The Holy History of Precarious

Hello.

This week’s word is precarious, a word with a surprisingly holy history.

With my sense of balance, crossing these would be precarious indeed

My own most frequent use of precarious is related to either hiking or stacking. There are times on a trail when you need to cross a set of stepping stones and even if none of them are unsteady, or precarious, I will inevitably land in the water. It’s my only super-power and one which my hiking friends enjoy with much mirth.

As for a stack of books or papers, well, I blithely disregard the precarious nature of those too, with predictable results.

So when I found the following entry in “Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable”, it caught my attention – “From Latin precarius, obtained by prayer. Is applied to what depends on our prayers or requests. A precarious tenure is one that depends solely on the will of the owner to concede to our prayer, hence uncertain and not to be depended on”.

The example relating to legal tenure is apt. Apparently precarious joined the English dictionary as a legal word in the 1640s. It meant that something was “held through the favor of another” – something like a paid job, an estate, or permission to inhabit a home, for example.

Brewer was correct, it comes from Latin precarius (gained by asking or praying) thanks to the Latin word prex (prayer) and ultimately from the Proto Indo European root word – prek (to ask). Prek also gives us words like prayer, prithee, and deprecate.

By the end of the 1600s the idea of being dependent on the goodwill of another led precarious to gain a second meaning of something being risky (like me on those stepping stones) or uncertain. Samuel Johnson didn’t approve, saying precarious “is used for uncertain in all its senses; but it only means uncertain, as dependent on others”.

Like many a language fan in his time and since, Johnson was unable to stand against the tide of general usage and now precarious is much more likely to be used of a risky situation than in the specific legal sense.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Oh Those Convivial Romans

Hello,

I’m reading “The Wordhord” by Hana Videen at the moment and given that it’s about Old English words, I really shouldn’t be writing about a Roman word in English, but she mentioned convivial in passing and it reminded me that I like the word but hadn’t explored its roots.

Convivial (meaning relating to a feast) has been with us since the 1660s and I suppose we’ve always needed words about parties, as Hana was talking about ge-bēor-scripe – which translates literally as a beer-ship, but is more like a formal meal taken in company, and not always with beer.

She explained that the Last Supper was a ge-bēor-scripe, as was the Pharoah’s birthday celebration according to Old English translators of the Bible and I can only imagine those events had very different vibes from a round of beers, or cocktails, in the pub.

But what about the convivial Romans? Did they break bread with a dozen close friends, toast with mead like the Vikings, or party like an Egyptian?

Convivial arrived in English from Latin convivialis (relating to a feast) thanks to convivium (a feast) and convivere (to carouse together or to live together). They are all formed by joining com (together) which we also find in words like community and vivere (to live) which French speakers will recognise as linked to vivre (to live). By the time the word reached the 1700s the idea of feasting wasn’t compulsory to its meaning. You could say somebody was convivial if they were sociable.

There were a few related words too. We still have convivially and conviviality, although they’re not used much now.

One I had never heard of was convive. It dates to the 1600s again and is the term for a boon companion, a convivial person. It has the same roots in Latin where it was a conviva – a guest or table-companion. By the 1850s it was still in English and was a term for a woman who lives in the same house with a number of others. I’d love to know the context of that. Was it a group of female-workers sharing lodgings? A matriarchal family group? We don’t have many records of women living without a male presence in that time period and I’m intrigued that it was common enough to have its own word. Can any of you shed any light on convive?

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Hasty Angels and the Word History of Precipitation

Hello,

It’s a wet Monday here. The forecast is for rain all day long. The puddles are forming in my garden and my walking shoes are glaring at me, daring me to test their water-proof-ness.

Instead of sloshing through puddles, I’ll take a look at the word history of precipitation. My first association with the word is as an alternative term for rain, but of course it covers all types of atmospheric moisture deposited on the earth’s surface including snow, dew, frost, hail, etc.

This idea of precipitation being a form of water falling from the sky dates to the 1600s but the word itself is older. It joined English in the late 1400s and was originally spelled as precipitacioun. I love those old spellings, don’t you?

It arrived with two meanings. One was the casting down of rebellious angels from heaven. Lucifer was precipitated from heaven, for example. The other was used in alchemy where precipitation was the separation of a solid from a solution. My eldest is now studying chemistry at university and he would know all about that. I hope he does this in a slow careful manner rather than with undue haste.

