Grace Tierney's Blog, page 16

Millibars and the Sea Area Forecast

Hello,

This week’s word, thanks to my current writing project (“Words the Weather Gave Us”), is about the word history of millibars, with a little history of my early introduction to weather forecasts thanks to my Dad. I hope you enjoy this early draft extract.

Sea Area Forecast – fine with good visibility

Extract from “Words the Weather Gave Us” by Grace Tierney, copyright 2022

The first weather term I ever recognised as such was millibar. My dad loved the radio, or wireless as he called it, and it was always playing when he and I ate breakfast together before school and work. If I was running on time I’d catch the sea area forecast.

Many countries provide this service in one form or another but naturally the RTÉ radio forecast was the one I grew up with. Neither of us would leave home and head for a ferry or fishing boat, but there was something magical about the calm voice of the announcer and his litany of sea areas and their pressure status and forecast. Living by the coast the forecast did let us know if we’d need to bring an umbrella.

You can find some extracts from these forecasts online thanks to YouTube, even one dating back to 1939. Listening again brought me back in time. Here’s a text extract from a 2014 one I found online –

“… wind southwest force five or six, weather patchy light rain or drizzle mainly in the north, visibility moderate or poor … Malin head … 1118 rising slowly … the visibility at Tuskar lighthouse is greater than ten miles … Valentia southwest nine knots fair seven miles 1026 rising slowly”.

It moves around all the points of our coast, checking the wind speed, temperature, conditions, pressure, outlook, visibility. The locations gained near mythic status in my mind and at one stage I would have been able to recite the various sea areas in order much better than I could ever recall lines of “Macbeth” for my exams. The version I found online didn’t include the word millibar but the earlier ones I adored definitely gave the units of pressure as millibars – for example “1023 millibars, falling slowly”. They never seemed to rise or fall quickly.

The reason millibar wasn’t in the 2014 forecast was because on the 1st of January 1986, with a quick pen stroke, the millibar died and was replaced with the hectopascal (hPa for short), the new internationally recognised unit. Fortunately they are numerically equivalent so 1032 hPa is the same as 1032 millibars. Of course the pascal in all this is with thanks to Blaise Pascal (1623- 1662) the French mathematician, inventor, writer, and physicist who, amongst his many other works, experimented with barometers.

The sequence of the forecast was – Malin Head, Fair Head, Belfast Lough, Strangford Lough, Carlingford Lough, Howth Head, Wicklow Head, Carnsore Point, Hook Head, Dungarvan, Roches Point, Mizen Head, Valentia, Loop Head, Slyne Head, Erris Head, Rossan Point, Bloody Foreland. As a keen coastal and lighthouse lover I’ve visited most of these classic Irish headlands in the years since but at the time the only one I knew was Howth Head. They could have been lands of fantasy and fable for all I knew, but I knew what weather they would encounter that day. Job done, we departed for our day.

A millibar is a unit of barometric pressure which joined English in the early 1900s. The word is formed by joining milli (thousand) and bar (unit of pressure). The milli part comes from Latin mille (thousand). The bar part was coined in 1903 from Greek baros (weight) because it’s all about the weight of the air above a given point on the earth’s surface from ground level to the upper atmosphere. All very scientific but the history of this word can’t catch the memory of the Irish sea area forecast with my dad. 1018 millibars falling slowly.

{end of extract}

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. It’s day 21 of the 30 days NaNoWriMo 2022 writing challenge and I’m on 39,535 words.

p.p.s. “Modern Words with Old Roots”, a digital exclusive Wordfoolery mini-book will be out very soon. Watch this space!

p.p.p.s. My intention is to remain on Twitter but if you’re worried about missing my word history chatter, your best bet is to subscribe to this blog. There’s a Sign Me Up button at the top of the sidebar if you’re on a laptop, or tap the Follow button at the bottom of your phone screen. A monthly email newsletter is in the works too.

Weather Words – Cloudburst

Hello,

This week’s word, thanks to my current writing project (“Words the Weather Gave Us”), is a rainy one – cloudburst. I hope you enjoy this early draft extract.

Extract from “Words the Weather Gave Us” by Grace Tierney, copyright 2022

A cloudburst is defined as a sudden very heavy rainfall, usually local in nature and of brief duration.

