The Dictionary of Lost Words

by Pip Williams

“She collects words,” said Mabel. “What kinds of words?” “Women’s words. Dirty ones.”

“Is it the same as prostitute?” I asked Tilda. “I suppose. Though a dollymop is more opportunistic and far less experienced.”

I took out a slip. Mabel had only ever used fuck in the negative. “You might need more than one,” said Tilda. “I can’t think of many words more versatile.”

“Gentlemen, the more words you employ to flatter the ladies the fewer you define. Your constant use of the English language is, in fact, doing it a disservice.”

“I know it sounds like codswallop but there are, and the smallest thing can cause the biggest arguments.” Lizzie smiled. “And what would the Rules say about codswallop?” “Nothing; it’s not a valid word.” “But you’ve written it on a slip. I remember you doing it, right here at this table.” “That’s because it’s an excellent word.”

The Old Ashmolean was as grand as the Scriptorium was humble. It was stone instead of tin, and the entrance was flanked by the busts of men who had achieved something—I don’t know what.

“What are they so scared of?” Lizzie sighed. “All of them are scared of losing something; but for the likes of him that spat in your face, they don’t want their wives thinking they deserve more than they’ve got. Makes me glad to be in service when I think that men like that might be the alternative.”

The Getting of Wisdom.

Ethel Florence Lindesay Richardson (3 January 1870 – 20 March 1946)