18 September 2009

Memories Are Made of This ...

Greetings,

Before we begin today's little ramble, I must get into grovel mode ...

OK ... gulp ... here we go ...

I owe an apology to Patricia O'Conner's husband, Stewart Kellerman, because I omitted any mention of him last week when I was telling you about Pat's new book Origin of the Specious. My defence is that even though both Pat and the Love of Her Life were involved in researching and writing the book, it was told in Pat's voice. A sensible decision, because it gets very confusing when you have two people telling you something at the same time.

Have you ever been to a social function when that happens? Of course you have ... we all have.

Husband starts relating a tale about a recent trip away, when wife passes by and adds her tuppence worth about some drama involved in booking tickets before they left. Husband remembers another detail about something someone said some time as they were researching their trip, which reminds wife of a similar comment from someone she met when ... Aargh!

I decided long ago that social functions are fraught with peril, and it's not just the danger of dying from the dullness of the occasion, you can also suffer serious ego damage, as today's tale will illustrate ...

As you will recall, in my Other Life I was a high school teacher, and for most of the 20+ years I lived that life, I loved it. It was a delight to greet the innocent little faces as they started their journey to adulthood, to watch them grow, to listen as their childish view of the world matured.

Being an English and History teacher, I had even more opportunities to get to know my students than teachers in other disciplines had, simply because these two subjects require lots of talking and thinking and expressing opinions.

And once upon a time, boys and girls, that's what people did in schools -- they learnt about the world; they read and discussed what had happened in the past so they could understand why their world was like it is today.

They read books that people had written centuries ago as well as books written in their own time, so they could understand that people face similar problems in all times. They talked about the different ways characters in these books coped with their problems and they wondered how they would react themselves.

And ... they listened -- to each other and to their teachers, because that is how the young learn, by exchanging ideas and having to defend their own opinions with carefully reasoned arguments.

It really was the best job in the world, and what made it so good is that even today, I still hear from a number of my ex-students, even though it's a bit of a jolt to get news about their children at high school. (I'm just in My Prime, remember?)

I also was brought up with a jolt a couple of years ago when I was at one of those social gatherings we were talking about earlier. This particular night, I'd met up with a couple whose son had been in my class in those halcyon days. As we chatted, I reminisced about the great times we'd had in class -- the way different students used to vie to be the first to present to the class some fascinating story they'd found in the library about Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar, the way they'd eagerly read and exchange all the marginal notes and comments I made on their essays, the way they'd all stay back after class to continue discussions about the finer points of a battle or foreign policy or poem or play or ...

I was waxing lyrical about the class this couple's son had been in and how much I'd enjoyed teaching them, when the mother commented, "Oh yes, they used to talk about you a lot." (I confess that at this moment I allowed myself a small smug smile -- not enough that anyone else would have noticed, but smug nevertheless, as I indulged myself in recollections about how I'd guided these young people through a small part of  their perilous journey towards adulthood. I'd shared with them some of the wisdom of our greatest writers, I'd given them insights into the actions of our most famous individuals, I'd helped them analyse some of the most momentous events in history. Hmmm ... not bad, if I do say so myself, at which point, I tuned back in to hear the rest of these flattering comments about my skills as a teacher ...)

"Yes," continued the mother, "they all really admired your chest."

And that, dear reader, is why we say, "Thanks for the mammaries."

Talk about a reality check! It was clear to me that I'd over-indulged in a little moonflaw, so I gave a tiny kype, a bit of a hurkle and set off in search of a skinker.

And if you know any of those words, I'd be very surprised!

These all come from a book called The Lost Beauties of The English Language, by Charles Mackay LL.D. (published in 1879) and unearthed by long-time member of our Merry Band, Ray Smith.

After coming across these words, Ray set forth on a quest to discover why and how words get dropped from dictionaries, alas without success. So I'm pleased to be able to ettle a little here. (Don't get your knickers in a knot, I'm going to tell you what all these words mean in a moment ... Patience, my child, patience ...)

I've told you about the Surgeon of Crowthorne who devoted much of his life to helping find quotations for words to be included in the ambitious dictionary compiled under the auspices of Oxford University in the mid-C19th. This was a requirement of editor, James Murray, who was trying to take a snapshot of the language as it was used at that time, so he demanded his team of volunteers find at least six quotations to illustrate the meaning of every word!

A list of words and a suitable list of books was provided for volunteers who then had to peruse their allotted references for the use of their words. These quotations were then used as the basis for coming up with an accepted definition of each word. It's truly mind-boggling, isn't it?

Can you imagine what it's like today for those trying to update dictionaries?

