Grace Tierney's Blog, page 7

The Equine Roots of Shoo-in

Hello,

I was reading an article this morning and the author said that somebody wasn’t a shoo-in for a new political role. It stopped me in my tracks as I realised a) although I use this phrase in speech I’ve never written it down and b) it’s spelled shoo-in not shoe-in.

Naturally, that made shoo-in a shoo-in for this morning’s blog post.

shoe-in or shoo-in

A shoo-in is an easy winner, especially in politics. The expression dates to the early 1900s and is formed by joining shoo and in. I’m assuming you know about the word in, but what about shoo? It’s much older, dating to the early 1600s with shoo being what you’d call out to drive away birds or other creatures. This possibly started with hens and was earlier spelled as shou. There are similar words in various languages – chou in French, schu in German, sou in Greek – but we can’t trace the roots back any further.

How do we get from hens to politicians? It’s easy if you hop on a horse.

A shoo-in during the 1930s was a horse who wins thanks to race-fixing. A jockey would hold back their own horse and shoo the winner across the finish line. If you bet on a shoo-in you’d go home a happy punter.

It was a short, and rapid, move from the world of crooked horse-races to the idea of a person being a shoo-in for a political job and the expression stuck.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder. There will be a new issue later this week.

Weather Word – Swithin

Hello,

Today is the feast of St. Swithin (the 15th of July) and as I’ve been working on “Words Weather Gave Us” for a while now (hopefully due out in 2025) I thought I’d share what I’ve discovered about this particular weather story. It’s not totally complete, expect a longer tale in the book version.

St. Swithin’s Day {extract from “Words Weather Gave Us” by Grace Tierney}

The lore of St. Swithin’s Day is that if it rains on his feast day it will rain on each of the following forty days. That’s a forecast most would wish to avoid. The young Swithin was a devout and ambitious monk in Wessex, in the south of England. He was popular with King Egbert of Wessex who asked him to educate his son Ethelwulf.

This was a great honour and turned out well for Swithin. When Ethelwulf left his studies behind and became king he appointed his former tutor to the position of Lord Bishop of Winchester, a prime post at the time.

The bishop was famous for his humble nature. When he threw a banquet he would invite the poor and needy rather than the rich and noble. After his death in 862 he was buried, at his request, in a lowly spot where the rain from the cathedral roof would spill onto his grave, and there he lay for a century.

This holy man’s reputation grew after his demise. Miracles were alleged to have occurred at his grave. The monks decided such a saint’s grave should lie within the cathedral inside a richly decorated golden shrine as befitted his fame. The day set for the transferal of his bones was the 15th of July 971.

According to the story a wild storm raged on the day so the move was postponed. The next day it rained again. It rained for forty days and forty night and eventually the monks took the hint and cancelled the entire move. A simple chapel was erected at the original grave instead.

Meteorologists largely ignore this particular superstition and weather records have thrown doubt on its accuracy but similar stories exist in other countries. In Scotland St. Martin Bullion controls the weather for forty days from the 4th of July. In France several saints share the role – Benedict, Medard, Protase, and Anne. The Belgians have Godelieve on the 27th of July. Italians look to Bartholomew and the Germans know the story of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.

Regardless of origin all share the Biblical reference to forty days and forty nights – a truly long-range weather forecast.

{end of extract}

Unfortunately where I live, it rained today, so our summer may have fallen foul of St. Swithin.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

The Equine Roots of Currying Favour

Hello,

I stumbled across the story of this phrase in “Humble Pie and Cold Turkey” by Caroline Taggart and had to investigate as there aren’t that many words which come to the English dictionary with thanks to a horse.

Currying favour has nothing to do with the spicy curry you might eat. The confusion is thanks to how the phrase has changed in speech over time.

One of my regular sources (Etymology Online) explains the meaning. To curry favour (or to curry favor) is to flatter and seek favour by courtesy and kindness. It dates back to the 1500s and came to English form Old French corrier fauvel which means to be hypocritical but translates literally as to curry the chestnut horse. In medieval French allegorical tales chestnut horses are symbols of cunning and deceit. There’s a similar expression in German “falben hengst streichen” meaning to flatter or cajole but literally translating as to stroke the dun-coloured horse.

The association of horses with duplicity had linguistic roots. Fauvel meant a chestnut horse but the similar word favele meant deception. It comes from fabula (fable) in Latin. In Middle English favel was a common name for a horse but the same word in French meant duplicity. The connection was an easy one to make.