Precipitation was borrowed into English from Old French and before that came from Latin praecipitationem (falling headlong or being hasty) from praeceps (steep, headlong, headfirst). Praeceps is formed by joining prae (before) with caput (head). Put the two together and you definitely get the idea of going head-first with some degree of speed, as an angel might when falling from a great height.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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The Multinational Word History of April, and Easter

Hello and Happy April Fool’s Day!

Naturally on a blog called Wordfoolery I celebrate this day as a special one for fools, especially word fools. I thought I take a look at the word April this year and discovered its roots have grown into several different countries and languages.

Happy April Fool’s Day from my mini Wordfoolery doll

Month names have various roots and have changed over time with thanks to Roman emperors, French revolutions, and dictators of all sorts but April joined the English dictionary with a little help from a Greek goddess and replaced one named for an Anglo-Saxon goddess. Either way it seems appropriate that April, or Avril, are still used as names for girls today.

April became the name of the fourth month in the English calendar around 1300, but it was originally spelled aueril. This was borrowed from Old French Avril which is still the name used in modern French. Although April was briefly called Germinal (strictly speaking this ran from 21 March to 21 April) in honour of seed germination. Those month name changes didn’t stick, but personally I liked they way they linked the months to what was happening in nature.

The French month of Avril was borrowed from Latin Aprilis. Aprilis was the second month in the ancient Roman calendar which started in March. This is how we end up with December (dec meaning ten) being the tenth month rather than the twelfth. Don’t worry about it, it will make your brain melt.

Back to April. The roots of Aprilis are murky. One theory is that it’s drawn from Apru, the Etruscan version of the Greek goddess Aphrodite. It’s not surprising that in a time when people lived in close proximity to nature that springtime, when species mate and plants rebound into life, the name of this perfect spring month would be connected to a goddess of love and fertility. Old folk etymology (note – this means it may be fake) link Aprilis to the Latin word aperire (to open) again linking to buds opening on trees and other fertile ideas.

Aprilis could simply be named “the following” or “next”, in relation to its position following the first month (March) in the Roman calendar as we had apero and the root word apo meaning “away” or “off”. These roots also give us aparah (second) in Sanskrit and afar (after) in Gothic. It is impossible to know for sure. April is either named after “next month” or after the Greek goddess of love in a nod towards spring fertility. I know which story I would choose.

It can be fun to look back and see what word April replaced in the English language. In this case the Old English name for the month was Eastermonað and this was named for a fertility goddess too. As you might guess the month was named Easter month. Although the date of Easter moves thanks to the phases of the moon, it is nearly always celebrated in April. The last March-time Easter was in 1997 and the next one will be in 2059 so don’t hold your breath.

Easter itself, in English, was named for the goddess Eostre. Her name comes from Proto Germanic austron (dawn) this is because aust (east) faced towards the rising sun. She was worshipped by the Angol-Saxons in pre-Christian times and with the coming of the new faith her name was used for the feast of Easter in much the same way Roman Saturnalia was transformed into Christmas. It’s worth noting that most other languages around English use some form of Latin’s Pascha for this feast which presumably links to Passover in the Jewish tradition and the timing of the the Easter story. Easter is called Pâcques in French, Cásca in Irish, Pascua in Spanish, Pasg in Welsh, and Pasen in Dutch. The only language I checked which has a similar East > Eostre > Easter linkage is Germany where it’s called Ostern (Ost means East in German) and lo and behold the Anglo-Saxons originated in Northern Germany.

In case you’re curious the association of eggs with Easter started early (pace eggs in 1610s) but the Easter Bunny turned up in 1904. Rabbits, or more probably hares which are particularly visible at this time of year, were associated with the goddess Eostre.

Now you know the story of April and Easter. Happy April Fool’s Day and (slightly belated) Happy Easter!

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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The Nimble History of the Chopstick

Hello,

Another culinary word to investigate this week – chopsticks. I came across a mention of William Dampier providing the first use of the word in English in his accounts of his travels in Vietnam in the 1690s. William (1651-1715) has quite the life story. Having browsed the details on his wikipedia profile I’m now keen to read a biography, so if anybody can suggest one, please leave the title in the comments. Apparently he was an explorer, privateer, navigator, pirate, and naturalist. He was the first person to circumnavigate the globe three times. He also rescued Alexander Selkirk (the inspiration for Robinson Crusoe).

