While I was visiting a chemist shop, a migrant of dark complection — seemingly quite a recent arrival — walked in.

"Soup pliss!" he said to the girl behind the counter.

"I am sorry, we have no soup here," answered the girl. "This is a chemist shop. You can get soup next door in the cafeteria."

She went to the door and pointed at the cafeteria nearby.

The man of outlandish appearance followed her advice, but quickly returned.

"No soup there," he said, "soup here. One soup pliss!"

"You seem to be a New Australian as well," said the chemist to me. "Please ask him in your New Australian language what he wants."

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" I asked the fresh migrant. "Not two! One soup, pliss!" he answered.

"Vous parlez francais?" I continued my questions. "Not part, full!" he explained.

"Vy ponimayete po russki?"

"Pony? Why pony?" he asked.

"Kas räägite eesti keelt?" tried I my last chance.

"Que es esto?" he asked.

"He doesn't understand any language I know," I said to the Chemist. "Sorry for not being able to help you."

"What?" the Chemist lifted his bushy eyebrows. "You are yourself a New Australian and do not understand the New Australian language?"

"There is no such a thing as a single New Australian language," explained I. "New Australians speak various languages."

"Sounds like a piece of bullshit to me," said the Chemist. "Soup in hymn," the fresh migrant said all of a sudden.

"Which one?" the Chemist became interested. "In this? In that?" asked he whistling one after the other the tunes of the most popular church hymns.

At each tune the migrant vigorously shook his head.

"He probably means some National Anthem," I suggested to the Chemist and to the crowd which had gathered in the meantime in front of the counter. "In many languages the word 'hymn' means 'anthem'."

"In which hymn is the soup?" asked the Chemist.

"In English," answered the migrant.

The Chemist whistled the tune of English National Anthem.

"Yes, yes!" gladdened the migrant. "That him!"

"But there is no soup," argued the Chemist.

"Soup in words," explained the migrant.

"Well," said I. "The words are: God save our gracious Queen."

These words had a magic effect on the unusual customer.

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed he happily. "Yes, yes! God shave the Queen!"

"Oh, he is just a nut," said the girl behind the counter.

"And very cheeky at that!" said someone from the crowd.

"Better ring the police," said the Chemist to his assistant. "He is getting too nasty."

"He probably wish to have some shaving soap," I suggested.

"Yes, yes, shaving soup!" energetically confirmed the trouble-maker shining like a full moon.

And he at last got what he wanted.

See how easy it is to make yourself understood in this country even if you don't know English at all!