I remember meeting the grandmother of my girlfriend in a beautiful apartment in Copenhagen around that time. We had tea and very slow conversation because her grandmother and I lacked a common language. She asked what I intended to study at University. I said, “English.” There was a moment of silence, followed by a long and rather subdued discussion between the grandmother and granddaughter. Finally, my girlfriend, with a smile on her face, said, “She thought you already spoke English.”
The names we give things can sometimes be confusing. There is a big difference, for example, between being a student of History and being a student who studies History. Just as there is a difference between wanting to study English and wanting to learn English. Having the word “English” stamped on a folder in the Registrars Office does not confer even the slightest amount of knowledge or language ability. It’s merely the title of the area one intends to study.
What came of the beautiful young blond I have no idea. It was the 60s, so maybe she got arrested for possession of marijuana, got pregnant and dropped out of school, found yet another major, or pushed through and became a professor of something. My personal hope is that when she writes her biography she will thank that nameless young man — Will she remember him as handsome? — who first explained to her that in order to be a student of something you first have to study it.