Let’s look at both words. To curry a horse dates to the late 1200s. This word for grooming is from curreier in Anglo-French and before that from correier (to put in order) in Old French.

Favour came to English at the same time for beauty and charm from Old French favor (a favour, approval, praise) so one could argue that the American English spelling of favor should be chosen over the British English spelling favour, but I won’t jump into that debate! Originally it came from favorem (good will) in Latin and was coined by Cicero from the verb favere (to show kindness to).

However the word favour in currying favour is an eggcorn. An eggcorn is a word or phrase that arises from mishearing or misunderstanding the original. Somebody may use sir name instead of surname, or tow the line instead of toe the line. In this case it’s curry favour instead of curry Fauvel.

Fauvel was the main character in the 1300s poem “Roman de Fauvel” by Gervais de Bus and Chaillou de Pesstain. Fauvel was a chestnut horse (see above for ideas about chestnut horses at that time period) that managed to con his way into his owner’s home and became the master in his place. In the story, many people sought his approval (thanks to https://grammarist.com/idiom/curry-favor/ for this information). The poem was popular in Britain, and the phrase currying Fauvel came to mean flattering a false leader for personal gain. With time the poem was forgotten but the phrase remained and became currying favour.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

p.p.s. this post contains affiliate links which make a small payment to the blog if you choose to purchase through them. #CommissionsEarned. Alternatively, you can use my digital tip jar to say thanks for this year’s words.

The Butcher, the Acrobat, and the History of the Word Titch

Hello,

It appears to be inevitable that when I release a book or download, I immediately find a perfect word which I missed. This week, after releasing “Words People and Places Gave Us” (a selection of eponyms and toponyms, free to read in pdf) I then stumbled over the story of two men who gave us the word titch for somebody being small. So here it is. Think of it as a titchy eponymous postscript.

A titchy bear called Barnaby

Once upon a time (the 1860s-1870s to be more precise) there was a grieving mother whose 25 year old son and heir, Roger, had been reported lost at sea during a voyage to South America. He was due to inherit the ninth largest fortune in England, along with the title Baron of Titchbourne.

She refused to accept his death and dispatched agents far and wide to find him.

Perhaps unsurprisingly given the bait, a man turned up to claim he was Roger. The mother agreed with the claim despite his plump and fair physique contrasting with the original Roger’s slim and dark appearance. To establish his claim he took a court case which lasted 102 days and gripped the nation.

The court found that new Roger was actually a butcher from Wapping called Arthur Orton and he was guilty of perjury, although Lady Titchbourne supported his claim until her own death. Orton was imprisoned but used his fame to raise money for an appeal, which failed. In 1884 he was released and toured music halls and circuses thanks to his notoriety. Ultimately he died in poverty.

The fake Roger became so well-known that a few music hall performers adopted his name to promote their own shows. One of these was an acrobat called Harry Relph who called himself Little Titch and who was only 4 feet six inches in height. In the end it was his own height, rather than the notorious court case, which associated the word titch with the idea of being short.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

Who Put the Martens into Doc Martens?

Hello,

This week, to celebrate the launch of my latest wordy download “Words People and Places Gave Us” (it’s a free pdf, why not check it out?), I’m sharing the story of who put the Martens into Doc Martens boots and shoes.

Pistol, rubiks, ogham, doc martens, magnet – “Words People and Places Gave Us”

I’ve been wearing these boots for more than 30 years (although the scruffy ones pictured are my daughter’s) and always wondered if there was a real doctor behind the story. I was particularly delighted to find they were first adopted by mature German women – thus giving me permission to wear them into my eighties!

Extract from “Words People and Places Gave Us” by Grace Tierney

{copyright Grace Tierney 2024}

Doc Martens

These boots were made for walking, as the song goes. Doc Martens boots entered English in 1977 (or possibly a little earlier) thanks to a trademark taken out by Herbert Funck and Klaus Martens of West Germany.

Klaus Marten (or Martens) was a doctor in the German Army during World War II. In 1945, Klaus, aged 25, returned to Madrid with an injured foot.

With the help of Dr. Herbert Funch, an old friend from his university days, Klaus created boots that were more comfortable and practical with an air-cushioned rather than a traditional leather sole.

They used old military supplies to move the shoe into production and within a decade, became a booming business whose main customers were women over the age of 40 who wanted comfortable footwear.

The rights to the boots were sold in 1959 to R. Griggs Group, a British shoe manufacturer, who added features, including the iconic yellow stitching. In Britain the boots were sold as work-boots and by the 1960s they were picked up by younger wearers and various subcultures, cementing their image as a rebellious fashion boot.

