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Posts Tagged ‘Words the Romans Gave Us’

Hello,

This week’s word is garbled, which I came across in an article about spices in “Simple Things” magazine.

The modern sense of garbled is to mix-up something, usually language. For example, “my phone signal was patchy and everything she said to me came out garbled“. The older sense of garbled is almost entirely the opposite and relates to spices rather than words. The complete reversal of meanings for words is surprisingly frequent in English, I’m not sure what that tells me about English-speakers. Are we contrary or confused?

Spicy

The original source of the word garble is lost at sea, the Mediterranean Sea to be specific, but I’ll try to make it clear.

Latin, as usual, has a hand in it. The Latin word cribrum means sieve. The Late Latin word cribellum is a diminutive of that (little sieve). From there we get gharbal (to sift) in Arabic, garbellare (to sift) in Italian, garbillare (to sift grain) in Spanish. There was plenty of contact between these nations via the Mediterranean over the years and traders would always be talking about taking impurities from their spice and grain products. Spices were imported from Arabic countries via Venice, to Europe.

By the late 1300s the word is garbeler in Anglo French and has reached English as garble by the early 1400s with the meaning of “inspecting and removing dirt from spices”. The article I read in “Simple Things” explained that even today garbled means hand-sorted in the spice trade.

In Middle English (also early 1400s) a garbeler (from Anglo French garbelour) was an official who garbled spices and other dry goods, so it used to be an occupation.

By the late 1400s the idea of garbled meaning sorted was still there, but it also had been joined by the meaning of “distorting for a devious purpose”.  Perhaps the garbelers had been corrupted with bribes by spice-traders?

The association with distorting language arrived in the 1680s and hasn’t left  since.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

 

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Hello,

This week’s word, boscaresque, is particularly appropriate in October in my opinion. I came across it in “Simple Things” magazine. Boscaresque is an adjective to describe a particularly scenic grove of trees. Anybody in the northerm hemisphere must have noticed the trees looking particularly fine right now in their autumn colours.

Autumn at Castle Leslie

Regular Woodfoolery readers may be remembering a related word I posted about a while back – bosky – again relating to trees.

Finding the origin of boscaresque proved challenging. Despite extensive use online, it wasn’t turning up in dictionaries (other than a 2010 entry in Urban Dictionary) which can be a sign of a modern invented word. Its relationship to bosky is simple, it’s those Romans again. Latin boscum or boscus means wood, then you add on the French suffix -esque (meaning looking like, in a positive sense) and you’ve got it (thanks Tweetionary).

I was relieved to discover boscaresque isn’t new at all, although it is likely to have been coined from Latin and French as mentioned above.

Caroline Derry provided a guest post for the London Historians’ Blog this year on the topic of John Evelyn’s life in Deptford. Evelyn, best known now as a famous diarist (although overshadowed by Samuel Pepys who I read this summer). He was also a huge influence on forestry and gardening. Pepys was a fan of his gardens, as was another contemporary who said they were “most boscaresque“.
So, it’s not a new word, it dates back to the mid 1600s.
Until next time happy reading, writing, wordfooling, and kicking leaves,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Hello,

This week’s word is ullage thanks to the entertaining “Movies & Booze” radio slot on Newstalk on Friday afternoons. I’m often driving on a Friday afternoon and the movie reviews combined with chat about wines and beers are always knowledgeable and fun. Last Friday the wine expert used the word ullage, much to the amusement of his co-hosts, and it seemed like a perfect choice for some wordfoolery here.

Beware of the ullage!

The word ullage describes the empty part of a container, or the loss of liquid by evaporation or leakage. Ullage is the empty gap in a wine bottle which is there to allow for expansion in the wine due to temperature variations.

That definition reminded me of a distillery tour I took at Bushmills, many years ago, when the guide explained that the evaporation of whiskey during the long maturation in casks was called the angel’s share. It conjured images of tipsy angels fluttering above the casks having a wee dram and causing ullage in the casks.

Ullage’s route to English has a surprising origin in the Latin word for eye – oculus (which has links to ocular and binoculars as you might expect). What has an eye to do with the angel’s share?

The next step is ouiller (or euillier) which was the Old French verb meaning to fill up. It translated literally as to “fill to the eye”. It is likely that the bunghole of the barrel was called the eye. From ouiller to uillage in Anglo Norman French is an easy hop and by the late 1400s the word ullage was used in Late Middle English, yet another of those words imported to England by the Normans, and their wine merchants.

The next time you open a bottle, or cask, of booze you can ponder the angel’s share and the barrel’s eye.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Hello,

This week’s word is bombilate, because it’s fun to say and thankfully has nothing (well, nearly nothing) to do with explosives.

Honey bee on garlic chives flower

Bombilate (pronunciation here) is a rare verb meaning to buzz or hum and is, naturally enough, associated with bees like the honeybee I snapped in my garden today enjoying the nectar from the garlic chives. I was hoping for a bumblebee as I love the idea of a bumblebee bombilating (there’s poetry in that) but sadly they weren’t bumbling around today. A local friend makes excellent honey in his hives and I always wonder if the bees in my garden are his, but then, does any beekeeper really “own” their bees? I don’t think so.