A chopstick (or chop-stick) is a small stick of wood used in pairs when eating in China, Korea, Japan, and elsewhere. My favourite pair is pictured above, but we’ve several types and I often think they’ve a clever culinary tool considering how long it took eaters in the British Isles to adopt the fork, for example (you can read more about that here).

How did the word arrive into English? Apparently it was a partial translation, probably by sailors, of the Chinese term k’wai tse (fast ones or nimble boys). I love that translation – perfect for the quick motions of those who’ve eaten with chopsticks since childhood.

The first part – chop – is a pidgin English word which came from Cantonese kap (urgent). Think about the phrase chop-chop, meaning hurry up.

The second part – stick – comes from the Chinese word tsze which is a “individualising formative particle”. Now what that means is beyond me but I found some examples of tsze meaning son so I’m assuming this part refers to boy and hence we get chopstick meaning quick boy. Any Cantonese speaking readers know more? Feel free to leave a comment below.

Music-lovers will know of “Chopsticks” a waltz for the piano which is commonly taught to beginners. It’s nicknamed “Chopsticks” because your fingers resemble a pair of sticks when playing the melody with a quick chopping motion. The actual name of the piece is “The Celebrated Chop Waltz”. It was written in 1877 by a sixteen year old girl, Euphemia Allen and she created versions for solo players and for a duet. The music was published under the pen name Arthur de Lulli with help from her brother Mozart Allen who was a music publisher.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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The South American History of Demerara

Hello,

This week’s word history is a sweet one – demerara. The word joined English in 1848 but it’s come all the way from South America. It describes “a coarse light-brown raw sugar” (Merriam Webster) and is a regular item in my baking cupboard and recipes.

Demerara is a toponym becuase it’s named for a river and historical region on the north coast of South America, an area which is now part of the country of Guyana. It was colonised by the Dutch West India Company in the 1600s for trading purposes but by the 1700s the area was known for large scale sugar plantations. By 1762 a third of the plantations were owned by the British. Control of the area moved between the Dutch, British, French, and British again in the years thereafter.

The plantations were worked by slaves of African origin in dreadful conditions which led to a large scale revolt in 1823, suppression by troops, and eventual abolition of slavery in Britain’s colonies in 1833. Guyana gained its independence from British rule in 1966. They still produce demerara and rice. The discovery of oil off their coast in 2019 has helped their economy grow in recent years.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Ipsedixitism – More of It About than You’d Think

Hello,

This week’s word is ipsedixitism. You may not know the term, but I’m fairly sure you’ve encountered what it describes. Ipsedixitism is defined as “statement presented as fact without any supporting evidence” (BBC) or “dogmatic assertion or assertiveness” (Merriam-Webster).

I’ve encountered a few people in my life who love a bit of ipsedixitism. If they make a statement in a confident, loud voice many around them will assume it to be correct and generally they dislike being asked for supporting evidence. Now it’s not a problem if the statement is self-evidently true such as “the sky is blue”, but if it’s more complex then such talk is misleading, at best.

It’s easier to pronounce than it looks, break it up into chunks, ip-se-dix-it-ism.

The word itself comes from the expression ipse dixit which is Latin and translates literally as “he said it” where the he in this case is the master. The Latin is a translation of the Greek phrase autos epha which was used by disciples of Pythagoras when they were quoting their master. The idea was that they could say something and give “Phythagoras said it so it must be true” as their justification. Ipse dixit came into English in the late 1500s and by the 1830s you could use ipsedixitism to describe any dogmatic assertion.

I wish I could claim that the falling of ipsedixitism from general use (its usage has plummeted in the last century) means that dogmatic assertions are on the decrease too, but I’m not convinced of that statement unless somebody can offer supporting proof.

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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The Colourful History of Bellini and Carpaccio

Hello,

Between editing “Words Christmas Gave Us” (my next Wordfoolery book, releasing in 2024) this month, I’ve been working on my downloads for readers. Did you know I have a downloads page with free articles? I’ve created some wonderful ones for the Christmas release (not yet available, sorry) and I’ve started work on “Words People and Places Gave Us” for the same page. It will contain all the eponyms and toponyms I’ve stumbled across since publishing “How to Get Your Name in the Dictionary”, a sequel of sorts. As these downloads go live, I’ll mention it here.

One of those eponyms was the bellini. It’s a word Venice gave us. Sometimes we can forget that Venice was a hugely influential city state, but its influence remains in the English language. We have all of these words thanks to Venice – gondola, regatta, quarantine, zany, bellini, and carpaccio. I’d make a case for casanova too.

