Martin Fone's Blog, page 308
January 6, 2017
What Is The Origin Of (110)?…
Common or garden
This phrase, sometimes mistaken for those with cloth ears as common all garden, is used as an adjective to describe something that is ordinary or unexceptional. Its origin seems to be quite prosaic – as a descriptor for a plant that was to be found growing in both the garden and on the commons, patches of land or woodland designated as being for the use of the community as a whole. Such abundance would mean that the plant was regarded as being unexceptional or ordinary.
It is no surprise, therefore, to see the phrase first appear in print in the context of plants. In 1657 W Coles Adams wrote in his history of plants, herbs and flowers called Adam in Eden, “But the Common or Garden Nightshade is not dangerous”. John Wilkins in his Autobiography of an English Gamekeeper published in 1892 used the phrase in the context of a hen, “it was as large as a common – or garden – hen”.
Shortly afterwards it was being used as an adjective, perhaps used slightly jocularly, to ascribe ordinariness to any object. The Daily News of 1896 commented “such common or garden proceedings not being to the taste of Noa” and the Westminster Gazette of 1897 reported “I have – to make use of a common or garden expression – been rushed in this matter”.
A variant which is more commonly used on the other side of the pond is garden-variety which has the same meaning, something ordinary and unremarkable, as in something that you would find in your backyard. As a phrase it seems to have gained currency in the 1920s.
An even more recent alternative, one I find I use, is bog standard which did not appear in print until 1983. Structurally it is unusual in having a slang component at the front of the compound word and a formal second part. Its origin is shrouded in some mystery and controversy. Let’s consider some of the possible theories. Bog as a stand-alone word and a noun is slang for a toilet, which is itself a variant of the even older boggard and there are, of course, standard toilet sizes but there is no compelling reason to think this is the origin.
Another theory suggests that the word bog is an acronym for British or German, the reasoning being that engineering standards in the 19th century were mainly set by the two industrial powerhouses. If this were true, why did it take a century for the phrase to get into circulation?
Perhaps a more appealing theory starts with the phrase box-standard. In bicycle and early car manufacturing a box was a framework made out of hollow tubing which was the most economical, and therefore the commonest, material out of which to build a strong frame or mounting. The standard suggests that it was a regular design and probably did not need any modifications. In February 1983 Clive Sinclair, in an interview he gave to Computerworld, said, “we cannot foresee a day when a computer becomes just a standard box. There will be box-standard machines down the road but we do not simply have to make those”. Was the inversion of standard box just a clever play on words or was he alluding to the earlier usage of the phrase?
By August of that year the Australian Personal Computer was reporting “decryption of a 30-byte cipher block takes about 5 minutes using a bog standard Z80”. Was this a corruption of Sinclair’s box-standard? It is tempting to think so, particularly as bog wheel is Cambridge slang for a bicycle. Whatever its origin it is now firmly in our vernacular.
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: box-standard, Clive Sinclair, origin of bog standard, origin of common or garden, origin of garden-variety
January 5, 2017
Tales From The Nursery – Part Forty Four
See saw, Marjorie Daw
Our rhyme is a curious affair and it seems that the first line has little to do with the subsequent three lines. The most common version goes, “See saw Marjorie Daw/ Jacky shall have a new master/ Jacky shall earn but a penny a day/ because he can’t work any faster”. Variants spell Marjorie as Margery and some replace Jacky with Johnny or Jack. We have seen before that Johnny or Jack has been used as a catch-all name to refer to a boy and there is no reason to suppose that this isn’t the case here.
In the literature associated with the rhyme, no one has attempted to ascribe Marjorie Daw to a real person – a relief I can tell you. The purpose of the name is that it rhymes neatly with the much more interesting words, see saw. In days of yore, Britain was heavily forested and timber became a major constituent for the building industry. Trees had to be felled and then the trunks and branches had to be sawed into the requisite lengths. The latter task was often accomplished by a pair of workers using a double-handed saw, one at each end. To be efficient it was essential that a rhythm was established and as with oarsmen a rhythmic ditty was used to achieve this.
