My Polish-born, Jewish grandparents worked tirelessly when they first arrived, to become what they thought was 'as British as roast beef' (or roost beefs, as my nanny called it). A simple change of name, and Yehuda and Rivka Sztajnberg became Andrew and Elizabeth (Betty) Flowers. My grandfather's brother Moishele, their only relative in Britain, became George Flowers at the same time.
But somehow, despite my grandparents lifetime of linguistic struggles, to me they never seemed anything other than the most English of English.
Who knows why they chose those names, the logic of immigrants is unfathomable. George and Elizabeth were the names of the much-loved King and Queen at the time, and Andrew was the 
name of the patron saint of Scotland, where my grandparents first started their new life. But the important thing was that they were names that they hoped 'British people' could look at without frowning at their foreign-ness and total unpronouncability. Strange combinations of Z's, K's, and I's, and multi-consonant pile-ups were like a public announcement telling people 'We're not from here'. And at that time in Britain, if you weren't 'from here', then you fell into the single other category of 'FOREIGN'. Regardless of whether you were black or white, Christian or Jew, a king or a peasant, when people spoke about you, they would inevitably incorporate one of the following suffixes:
name of the patron saint of Scotland, where my grandparents first started their new life. But the important thing was that they were names that they hoped 'British people' could look at without frowning at their foreign-ness and total unpronouncability. Strange combinations of Z's, K's, and I's, and multi-consonant pile-ups were like a public announcement telling people 'We're not from here'. And at that time in Britain, if you weren't 'from here', then you fell into the single other category of 'FOREIGN'. Regardless of whether you were black or white, Christian or Jew, a king or a peasant, when people spoke about you, they would inevitably incorporate one of the following suffixes:1) He's a very nice man, although he is foreign.
2) You'd never know from looking at them that they were foreign, would you.
3) I expect they do that where they come from.
4) He's not English, but he's still a very nice man.
So, my grandparents set out on their mission. Objective: Total Anglicisation!
Despite living (rather illogically) in a predominantly Jewish area, surrounded by numerous 'landsmen', they worked hard to change languages and master English. My grandfather did quite a good job, but for my grandmother, it wasn't quite as easy. Even after seventy years in Britain, she never did learn the art of 'crisp consonants', and words beginning with the letter 'D' always sounded as if she had lost the end of her tongue.
Although nobody in my family (particularly my grandmother) ever seemed to notice her constant 'linguistic free-styling', her errors were truly epic, especially when it came to colloquial phrases.
Something considered unimportant was 'like water off a pig's back', and things were often 'on the tip of her mouth'. As alike as chalk and cheese translated as 'they're the same as coal and roses', and greedy people were very likely to 'take the eyes from your head' or 'the tongue from a blind man's mouth'. And instead of being given a piece of her mind when we were bad, we were given (rather unpleasantly) a 'piece of her tongue'.
She created memorable, if slightly un-natural pairs, such as nuts & screws, night & dark, and cats & frogs. And almost everything which wasn't supposed to have a definite article seemed to acquire one. We would never think of talking about 'the cancer', and 'the swimming' was something good for the 'peace and mind'.
But somehow, despite my grandparents lifetime of linguistic struggles, to me they never seemed anything other than the most English of English.