The company expanded and went through changes but in 2021 Doc Martens were listed on the London Stock Exchange for £3.7 billion in value. A long way from a post-war product made with military surplus.

{end of extract}

I hope you enjoyed that extract from “Words People and Places Gave Us”. You might like the other 56 eponyms and toponyms included. If you want even more words then check out “How to Get Your Name in the Dictionary”, my earlier book on the subject, all the ways to get it are listed here.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

The Origin of the term White Elephant

Hello,

Friends know I’ve always had a fondness for elephants, ever since I made friends with Eli (pictured below) so when I stumbled across the history of white elephant today in “Word Perfect” by Susie Dent, I knew I’d have to blog about it.

Grand Bazaar fez, modeled by Eli

A white elephant is the term for “a burdensome charge, inconvenient thing that one does not know how to get rid of”. I’m currently clearing a multitude of such things from the spare bedroom in my house so I can install a writing desk. We accumulate them through our lives – unwanted gifts, gear for abandoned hobbies, leftover items from our children’s early years, and more. I had no idea, however, that a real elephant was involved. I thought it was just a term for a large, awkwardly shaped item that can’t be shoved into a cupboard and ignored. Apparently it’s a little more complex, and sneaky.

The expression dates to the mid 1800s and comes to English thanks to the King of Siam (now Thailand). Elephants were working animals in his kingdom but not if they were white. Albino elephants were highly revered and automatically became the property of the monarch. They were so important in the local culture that they featured on their national flag until 1917. However a non-working elephant still needs to be fed, housed, and cared for, which became a huge financial burden on the state.

In a superbly sneaky diplomatic move the kings of Thailand gifted a white elephant to those who displeased them. The recipient was duly honoured and had to keep the elephant but would be drained of money along the way. Thus the white elephant became a duty you can’t avoid but which is a burden.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder. There will be a new issue later this week.

The Nautical History of Baffling

Hello,

I’m always expanding my etymology reference shelf and I have finally begun reading “Word Perfect” by Susie Dent, a guide to one word history per day. I already know some of them, but it’s an entertaining read and I really appreciate the inclusion of an index which makes it much more useful to me.

I was amused to find that baffling has a nautical link as that makes it one I missed when writing “Words the Sea Gave Us”. Captain James Cook left a large legacy to world geography through his various voyages of discovery and his journals provide the first use in English for a number of words he encountered on those trips in local languages – we have him to thank for tattoo and lagoon, which I mentioned in my book. Dent also mentions chocolate, cannibal, mangrove, kangaroo and others which I must investigate later.

Belaying pins on a traditional sailing ship

However, he’s also responsible for a few more home-grown expressions such as baffling which he used to describe winds that surged in various directions and made plotting a straight course very difficult. However baffle pre-dates Cook.

In 1500s Scottish to baffle somebody was to expose them to public scorn, especially if that somebody was a knight accused of perjury. One way to do this was to create an image of the rascal hanging by his heels and then subject it to the blowing of horns and shouting. It sounds rather strange to me. The Scottish word may have roots in French – bafouer (to abuse or hoodwink) thanks to the baf sound used to indicate disgust.

By the 1670s to baffle meant to frustrate your efforts by imposing obstacles (just like the tricky winds Cook encountered) and by the 1800s you could be in a state of bafflement.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

p.p.s. this post contains affiliate links which make a small payment to the blog if you choose to purchase through them. #CommissionsEarned. Alternatively, you can use my digital tip jar to say thanks for this year’s words.

Magnets and Lodestones – an Ancient Greek Story

Hello,

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been working on a new download, “Words People and Places Gave Us” for the Wordfoolery blog. I post these as a bonus for blog readers and book fans and you’ll find the current set of downloads here. Each is free to read.

In 2018 I published my first book, “How to Get Your Name in the Dictionary”, about the amazing people whose names became words in our English dictionary – cardigan, casanova, montessori, pavlova, stetson, sandwich, boycott, and hundreds more. It was my first book and several more have followed since then but it always bothered me when I’d come across another eponym (word named for a person) or toponym (word named for a place) which I hadn’t included.

Naturally, because I love words, I gathered them. I realised I had enough for a sequel to the first book, but perhaps not quite enough for an entire paperback. And so “Words People and Places Gave Us” was born. It will go on the download page from mid-June 2024.