A chant featuring see saw and used by sawyers appeared in Richard Brome’s play, the Antipodes, which was first performed in 1638, “see saw, sacke a downe”. A variant from around 1685 went, “see saw, sack a day” and a third in the 18th century had the genesis of a rhyme, “See saw sacaradown/ which is the way to London town?” Almost certainly, the see part of the formulation has no specific meaning, serving, rather, as a form of reduplication of the sense of saw, the tool. Grammarians call it a reduplicated compound, like titter-totter or teeter-totter.
See saw first appeared as a game involving going up and down on a balanced piece of wood in 1704 and was used figuratively from around 1714. It appeared as a verb in 1712 with the sense of moving up and down but it was not until around 1824 that it was used to describe the plank that was used for the game.
Lines two to four have a darker connotation. Jacky clearly is working and is on piece rate and it is doubtful that he will earn any more than a penny because of the pace at which he works. This could be a reference to the institution that all good working people dreaded, the work house. Failure to meet targets impacted your ability to buy food and to secure a moderately comfortable place to sleep at night.
Gammer Gurton’s Garland records an interesting variant of the rhyme, “See saw, Margery Daw/ sold her bed to lay on the straw; / was she not a nasty slut/ to sell her old bed to lay on the dirt?” At least this version avoids the awkward change in gender between lines one and two in the more common version. In the Scottish dialect, daw meant an untidy woman, a slut or slattern. Slut did not then have the sexual connotation that it has now and was used to describe an untidy or dirty woman. Early versions of Cinderella were entitled Cinderslut, acknowledging the protagonist’s dirty appearance from raking the ashes.
Georg Orwell cited our rhyme as a prime example of a nonsense verse and there is no reason to disagree with him.
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: Cinderslut, Gammer Gurton's Garland, George Orwell, meaning of daw, origin of see saw, reduplicated compound, Richard Brome, see saw Margery Daw, The Antipodes
January 4, 2017
Book Corner – January 2017 (1)
Purity – Jonathan Franzen
What to make of Franzen? I repeatedly hear that he is one of, if not the, greatest living American novelist but I have never been that bowled over by his work. I enjoyed The Corrections and bought a first edition of Freedom, his satire of middle America in the Bush era, on the back of it. I then got a note from the publisher saying that the author was recalling the book as there were a number of errors which he wanted correcting and that they would replace it with an error-free edition post-haste. I declined this invitation, trusting that my edition would accumulate some value as time went by. Has it? Who knows? But I am open to offers. It gave me the sense, though, that Franzen was a bit of an arse and slapdash to boot.
So it was with some trepidation that I picked up his latest tome, Purity. It seemed over long to me (563 pages) and a bit contrived. In essence, it is a story told in seven interlinking sections, each of which develops the narrative from a different perspective, moving back and forth in time and place. You quickly work out that all the characters have a shared story and, frankly, it is easy to see where the, at first, disparate characters with seemingly radically different backgrounds fit together. The strongest section is the only section written in the first person, Tom Aberant’s memoir of his relationship with his ex-wife, Anabel in the curiously titled le1o9n8a0rd, the password required to access the document.
The book opens in a rather under-cooked way introducing us to Purity Tyler aka Pip and her rather neurotic mother. The tale – I won’t spoil it for you – is of Purity trying to discover her roots and identity. Thematically whilst Purity is trying to find out who she is the other characters are trying to find their own form of purity. A case in point is the Assange/Snowden-like internet activist and charismatic guru, Andreas Wolf, who is trying to expose the world’s corruption but has just exchanged his Stasi-dominated spy state of the GDR for snooping on the internet. The realisation that the internet is governed by fear and an instrument of totalitarianism is well made. The pursuit of the state of purity is over-riding but delusional. To make sure you don’t miss the point Franzen repeats the title phrase and its variants over and over again, the sort of sledgehammering you could do without.