The same process is applied to the inclusion of new words -- a word has to be in usage as shown by the "rule of thumb is that any word can be included which appears five times, in five different printed sources, over a period of five years." This is how we get those lists of new words each year. Read a more detailed explanation of how words get into the dictionary in this week's Little Something Extra (you'll also see how you can help submit evidence for new words).

So that's how new words get in, but since the editors add words every edition, it's only natural that they have to remove some to make room for the newcomers. And the same process is involved in deciding which words get dropped. If a word hasn't appeared in a set number of publications for a set period of time, it's considered defunct and is removed from the Concise Oxford Dictionary (and other smaller dictionaries). This is why some academics, who have a special affection for particular words, keep trying to get their colleagues to use the word in journals and professional publications -- it's the only way to keep the word alive.

The only dictionary, however, which never drops words is the full OED.

And to end the suspense ...

moonflaw - a lunatic's flight of fancy

kype - grimace

hurkle - shrug of the shoulders

skinker - waiter

ettle -- to try. to attempt a task

I love 'em!

Here are more Lost Beauties Ray found:

Alderliefest: The dearest/best beloved of all.
Bauch: Insipid
Blashy: Thin or weak.
Bottle-thrall: A drunkard.
Choile: To over-reach.
Clamberscull: Any strong liquor.
Clointer: To walk heavily (interesting to compare with the Lancashire dialect word ‘clunter’).
Clouterly: Clumsily.
Dowie: Weary, Worn out.
Drumble: To go about one’s work in a confused and awkward manner.
Fadge: To suit, to agree to.
Flurch: A great abundance.
Forswat: Worn out with hard work.
Gainstrive: To contend with, or struggle against.
Glaverer: A flatterer or sycophant
Gleek: To scoff at.
Glumpse: Sullenness or sulkiness.
Inwit: A person’s conscience.
Jobbernowle: A dull, stupid person.
Jumply: Suitably or appropriately.
Koister: A lout, or ill mannered person.
Lob’s pond: The House of Correction (A ‘Lob’ was an idler or ne’er do well).
Losengerie: Flattery, lying
Murge: To rejoice
Noggle: To walk awkwardly
Opetide: The early spring.
Ourie: Shivering with cold.
Pingle: To pick at one’s food.
Plouter: To engage in dirty work or skulduggery.
Quert: Joyful.
Quillet: A play upon words.
Roaky: Nebulous, dull, unclear.
Royny: Mangy.
Sculsh: Unripe or poor quality food (As found in mediaeval burger chains).
Seremonth: The month of August.
Skinker: A waiter or barman.
Stichel: A term of reproach implying want of manhood.
Thigster: A beggar.
Thrimmel: To part with money reluctantly.
Urf: A stunted underdeveloped child.
Vothman: An outlaw
Wandought: A silly weak person.
Werish: Unsavoury, tasteless.
Whuffler: A doubter or cynic.
Yex: To hiccough.
Youste: Favour or goodwill.

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This week's quiz:

I gave you some curly -ine words last week ... here are some of the more well-known examples:

Match them up ...

deer, cat, eagle, rabbit, deer, goat, crow, fish, donkey, snake, cattle, pig, crab, lion, dog, fox, wolf, horse

Last week's quiz:

murine, cervine, larine, ursine, ranine, strigine, pardine, hircine, anserine, pavonine

1. of or pertaining to owls - STRIGINE

2. characteristic of or resembling a gull - LARINE

3. of or pertaining to a leopard - PARDINE

4. belonging or pertaining to the family of rodents that includes the mice and rats - MURINE

5. resembling a goose; gooselike - ANSERINE

6. of, like or pertaining to a deer - CERVINE

7. of or like a peacock - PAVONINE

8. of, pertaining to or resembling a goat - HIRCINE

9. relating to or characteristic of frogs - RANINE

10. relating to or characteristic of a bear - URSINE

And a story about a person of indeterminate hair colour ...

A a person of indeterminate hair colour was playing Trivial Pursuit one night, and it was her turn. She rolled the dice and she landed on Science & Nature. Her question was, "If you are in a vacuum and someone calls your name, can you hear it?"

She thought for a time and then asked, "Is it on or off?"

A Little Something Extra

A more detailed explanation of how words are added to the dictionary here

OED new words here

Shorter OED new words list here

And how the Oxford dictionaries are revised here

The current revision of the OED being undertaken here

Word of the week: Pleiad (n) group of (usually seven) brilliant persons or things. Named after the seven daughters of the titan Atlas and sea-nymph Pleione in Greek mythology.

Oxymoron of the week: bank customer service

And you could probably have used this week's Latin phrase earlier ...

Nescio quid dicas

[NAYS-kee-oh KWEED DEE-kahs]