Category Archives: Yanks vs. Brits

Pet Peeve Poll: Have your say

There are three types of Glossophilia post that always seem to attract particular interest and attention.

The first is the topic of slang and colloquialisms — the more obscure, quaint, and rude the better. We all want to know where, when and why these strange little words and expressions found their way into the colorful world of our informal banter.

Next is the Great Trans-Atlantic Divide. It’s not the wide ocean that really separates us, nor the fact that we can’t agree on a common system of measurement, DVD-watching or which side of the road to drive on. No, what distinguishes the American from his British counterpart is what comes out of his mouth — and I’m not talking about accents. We speak differently, therefore we think differently. Discuss.

Finally, who doesn’t have a long laundry list of pet peeves when it comes to written and spoken English? No matter how linguistically lofty or proudly proletarian we are when it comes to our choice of words, we all love to prod and pick at those who, like, talk different than us or get on their haughty high horses; the language we all share is an endless and fascinating source of entertainment and amusement, especially when we’re identifying that which bugs and annoys us in other people’s prose.

My father and a couple of his friends (all notably British) have started a list of their favorite pet peeves; here are some of them below, with a few of my own thrown in. (Those marked with an asterisk are heard more in British than American English.) Which of these, if any, annoys YOU most? Please add your thoughts and your own pet peeves in the comments section below.

“Overkill” expressions, which feel the need to introduce superfluous words unnecessarily for extra effect:

“Track record” – when “record” will do

“For free” – when “free” will do

“Kick start” – when “start” will do

“Head off to” – instead of “go to”

“Each and every” – when “every” will do

“At this moment in time” – when “now” will do

The pompous word choice:

“Boasts” – a favorite expression of realtors: “The kitchen boasts a quarry tiled floor”

“Commences” – instead of “starts” or “begins”

“Concludes” – instead of “ends” or “finishes”

“Deduce” – instead of “understand” or “gather”

“Thus” – in informal speech or e-mails

The wrong word choice:

“Literally” used when “figuratively” is meant

“Coruscating” used to mean harshly critical (confusing it with excoriating), when it really means glittering

“Prevaricate” used as a synonym for “procrastinate”, when it really has the sense of deviating or diverting by deceit, not necessarily by delaying anything

“Alternate” instead of “alternative” – as in “Please suggest an alternate route to the airport”

“Presume” instead of “assume” – as in “I presume you’re taking an umbrella?”

Ugly misuse/abuse:

“You and I” used when you and I are the objects of the sentence: “He gave it to you and I”

“Both” applied to two people about each other – as in “they both hated the other” instead of “each hated the other” or “they hated each other”

“Like” instead of “as if” or “as though” – as in “He felt like he was drowning”

“However” instead of “but” used halfway through a sentence – as in “She didn’t like him, however she went out with him anyway”

The difference between “which” and “that”, which isn’t that hard to understand!

“Whomever” used as a subject instead of “whoever” – as in “Whomever likes this apple can have it”

“In regards to” instead of “with regard to”, “in regard to”, or “as regards”. And why not use “about”, “concerning”, or “regarding”?

“Could of”/”should of” instead of “could have”/”should have” – as in “I could of easily beaten him in that match”

“I could care less” instead of “I couldN’T care less”

“Only” before the wrong word – as in “I can only talk to you for a minute” (ie. I can’t sing or dance to you)

“Sung” instead of “sang” in simple past – as in “I sung the hymn this morning”

“All of” when “all” will do – as in “I ate all of the cookies in the jar”

“To transition” (ie. “transition” used as a verb) – as in “We will transition over to a new platform”

Marketing/corporate BS:

As well as some of the pompous words above, prolific use of any of the following, often in combination: “synergy”, “leverage”, “first ever”, “going forward”, “transition” (used as a verb), “out-of-the-box thinking”, “content streamlining”, “strategize”, “bandwidth”, “result-driven”, “paradigm”, “multi-platform”, “functionality”, “empower[ment]”, “top-down”, “e-tailers”, “online assets”, etc.

