Thanks to the meticulous work of historical linguists, we don’t have to guess. While we lack audio recordings from the 10th century, we can reconstruct the sound of Old English with a high degree of confidence. By comparing it to other old Germanic languages (like Old Norse and Old High German), analyzing its spelling conventions, and studying the very structure of its poetry, we can piece together its lost phonology.

The Vowel System: Before the Great Shift

One of the biggest hurdles for a Modern English speaker is the vowels. Our language has been through the “Great Vowel Shift”, a massive, centuries-long change in pronunciation that transformed the sound of English. Old English existed long before this, so its vowels are more “pure”, like those in modern Italian or Spanish.

The most important rule is that every written vowel was pronounced. There were no silent ‘e’s at the end of words. The word nama (name) was two syllables: ‘na-ma’. Vowels also came in long and short pairs, and the difference in length could change a word’s meaning entirely. Scholars mark long vowels with a macron (a line over the letter), though this was rarely done in original manuscripts.

• a as in father, but shorter. The long version, ā, is the same sound held longer, like “ah”. (e.g., mann – man; ān – one)
• æ like the ‘a’ in cat. The long version, ǣ, is the same sound held longer. (e.g., þæt – that; dǣd – deed)
• e like the ‘e’ in bed. The long ē is like the ‘ay’ in say, but without the ‘y’ off-glide. (e.g., helpan – to help; fēt – feet)
• i like the ‘i’ in pin. The long ī is like the ‘ee’ in feet. (e.g., scip – ship; līf – life)
• o like the ‘o’ in Scottish loch or German Gott. The long ō is like the ‘o’ in go. (e.g., god – god; gōd – good)
• u like the ‘u’ in put. The long ū is like the ‘oo’ in food. (e.g., sunu – son; hūs – house)
• y is a trickier sound, not present in most Modern English dialects. It’s like the German ‘ü’ or French ‘u’. To make it, say “ee” but round your lips as if you were going to say “oo”. (e.g., cyning – king)

Old English also had diphthongs (two vowels blended into one syllable), such as ea (pronounced roughly ‘æ-ah’) and eo (‘eh-oh’). The first part of the blend was always stressed.

The Consonants: Familiar Friends with Secret Identities

Many Old English consonants are straightforward, but a few key letters had pronunciations that are very different from what a modern reader would expect.

Þorn (þ) and Eð (ð): The “Th” Twins

These two letters, thorn and eth, are the most iconic symbols of Old English. The good news? They’re simple. Both were used interchangeably to represent the sounds of “th”. They were voiceless (like the ‘th’ in thin) at the beginning or end of a word, and voiced (like the ‘th’ in this) when they appeared between vowels. So, þing (thing) starts with a voiceless ‘th’, but ōðer (other) has a voiced ‘th’.

The Chameleons ‘C’ and ‘G’

The letters ‘c’ and ‘g’ were the real shape-shifters of the alphabet. Their pronunciation depended on the vowels around them.

• The letter ‘c’ was either a hard ‘k’ sound or a ‘ch’ sound. Before a “back” vowel (a, o, u), it was a hard ‘k’, as in candel (candle). Before a “front” vowel (e, i, y), it was palatalized into a ‘ch’ sound, as in ċild (child) or ċēosan (to choose). Note the dot is a modern convention to help readers.
• The letter ‘g’ was even more versatile. Before back vowels, it was a hard ‘g’ like in gōd (good). Before front vowels, it was palatalized into a ‘y’ sound, like in ġēar (year). And between two back vowels or at the end of a word after a back vowel, it became a “voiced velar fricative” — a soft, guttural sound similar to the ‘g’ in Spanish luego or German sagen. The word boga (bow) would sound something like ‘bo-gha’.

The Guttural ‘H’ and the Rolling ‘R’

Like ‘c’ and ‘g’, the letter ‘h’ also had a dual nature. At the beginning of a word, it was the same aspirated sound we use today (e.g., hūs – house). But in the middle or at the end of a word, it became a voiceless velar fricative /x/ — the sound of the ‘ch’ in Scottish loch or German Bach. The word niht (night) was pronounced ‘neeht’, with a raspy sound at the end.

Finally, the ‘r’ was always rolled or trilled, as in modern Spanish, Italian, or Scottish English. It was a much more pronounced and percussive sound than the smooth ‘r’ of most Modern English accents. The word Gār-Dena would have a distinctly rolled ‘r’.

The Music of the Mead-Hall: Rhythm and Alliteration

Understanding the individual sounds is only half the battle. The true soul of Old English poetry lies in its rhythm. It wasn’t based on rhyme, but on a powerful, percussive system of stress and alliteration.

Each line was split into two half-lines, with a strong pause, or caesura, in the middle. Each half-line had two heavily stressed syllables.

The rule was simple: the first stressed syllable of the second half-line must alliterate (begin with the same sound) with one or both of the stressed syllables in the first half-line. Vowels were considered to alliterate with any other vowel.

Let’s return to that first line of Beowulf:

Hwæt! Wē Gār-Dena || in ġēardagum

The four stressed syllables are Hwæt, Gār-, ġēar-, and –dagum. The alliteration falls on the ‘g’ sound. (Remember that ‘ġ’ here is a ‘y’ sound, but it belongs to the ‘g’ family for alliterative purposes).

The pronunciation, approximately, would be:

[hwat | weː ˈgɑːrˌdenɑ || in ˈjæːɑrˌdɑɣum]

When spoken aloud, this structure creates a driving, hypnotic chant. It’s not smooth or lilting; it’s strong, deliberate, and forceful. It’s the sound of a story being proclaimed over the clamor of a fire-lit hall, designed to be heard and felt as much as understood.

Hearing the Echoes of Beowulf

So, what did Old English sound like? It was guttural and resonant, full of hard consonants, rolled ‘r’s, and pure vowels. It had a ch-sound where we now have ‘k’ (ċiriċe/church) and a ‘y’ sound where we have ‘g’ (ġiefan/give). When recited, its poetry pounded out a rhythm built on stress and consonant clashes, not soft rhymes.

It’s a language that sounds as epic as the stories it tells. While we may read it silently today, taking a moment to speak the words aloud—rolling the ‘r’s, sharpening the consonants, and feeling the alliterative pulse—brings us a little closer to the echoing world of the mead-hall and the powerful, spoken magic of Beowulf.