Most are associated with thunderstorms. This is because the violent uprushes of air in the thunderstorm prevents raindrops from falling to the ground in the normal manner. More water accumulates in the clouds overhead until the uprush weakens and then the whole lot drops in one great down pouring of rain.

Cloudbursts are most common in mountainous areas because of the effect of the mountain slopes on the air currents within the thunderstorm. One such cloudburst produced 63mm (2.47 inches) in just 3 minutes in Porto Bello, Panama on the 29th of November 1911.

The word cloudburst is a compound of cloud and burst. It first appeared in American English in the early 1800s. Cloud’s surprisingly solid origins are explained in the introduction to the Cloud Cuckoo Land chapter.

Burst arrived in English in the 1600s from the verb of the same name with the meaning of the act of bursting, a sudden issuing forth. It was also widely used by Austen, Coleridge, and Browning with an additional sense of a sudden opening out of a view. Perhaps that might happen after a cloudburst when the clouds cleared away. Miss Austen wouldn’t have recognised the threatening Hiberno-English slang of “Come here and I’ll burst ya” (come over and I’ll punch you, presumably until you burst open).

{end of extract}

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. It’s day 14 of the 30 days NaNoWriMo 2022 writing challenge and I’m on 25,407 words.

p.p.s. My intention is to remain on Twitter but if you’re worried about missing my word history chatter there, your best bet is to subscribe to this blog. There’s a Sign Me Up button at the top of the sidebar if you’re on a laptop, or tap the Follow button at the bottom of your phone screen. I’m also seriously considering starting a monthly email newsletter – you have been warned!

p.p.p.s. I’m frantically trying to finish “Modern Words with Old Roots”, a digital exclusive Wordfoolery mini-book (e.g. shorter than the main Words series), to have it out before Christmas. As I won’t be releasing “Words Christmas Gave Us” (ebook & paperback & possibly hardback too) until 2023, you can use “Modern Words with Old Roots” to keep you going in the meantime. Watch this space!

Weather Words – Anemometer

Hello,

This week’s word, thanks to my current writing project (“Words the Weather Gave Us”), is a windy one – the anemometer. I hope you enjoy this early draft extract.

Extract from “Words the Weather Gave Us” by Grace Tierney, copyright 2022

An anemometer is a tool used to measure windspeed and direction. One is found in most weather recording stations. The earliest description of one is by the Italian architect Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472) in 1450 but many scientists and inventors have refined the device since then.

Rolling waves at my local beach on a very windy day

The basic form has three or four hemispherical cups on horizontal arms mounted on a vertical shaft. The wind flowing past the cups turns the shaft at a rate roughly in line with the windspeed so counting the revolutions of the shaft over a time interval provides an average windspeed. It needs to be adjusted for drag, torque, and positioned correctly (i.e. not sheltered by buildings) but that’s the general idea. They are vital kit for airports, wind turbines, and weather stations and come in a wide variety of forms.

The word anemometer arrived in English in the early 1700s. It’s compounded from anemo (wind) and meter (measuring device). Meter comes from the Greek word metron (measure). Anemo comes from the Greek word anemos (wind). Anemos arose from a Proto-Indo-European root word ane (to breathe).

Ane forms part of many English words such as anemone, animate, animal, animosity, and equanimity. It is believed to have provided the roots of words in many other languages too such as animus in Latin (soul, life, consciousness), anadl (breath) in Welsh, animn (soul) in Old Irish (in modern Irish soul is anam but name is ainm, which is curious), anda (to breathe) in Old Norse and many others related to breathing and soul.

We may not be able to measure our souls, but using an anemometer weather forecasters can record the breathing of the planet, the wind.

{end of extract}

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. It’s day seven of the 30 days NaNoWriMo 2022 writing challenge and I’m on 13,048 words.

p.p.s. My intention is to remain on Twitter but if you’re worried about missing my word history chatter there, your best bet is to subscribe to this blog. There’s a Sign Me Up button at the top of the sidebar if you’re on a laptop, or tap the Follow button at the bottom of your phone screen.

From Old English to Modern Slang – Slay’s Story

Hello,

Today is Halloween and it feels like the right day to explore the history of one of my teens’ favourite words at the moment – slay.

Happy Halloween from my Odin Pumpkin!

I’m more Buffy the Vampire Slayer era myself, but they use slay to indicate anything or anybody who is particularly excellent. Could be a great new outfit, a particularly brave life move, or simply applauding a terrific verbal putdown. Urban Dictionary reckons it relates to killing something (“his new song slayed“), #AnotherDayAnotherSlay for general awesomeness, or “You slay” (you look amazing).