Meaningless sentence- and gap-fillers (most of these are British-isms):

“Like” used for no apparent reason mid-sentence (or at the end of a sentence by Brits) – as in “She, like, went ballistic”, or * “Have you been to the shops, like?”

* “Basically” – as in “Basically I told him to go”

* “I mean” / “You know” used for no apparent reason mid-sentence. Peter Snow of Channel Four says it in every sentence.

* “To be honest” or “to be honest with you” starting every sentence

* “If you like” ending every sentence

* “Do you know what I mean?” used to fill gaps between sentences

Just …. ugh:

“First ever” (so awful it gets two entries in this post)

“Was like” meaning “I said” – as in “I was like ‘You do!'”

“Thusly”

“With respect, …” or “With all due respect, …” before launching an attack on someone you think is an idiot

Update, during Superbowl lights-out:

“Change it up”

“Space” meaning an abstract area of thought, discussion or virtual territory – as in “You’re invading my personal space”

Why are you operating on me, Mister?

In most parts of the world, when you go under the knife you expect to be cut open and sewn up — and everything in between — by someone known as Dr. (or Dr — but that’s for a separate discussion). All medical practitioners — whether physicians, surgeons, psychiatrists, or dentists — are generally referred to as Doctor Someone. But trust the UK to be different: there, surgeons go by the seemingly lowly title of Mr, Miss or Mrs. As do dentists.

The reason is simple and dates back to the Middle Ages: physicians and surgeons differed historically in terms of their respective education, training and credentials. Right from the beginning, physicians have had to undertake formal university training to earn an academic degree in medicine before they can enter practice. The resulting degree, or doctorate, bestows the title of Doctor of Medicine or Doctor on successful graduates.

Surgeons followed a very different path until the mid-19th century. In medieval Europe, the most common medical practitioners were the “barber surgeons” who used their tools and expertise both to cut hair and to perform surgical procedures, usually on the battlefield caring for soldiers, or treating their royal paymasters. Rather than pursue formal academic educations and medical degrees, they trained and qualified as craftsmen, usually serving surgical apprenticeships along the way. In England in 1540, the Company of Barber-Surgeons was formed. Over the next two hundred years, under increasing pressure from the separate and flourishing medical profession, the surgeons eventually broke away from the barbers, forming the Company of Surgeons in 1745 (which became the Royal College of Surgeons in 1800 after being granted a royal charter); by the 19th century, barber surgeons had virtually disappeared. This organization oversaw the training and examination of surgeons, awarding successful practitioners with a diploma — rather than the medical degree conferred by academic institutions on graduating physicians. Hence the 19th-century surgeon retained the title of Mister, despite his relatively rigorous expertise and experience.

Nowadays, surgeons follow the same academic path through medical school as their physician contemporaries, becoming Doctors of Medicine once their degrees are conferred; they then undergo a further period of postgraduate study and training in order to acquire full consultant surgeon status, at which point they are addressed as Mister — the title bestowed, ironically, on the most senior, prestigious and highly trained medical practitioners in the UK.

Like British surgeons, dentists aren’t referred to as Doctor. This is simply because they don’t necessarily earn a medical degree, like the 18th-century surgeon, but instead receive a Bachelor’s of Dental Surgery (BDS, BChD, or BDent). In recent decades, British dentists have demanded the right to call themselves Doctor, so that they can enjoy the same privileges (and presumably salaries) as their European and other foreign counterparts. However, medical doctors have objected to the idea, arguing that such a title might mislead patients about the extent of their expertise. The Advertising Standards Authority ruled in favor of the medics in 2008, stating firmly that “Dentists must not use the title doctor unless they are medically or academically qualified to do so.”

Are you sat comfortably?

“Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.” Many British readers will be sad to learn the news of the death of Daphne Oxenford, who uttered those famous words every afternoon for a couple of decades in the 50s and 60s as she introduced the BBC radio show Listen With Mother . The Telegraph‘s obituary is here:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/9781409/Daphne-Oxenford.html

Nowadays, are we sat comfortably?

