whether people will say hello back to you, in favour of them not. It’s hard to shake the “ignore everyone trying to talk to you” mindset.”

So, while I practice being more comfortable to be less liked, (or is that, accepting that there is no community as we once knew it?) and enjoy my Audible, I won’t offer any practical advice on saying hello/orite/shwmae or whatnot, or suggest ways the uninitiated might do better.

I think I’m out.

The urge to smile as I pass someone by will always be there, but I think I’ll try my hardest not to, and to save the face ache and annoyed internal dialogue.

Any future ‘hello’ I offer, I’m aiming to only ever extend in reply.

Isn’t it sad that the reason so many move to Wales is because of our friendliness—only, at least in my experience and that of my friends, this warmth is so very often not mirrored