Slay, however, massively predates its current slang usage. In Old English you had versions for both verb and noun use. The noun slae was a tool used by weavers to beat the weft threads on their loom into shape. It came from a root word about striking something and it yields an old surname – Slaymaker (originally somebody who made slays for the weaving trade).

The verb form of slay in Middle English was slen and came from slean in Old English (to strike or to kill with a weapon) and ProtoGermanic root word slahanan (to hit) which yields similar words in Old Norse, Frisian, Danish, Dutch, German, and Gothic. In Modern German you’ll still find schlagen (to strike).

Slay had many meanings in Old English. In the mid 1300s you could be slayed by overwhelming delight which isn’t that far from some of the modern slang meanings. You could also slay weapons (forge them), slay a tent (pitch it), slay the harp (play it), or slay coins (stamp them). It was an important verb for any vigorous striking action. Although it does make me wonder if harp-playing was more violent in the old days.

Until next time, happy Halloween reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

Antediluvian isn’t a Very Old Word

Hello,

This week’s word is antediluvian and it neatly ties together the research I’ve been doing this month. In either an ambitious or foolhardy (and hey, the name is Wordfoolery) move I’ve been working on two books at the same time this month. The first, “Modern Words with Old Roots”, is planned to be a short ebook and the second, “Words the Weather Gave Us”, will be book number five in my main Words Series. I was hoping to get the first finished before drafting the second during NaNoWriMo 2022 (starting in a mere eight days, yikes!) but I have a sneaking suspicion I shall have to work on both next month.

Antediluvian links both as it’s a word the weather gave us but also has old roots, at least in one sense.

What does it mean? It’s a way to describe a person or behaviour as being antiquated and old-fashioned. Literally it translates as “before Noah’s flood” and is formed by joining two Latin terms ante and diluvium. Ante which you may recall from ante-natal care (before birth medical care) comes from a root word relating to a forehead. Diluvium is related to deluge, a flood, and in particular the great world flood described in the Bible and avoided by Noah in his ark.

Did Noah wear wellies on the ark?

If somebody calls you antediluvian they’re saying you’re older than Noah, definitely ageist!

The word wasn’t a direct import from the Romans. It was coined by Sir Thomas Browne, an English physician, during the 1680s (when he was in his 70s) and has been used ever since to disparage in a witty way. So while this word is old, it’s not as old as Noah but it does relate to floods, and hence to weather. I don’t hear it being used very much anymore so I think it may be passing from mainstream use. Literature of the 1800s and 1900s was littered with biblical references but with an increasingly secular society I can’t help wondering if those references are missed by more modern readers? Antediluvian may suffer the same fate.

As for Sir Thomas Browne – he is described as a polymath (great word!) and his writings on various topics, including debunking commonly held myths of his time, are described as witty. Might be worth a browse if you’re at a loose end today, but I’m heading back to pre-NaNoWriMo work mode.

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

Ever Wonder Where Doomscrolling Came From?

Hello,

This week’s word is a modern one with old roots – doomscrolling. You may be immune to this online habit, if so here’s the definition – “the tendency to continue to surf or scroll through bad news, even though that news is saddening, disheartening, or depressing.” (Merriam Webster)

While the term is particularly associated with the compulsion to read all the Covid news while stuck at home, it was in use around social media from about 2015. Perhaps in earlier times our ancestors doom-read with printed newspapers as it certainly appears to be a natural inclination for humans.

As you might guess, doomscrolling is compounded from doom and scroll, both of which are words with old roots.

Doom entered Old English as dom (a law, judgement, etc.) from the ProtoGermanic root word domaz. The same root provides similar words to Old Saxon, Frisian, and Norse. A book of laws in Old English was a dombec. By Middle English, doom had acquired extra letters and was spelled doome.

The association of doom with fate or destruction began in the early 1300s and was widespread by the 1600s. Doom was, by then, associated with the term doomsday – the day of judgement in Christian faiths and the end of the world as we know it. The link between laws and judgement is pretty clear.

You may recall the Doomsday Book – commissioned by William the Conqueror, it was completed in 1086, is held in the UK National Archives and can be accessed online so if you really want to doomscroll you could try that as a source. In this case it’s not filled with bad news, or laws as it’s a listing of land and assets throughout England. Its contents were as undeniable as laws, hence the name, and it was useful to the king so he knew what he owned and what he was owed in taxes.