Google the words “was sat”, and you’ll get a lot of information about the standardized test that American high school kids take to get into college. That’s what s, a, and t mean — in that order — to most Americans: the three-letter word (well, the acronym) just makes them feel a bit sick. (It’s a lot like what most middle-aged Brits now feel when they read or hear the words clunk and click …)

Anyway, back to “was sat”. As my schoolfriend Fleur recently asked me: “How do you and your Glossophilia chums feel about ‘was sat’ as against ‘was sitting’? I notice that it is now creeping past editors into published fiction. Personally – it grates, but is it now in common usage and allowable?”

Well, my gut reaction is the same as Fleur’s: it grates on me. But I’ve been living in America for 15 years, and this is not something you ever hear on these shores (unless you’re chatting with a Brit — especially one from up North — on his hols). Whether in the past, present or future, you are/were/will be sitting or you sit/sat/will sit. But you rarely, if ever, are, were or will be sat. Replacing the present or past progressive (sitting) incorrectly with the past simple or past participle (sat) seems to be a regionalism from the North and West of England whose use has become so frequent and widespread that it’s now a standard British colloquialism. “She was sat in front of the TV when her husband arrived home.” But I think this practice still grates on many English ears.

There is arguably one use of “was sat” that is legitimate: when the verb “to sit” (usually followed by “down”) is used transitively — ie. when someone is sitting something or someone else, and it’s used in the passive past tense. “She sat me down to tell me the bad news” can technically be phrased passively as “I was sat down to be given the bad news.” Even in this transitive, passive form the “was sat” sounds awkward; most writers would probably rephrase the sentence, perhaps reverting to the active use of the verb. And “seat/seated” is preferable to “sit/sat” when the transitive verb is needed: “The waiter seated us next to the window”, hence, “We were seated next to the window”.

In Christopher Edge’s book Twelve Minutes to Midnight, he writes: “She felt herself lowered gently down until she was sat slumped against the wall of the cell.” Is Edge using the transitive passive form of sit here, since the suggestion is that someone else is lowering her into a seated position? In that case, wouldn’t the gentle lowering be part of the seating process and therefore not precede her state of being sat, as suggested by the word until? Or is the colloquialism now passing muster — as Fleur suggests — and escaping the modern editor’s red pen?

Taking the mick, and slagging people off

I think it’s very telling that there’s no real American equivalent for the British saying “to take the piss out of someone”, or its slightly kinder version, “taking the mick (or mickey)”. (Yanks do have “mock” and “make fun of” at their disposal, but neither conveys the same sense of fun and frivolity at the heart of the British expressions.) It strikes me that this is more a reflection of a cultural difference than of any linguistic parting of ways. It’s widely acknowledged that Brits are generally blessed with a profound and developed sense of irony: it’s in their genes, and it pervades the British sense of humor — along with a wicked cynicism — in an almost Jungian way. And another important marker on the British DNA humor strand is that of laughing at someone else’s expense, or making fun of them. Americans are inclined to keep the target of funny self-deprecation strictly to themselves; even an affectionate prod at a near one or dear one is often considered too risque, or just downright mean, unless the obligatory “just kidding” sign flashes mercilessly throughout the joke. But taking the mickey out of others is a British sport. Actually, it’s a national pastime. Dame Edna Everage (of Australian rather than British extraction) has taken this ‘piss-taking’ to an extreme, but you don’t have to look far to find it in British living rooms, pubs and popular culture. A favorite segment of Graham Norton’s prime-time TV chat show is when he invites audience members to tell a story, and then having teased, mimicked and “taken the mickey” out of his willing victims during their toe-curling introductions, he tips them backwards while they’re still in the throes of recounting their tales. It’s British humor at its belly-aching best. And invariably, Norton’s special American guest, there from Hollywood to plug his or her latest flick, looks on with a mixture of confusion and disbelief while the Brits howl with laughter at the wretched storyteller, now upside down with their legs all asunder. So why is it that Americans don’t have an equivalent expression to describe their “taking the piss”? Because they generally don’t indulge in that sport — or if they do, it’s not regarded as funny.

