Category: Etymology

Fence sitting

By Simon

Last night I learnt the French equivalent of the English idiom, to sit on the fence (to be undecided in opinion, or neutral in action) – ménager la chèvre et le choux [source], or “to keep the goat and the cabbage”. This phrase is also translated as “to face both ways”, “to keep everyone happy”, “have a foot in both camps” and “to play both ends against the middle”.

As a verb ménager means to handle carefully, to treat considerately, to take care not to hurt sb’s pride, to take care of, to look after or to arrange. As an adjective it means household, domestic, housework, housewife or canteen. The related noun, ménage, means household, housework or housekeeping.

Expressions including ménager and ménage include:

– ménager ses forces – to save one’s strength
– ne pas ménager – to spare no effort.
– robot ménager – food processor
– appareil ménager – domestic appliance
– jeune ménage – young couple
– argent du ménage – housekeeping money
– chef de ménage – head of the household
– chocolat de ménage – plain chocolate
– (mal)heureux en ménage – (un)happily married
– ménage à trois
– (grand) ménage de printemps – spring cleaning

Etymology: ménager and ménage come from the Old French word manoir (to remain, stay, dwell, reside), from the Latin manēre / maneo (same meaning as manoir) [source], from the Proto-Indo-European root *men- (to stay) [source], which is also the root of the French words maison (house) and manoir (manor house), of the English word manor, and of mansion, which is found in French and English.

Eyelid batting

By Simon

The other day a friend asked me about the origins of the phrase “to bat an eyelid”, which is normally used in the negative – he didn’t bat an eyelid at the pink elephant in the fridge – and means that you don’t react or show emotion when surprised or shocked. Or in other words, you took it in your stride. We wondered way it’s ‘bat’, which seems a strange thing to do with your eyelids.

The same verb is used in the phrase “to bat ones eyes/eyelashes”, meaning to open and close your eyes very quickly several times, intending to be attractive to someone [source].

According to the OED, the verb to bat is a variant of bate (to flutter as a hawk), from the Old French batre (to contend, fight, strive, flutter), from the late Latin batĕre/battĕre, from the classical Latin batuĕre (to hit, beat, pound). This comes from the Proto-Indo-European prefix bhau- (to hit) [source], which is also the root of such English words as butt and batter.

Rundfunk

By Simon

I came across the German word Rundfunk the other day and it just appealed to me, so I thought I’d find out more about it.

Rundfunk /ˈʀʊntfʊŋk/ means broadcasting, radio, wireless or broadcasting company/corporation, though would probably also be a good name for a band.

It also appears in such expressions as:

– Rundfunkansager – radio announcer
– Rundfunkgesellschaft – broadcasting company
– Rundfunksendung – radio programme
– Rundfunksender – radio transmitter

Rund /ʀʊnt/ means round, rounded, circular, spherical, plump, about, roughly, flatly, and comes the Middle Low German runt, from the Old French ront, from the Latin rotundus (round), from rota (wheel, disk), from the Proto-Indo-European *Hroth₂-o- (wheel) [source] – the same root as the English word round.

Some words and expressions featuring rund include:

– Rundbank – circular bench
– Rundbau – rotunda
– Rundblick – panorama
– Rundung – curve
– eine Runde machen – to go for a walk / ride – similar to the Welsh expression, mynd am dro (to go for a turn)
– eine Runde schlafen – to have a kip (sleep)
– rund um die Uhr – right (a)round the clock
– jetzt geht’s rund – this is where the fun starts
– es geht rund im Büro – there’s a lot on at the office

Funk /ˈfʊŋk/ appears in radio-related compounds, like Rundfunk, and is possibly related to Funke (spark, scrap, gleam, ray, glimmer), from the Proto-Germanic *funkô/*fankô (spark), from the Proto-Indo-European *(s)peng-/*(s)pheng- (to shine).

Some words featuring Funk include:

– Funkerzählung – story written for radio
– Funkgerät – radio equipment, walkie-talkie
– Funkmeßgerät – radar
– Funkkolleg – educational radio broadcast
– Funkwagen – radio car

The verb funken (to radio, to emit sparks) also exists.

One thing I like about German is words link Rundfunk, which seem to me to be somehow more earthy and straightforward they their more flowery Latin or Greek-derived equivalents. I like the Latin and Greek-derived words as well, but the words with Germanic roots just appeal to me in a different way.

Summer chicks and glowing coals

By Simon

Butterfly

Last night we were talking about the Pili Palas on Anglesey, a butterfly centre, which also has birds, snakes and other exotic creatures. The name is a pun combining pili-pala (butterfly) and palas (palace) – it took me ages to realise this. We were trying to think of the words for butterfly in various other languages and came up with the French, papillon, and the Spanish mariposa, but got stuck after that. This got me wondering why these words are so different in different languages.