Scrolling to show part of the information on a computer/phone screen has been in use since the 1980s but originally that verb meant to write information down in a scroll, so just how old is scrolling?

Scroll the noun entered English around 1400 spelled as scroule or scrowell (a roll of parchment or paper) with links to the word rolle (roll) as the paper was rolled up for safe storage and transport. It arrived via Anglo-French from Old French escroe (roll of parchment), which came from Frankish, and ultimately from a ProtoGermanic root word.

The Dead Sea Scrolls (dating to the third century B.C.) are probably the most famous old scrolls but as parchment doesn’t always survive the centuries it’s hard to be sure of how far back in time scrolls go. Old roots indeed for doomscrolling.

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

The Ancient Word Roots of Crisis

Hello,

Recently I’ve been exploring modern words with ancient roots and I was surprised to find Hippocrates (yes, the one that gave us the oath) taking a hand in the history of the word crisis. Here’s a quick extract from “Modern Words with Old Roots” (copyright 2022) to explain what I’m talking about —

After two years of pandemic news followed by the outbreak of war in Europe and resulting energy issues (and that’s before I get started on climate change) when I hear the word crisis on the news, I think – “oh no, not another one”. It is easy to believe such things only happen in our own lifetimes, but of course that’s false. The word crisis has been around for a very long time.

Crisis literally means “the ability to judge” and entered English in the early 1400s via Latin but ultimately from the Greek word krisis (turning point in disease). Krisis comes from a root word krei (to sieve, hence to discriminate or decide).

Yes, crisis started in a medical context. Hippocrates (the ancient Greek “Father of Medicine” who inspired the hippocratic oath) believed all diseases had ebbing and flowing tides of the body’s humours (blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm – in case you’re wondering). These tidal days he called critical days and the tide itself was a crisis because the physician could judge if the patient was taking a turn for good or ill.

By the 1600s, crisis was being used in a non-medical sense too, and still is today. The Germans, who have some wonderfully direct words, created my favourite crisis term – Torschlusspanik – which translates literally as a “door shut panic”, the fear of being on the wrong side of a closing door, to perfectly describe a mid-life crisis.

{end of extract}

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

Exchequer’s Checkered Past

Hello,

With all the news about British government finances this week (not to mention the annual budget in Ireland too) I couldn’t resist exploring the checkered past of the word exchequer today.

A checkered past has a fun history too. Apparently it dates to the 1800s and refers to the various shades of checked cloth being like the dark, light, and mixed tones of a person’s life and deeds. None of us are totally pure, everybody’s character is somewhat mixed.

The exchequer’s history was one I read about this week. I’m working my way through “Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable” (I’ve reached the letter E) and the story amused me.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer in the UK is the government’s chief financial officer and is responsible for spending, taxes, and borrowing. In Ireland this role is performed by the Minister for Finance. I believe the Secretary of the Treasury does this task in the USA.

The word exchequer entered English as early as 1100 at which time it was a noun for a chessboard or checkerboard. It was a direct borrowing from Anglo-French where is was spelled as escheker (the introduction of the x in the English spelling is thanks to the mistaken belief that the word was Latin in origin). Escheker came from Old French eschequier, and Latin scaccarium. The Romans had already borrowed the terms and game from their Persian roots, as discussed in my previous post about checkmate, so ultimately exchequer’s roots are Persian.

The connection of chess to public finances arose fairly soon thereafter. Under the Norman kings the accounts of the royal household and crown revenues were calculated using counters placed on a large cloth divided into squares. The cloth covered a table and reminded people of chess boards, hence the name.

The UK government’s accounts are no longer calculated using counters on a piece of squared cloth (I hope), but the exchequer name stuck.

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

Modern Word Stories – Meme

Hello,

This week I’m starting to write “Modern Words with Old Roots”, a shorter book to tide over readers until my next “Words Series” book is out in 2023. I’ve gathered some really interesting candidate words – from avatar to zarf – and can’t wait to get stuck in. In the meantime, please allow me to present the story behind memes. This is definitely a modern word, but it doesn’t have the most ancient of backstories, except for a little borrowing from Greek.