And I’ve noticed another slang phenomenon that might also reflect the way we think rather than just our verbal resources. Take a look at the wide and often colorful vocabulary of pejorative slang used respectively on either side of the Atlantic to describe — or more accurately to “slag off” — our fellow human beings. The words are universally not very nice. And some are more vulgar, cruel, or descriptive than others. But looking more closely, and comparing derisive British slang words with those of Americans, I’ve noticed that Brits tend to voice their contempt for their compatriots more on the grounds of their stupidity, idiocy or social inadequacy (and even of their social standing) than of their behavior or attitude towards others, whereas the Americans are honing in on the mean, nasty or bloody-minded rather than on the intellectually-challenged. Naturally there are many exceptions, but there does seem to be a distinct pattern.

There’s a sub-category of terms used as variations on or synonyms of the universally understood word nerd: someone who is intelligent, knowledgeable or expert (sometimes obsessively) in a particular field (especially scientific or mathematical), socially inept, studious, and any or all of the above. Variously described as swots, dinks, dorks, dweebs, and geeks, these social unfortunates can, I think, be safely consigned to their own unfortunate linguistic ghetto, however mean or undeserved their monikers might be. So I’ve taken them out of this exercise in slang comparison, leaving these two colorful lists below illustrating how we respectively slag off our fellow men. Do you think they say something about the way we judge our compatriots on either side of the pond?

British slang:

berk (idiot)

chav (working- or low-class: pejorative)

div (stupid person; idiot)

git (fool; idiot)

numpty (stupid or ineffectual person)

oik (person from low social class: pejorative)

plonker (idiot; fool)

sod (annoying or unpleasant person)

tosser (unpleasant person, with loser tendencies)

wanker (unpleasant person, with loser tendencies)

twat (idiot)

twit (fool)

pillock (idiot; fool)

prat (idiot; fool)

prick (unpleasant person; jerk)

wally (idiot; fool)

American slang:

asshole (unpleasant person; jerk)

doofus (stupid, foolish person)

douche-bag (unpleasant person; jerk)

jackass (unpleasant person; jerk)

jerk (unpleasant person)

mother-f***er (unpleasant person)

schmuck (unpleasant person)

scumbag (unpleasant person)

sleazebag (unpleasant person)

son of a bitch (unpleasant person)

Divided by a common language

As George Bernard Shaw famously noted, “England and America are two countries divided by a common language.” Most of the time we know exactly what our friends across the sea (or ocean) mean, and our vocabulary, grammar and phraseology are sensibly in synch with each other. But every now and then, our innocent comments or statements can cause confusion or amusement — or at worst, offense — to those on the other side of the Atlantic, often because of a simple, tiny word. A Brit complaining that his roommate can be “a complete twat” will undoubtedly raise a Yankee’s eyebrows. (Br. Eng.: fool, idiot; Am. Eng.: vulgar slang for vulva). The British Prime Minister and I have both regretted joking publicly about the word being the past tense of “tweet”, little realizing how smutty we sounded at the time.

Here are some expressions and basic vocabulary that can seem a little weird, stilted, silly, or downright rude and smutty to the ears of our friends across the pond.

I live in that street. I live on that street.

I quite like it. I quite like it.

I’m having faggots for tea. I’m eating meatballs for dinner.

Tea or coffee? I don’t mind. I don’t care.

She has a new lease of life. She has a new lease on life.

I’m getting the lie of the land. I’m getting the lay of the land.

We’re visiting her in hospital in a fortnight. We’re visiting with her in the hospital in two weeks.

No fear! No way!

I’m meeting my husband tomorrow. I’m meeting with my husband tomorrow.

I borrowed my teacher’s rubber. I borrowed my teacher’s eraser.

I’m taking my bum-bag when I go on holiday. I’m taking my fanny-pack when I go on vacation.

He has his dog on a lead. He has his dog on a leash.

He went to public school. He went to public school.

I take it in my stride. I take it in stride.