By starting and finishing the book with Purity aka Pip, you cannot help but notice the great debt that Franzen owes to Dickens in this book and, particularly, Great Expectations. Both deal with the search for true parentage and unexpected riches, the plots of both lurch hither and thither with melodramatic lurches and rely on astonishing coincidences to keep the story going. It is not too fanciful to think of the fruit cake, Anabel, as a modern-day take on Miss Havisham and, of course, Pip as Pip.
There are some gloriously funny moments in the book – particularly the scenes of the frantic lovemaking between Tom and Anabel – and there are some really insightful comments and observations. But there is also a dark brooding and, to my mind, unpleasant side to the book – the men are predators and that women are prey. There is a very strong anti-feminism thing going on throughout the story.
Having read it and thought about it, I don’t think Purity has changed my view of Franzen. He is worth reading but American literature must be in a pretty sorry state if he is the best.
Filed under: Books, Culture Tagged: Charles Dickens, Great Expectations, Jonathan Franzen, le1o9n8a0rd, Purity, Purity and Great Expectations, Purity Tyler
January 3, 2017
I Don’t Want To Belong To Any Club That Will Accept People Like Me As A Member – Part Thirty
The Wittinagemot of the Chapter Coffee House
At the south side of London’s Pasternoster Row in London in Chapterhouse Court stood the eponymous coffee house, opened around 1710, which was famed in the 18th century for its punch, pamphlets and goodly supply of newspapers. I assume coffee was also available. In the north east corner of the gaff was a box which was known as the Wittinagemot, named after a kind of public parliament which met annually in Saxon times.
In an area famed for its book selling trade it was no surprise to learn that at this box many of the capital’s men of letters could be found and lively conversation was guaranteed. What made for a good book in the estimation of many of those assembled was whether it would shift copy rather than its artistic merits. Nothing changes!
According to Alexander Stephens, a regular himself between 1797 and 1805, you could be guaranteed to find a certain Mr Hammond, a manufacturer from Coventry, who occupied the same spot every evening for forty five years. He was renowned for his severe and able commentaries on the events of the day and was famed for using a Socratic approach to disputation which often led his opponent down an alley sign-posted reduction ad absurdum, to the general amusement of all assembled.
Another stalwart was a Scottish episcopal minister, Mr Murray, who stayed in situ from 9 in the morning until 9 at night and was reputed to have read cover to cover every morning and evening newspaper published in London. His memory was so prodigious that he was often called upon to arbitrate upon any dispute as to facts. Stephens reported that one of his favourite companions was the political and historical writer, Dr Towers, who over a half pint of Lisbon, presumably a port, entertained with lively and sarcastic but never deep repartee.
From a club perspective, there was a loose grouping known as the Wet Paper Club who met in the early morning to receive the newspapers of the day hot off the press before the waiters had time to dry them. Another group, including the redoubtable Mr Murray, would seize on the evening editions as soon as the newsmen entered the premises.
For the fixed price of a shilling a supper could be had including a pint of porter. For one habitue, Baker, a manufacturer from Spitalfields and a great talker and eater, this was his only meal of the day. When he no longer could afford the shilling for his fare he shot himself.
Archetypal country mice, Charlotte and Emily Bronte together with their father, Patrick stayed there on a rare trip to the Smoke en route to Brussels in February 1842. Charlotte’s biographer, Elizabeth Gaskell, described the Chapter as having low-beamed ceilings, wainscoted rooms and a broad, dark, shallow staircase. It had a few overnight guests who were mainly university men and country clergy and booksellers keen to hear some literary conversation. “The high, narrow windows looked into the gloomy Row” and whilst the sounds of the city could be heard in the distance like the roar of the ocean, footsteps echoed down the deserted street.
In 1854 the coffee house was converted into a tavern.