Bombilate entered English in the early 1600s and is another one of those words the Romans and Greeks gave us. Greek has bombos which means booming or humming. Latin has bombus with the same meaning. Your guess is as good as mine on who got there first with that one (I’m betting on the Greeks), but it’s pretty obvious that they’re related.

From bombus we get bomba in Italian, then bombe in French and bomb in English by the late 1600s. Oh wait, did I say bombilate had nothing to do with explosives? Yeah, that wasn’t entirely true, they have the same root.

Bomb – a disarmed sea mine from the Irish National Maritime Museum

Now go back to Latin and bombus (humming, remember?). As well as migrating through languages to give us the word bomb, it also swerved off to medieval Latin as bombilare meaning “to buzz” and hence into English with the same meaning by the early 1600s.

Did medieval, or Roman, bombs buzz? Did they think bees sounds like weapons? Having been the victim of a nasty wasp attack this summer (I accidentally damaged their nest, mea culpa), I can definitely see the whole wasp=weapon=humming connection.

Until next time, let the humming insects bombilate in peace,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

p.s. I couldn’t resist including one non-bombilating creature – this butterfly photo-bombed my bee photography earlier.

p.p.s. I should also mention that I’m pleased and delighted to announce that I’ve been longlisted in the 2018 Ireland Blog Awards. I’m also helping to judge the longlist (not in my own category of course) which is proving to be enlightening and great fun.

Photo-bombing butterfly on the regular chives

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Hello,

Today the CAO results come out in Ireland. The what? Students, aged about 18, sit exams in eight subjects to complete their second level education. They found out last week how they did in those exams. Since then the Central Applications Office (CAO) have taken those results, looked at their applications for university (and other third level establishments), and worked out if the students earned enough points from their exams to study their top choice.

Image from pexels.com

If a particular course is only run in one place and only 20 students can enter then the points are likely to be high. If it’s run in several places and hundreds of students can enter, the points are lower. Then they factor in what’s popular with students this year and that skews the points too. It’s complicated and very stressful for the students.

As a result (pun intended) I’m thinking about the word result today. I expected it to be a fairly modern word, thinking it related to results-driven office work, but it’s another one the Romans gave us.

Classical Latin has a verb resultare (a frequentative of past participle of resilire, to rebound, if you really need to know). This verb, as you might guess from the spelling, also relates to resilience in English. Resultare edged its way into medieval Latin with the meaning to spring back, and hence to late Middle English as a verb.

By the 1620s it was being used, still as a verb, to mean springing back, but by the 1640s it had transformed into a noun meaning outcome or effect. You’d have to wait until 1771 to see it used in the mathematical sense of a result being an answer or solution.

I love that result started life as something springy. It’s wonderful that it was less about a definitive answer and more about resilience, springing back, and finding another jumping off point. I hope anybody disappointed with their CAO results today can take that meaning instead.
Until next time happy reading, writing, and springing,
Grace (@Wordfoolery)
p.s. Regular readers will know I take part in National Novel Writing Month each November. This year I’ll be drafting another non-fiction book inspired by this blog “Words The Sea Gave Us”. I’m currently researching nautical words and would love input from my blog readers. If you’ve got a fun sea-related word, stick it in the comments below and I’ll try to include it (and will put you in the acknowledgements, of course). Thank you!

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Hello,

I usually keep love words for Valentine’s Day blog posts but romance shouldn’t be confined to a single day, should it?

I couldn’t resist the nugget of anatomical science which tells me that the oblique muscles of the eye used to move your glance sideways in an amorous way are called the amatorial muscles.

Now, before you check that detail I must warn you an online search for amatorial muscles will probably give you results for a different muscle used in amorous ways of a more, shall we say, physical nature. Search at your own peril!

Amatorial comes, of course, from the word amorous. I had an inkling that had Latin roots because I knew l’amour is the French for love and yes, the Latin word for love is amor and it reached English via French. I was hoping for a Roman god or goddess link but nope, it’s just love – both the romantic and the friendly sort. Simple but important.

Until next time happy reading, writing, and wordfooling. If anybody ‘throws you the eye’, remember what muscle they’re using,

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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Hello,

This week I’m thinking about talking. My son is on his school’s debating team and they’re in a regional final on Saturday. This is no surprise to anybody who has ever met him. I prefer to express myself in writing but if I had a dollar for every time he opened his mouth, I’d be a rich woman.

Trophies for Talking

I’m driving him nuts by reminding him of the correct pronunciation of words he’s learned from reading so he doesn’t trip up in the debating contest. His English teacher pronounces hyperbole as it’s written but I explained it’s actually high-pear-bow-lee, much to his irritation.

Another word of that type (along with Hermione and anxiety which confused me when I was younger) is grandiloquentpronunciation here and I hope his speeches on Saturday avoid both hyperbole and grandiloquence.

Grandiloquent is a style of language use which is complicated in order to attract admiration and attention.

Grandiloquent entered English in the 16th century and is a word created from both Latin and English roots. Eloquence is the ability to speak fluidly, convincingly, and with grace and can apply in written text as well as the spoken word. Grandiloquus means grand-speaking in Latin and itself is formed from two other Latin words – grandis meaning grand and loqui meaning speak.

If you don’t mind being accused of grandiloquency (like delinquency, but you throw words rather than bricks) then check out the 40 Grandiloquent Words Starting with G – I’ll have to revisit some of these in future posts.

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

Grace (@Wordfoolery)

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