Lost English

by Chris Roberts

  Aunt Sally

  Originally a game similar to skittles, in which sticks or balls were thrown at a figure, the aim being to knock it over or, in Aunt Sally’s case, to knock the clay pipe from her mouth. In its meaning of something set up to be knocked over, the phrase gave rise to another definition for Aunt Sally, coming to signify anything that had been erected only to be easily overcome, and so by extension anything that is a target for criticism. Usually this meant an argument or obstacle, and the term could be used synonymously with ‘straw men’, which are created only to be destroyed in a debate. Sally was once to be found at fairgrounds across the country with her clay pipe and crudely painted features, but she has declined along with other traditional entertainments, notably the Southern TV series Worzel Gummidge (1979–81) featuring Una Stubbs and Jon Pertwee.

  Ayah

  This word, from Portuguese via Hindi, along with the Chinese variant ‘amah’ (nursemaid; also Portuguese in origin), has entered not only English but also French and German, besides Portuguese, and the meaning is the same in each case. It refers to a girl or woman employed to work in a range of domestic roles within a household, including looking after children. The word entered mainstream English through families returning from service in the Empire, along with many others including ‘memsahib’, who would often be the ayah’s line manager, to use the modern term. Memsahib is a handy Indian construction linking the words for someone of high rank with that for a married woman (‘mem’ being an Indian pronunciation of ‘ma’am’); ‘sahib’ (from Urdu, via Persian and Arabic) was a term of respect for a male, especially a Westerner, in India, and memsahib its female equivalent. Oddly enough only the female variant crossed over significantly, but both ayah and memsahib are rarely heard in Britain today, although memsahib is sometimes used jocularly or ironically, in the way that a man might refer to his spouse as ‘the wife’.

  Badinage

  Has been all but replaced by the word ‘banter’ to refer to playful repartee. The term derives from the badinerie, a brief and lively dance which itself comes from the French badiner, to joke (originally from badin, a fool), perhaps because during such a dance humorous or witty conversation about art and life might take place. The term arose during the eighteenth century when composers, and famously J. S. Bach, began to incorporate the badinerie as a movement in the orchestral suite.

  Bagatelle

  Although a couple of meanings for this word (a light piece of music for piano, and a table game) are still used, albeit rarely, as a term to mean something of little value or significance it has has all but disappeared. The word has travelled from France but is based on the Italian word bagata meaning a trifle, something decorative but of little significance. A bagatelle might refer to a nominal amount or insignificant sum, though it might also indicate a winner nonetheless. As the slippery hero of Christopher Isherwood’s Mr Norris Changes Trains said after a victory in court, although the sum awarded was ‘a mere bagatelle, honour was satisfied’. The game, from which modern pinball ultimately derives, is named after the small eighteenth-century Château de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris, where it was invented as a diversion to pass the time.

  Baker day

  It would be lovely to be able to say that this was a day on which children were let off school in order to spend time improving their home-economics skills; however, the real derivation is much more prosaic. The term refers to the Conservative politician Kenneth Baker (now Lord Baker of Dorking) who, as Education Secretary from 1986 to1989, introduced the idea of national training days for teachers during school terms, which meant that pupils got a ‘Baker day’ away from school to lark in the parks, or whatever. The current equivalent is known as INSET (In-Service Education and Training), and both had or have the aim of allowing teachers to upgrade their skills during term time.

  Baksheesh

  Originally a Persian term, used in the Middle East, India and the Far East to describe a tip, a charitable donation, or a bribe. Those soliciting alms might shout ‘Baksheesh!’ to passersby. It entered English, along with many other terms (ayah and dekko, qq.v), through the eastern Empire and among those who lived and worked in the Colonies. The English meaning is something akin to tipping, or any money given away for a service as a show of appreciation, respect, or gratitude. It is still used in its countries of origin, though in Britain, where it was also occasionally used to mean ‘free of charge’, it has gone the way of beanos and besoms (qq.v.).

  Ban the Bomb

  This slogan belongs to a kinder, gentler age of political demonstration, when chaps wore duffel coats and marched peacefully on Aldermaston (in Berkshire, site of the government’s Atomic Weapons Establishment) in company with pretty, earnest gals. Although the peace symbol, and indeed the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) itself, have gone through various revivals since the 1960s, the simple message of banning nuclear weapons (the ‘Bomb’ of the slogan referring originally to the atom bomb or A-bomb and its successor hydrogen or H-bomb) has fallen victim to its own naivety. The sad thing is that today there are simply too many bombs, of too many different types, to ban, yet ironically the key stockpiles (held by the USA and Russia, formerly the Soviet Union) that CND marched against, as well as opposing the British bomb, are the only ones being reduced.

  Although there are probably more pressure groups in existence than ever, the idea of a giant single-issue movement does not fit the modern world, because we no longer seem to be offered the option of one solution to fix one problem. Even the relatively simple protest against the ban on fox-hunting became consolidated in the broader Countryside Alliance (formed by the amalgamation of three existing groups), while the massive stop-the-war-in-Iraq marches of this century were actually riven by conflicting interest groups within the organizing committee.