The dog is definitely on heat. The dog is definitely in heat.

I’d like to talk to him. I’d like to talk with him.

The Name Game, Part 2: Name change

Would you like to be called Them? If you’re British, you can be, as long as you give yourself a last name too. Care to introduce yourself as Bond — James Bond? Go right ahead. Want to be named after the year of your birth (“Hi, my name is Nineteen Fifty-Two”)? Yes, that’s allowed too. Would you like to travel abroad with a passport bearing your new name, Mickey Mouse? Yup: the Brits are cool with that. As would be most American states. Here in the land of the free, you can go legally by almost any name you wish — as long as it’s not a racial slur, a threat or an obscenity, and as long as it’s not intentionally confusing, it doesn’t incite violence, and it’s not intended to mislead (ie. a celebrity’s name). (However, in the UK you can become known as David Beckham or Pippa Middleton, as long as you’re not deliberately trying to pass yourself off as them — assuming you have the respective abs and butt to even try …) But sadly you won’t get away with calling yourself Princess Diana, Lord Byron, or Captain Von Trapp. Nice try, but it won’t fly.

In recent years, the UK Deed Poll Service has officially bestowed the following new names on British citizens — by sober and deliberate request: Jellyfish McSaveloy, Toasted T Cake, Nineteen Sixty-Eight, Hong Kong Phooey, Daddy Fantastic, One-One-Eight Taxi, Ting A Ling, Huggy Bear, Donald Duck, Jojo Magicspacemonkey and James Bond. According to this service, the country’s largest and most trusted issuer of new names, there are only a few restrictions you have to bear in mind when choosing your new moniker. You are forbidden from choosing a new name that (in the words of the DPS):

does not include at least one forename and one surname;
is impossible to pronounce;
includes numbers or symbols; however, we can print modified Latin characters that include the following accents and marks: acute, grave, circumflex, tilde, diaeresis (umlaut), cedilla, macron, ogonek, caron and a dot;
includes punctuation marks – although you can have a hyphen to link forenames or surnames (eg. if you want a double-barrelled name) and an apostrophe in the case of surnames like O’Brien;
is vulgar, offensive or blasphemous;
promotes criminal activities;
promotes racial or religious hatred;
promotes the use of controlled drugs or includes the generic or slang name for them;
ridicules people, groups, government departments, companies or organisations;
may result in others believing you have a conferred or inherited honour, title, rank or academic award, for example, a change of first name to Sir, Lord, Laird, Lady, Prince, Princess, Viscount, Baron, Baroness, General, Captain, Professor or Doctor etc.
exceeds the maximum number of characters allowed in a name. There is a limit of 250 characters, including spaces, for forenames (i.e. first name and middle names) and 30 characters, including spaces, for a surname.
Please note, if you choose a forename or surname that consists of a single letter or includes modified Latin characters, you may find the computer systems of some record holders will be unable to show your name correctly. Many computer systems are programmed to only accept standard Latin characters and require at least two characters for the forename and surname.

If you think you might be looking to assume a new identity — at least in name — then don’t go and live in Belgium or Switzerland. In both those countries, your name is pretty much yours for life, unless you can prove that it’s giving you a lot of grief. In Belgium, this involves applying to the Ministry of Justice for a name change — and if it’s your last name you’d like to shed, you’ll need a royal decree. You might succeed if you sport a ridiculous last name that causes you untold embarrassment or emotional distress; people bearing the surnames Salami, Naaktgeboren (“born naked”), and Clooten (“sods of earth” in Middle Dutch, “testicles” in modern Dutch) have managed to secure the much-desired decree from on high. In Switzerland, if you’re having to blush and explain your way through passport control with the name of a notorious criminal stamped all over you, that’s probably enough of a reason for you to ask your Cantonal government to trade it in for a more innocent model.

Marion Morrison, Allen Konigsberg, David Hayward-Jones, Curtis Jackson, Issur Demsky, Robert Zimmerman, Farouk Bulsara, Roberta Anderson, Margaret Hyra, Jonathan Leibowitz, Anna Bullock, and Steveland Judkins were all born mere mortals and went on to find fame and fortune — and spanking new names to go along with (or aid in) their celebrity. Some of them might surprise you.