The English word butterfly comes from the Old English buttorfleoge, perhaps from bēatan (to beat) and flēoge (fly), or perhaps it was the name just for yellow butterflies, and/or because butterflies were thought to eat butter and milk.

In Middle High German butterflies were known as molkendiep (“milk-thief”) and in Low German a butterfly is a Botterlicker (“butter-licker”) [source]. In Modern German Schmetterling /ˈʃmɛtɐlɪŋ/ is the word for butterfly – from Schmetten (cream) – from the Czech smetana (cream). This is based on the folk belief that witches transformed themselves into butterflies to steal cream and milk [source].

Welsh words for butterfly include iâr fach yr haf (“summer chick”), glöyn byw (“living coal”), pila-pala and bili-balo.

Like iâr fach yr haf in Welsh, butterflies are known as “summer birds” in Norwegian, sommerfugl, and in Yiddish, zomerfeygele.

In Irish the word for butterfly is féileacán, possible from the Old Irish etelachán (little flying creature / butterfly), from etelach (flying) [source]. The Manx butterfly, foillycan, comes from the same root, but in Scottish Gaelic butterflies are seilleann-dé (“God’s bee”) and dealan-dè (“God’s lightening”).

The French word for butterfly, papillon, comes from the Latin pāpiliō (butterfly, moth) – of unknown origin, and also the root of the English word pavilion (via Old French) [source]. The Italian farfalla (butterfly) comes from the same source.

The Spanish word for butterfly, mariposa, apparently comes from the expression Mari, posa(te (Mary, alight!), which features in children’s songs and games, or from la Santa Maria posa (the Virgin Mary alights/rests). Other theories about the etymology of this word.

There is more discussion of words for butterfly in various languages on AllExperts, and there are words for butterfly in many more languages here.

Cnaipí & cripio

By Simon

A story I heard when I was in Ireland featured two characters playing na cnaipí (tiddlywinks) /nə kripiː/ in a graveyard at night. A man who overheard them sharing out the tiddlywinks, saying over and over “one for me and one for you”, and thought they were the devil and god sharing out souls.

When I first heard the story I didn’t know what na cnaipí were, but later disovered that they are buttons or tiddlywinks. The singular of the word is cnaipe /kripə/ or /knapə/* and it means button, knob, key or dot, and can refer to buttons on clothes and to buttons (and keys and knobs) on keyboards and other electronic software and hardware.

* in some dialects of Irish, such as in Ulster and Connemara, cn is pronounced /kr/ while in others it’s pronounced /kn/

Today I discovered some similar-sounding Welsh words, cripio (to scratch) and cripiad (scratch), and wondered if they were related to the Irish cnaipe.

According to Dennis King, cnaipe comes from the Middle Irish cnap, from the Old Norse knappr (button, knob), from the Germanic *kn-a-pp-, from the Indo-European root *gen- (to compress into a ball), which is also the root of the English words knob and knoll, and the Scottish Gaelic word cnap (knob, lump, hillock).

As far as I can discover, there is no link between cnaipe and cripio – their resemblance is a chance one, something you find quite often when comparing languages.

Crusts, hogwash and turnspits

By Simon

On the BBC Four programme If Walls Could Talk: The History of the Home, that I watched last night, they discussed the possible origins of a number of expressions, including by hook and by crook, upper crust, hog wash, turnspit and so on.

By hook and by crook – by whatever means necessary.
In medieval times peasants were only allowed to take wood from the trees – any wood on the ground belonged to the lord of the manor – and they gathered the wood with reapers’ billhooks or shepherds’ crooks. According to The Phrase Finder, this is the most likely origin of this phrase, though there are other suggestions: that it comes from Hook Head and Crooke, villages on opposite sides of the Waterford channel in Ireland, and Cromwell apparently said that Waterford would fall ‘by Hook or by Crooke’, i.e. by a landing of his army at one of those two places. Another possibility is that the phrase comes from two judges from the early 17th century, called Hooke and Crooke, who were called on to solve difficult legal cases.

Upper crust – the aristocracy.
The folk etymology of this phrase is that only the nobility were given the upper, unburnt part of the bread, while the peasants got the bottoms of the loaves that had sat on the oven floor and got burnt. According to The Phrase Finder though, there is no evidence for this explanation. They cite one reference from The boke of nurture, folowyng Englondis gise by John Russell (circa 146): “Kutt ye vpper crust for youre souerayne.” (iCut the upper crust [of the loaf] for your sovereign). The term upper crust wasn’t used to refer to the aristocracy, at least in writing, until the early 19th century and previously referred to the outer crust of the Earth’s surface and, more frequently, a person’s head or hat.

Hogwash – nonsene.
In Victorian times, and probably before, any food waste that couldn’t be made into soup or otherwise reused was called ‘wash’ and was sold to farmers to feed their pigs or hogs, hence ‘hogwash’, which is also known as pigswill. By the later 19th century and mainly in the USA hogwash came to mean nonsense, especially ridiculous, worthless or nonsensical ideas.