The bellini cocktail was invented in the 1930s or 1940s by Giuseppe Cipriani, the founder of Harry’s Bar in Venice. The drink mixes puréed white peaches and the Italian sparkling wine called prosecco, sometimes with a dash of raspberry or cherry juice to enhance the colour. Initially this was a seasonal tipple as white peaches are only in season from midsummer to early autumn, but now the peach purée is more widely available.

Cipriani named the drink the bellini because its unique pink colour reminded him of the toga of a saint in a painting by the 15th-century Venetian artist Giovanni Bellini. Its variants are also eponymous. If you replace the peach with mandarin you get a puccini (Italian composer), a rossini (Italian composer) uses strawberry purée and a tintoretto (Venetian painter) deploys pomegranate juice.

Cipriani was an inventive chap. He also created carpaccio, the raw beef dish, which is named for Vittore Carpaccio, the Venetian painter known for the red and white tones in his work.

Now all I have to do is come up with an excuse to sample a bellini in Venice.

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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The Surprisingly Un-Scottish History of Scot-free

Hello,

Have you ever thought about the origins of getting off scot-free? I came across it in my reading this week (“Humble Pie and Cold Turkey” by Caroline Taggart, if you’re curious) and it set me on the distinctly non-Scottish trail of the expression.

A witty Scottish police box (updated as a coffee hut)

Scot-free dates to Old English and was originally spelled scotfreo. It meant you were exempt from a royal tax and was compounded from scot (royal tax) and freo (free).

The definition of scot as a royal tax caught my eye. Having visited Edinburgh recently I was pretty certain scot referred to somebody resident in Scotland. No, apparently a scot is from late Old English and refers to municipal taxes, royal taxes, or fees due to a feudal lord.

The word scot in this sense came from skot in Old Norse (contribution) so our friends the Vikings had a hand in this one. The Old Norse verb skjota had two meanings – one around the idea of shooting and throwing and the second about transferring to another or paying. It’s the later meaning that we’re looking at this time. Skot is also related to Old English sceotan (to pay), Dutch schot, and German Schoß (tax) so this word has plenty of Northern European roots. You can also find escot (payment) in Old French which comes from Latin scotum.

It appears that scot, or variants, was widely known throughout Europe at the time as meaning some type of payment. In the 1100s in English you might find yourself at a scot-ale. In this case ale meant a festival. Specifically a scot-ale was a festival (probably with compulsory attendance) held by the lord of the manor and the scot was a feudal tax payable to him for the party. You might have to pay others too. Rome-scot was a church tax payable to the Pope and soul-scot was a payment on behalf of the deceased.

With time the idea of scot-free arose, if you got away scot-free you avoided paying the tax. From the 1600s it expanded to getting away without any consequences.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Want more Wordfoolery? Subscribe to the monthly newsletter “Wordfoolery Whispers”. 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.

A Hairy History of Disheveled

Hello,

After the elegant history of vogue last week I’m taking a different angle with the hairy history of disheveled (or dishevelled if you prefer) this week.

Disheveled, having a messy personal appearance, appeared in English in the early 1400s but back then it was all about the hair. Manners may maketh the man according to Eton and other colleges, but the hairdressers in those days would disagree.

A disheveled Wordfoolery in 2018

Let’s hold up the mirror to disheveled’s roots first. Its original meaning in English was to be without dressed hair. There was also another adjective at the same time – dischevele – which meant bare-headed. Both came from Old French deschevele (bare headed or shaven headed). That came from the verb descheveler (to disarrange the hair). That formed from des (apart) and chevel (hair). Chevel originated in Latin capillus (hair), the same root that gives us capillary, but that’s a word for another day.

The meaning of disheveled was entirely about hair for quite some time. It described hair that was hanging loose, or having a neglected appearance. This was an era when letting your hair down only happened in the privacy of your own home, hence its association with relaxation. Women, after girlhood, wore their hair up and usually under a cap of some variety. Even the men paid attention to the dressing of their hair. Sailors were so keen to keep their hair tied back that they’d apply tar to their plaits, giving them the nickname of “tars”.

Disheveled gained the modern meaning of a messy or untidy appearance from around 1600 and now most of us wouldn’t even think of it being exclusive to hair. Plus some more recent hairstyles are deliberately disheveled. I doubt they would have liked the idea of “bed-head” back in the 1400s.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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