In 1971 Reginald Kenneth Dwight paid 50p to become Elton Hercules John.

Kate Winslet’s brand-new husband (and Richard Branson’s nephew) used to be Ned Abel Smith. But she didn’t marry a Smith; she married a rock-star, called Ned Rocknroll. Yeah, really.

Olympics fanatic Thomas Manly changed his middle name to the names of 12 Olympic gold medallists.

Sunday Times journalist Matthew Rudd changed his name to Bradley Pitt.

In 2009, Eileen De Bont from St. Asaph, Denbighshire changed her name to Pudsey Bear. Despite getting all her documents and records changed to Pudsey Bear, the passport office refused to issue Pudsey with a passport.

In 2004, a Missouri man changed his name to They.

The Minnesota Supreme Court ruled in 1979 that a name change to 1069 could be denied, but that Ten Sixty-Nine was acceptable.

Homely: plain ugly, or just plain?

In a recent review — written by an English critic — of a production of La boheme, the soprano in the leading role was described as “well suited to the role of Mimi in her homely, demure appearance.” Is the use of the word homely here a compliment or an insult — or neither? Well, it depends on who’s reading it… To British-English readers, and especially to those familiar with the character in question, the meaning is fairly clear: she was presumably simply dressed and not striking in looks, as befits the character of Puccini’s ailing and unassuming seamstress. But North American readers might have been surprised by the reviewer’s assertion that a “homely” appearance was well-suited to the doomed heroine, since we don’t generally think of Mimi as being ugly.

The OED explains the word’s different meanings on either side of the Atlantic: 1. Brit. a. simple, plain. b. unpretentious. c primitive. 2. N. Amer. (of people or their features) not attractive in appearance, ugly. 3. comfortable in the manner of a home, cosy. 4. skilled at housekeeping.

Curiously, the word plain — one of homely‘s synonyms — is understood by both Brits and Yanks when describing the fairer sex (and the adjective is rarely if ever used to qualify the looks of a man or boy) as not just ordinary or undistinguished in countenance, but as positively unattractive. “She’s no oil painting” could be said of all the plain women of the New World and the old.

When William Wordsworth wrote his poem To the Daisy, the English poet was surely finding a certain beauty in “that homely face” that populates the lawns of English gardens, rather than dismissing the white-petaled weed as unbecoming.

With little here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming Common-place
Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace
Which love makes for thee…

When Benjamin Franklin mused “Let thy maidservant be faithful, strong, and homely“, he was presumably playing on the word’s different meanings — namely, skilled in housekeeping, and safely unattractive.

Face to face, one on one

One on one ………. or One to one?

PBS Newshour is reporting this evening that “President Obama and House Speaker John Boehner have agreed to negotiate one-on-one in an effort to broker a deal to prevent the country from going over the so-called fiscal cliff at year’s end.”

Don’t worry: this isn’t a post about the fiscal cliff — even though we are all wondering what exactly this econo-geographical phenomenon actually is, and we’ve all probably imagined what it might look like …

No, let’s get back to this interesting meeting. Other US news media outlets are also reporting on and speculating about this imminent one-on-one encounter, focusing more on the issue of the steep drop ahead than on the manner in which the President and the Speaker will go head-to-head, face-to-face, man-to-man…

I expect most British-English speakers who have read this far are trying to rid their minds of more — let’s say — “intimate” images conjured up by the advertised one-on-one meeting.

Yes, in Br.Eng. we keep these meetings — these face-to-face, head-to-head, man-to-man, toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye tete-a-tetes — strictly one to another, never allowing the use of one of those highly suggestive conjunctions such as “on” that imply or even hint at the possibility of any undesirable physical contact.

A teacher offering her student a one-on-one tutoring session, or a vicar counseling a lost soul in his flock one on one*, would raise more than a few eyebrows (and probably a few temperatures) in that green and pleasant land called England.