  Those three, which are far and away the campaigns that have brought the largest number of people on to the streets of London and elsewhere, all failed in their objectives. Indirectly, this failure of the mass demonstration led to the more entertaining and imaginative (and so more fashionable and media-friendly) – and sometimes illegal – protest actions of today. This is quite ironic on a number of levels, given a society in which twelve abseiling protesters dressed as foxes get more airtime and more print coverage, and influence more people, than twelve hundred thousand marching for the right to hunt the creatures.

  Bassinet (sometimes bassinette)

  Found in hospitals and the home, though the term carry-cot is more often used today (albeit incorrectly, as technically they are different things). The unique feature of the bassinet, which is a bed for newly born infants (originally a kind of wickerwork cradle, the word being a diminutive of French bassin, basin), is that it provides a warm and secure environment for very young children. They are designed to be portable, even the heavier cradle-style ones, so the child can be kept near the parent throughout the house.

  Bathing dress

  Quite literally what it sounds like, a dress for bathing (in the sense of swimming, rather than of having a bath) in, which, like the bathing costume, has been gradually whittled away to trunks for a man and a one-piece swimsuit or a bikini for a woman. Woollen all-in-ones for a chap have long disappeared, as have the elaborate ladies’ bathing dresses often made of cotton with a trouser part beneath a skirt reaching to the knee and the upper dress part buttoned up high and covering the arms to the elbow. Although in the past the design of this heavy covering was driven mostly by a desire for modesty so as not to overexcite the chaps, modern concerns about skin cancer and over-exposure to the elements have resulted in a move back towards more flesh being hidden. Victorian concern for female modesty also brought about the bathing machine, a wheeled hut that was towed into the sea so that well-covered ladies could descend into the water virtually unobserved.

  Beano

  Whether the popularity of the children’s comic, which took its name from this word for celebratory party with plenty to eat and drink, has consigned the wor
d in its original meaning to the language bin of history is debatable, but certainly the meaning now most associated with it conjures up images of Dennis the Menace, the Bash Street Kids and Minnie the Minx. Nobody nowadays holds or goes to a beano, or indeed a bunfight, its slightly more genteel relation, preferring instead party, celebration and thrash, or even bash, soirée and knees-up. Similarly old-fashioned words like ‘jamboree’ and ‘jolly’ are still just about hanging on, while ‘rave’ has managed to reinvent itself nicely for the chemical generation. The ‘beanfeast’ of which beano is a jocular diminutive originated in the nineteenth century as an annual dinner given for workers by employers, beans and bacon being a prominent, if not essential, feature.

  Besom

  To fall into disuse in one area of meaning is unfortunate; for it to happen in two looks like carelessness. Yet this is what has happened to besom.

  The first, and best-known, use is to describe a sort of broom, apparently favoured by witches, made up of a bunch of twigs bound together at one end and attached to a stout handle. They are still available, but are rarely called by their proper name, and brushes (which are pushed) are generally more popular than brooms (which sweep) as a means of dust clearance. Another product in the dust-removal department that is seldom seen is the Ewbank (or Hoky in the USA). Better known as a carpet-sweeper, this is a wheeled box inside which, when the device is pushed backwards and forwards over a carpet by means of its long handle, brushes and rollers sweep dirt into a compartment at the back, rather like a lawnmower. Although still widely available, the carpet-sweeper lacks the suction power or effectiveness of the vacuum cleaner that has all but replaced it.

  The second lost use of besom is altogether different, although it may possibly have connections with the idea of ‘jumping the broomstick’ in lieu of an official wedding ceremony. In France, ‘to burn the besom’ meant to have a licentious lifestyle, and in Britain ‘to hang out the besom’ was a euphemism for having an affair while one’s wife is away. According to Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable besom was once even a term for street walker (another old-fashioned and declining term). From these came, perhaps, the (now lost) phrase ‘to have plenty of besom’, which basically meant to have a great zest for life or plenty of spunk.

  Best bib and tucker

  Like ‘Sunday best’, this rather lovely phrase describes one’s smartest (usually most formal) outfits. The bib referred to is a frill at the front of a shirt and the tucker an ornamental lace covering, both serving to protect the clothing underneath, though not quite so effectively as the modern child’s bib does.

  Birkenhead drill

  Named after HMS Birkenhead, one of the first iron-hulled ships built for the Royal Navy. In 1852, while carrying troops and their families to South Africa, she was wrecked near Cape Town. As there were insufficient lifeboats on board for all the passengers the women and children were helped into them first, while the soldiers and marines formed up on deck in perfect military order, standing firm until the ship foundered. This incident is widely believed to be the origin of the phrase ‘Women and children first’, and certainly established the code by which mariners, soldiers and men in general were supposed to behave in a shipwreck, or indeed any other disastrous situation. Most of the soldiers and sailors on board the Birkenhead were drowned or eaten by sharks, but all the women and children were rescued. Kipling’s poem celebrating the Royal Marines (nicknamed ‘Jollies’), ‘Soldier and Sailor Too’ (1896), refers to the incident as a drill:

  To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about,

  Is nothing so bad when you’ve cover to ’and, an’ leave an’ likin’ to shout;

  But to stand an’ be still to the Birken’ead drill is a damn tough bullet to chew,

  An’ they done it, the Jollies – ’Er Majesty’s Jollies – soldier an’ sailor too!