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: Chapter Coffee House in Paternoster Row, Charlotte Bronte, Elizabeth Gaskell, habitues of Chapter Coffee House, Paternoster Row and the book trade, Paternoster Square EC4M, the Wittinagemot, Wet Paper Club
January 2, 2017
I Predict A Riot – Part Eighteen
The New York Doctors’ Riot – April 1788
Let’s get the New Year off with a bang with a good old riot. It is a tale of exploitation and the thirst for knowledge. We’ve come across grave robbers aka resurrectionists before who exhumed freshly buried bodies to sell to medics for dissection to quench their thirst for discovering how the human body operated. It was a practice that the Brits seemed to have exported across the pond.
Slaves could only be buried outside of the New York city limits in a series of plots on Chambers Street which were close by another graveyard for society’s unfortunates, the Paupers. More germane to our story both cemeteries were close to the Big Apple’s only medical school, Columbia College. Winter was a favourite time for grave-robbing as the ambient temperatures preserved the disinterred bodies longer than would have been the case in the summer. The winter of 1788 saw a significant increase in the number of bodies disinterred by medical students, particularly from the slave graves, and on February 3rd 1788 a group of freedman complained to the Common Council about what was going on. No one paid them any mind.
The casus seditionis, in April 1788, was the rather bizarre behaviour of John Hicks, a student of the physician, Richard Bayliss who was rumoured to be a resurrectionist. A group of children playing near the hospital saw Hicks in the throes of dissecting an arm. Bizarrely, sensitive soul that he was, Hicks leant out of the window waving the arm, telling one of the children that it was the arm of his recently deceased mother. The boy, not unsurprisingly, rushed home to tell his father who immediately went to the grave of his old Dutch and found it empty. He assembled a group of neighbours who marched on the hospital and broke in.
They were astonished to find a number of cadavers in varying stages of dissection and in their anger forced Bayliss’ assistant, Wright Post, and a number of students out into the street. It was only through the intervention of the mayor of New York, James Duane, that the medics were shepherded to the safe confines of the local jailhouse.
But the crowd was not done yet. Around 2,000 residents had by now assembled as the news of the discoveries at the hospital spread and a prolonged bout of rioting ensued. The New York medical community was forced to flee into hiding. The mob were on a mission to find Hicks and reached the courthouse where they started throwing rocks. The militia and cavalry were summoned to disperse them but the rioting continued for several days and was only quelled when Governor Clinton put a military presence on the streets. In all at least 3 rioters and 3 militiamen were killed, although some reports put the death toll as high as twenty – at least the medics had a supply of new cadavers – although the rioters had destroyed all the specimens they could lay their hands on.
Not unnaturally, the events of April 1788 meant that the medical profession was held in low esteem and a number of the students who were suspected of being resurrectionists were put on trial, although Hicks was not one of them. In January 1789 a law was finally passed imposing harsh sentences – time in the pillory or a whipping or fines and imprisonment – for anyone convicted of disturbing graves. The one exception was convicted felons who were still fair game. But the scourge was not eradicated – a subclass of professional resurrectionists merely replaced the amateur medical students.
Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: aftermath of New York Doctors' Riot, Chambers Street in New York, Columbia College medical school, grave robbers, John Hicks, New York Doctors' Riot o 1788, Resurrectionists
January 1, 2017
Innovation of The Week (3)
A happy New Year to my readers and followers.
Perhaps the epitome of first world problems is that annoying feature of touchscreen technology – the smears and smudges that your sticky, sweaty fingers leave on the screen. They are a bugger to remove and, according to Japanese mobile phone operator, NTT DoCoMo, I was reading this week, they attract five times as many germs as a toilet seat.
If you find yourself in one of the toilet areas in the arrival area of Tokyo’s Narita International airport between now and the end of March, you will find next to the normal toilet roll dispenser special cleaning rolls which will enable you to give your screen a hygienic wipe.