Turnspit – a person whose job it was to keep a roasting-spit turning, or a dog that kept the spit turning by running in a wooden tread-wheel to which it was attached. Such dogs were also known as turnspit dogs or turn curs and a breed (now extinct) was developed specifically for such work. Such a dog first appears in writing in Of English Dogs in 1576 with the name Turnespete. Other names for them include the Kitchen Dog, the Cooking Dog, the Underdog and the Vernepator.

Peu profond

By Simon

Last night I discovered that there doesn’t appear to be a separate French word for shallow, at least when you’re talking about shallow water, dishes or graves – the term peu profond (‘not very deep’) is used in these cases. If you’re talking about a shallow person, mind, writing, novel, film or conversation though, the word to use is superficiel(le), or you can say that they manque de profondeur (lack depth).

This got me wondering whether there is a Latin word for shallow, when referring to water, etc, which didn’t end up in French. According to my Latin dictionary, shallow is brevis, vadōsus or levis. Another Latin dictionary I checked defines brevis as short, vadōsus as “full of shallows, shallow, shoal” and levis as “light, not heavy” or “smooth, not rough”.

The English word shallow first appeared in writing in the early 15th century schalowe, and is possibly related to schald (Old English sceald) – shoal.

Bro

By Simon

Last night one of my friends was wondering about the meaning of the Welsh word bro, which appears in some Welsh placenames, such as Bro Morgannwg (the Vale of Glamorgan). So I thought I’d find out.

Bro /bro:/ is a Welsh word meaning “region, country, vale, lowland”. It is used mainly in place names, and appears in the expression bro a bryn (hill and dale), and in papurau bro (local Welsh language newspapers). It is also part of such words as brodir (region, country) and brodor (native), and in Y Fro Gymraeg (The Welsh Language Area) – the parts of Wales where Welsh is the majority language. It is a somewhat similar concept to the Gaeltachtaí in Ireland, though has no official recognition.

The same word exists in Cornish and Breton and has the same meaning. The Breton names for regions of Brittany all begin with Bro, for example Bro-Leon (Léon), Bro-Wened (Vannetais) and Bro-Gernev (Cornouauille), and England is Bro-Saoz (‘Land of the Saxons’), and Scotland is Bro-Skos or Skos in Breton.

Mawdelit

By Simon

Mawdelit is one of the Scots words discussed in a programme I watched last night called Blethering Scots. It was described as an illness you pretend to have to get time off work, and comes from the French mal de lit, which is related to the medieval Latin malum lecti – an illness that confines one to bed or a bed-sickness.

Other words mentioned in the programme include:

– fankle – to catch in a snare, to trap; to tangle, ravel, mix up; confused, tangled, and the related words fankled and fanglet

Example: It was jist the ither day I got fankled wi’ some o’ ma accoonts.

– stramash – an uproar, commotion, hubbub, disturbance, a broil, squabble, row; to shatter, to smash to pieces

Example: There arose a stramash doon stairs fiercer than ordinary.

– glaikit – stupid, foolish; thoughtless, irresponsible, flighty; playful, full of pranks; wanton; sportive, roguish (of the eyes); deceitful, shifty.

Example: There rest him weel; for eith [also] can we Spare mony glakit gouks [fools] like he.

One contributor to the programme mentioned that it was unusual to see such words written down when he was young and that children were told that these words were wrong when they used them in school. Nowadays, however, some schools are teaching Scots and encourage its use. It is also used to a limited extent in the media.

Source: Dictionary of the Scot Language / Dictionar o the Scots Leid

Epizeuxis

By Simon

I came across the word epizeuxis recently (in One of Our Thursdays is Missing, by Jasper Fforde) and wasn’t sure what it meant or even how to pronounce it, so I decided to find out.

According to the OED, epizeuxis (/ɛpɪˈzjuːksɪs/) is “a figure by which a word is repeated with vehemence or emphasis.” It comes via Latin from the Greek ἐπίζευξις (epizeuxis – a fastening upon), from ἐπί (epi – upon) and ζευγνύναι (zeugnunai – to yoke).

Wikipedia says that, “In rhetoric, an epizeuxis is the repetition of words in immediate succession, for vehemence or emphasis” and gives examples such as “O horror, horror, horror.” from Macbeth, and “Education, education, education.” by Tony Blair.

Information about this and other terms used in rhetoric from abating* to zeugma** can be found in the Silva Rhetoricae: The Forest of Rhetoric.

* abating in an English version of anesis (/ˈænɪsɪs/), from the Greek ἄνεσις (anesis – a loosening, relaxing, abating) = “adding a concluding sentence that diminishes the effect of what has been said previously. The opposite of epitasis.”

** zeugma (/ˈzjuːgmə/), from the Greek ζεῦγμα (zeûgma – yoke) = “A general term describing when one part of speech (most often the main verb, but sometimes a noun) governs two or more other parts of a sentence (often in a series).”