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Posts Tagged ‘word origin’

Asgard II at Howth

Hello,

This week’s word is thanks to Terry Breverton’s excellent non-fiction tome “Nautical Curiosities” which I recently finished reading with a fistful of inspirations for my coastal novel series and for this blog. There may be a flood of nautical words on the horizon, you have been warned.

I’ll begin with gollywobbler because it’s such a ridiculous word. The gollywobbler is a “large square staysail hoisted between the masts of schooner in a reaching wind to increase speed”. As a motion-sickness-afflicted landlubber myself I scurried to the dictionary to understand that description. I’ll enlighten you as best I can.

A staysail is a fore and aft sail set on lines that run diagonally downward from a mast. These lines (what sailors call ropes) are called stays, hence the name. Unlike the square-rigged sails on a schooner, staylines are in line with the keel of the boat, i.e. at right angles to the rest of the sails. Thus, presumably, they catch wind from other directions and increase the ship’s speed. A reaching wind comes side-on to the boat and the staysails are perfectly positioned to use a reaching wind. Gollywobblers are still used on sailing boats today and there’s even a series of wines named after them.

The origin of gollywobbler is, sadly, unknown, but I imagine that running aloft to hoist one would have been a wobbly and rather terrifying task on the taller of the tall-ships. The gollywobbler is believed to have given rise to the expression “I have the collywobbles” which means to be afraid.

In other news this week, I’ve finished the major editing on my book about the fascinating people behind eponyms “How to Get Your Name into the Dictionary”. Now begins the the fine edits and work with the proof-reader and cover-designer. I’ll keep you posted on progress. If any of you review books, let me know in the comments or @Wordfoolery on twitter and I’ll send an ARC your way.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Lambing is in full swing

Hello,

Did you know today is the vernal equinox? I didn’t. I was more focused on the clocks going forward this weekend (for European Daylight Saving) which will mean I can do evening outdoor Scout meetings again and hike longer in the day. Yes, that’s the way my mind works.

But I had noticed that it was pretty springy around here today. The clue was the frantic baa-ing from the fields I passed on my morning walk as ewes sought to protect their new lambs from my gaze, the upswing in temperatures, and the consequent blooming of wild primroses, dandelions, and wood anemones on the banks.

So what’s the vernal equinox anyhow? It’s one of two times per year when the sun is positioned directly above the equator and hence we have equal day and night. The vernal (or spring) equinox marks the point in the year when the northern hemisphere begins to tilt towards the sun and we get longer, warmer days. It’s the astronomical start of spring (unless you’re in the southern hemisphere in which case it’s the start of autumn) and certainly in these parts it is when the countryside wakes up and the farmers stay up later. A brightly-lit tractor passed me this evening on its way to sow fields in the dark.

Wild Primroses (an edible flower)

Vernal equinox has Roman roots. Ver is Latin for spring and vernal means “of spring”. The Romans gave this word to several other languages in fact – Norse, Greek, Lithuanian, Armenian, Sanskrit, Slavonic, and Persian. Equinox is an almost direct import from Latin too. Aequi means equal and nox means night and the term entered English in late middle English.

The Romans can’t claim to have discovered it, however, as even megalithic people marked the equinox with stone circles and cultures worldwide have marked the date with various celebrations and rites, many associated with fertility. Knowing when to sow crops has always been an important consideration after a long dark winter.

The Romans took a typically imperial approach. They named the month, March, in honour of Mars their god of war for one simple reason. The weather in March, thanks to the equinox, dried up enough to allow war season to commence. They regarded it as the first month of their year.

I wish March marked such a dramatic change in weather in these latitudes. Sadly this morning’s sunshine has now vanished into a sudden temperature drop and a snow forecast. Spring takes a while to unfurl in these parts.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and vernal wordfooling,

Grace

 

 

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Hello,

After a relatively mild winter, the storms of spring recently landed here in Ireland. I’m lucky to be on the East coast (away from the wildest of the Atlantic winds and generally the worst of the weather) but Storm Doris still managed to pop out four of our garden fence panels and blasted trees, trampolines, roof-tiles, and electricity wires down around the village.

Anchors away

Anchors away

So when I read stories this week of windjammers in Breverton’s “Nautical Curiosities” I had to find out how they got their name. Terry Breverton tells me that “windjammer was a derogatory term among steamship crew for any square-rigged sailing ship”. Merriam-Webster adds that the term arose in the 1880s.

Windjammer is a collective name for various types of square-rigged sailing ships built in the late 1800s to carry large amounts of bulk cargo such as timber, grain, or ore, between continents using the prevailing winds. They’re not the same as the earlier sailing ships, the clippers, which carried less and traveled faster. Windjammers had between three and five masts and often circumnavigated the globe on their voyages.

The steamship crews didn’t need to mock the windjammers. Once steam was perfected the days of sail were, sadly, numbered. The steam ships could round Cape Horn (the tip of South America) in 1,000 miles but under sail it would take 1,500 miles. Heading east, with the winds, that would take a week. Heading west, against the winds, that could take two or even three weeks. In 1914 the Edward Sewall took 67 days, twice being blasted back to a position she’d already passed and finally covering 5,000 miles in the trip.

There are two stories about the origin of the word windjammer. The first, and most likely to be true, is that it came from English – the sails “jammed” the wind, i.e. blocked it, because there were so many of them.

The second while less likely to be correct, has a certain romance to it. The idea is that the word comes from Dutch and German verb jammern which means to wail and refers to the sound of strong winds blowing through all that rigging.