We know exactly what our American counterparts mean, but we’re going to keep it strictly business: mind to mind, sword to sword, face to face. Save the ons for wrestlers and dolphins.

* the question of whether the expression should be hyphenated or not, as probably determined by whether it’s used as an adjective or an adverb, is for separate discussion

A flock of nouns of multitude

The answer to my previous post, “A singular quiz”, is that they’re all collective nouns, or nouns of multitude, and specifically terms of venery.

We’re familiar with the phrases “a flock of sheep” and “a pride of lions”, and similar collective nouns specific to certain groups or types of people, such as a “company of actors”, a “troupe of dancers”, a “class of students”, a “platoon of soldiers”, an “orchestra of musicians”, and even a “bevy of beauties”. The terms of venery — such words that refer to animals — can be especially poetic and descriptive, and below is Wikipedia’s explanation for their fascinating collective history and etymology (along with a list of my personal and most poetic favorites, which is by no means exhaustive). Also below is a list of my favorite flavory collective nouns used to describe certain professions or subsets of society, two of which need to be singled out for special attention: a “conjunction of grammarians” and a “shrivel of critics”. Whoever dreamed up those particular terms of venery must be the very epitome of style and wit. As a matter of fact, we do know the author of at least one of them, as explained in the next paragraph. It’s noted in Wiki’s explanation that these terms, even when they were first coined, never really had any practical application: they were “intended as a mark of erudition of the gentlemen able to use them correctly rather than for practical communication.” How lucky for all writers and poets (and even for us readers) that they persist in our lexicon today — some of them surprisingly so. The fact that a “gaggle” is still used to describe not just a flock of geese but also a collection of women (usually of the giggling or talkative kind) is interesting in these days of post-feminism and political correctness; this term was one of the many deliberately humorous words listed in the Book of Saint Albans, published in 1486.

James Lipton, best known to us as the creator and host of the American TV show Inside the Actors Studio, is — among many other things — a great lover of words. (Indeed, one of his favorite moments of his show — and definitely one of mine — is when he asks his actor subjects for mostly single-word answers to his questionnaire: favorite curse word? favorite and least favorite sounds? etc.) Lipton has a special interest in collective nouns, and he has published a definitive, best-selling book on the subject: An Exaltation of Larks (1968). Lipton has even invented some of his own nouns of multitude, including a “score of bachelors”, an “unction of undertakers”, a “shrivel of critics” (it had to come from an actor or some kind of performing artist), and a “queue of actors”.

Let’s not bore ourselves here (except to single out the lovely expression “a singular of boars”) with the questions and complexities of which verb forms (singular or plural) should be used with these collective nouns. Suffice to say the Brits and the Yanks diverge in their usage: in British English, collective nouns can take either singular or plural verb forms, depending on the context and something called the “implied metonymic shift”. It is perfectly acceptable in England to say “the class have finished their homework” (especially if all the students in the class had the same homework). However, in American English, collective nouns take singular verb forms: “the class has finished its homework”. This matter was discussed in an earlier Glossophilia blog post: https://glossophilia.org/?p=156

Some of my favorite nouns of assembly (for professions or groups of people):

– A tabernacle of bakers
– A shuffle of bureaucrats
– A hastiness of cooks
– A shrivel of critics
– A decanter of deans
– An obstruction of dons
– A galaxy of governesses
– A conjunction of grammarians
– A melody of harpists
– An observance of hermits
– A neverthriving of jugglers
– A superfluity of nuns
– A scolding of seamstresses
– A disguising of tailors
– A prudence of vicars
– An ambush of widows

Some of my favorite terms of venery:

– A shrewdness of apes
– A pace of asses
– A cete of badgers
– A sloth or sleuth of bears
– A singular of boars
– An obstinacy of buffalo
– A clowder or pounce of cats
– An intrusion of cockroaches
– A rag of colts
– A murder of crows
– A cowardice of curs
– A pitying of doves
– A business of ferrets
– A charm of finches
– A leash or skulk of fox
– A tower of giraffes
– An implausibility of gnus
– A trip of goats
– A down or husk of hares
– A bloat of hippopotamuses
– A cry or mute of hounds
– A cackle of hyenas
– An intrigue of kittens
– A deceit of lapwings
– An exaltation of larks
– A leap of leopards
– A pride of lions
– A labor of moles
– A span or barren of mules
– A richness of martens
– A romp of otters
– A parliament of owls
– An aurora of polar bears
– A prickle of porcupines
– An unkindness of ravens
– A crash of rhinoceroses
– A shiver of sharks
– A scurry of squirrels
– An affliction of starlings
– A streak of tigers
– A knot of toads
– A gam of whales
– A business of weasels

Wikipedia on the history of nouns of assembly:

The tradition of using “terms of venery” or “nouns of assembly” — collective nouns that are specific to certain kinds of animals — stems from an English hunting tradition of the late Middle Ages. The fashion of a consciously developed hunting language came to England from France. It is marked by an extensive proliferation of specialist vocabulary, applying different names to the same feature in different animals. These elements can be shown to have already been part of French and English hunting terminology by the beginning of the 14th century. In the course of the 14th century, it became a courtly fashion to extend the vocabulary, and by the 15th century, this tendency had reached exaggerated proportions. The Venerie of Twiti (early 14th century) distinguished three types of droppings of animals, and three different terms for herds of animals. Gaston Phoebus (14th c.) had five terms for droppings of animals, which were extended to seven in the Master of the Game (early 15th century). The focus on collective terms for groups of animals emerges in the later 15th century. Thus, a list of collective nouns in Egerton MS 1995, dated to ca. 1452 under the heading of termis of venery &c. extends to 70 items, and the list in the Book of Saint Albans (1486) runs to 165 items, many of which, even though introduced by the compaynys of beestys and fowlys, do not relate to venery but to human groups and professions and are clearly humorous. (a Doctryne of doctoris, a Sentence of Juges, a Fightyng of beggers, an uncredibilite of Cocoldis, a Melody of harpers, a Gagle of women, a Disworship of Scottis etc.)

The Book of Saint Albans became very popular during the 16th century and was reprinted frequently. Gervase Markham edited and commented on the list in his The Gentleman’s Academic in 1595. The book’s popularity had the effect of perpetuating many of these terms as part of the Standard English lexicon, even though they have long ceased to have any practical application. Even in their original context of medieval venery, the terms were of the nature of kennings, intended as a mark of erudition of the gentlemen able to use them correctly rather than for practical communication.The popularity of these terms in the early modern and modern period has resulted in the addition of numerous light-hearted, humorous or “facetious” collective nouns.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collective_noun

You say dressing, I say stuffing …

“Know your stuff, know what you are stuffing, then stuff it elegantly.“ — Lola May

Back in the middle ages in England, stuffing was known as farce, from the French farcir (derived from the Latin farcire), meaning “to stuff”. Farce also referred then to a brief and lighthearted dramatic interlude or play ‘stuffed’ for light relief between more serious religious presentations in order to hold an audience’s attention, and that meaning survives in a more comedic version today. As well as farce, forcemeat was another term used for the spiced meat mixture that was so called because of the way it was forced into the cavity of the bird for cooking.

Stuffing first began to be used in Tudor England during the reign of Henry VIII (the word was first seen in print in 1538). However, a few hundred years on, it was deemed too vulgar and descriptive a word for those in elegant Victorian high society, who began referring to stuffing as dressing — and this was the word that traveled across the Atlantic and is now used widely in North America, although it was subsequently dropped from the vernacular in England where its more hearty antecedent was preferred.

When the American company Stove Top introduced its own brand of dressing in a box in 1972 (after Ruth Siems, a home economist, invented the instant version of the product) and called it “stuffing”, the traditional English name found its way into Thanksgiving turkeys and households around the United States. Stuffing tends to be heard more in the South and East, while dressing is the accompaniment of choice in the Midwest.

Happy Thanksgiving!