Problem solved, although they don’t disclose what will happen if in your jet-lagged state you mix the two up.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: dispenser to remove touchscreen smears, Narita International Airport, NTT DoCoMo, smears on touchscreens
December 31, 2016
Christmas Decorations Of The Year (2)
If you’ve got some pot plants lying around at this time of the year, the temptation must be great to deck them with tinsel. Alas, this ruse did not throw the boys in blue from Gloucestershire when they raided a house suspected of being a small cannabis factory.
A couple had their collars felt and are up before the beak in February. Full marks for effort, though.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: cannabis plant decorated as Christmas tree, Gloucestershire Police
December 30, 2016
Gin o’Clock – Part Nineteen
The ginaissance has spawned a phenomenal number of new, independent distillers, all jostling for attention and your hard-earned cash. It is hard to even make modest inroads into what is available. And that is not counting those distillers who were ploughing a furrow before the latest gin craze took off, those you might call the Martin Peters of the gin world, some ten years ahead of their time.
One of the gins in the vanguard of the ginaissance is our featured gin, Bulldog London Dry Gin which is branded as an independent gin for the independent thinker. Personally I find that after a few gins the ability to think independently or at all rapidly diminishes but I think I understand what they mean. The brain child of a former J P Morgan banker, Anshuman Vohra, it is distilled on contract by our old friends, G & J Distillers of Warrington, and has been on the market since October 2006.
It has a very distinctive bottle, squat and dark grey, if not black in colour. The neck is wide and is studded in the manner of a dog collar. The labelling is white and strikes a rather defiant tone, “Bulldog guards the time-honoured tradition of distilling, meeting all opposition with brilliant character and a palatable disposition. Respect its spirit and it will remain forever loyal”. The marketeers seem to be linking the hooch to the mythical bulldog spirit of Churchill and World War Two. I can see the link with independence but we seem to be straying too close to Brexit for my liking. It is a gin, after all, not a philosophical or political manifesto.
The stopper is a screw cap, large and clunky, masking a conventionally sized neck to the bottle. To the nose the crystal clear spirit has a pronounced juniper smell with a hint of lime. Make no mistake, this is a classic London dry gin. To the taste it is smooth, well balanced and slightly spicy leaving a pleasant and satisfying warm aftertaste. At 40% ABV it is just right and smooth enough to be the base for a cocktail or to host a tonic.
So what is in it? There are twelve botanicals in all used in its quadruple distillation process. There are nine we have encountered before – juniper (natch), lemon peel, almond, cassia, lavender, orris, liquorice, angelica and coriander. What gives it its unusual twist and a hint of the orient are the three other botanicals dragon eye, poppy and lotus leaves. For the uninitiated (me included) dragon eye is a literal translation of the Chinese pinyin or longan, an edible fruit akin to the lychee. It gets its name because when shelled the fruit resembles an eyeball. it is sweet, juicy and succulent and is often used in Chinese cuisine. Its taste differs from that of the lychee in that its sweetness has a much drier flavour.
My sense is that these exotic flavourings whilst blending perfectly to give a balanced gin don’t stand out. Still, it is a very welcome addition to my collection and is an ideal opener to an evening’s session.
The Feast of Mammon has come and gone and Santa Claus has brought me some new gins to add to my collection and to explore. I will report on them in due course. Cheers!
Filed under: Gin Tagged: Anshuman Vohra, Bulldog London Dry Gin, dragon eye, G & J Distillers of warrington, ginaissance, longan
December 29, 2016
There Ain’t ‘Alf Some Clever Bastards – Part Sixty Three
Philo T Farnsworth (1906 – 1971)
Christmas has come and gone and many of us will have spent more time than we would care to admit slumped somnolently in front of a glowing rectangular box transmitting what passes for entertainment these days. Yes, the television. I had always assumed that John Logie Baird was the brains behind the gogglebox but recently I was alerted to the endeavours of Utah born scientist, Philo Farnsworth, the latest to be enrolled into our illustrious Hall of Fame.
