Regional Accents and Social Mobility

Luke Charters Excerpts

Wednesday 15th July 2026 Westminster Hall

[Mr Luke Charters (York Outer) (Lab)]

It is a pleasure to serve under your chairship, Sir Roger. I congratulate my hon. Friend the Member for Leigh and Atherton (Jo Platt) on securing today’s debate. I have spent a fair bit of time near her patch over the past couple of months, and though we bang on about the Yorkshire-Lancashire rivalry, we are united by a few things: some of the best food in the country—including the finest pies—and of course, the warmth and friendliness that we are all proud of, and of which she is one of the finest examples in this House.

I want to be crystal clear: judging someone by their accent is an attitude that belongs firmly in the history books. I must admit that, when I first arrived in Parliament, I often felt out of place and like I did not belong—all because of my accent. Like many colleagues here today, I was not elected because I sounded polished; I was elected through hard graft and to represent the people who sent me here. I have done my best, though, to get a few Yorkshire phrases into Hansard, because that is how my constituents speak. I will kick off by giving a few more, having turned to Facebook for some inspiration.

There is some disagreement, and I am risking controversy here, but I stand firmly with saying “ginnel” over “gennel”—some things you have to get right. What came through clearly is that the Yorkshire dialect is not just colourful, it is precise. When someone is “mithering”, you know exactly what they are doing. If they have a “mardy”, you know what that means, and if they have “a monk on”, you know to stay well clear. When someone says, “It’s gone reyt,” you know it has gone properly well. Many of these words carry real history: “laiking”, “beck” and “fells” are all rooted in Old Norse. Long before Westminster caught up with the north, we were already shaping a language of our own. Yet too often, these words can draw blank looks—even within our own region. Mention a “snicket”, “ten foot” or “fuddle”, and you will quickly find out who understands proper Yorkshire.

It was not just in Parliament where I felt out of place; it was also at Oxford. I am incredibly proud to be a state-school kid who worked hard to get there, but when I did, some of the older tutors actually mocked the way I spoke. They were not correcting my grammar or debating my ideas; they were judging whether somebody who said “nowt” really belonged in their so-called hallowed halls. Research shows that nearly a third of university students have been mocked because of their accent, and almost half of workers say that they face jokes or jibes about the way that they speak in workplace settings—including me, in my experience at the Bank of England.

I felt it when I started doing national media as an MP, too. I turned up, ready to talk about serious issues, such as getting funding for a station in my constituency, or tackling antisocial behaviour—standing up for my constituents—but too often I felt as if only clipped southern voices sounded suitably authoritative. I was not always invited on to programmes—although, strangely enough, there was never any shortage of invitations to those where the producers would tell me how much they love a proper, thick Yorkshire accent. I really appreciate that, and those producers know who they are. I am especially grateful to broadcasters such as Matt Chorley, who is helping to challenge some of the assumptions in national broadcasting and to get regional accents on air. The real success, of course, will be hearing someone from Yorkshire or Lancashire on national radio or TV without it being worth commenting on at all.

I am immensely proud to be from God’s own county. I have always tried to stay authentic to my roots—a West Yorkshire family, a North Yorkshire upbringing, and always proud to represent York—but I would be lying if I said I had not softened my accent at times, including when working in the City, because I thought that was what I had to do if I wanted people to take me seriously. I do not want my two boys, Robin and Louis, to grow up believing that if they want to pass an interview or land a graduate job, the first thing that they have to do is to change how they speak. When a young person starts believing that they have to hide or change their accent, it chips away at their confidence. I believe also that we are wasting talent. Businesses across Britain are facing a productivity hit if they overlook good, honest graft for absolutely no reason.

A young person from Haxby or Bishopthorpe should not be marked down because they do not sound like they grew up in Belgravia. By the way, I should also give a special mention to “Bratford”—or, as some may say, “Bradford”—where the same applies, of course. If the best jobs in finance, law or politics still mean moving to London—and that has to change, by the way—and sounding like you have always lived there, we have not solved the problem; have we?

I want children watching Parliament on television to hear someone who sounds like them, not someone who they feel they have to become. Otherwise, too many young people will carry on believing that making it means leaving part of themselves behind. Whether someone grew up saying “ey up”, “nowt” or “summat”; whether they call an alleyway a snicket; whether they tell their mates “It’ll be reyt”; or whether they are simply “chuffed to bits”, their voice is never something to be ironed out; it is part of who they are.