In the meantime I thought you’d like to read an extract – the ancient Greek tale of magnets and lodestones.

Magnet

{extract from “Words People and Places Gave Us”, copyright Grace Tierney 2024}

This type of iron ore, a variety of magnetite, is characterised by its power of attraction with iron and steel. The word magnet has been with us since the mid 1400s and was earlier spelled as magnes. It comes from magnete in Old French, magnetum in Latin and Magnes lithos in Greek. The Greek form gives us the clue to the place. It’s a Magnesian stone from Magnesia in Thessaly (northern Greece) where the ore was found.

Some older texts called a magnet a lodestone (way-stone) because it was used in basic compass devices to help you find your way.

ship’s compass

Similar words to magnet exist in many Western European languages. One fun exception is Spanish caramida which is from Latin calamus (red, stalk, straw) because of the magnetic ore needle being inserted in a stalk to allow it to float on water and point north – one of the most basic ways to create a compass.

{end of extract}

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

The Broken Male History of Decrepit

Hello,

One of the hardest things with writing this blog is finding a photo to illustrate the word I’m writing about each week. Due to concerns about copyright I do my utmost to only use my own images and sometimes words can be hard to match to a visual. Decrepit was one of these. I’m not ready to use a photo of myself for decrepit just yet and my husband wasn’t keen on his beard from Covid-lockdown times being used either. Can’t imagine why – it was of Viking proportions and I loved it. Thankfully the Vatican museum came to my rescue.

Mummy in the Vatican Museum, Rome. Somewhat decrepit, definitely lacking moisturiser.

What does decrepit mean exactly and when did we find it in the English dictionary? It is defined as “broken down in health, weakened, especially by age” and joined the language in the mid 1400s. Now I’d dispute that definition a little as I absolutely think somebody can be decrepit in earlier years and I’d also use it to describe a derelict house, or an old wooden boat rotting on the foreshore, but you get the general idea I hope.

The word came from Old French (same spelling) and you’ll still find it in Modern French as décrépit. As with many French words it came from Latin. Decrepitus was used to describe elderly men and animals so I guess I don’t have to worry about becoming decrepit as it’s a male affliction! The word was formed from de (down) and crepitus. Crepitus is the past participle of the verb crepare (to crack or break). Certainly not all elders are broken or cracked but that’s where we get decrepit. I think I’ll use it more sparingly now that I know its Roman roots.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder.

Puddles and Beau Traps

Hello,

After a few lovely warm and sunny days here, we’ve got a rather rainy Monday in progress today. It reminded me that I’ve half of “Words Weather Gave Us” written, including the chapter about rain words. So here, to hopefully cheer you up on this damp day, is an extract about puddles and their sinister cousins – beau traps.

Puddle & Beau Traps

{extract from “Words Weather Gave Us” copyright Grace Tierney 2024}

A puddle, which has been with us since the early 1300s, is defined as a small pool of dirty water. Puddle-jumping enthusiasts will point out that they’re also perfect entertainment locations for small children and life-loving adults, especially when approached with suitable footwear.

In line with the idea of making lemonade when faced with an excess of lemons, wet countries should adopt puddle-stomping as a national sport. Free, accessible to all, energetic. It could be the next big thing at the Olympics. Synchronised jumping for a team event perhaps?

The word came about as a diminutive of pudd (ditch) in Old English and is related to the charming German word pudeln (to splash in water). Originally puddle was used for pools and ponds as well which explains puddle-duck (a domesticated duck) which we’ve had since the 1800s. Beatrix Potter published her book “Jemima Puddle-Duck” in 1908.

The stealth version of the puddle is the beau trap. My home city, Dublin, has plenty of these. A beau trap is early 19th century slang for a paving stone which is loose enough for rainwater to gather underneath. Dublin city dwellers will know water gathers under some of the large Georgian stone footpaths (sidewalks for my US friends) and unless you avoid those slabs or hit them in the exact right spot it “tips up and pumps half a litre of rainwater up your trouser” (as Terry Pratchett points out in “A Slip of the Keyboard”).  This rainwater is always a murky grey shade and invariably ice-cold.

Douglas Adams once created an alternative word for this, the affpuddle.

Why is it called a beau trap? The elegant young men of the 1800s (also known as beaus) wore those tight white stockings to show off their well turned ankles and calves. A sinister pool of city rainwater was a terrible trap for those beaus.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. Sign up to avoid missing out! Don’t forget to click on the confirmation email, which might hide in your spam folder. There will be a new issue this week