  Black and Tans

  The unofficial name for the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) Reserve Force, one of two paramilitary forces deployed by the British government (the other being the RIC Auxiliary Division, or ‘Auxies’, of equally evil memory) to suppress Home Rule activists and the IRA in Ireland in 1921 and 1922, during the Irish War of Independence (or Anglo-Irish War), 1919–21. Attracted by good pay and other perks, many tough demobbed army veterans, mainly survivors of the trench warfare of the First World War, volunteered to join after the government advertised for men willing to ‘face a rough and dangerous task’. They were initially kitted out in an odd mixture of service dress (khaki, hence ‘tan’) and RIC uniform (dark green, passing for black at a distance; occasionally the dark navy of the British police). They became notorious in Ireland for their brutalities, including the murder of a priest in Galway; it is said they earned the nickname ‘Black and Tans’ (often shortened to just ‘Tans’) in reference to a particularly savage pack of Limerick foxhounds, the Scarteen Black and Tans. (For years, and even today, the word ‘Tan’ was used by Irish people as a disparaging term for the English.) Their viciousness, arrogance and indiscipline were demonstrated by their sacking of Cork in December 1920, in which much of the city’s centre was destroyed by fire; afterwards, some of those responsible wore burnt wine corks in their caps. Their nickname is not to be confused with the drink known as ‘black and tan’, which is made from a blend of ale, or occasionally lager, and stout. This has, like ‘mild over stout’ or ‘bitter over lager’ (known in some parts as ‘Chinese’), pretty much disappeared from modern pubs.

  Black cap

  Black caps are still part of a judge’s wardrobe, and are carried into the High Court and worn when the new Lord Mayor of (the City of) London is presented to the Law Courts. Their significance – and certainly widespread use of the phrase – evaporated after the death penalty was abolished for murder in 1969. In English law, the black cap was worn by a judge when passing a sentence of death, which in practice stopped in 1964. The hanging of Ruth Ellis at Holloway Prison in 1955 – the last woman to be executed in this country – strengthened public support for abolition of capital punishment. Technically, however, treason still carried the maximum sentence until 1998. This gave rise to all manner of colourful urban legends allegedly dating from unrepealed treachery acts going back to the Middle Ages and the various wars against the Welsh and Scots. Among these was the fanciful notion that making even a vaguely sexual or suggestive approach to the Queen or any member of the royal family constituted high treason, and hence a person could be executed for it. The best known use of the term ‘black cap’ today is as a name for a pub either at, or near, the site of a gibbet or in an area associated with the law.

  Blimp

  Colonel Blimp was a fictional character created by the New Zealand-born cartoonist (Sir) David Low (1891–1963) in the 1930s: an elderly, pompous, obese figure, he was a caricature of a certain type of reactionary person in the British Establishment. He became synonymous with military or administrative incompetence, complacency and heartfelt, unthinking patriotism, and gave rise to the words ‘blimpery’ or ‘blimpishness’. Dating from the First World War, ‘blimp’ originally meant a ‘gasbag’, a small airship or barrage balloon, later used for any kind of airship such as a Zeppelin. The word fitted Low’s notion of the Colonel’s character, especially its association with spluttering and bureaucratic blundering coupled with confused and often contradictory pronouncements. Colonel Blimp passionately divided opinion, or rather, people were passionately for or against him, according to their political position. A more sympathetic version of him is etched out in the 1943 Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger film The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, in which Blimp’s essential good nature and bumbling sense of fair play are shown as part of a gentler world, lost in the harsh realities of the Second World War. This plump, choleric, walrus-moustached, towel-clad habitué of a West End Turkish bath replaced John Bull, Britannia and the Lion as the epitome of Britain. C. S. Lewis observed in Time and Tide in 1944 that, ‘the future historian, asked to point to the most characteris
tic expression of the English temper in the period between the two wars will reply without hesitation, “Colonel Blimp”.’

  Blotting paper

  This product hasn’t disappeared (pads of writing paper still come with a sheet of blotting paper, for instance), just as fountain pens haven’t entirely vanished; it’s just that generally it has dropped from use in the same way that it’s rare to see school desks with a hole for inkwells any more. Blotting paper was once part of a whole array of materials that were required for writing, including spare nibs, bottled ink or cartridges, and even the inkwells mentioned above, depending on what sort of pen was being used. Its function was to mop up excess ink (or indeed any other liquid; among other things it is still used in chemistry) on a page of handwriting. This was particularly important in preventing smudging when the page was turned over. It might also be used to wipe a pen nib to clear away excess ink prior to writing.