Happy wordfooling this week and if the winds pick up, jump on a windjammer,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. I’ve just joined Instagram. I’m posting photos of historic spots in Ireland (and on my travels). If your instagram passion is history – let me know and I’ll follow.

p.p.s. To readers in the UK and Ireland – Happy World Book Day on Thursday!

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Hello,

Today’s word is from Wordfoolery friend, Sheena, a crossword fiend who stumbled upon bosky when looking up umbrageous. That sentence sent me scurrying for my dictionary. Well played, S!

bosky jewels

yesterday’s bosky jewels

Umbrageous means “creating or providing shade”. You might have an umbrageous tree or tall friend. It can also describe somebody who is wont to take umbrage or offense. Your tall friend could be umbrageous in two senses.

Umbrageous entered English in the 1500s via French, originally from umbra, meaning “shade” in Latin, which does give a whole new authenticity to the recent expression of “throwing shade”. As someone who burns easily in the sunlight I wouldn’t take umbrage if someone threw shade at me.

This week’s word is actually bosky (pronunciation available here) because it sounds so quirky and I’d never happened upon it before. An area is described as bosky if it is covered by trees or bushes. Apparently in Middle English there were three ways to spell bush – bush, busk, and bosk. Busk is sometimes used in dialects, making me wonder if buskers originally serenaded passersby from a shrub. Bosk died out but not before giving us the root (pun intended) for the bosky adjective.

In spring, which is trying to surge in these parts, woodland flowers like snowdrops, crocus, and bluebells take advantage of the absent leaves in deciduous bosky areas to bloom without their umbrageous shade. Watch carefully when walking this week and you may be rewarded with glimpses of bosky jewels as I was yesterday.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling.

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. Did you hear the news that Neil Gaiman is writing a sequel to “Neverwhere”? I’m smiling today.

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love-duckHappy Saint Valentine’s Day,

It’s a grey and dreary 14th of February here in Ireland. You would think the early Christian martyr Saint Valentine would have arranged for better weather considering we’ve given his old bones a resting place, a gift from Pope Gregory XVI in 1836.

I found this week’s word, aubade, on Pinterest which I joined last week. I finally have a spot to save all those craft, garden and scout project ideas I gather around the Web, huzzah! I’ll be using it for book and blog research as well, of course. Are any of you on it? I’m looking for boards to follow. You’ll find me as GraceTierneyIrl.

An aubade is a song or poem greeting the dawn, or sometimes a tale of lovers parting at dawn. It entered the English lexicon in the 1600s with the meaning of dawn serenade. It came from French but has Spanish and Latin roots in auba (dawn) and alba/albus (white). I notice Albus Dumbledore was well-named in that regard. The reference to alba confused me as I knew it was an old name for Scotland and had assumed it was Latin, but no, it’s a Scottish Gaelic word dating back to 900, long before aubades were sung to highland lassies.

Ironically serenade, a song at night, typically sung to one’s lover through their window, entered English earlier than the aubade but again it came via French, those romantic old devils. In arrived there from Italian with both sera (evening) and sereno (calm and open air) contributing to the word.

If you feel inclined to sing an aubade or serenade to your beloved today, I’ll add one word of warning – find out first if they’re a night owl or early bird, unless you want something thrown at your head.

Until next time, happy reading, writing, singing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Hello,

Living in the northern hemisphere, it is tempting during the winter to imitate other mammals and hibernate. Both my children attempted that ploy this morning to avoid education. It put me in mind of two unusual words relating to sleep.

The first is uhtceare (pronounced oot-care), an Old English word for the experience of waking before dawn and not being able to get back to sleep because you’re worrying about something. I suspect even the most laid-back amongst us have struggled with uhtceare at least once. The word is a joining of two other words – uht meaning “the hour before sunrise” and ceare meaning “care or worry”. The idea of a care being a worry is one that’s not used as often in modern English and it’s shame as it tells us an important fact. If we worry, predawn or not, it’s because we care. Often our worries are for other people – parents worrying about bullied children, friends worrying about sick friends etc. Suffering from uhtceare is a form of love.

"Ted was worried about honey supplies running low."

“Ted was worried about honey supplies running low.”

The second sleepy word is dormiveglia, an Italian word that I think should be added to English as we don’t have a term for what it describes. Dormiveglia is the space of time between sleeping and waking (or vice versa). When not obeying an alarm call it’s a magic time when you grasp the tail-end of dreams with your fingertips and enjoy the warmth of your bed, content to lie there and muse. I love dormiveglia all the more now as a parent when it’s too rare.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and snoozing,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

 

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Hello,

Earlier this week I created the index for my eponym book, a thrilling task as I’m sure you can imagine. It got me thinking about the word itself. Clearly it has some Latin roots going on, but where exactly do we get index from?

index-finger

The word in means “towards” in Latin and an index does point us towards information so that makes sense and also links it to the index (or pointer) finger.

It expands to indic- as prefix (still in Latin) to mean “forefinger or sign”. That combines with either dicere or dicare to give us index. Dicere means “to say” and dicare means “to make known”. Taken together that gives us index as meaning “to point the way and to make known”, that’s pretty good fit for the modern use of the word, or finger.

Index reached middle English by the early 1400s and has retained its meaning since although an index will mean different thing to people working in different fields. An index is vital in databases, for example, where it points to the data. They are part of scientific instruments. We have a price index in economics and sadly an index of forbidden books within religious history. The interesting thing is that index in all these cases has the same core meaning – it’s a way to point out the relevant information. Most words I explore here change over a 600 year history, but index is still pointing the way.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

 

 

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