Firstly, what is a meme? It has two standard definitions but let’s begin with the more modern one – a meme is an image, video, cartoon, or text (usually humourous) which is copied and spread rapidly by internet users, often with slight variations. One I enjoy is an extract from a film featuring Hitler berating his underlings in his command centre. Various witty people have changed the subtitles to address contemporary issues. There was a great one circulating in the Irish internet space, when pubs were closed during the Covid pandemic, which depicted Hitler’s yearning for a pint of Guinness, for example, but plenty of variations exist.

Memes are those silly things which make us all laugh and give us a new angle on a topic of the day. By their very nature they are often fleeting, yet are widely spread. Internet memes first arose in the 1990s.

The second definition is more scientific – an element of culture or behaviour passed from one individual to another by imitation or other non-genetic means. The science and genetic part gives us a clue about the roots of this word. The date and origin of this definition is surprisingly precise because it springs from a book, “The Selfish Gene” (1976) by the evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins.

He coined the term to describe a unit of what he calls “cultural transmission”. Drawing on the Greek verb mimeisthai (to imitate) which is the root of the English word mime, he shortened it and merged it with the idea of a gene to create meme. He also references the French word même (same) and suggests that it rhymes with cream.

Dawkins is best known for his strong defenses of evolutionary biology and his atheist principles, but yes, it’s him we need to thank for internet memes.

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

Weather Words – Nimbus

Hello,

It’s that time of year again. Pumpkin spice may be back on your local menu, if you’re in the northern hemisphere you’ll be kicking through leaf piles, students are returning to education (my eldest started at university today), but for me it also heralds preparation for National Novel Writing Month in November.

If you’ve been thinking about taking part, don’t panic. I start early because I’m a mentor for the Ireland North East region. This means I need to order bits and bobs from the USA, which take ages to arrive, plus I feel obliged to declare my own writing project early (yes, the mentors, called municipal liaisons, write their own novels while cheer-leading their writers and running forums and meetings). This year’s project will be my fifth etymology book – “Words the Weather Gave Us” (the first draft). I decided that as everybody loves to discuss the weather I might as well provide some fun words to use in the conversation. I hope you approve.

Regular readers will be counting on their fingers right now and saying – “fifth?”. Yes, there is a fourth book – “Words Christmas Gave Us” but thanks to a variety of factors (family illness, elderly parent, and timing issues on cover design) I found it impossible to launch it in time for Christmas 2022. As it’s a bad idea to launch a Christmas book in April that one is going to be on hold for about a year, unfortunately. But trust me, it will be worth the wait. I honestly think it may be the best Wordfoolery book yet as the stories I found during my research were brilliant. Don’t fret, I’ll let you all know when it’s getting close to release. I’m toying with the idea of a small digital download or ebook to tide over readers during my book drought, but I’m still fine-tuning my ideas on that one.

Anyhow, back to weather and weather words. I’ll be covering any I can find (please feel free to suggest some in the comments – any I use will earn you a spot in the book acknowledgements) plus plenty of weather myths, superstitions, and phrases – yes I’ll try to get to the bottom of “raining cats and dogs”.

Hence this week’s word is a weather word – nimbus. A nimbus is either a large grey cloud (the heavy puffy ones which often precede rain) or a luminous cloud or halo surrounding a supernatural being or saint. You can see plenty of the clouds in my photo of the Dunbrody famine ship below (famine ships took Irish people desperate to leave the Great Famine of 1845-1852 to places like America – the Irish population dropped by 25% during those years).

Nimbus clouds, Captain!

Nimbus joined English in the early 1600s directly from the same word in Latin (cloud) which may have been related to nebula (cloud or mist) from a probable root word nebh (cloud). The root word yielded words in many languages relating to heaven (or the Norse versions), clouds, and fog.

By the 1700s, you’d find nimbus being used in the world of art to describe the halo, often painted in gilt, to indicate the sainthood of the person depicted.

According the Century Dictionary the shape of the nimbus was significant. God the father had a triangular nimbus (possible connection to the idea of the Holy Trinity there, I would guess), Christ had a cross-shaped one for obvious reasons, Mary had a plain circle, while angels and saints often had a circle of rays. Finally if you were painted with a square nimbus this indicated you were alive when the artist was at work. I’ve visited many galleries and churches in my time and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that last one but now I will have my eyes peeled for it.

Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Don’t forget if you have favourite weather words, phrases, terms, or superstitions – please drop them in the comments!