Philo, who had already shown his mettle as a child by winning a national contest for inventing a tamper-proof lock, was an avid reader of science magazines. He became interested in the concept of television and quickly deduced that the mechanical systems that were being suggested would be too slow to scan and assemble the many images required to put on a moving picture show. In a chemistry lesson at school he sketched out an idea for a vacuum tube that would revolutionise the TV, although no one realised it at the time. By the age of 16 he had worked out the basic outlines of a functioning electronic television.
In 1926 Philo raised some money to fund his work – $6,000 from private investors and $25,000 from Crocker First National Bank of San Francisco – and on 7th September 1927 made his first successful electronic television transmission, filing for a patent that year. Continuing to work on and perfect the equipment Farnsworth gave his first demonstration to the press in September 1928. But as you would come to expect with our inductees, trouble was just round the corner. His backers were keen to capitalise on their investment and entered into talks with RCA.
RCA sent their head of TV, Vladimir Zworykin, to review Farnsworth’s work. Zworykin was by no means an impartial assessor – after all, he was working on similar ideas for the American corporate – and concluded that whilst his receiver, the kinescope, was superior, Farnsworth’s video camera tube which dissected images and was essentially what he had sketched out in his science lesson a few years earlier was the bee’s knees. To buy him out RCA offered Farnsworth $100,000, an offer he rejected.
The 1930s saw Farnsworth embroiled in legal battles with RCA who claimed that his inventions were in violation of a patent filed earlier than his by Zworykin. The resources of RCA funded a series of actions, appeals and counter-appeals and it was not until 1939 that they agreed to pay Farnsworth $1m for his patents. The Second World War put a stop on TV production and by the time peace returned, Philo’s patents had expired in any case.
The decade of legal battles had taken its toll on Farnsworth’s health – he had a nervous breakdown in the late 1930s – but in 1947 his company Farnsworth Television produced its first TV set. The company, though, was unable to compete with the giants of the industry, particularly RCA, got into financial difficulties and was taken over by IT&T in 1949. Farnsworth was retained as vice president of research but the battle for primacy in the TV market was lost.
Worse was to follow. He moved back to Utah to continue research on technologies such as radar, infra-red telescopes and nuclear fusion but his company, Philo T Farnsworth Association went bankrupt in 1970. Philo then took to drink and died of pneumonia in Salt Lake City on 11th March 1971. It was only through the efforts of his wife, Pem, that Farnsworth’s part in the development of TV has been belatedly recognised, being inducted into the San Francisco Hall of Fame and the Television Academy of Fame.
Philo, for playing a major part in the development of TV and not profiting from it, you are a worthy inductee into our Hall of Fame.
If you enjoyed this, why not try Fifty Clever Bastards by Martin Fone which is now available on Amazon in Kindle format and paperback. For details follow the link https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=fifty+clever+bastards
Filed under: Culture, History, Science Tagged: Crocker First National Bank of San Francisco, Farnsworth Television, Fifty Clever Bastards, IT&T, legal battles with RCA, Martin Fone, Philo T Farnsworth, Philo T Farnsworth Association, Vladimir Zworkyin
December 28, 2016
Christmas Decorations Of The Year
The seaside town of Blackpool is famous for its illuminations but one resident, Steve McGawley, got into a bit of bother with his external Christmas decorations. The lights, rather amateurishly strung up at the front and back of his property in Rodwell Walk, featured a bell and the word END and a penis followed by the word C**T.
Neighbours complained and the old bill attended the scene. After a Monty Pythonesque ten minute argument during which McGawley refused to take them down, he had his collar felt and was charged with a public order offence.
The lights have been taken down and replaced with strings which read Sorry and LOL. Personally, all external Christmas decorations are offensive but the effect has rather been lost here, methinks.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: man arrested over Christmas decorations, offensive Christmas decorations, Steve Mcgawley
