World Wide Words -- 01 Nov 03

[Michael Quinion]

WORLD WIDE WORDS         ISSUE 365         Saturday 1 November 2003
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Editor: Michael Quinion, Thornbury, Bristol, UK      ISSN 1470-1448
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Contents
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1. Feedback, notes and comments.
2. Review: The Meaning of Everything.
3. Weird Words: Knucker.
4. Sic!
5. Q&A: Snit.
A. Subscription commands.
B. Contact addresses.
C. FAQ of the week.


1. Feedback, notes and comments
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KEEPING THE NEWSLETTER SHORT  I did say last month that I was going
to try to keep newsletters shorter. That was before the mountain of
comments that came in following last week's issue ...

SPITTING FEATHERS  My questioner last week suggested that this term
could mean that one was thirsty as well as being angry. I hadn't
come across that sense, but Ruth Barlow wrote: "I'm from Lancashire
(perhaps it makes a difference) and I only know this expression to
mean very thirsty. It's certainly older than 10-15 years, too - I'm
rapidly heading to my 50s now and it was in common use when I was a
small child in the early 1960s". Jo Sidebottom agrees: "My mother
(Cheshire by background) has used the expression I think for as
long as I can remember (I'm in my forties) to mean very thirsty -
usually for a 'nice cup of tea'. When I read your comments, I
wondered if she had been using it mistakenly, but I checked with my
partner, whose parents are from Yorkshire, and without any
prompting from me he gave exactly the same answer: it means very
thirsty or parched and it's been around for at least several
decades. Maybe it's a northern expression which only caught on in
the south or nationwide more recently (possibly from a soap opera?)
but the meaning was misunderstood?" Yes, this seems very likely.

Geoff Moor confirmed that it was also once known in Australia: "My
father (1901-1980) often used the term 'spitting feathers' in the
same connotation as 'dry as a wooden god' to say that he was very
thirsty". Charles Wilson, whose childhood was spent in the southern
USA, suggested how the phrase might have come about: "I have often
heard the expression, 'I'm so thirsty I feel like I have a mouthful
of feathers', which strikes me as wonderfully descriptive". Alice
Battles and Joel Showalter mentioned "spitting cotton", another way
of expressing dryness once common in the American south.

Other Australian subscribers gave "spitting chips" as a variant;
this is closely similar in that at one time it could also refer to
thirst but now means that one is very angry. The thirst sense, and
the existence of "dry as a wooden god", confirm that wood chips are
meant, not the potato sort. Grace Gagliardi from the US says she
had never heard "spitting feathers" but that a common equivalent
was "spitting nails", meaning extreme frustration or agitation at
some situation, which others also mentioned.

ISABELLINE  This colour is also known by related names in French,
German, Spanish and Italian, subscribers tell me. Its sense in
French and German primarily refers to the colour of a horse. These
languages have much the same folk tale about Isabella's underwear.
However, the references in all cases are to the siege of Granada by
Ferdinand and Isabella that ended in January 1492. It seems that
some tellers of the tale - as noted in the OED - may have seized
upon the wrong Isabella. One explanation for the word is that it
derives from Arabic "izah" for lion, so roughly "lion-coloured".

DOUBLE-DOG DARE  Many American subscribers mentioned the film, "A
Christmas Story", which was based on the reminiscences of Jean
Shepherd about his childhood in the 1930s. Henry Willis summarised
the incident in which the expression appears: "At one point in the
film one of his friends dares another friend, named Flick, to stick
his tongue on the flagpole in front of the school on a snowy winter
day. The kid who has been dared shows normal innate common sense
until his friend ups the ante by double-daring then double-dog-
daring him. At which point the movie's narrator comments: 'Now it
was serious. A double-dog-dare. What else was there but a "triple
dare ya"? And then, the coup de grace of all dares, the sinister
triple-dog-dare'. At that point, of course, Flick has no choice but
to accept the challenge with the predictably disastrous results".

Elsi Dodge e-mailed thus: "In my youth (I'm 56), a double dare
meant the one daring would also perform the stunt. Therefore, 'I
dare you to pat that dog' meant I'll watch while you get bitten.
'Double dare you to pat that dog' means I'll do it, too. It
escalates the taunt because of the implication that it's not so
very dangerous, if I'm willing to do it also". On the other hand,
James Leavenworth commented that "I never heard 'I double dare
you', as a response to 'I dare you', but always as an emphatic
declaration".

RSS  In response to several requests, I'm trying an experiment. RSS
is a system, using software called an aggregator on one's computer,
by which users can obtain updates from a server by polling it at
regular intervals to check for changes. RSS is becoming popular as
a way to send out news headlines and the like, but providers are
now starting to post newsletters as well. (One advantage, both for
sender and recipient, is that the method bypasses e-mail.) I've
created two test channels for RSS users, one giving news of updates
to the Web site and the other the text of this newsletter. I'd be
more than interested to hear the views of subscribers who use RSS
feeds (do please tell me which aggregator you are using, as they
vary so much in the way they process and display the feeds). The
two channels are:

 Web site updates: http://www.worldwidewords.org/rss/updates.rss
 Newsletter: http://www.worldwidewords.org/rss/newsletter.rss


2. Review: The Meaning of Everything
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This, Simon Winchester's most recent work, tells the rest of the
story of the compilation of the first edition of the Oxford English
Dictionary, only one part of which he recounted in his first book,
The Surgeon of Crowthorne (in the USA entitled The Professor and
the Madman).

Having enjoyed that very much, I was looking forward to this one,
and I wasn't disappointed in Mr Winchester's ability to tell a good
story well. It's a really good read: its 250 pages sped past in no
time and proved an excellent introduction to the extraordinary tale
of the scholars, eccentrics, busybodies and incompetents who were
involved in the creation of the Dictionary.

The first chapter gives the background to the evolution of English
and to the work of the OED's predecessors. Once into the main part
of the story, affairs proceed at an entertaining gallop, perhaps
too quickly to thoroughly absorb the fact that the job - with a
couple of false starts before James Murray was appointed as Editor
in 1879 - took from 1860 to 1928 to complete. The 12 volumes that
resulted contained - we are told - 414,825 headwords, illustrated
by 1,827,306 quotations.

The trials that beset the instigators and implementers of the
project were very great; it's a wonder that the Dictionary ever got
started in earnest and, once started, that it was ever finished.
The editorial work alone, on a system and with a thoroughness that
had never before been attempted, would have been arduous enough.
The struggles James Murray had with incompetent assistants and
readers and with meddling outsiders, not to mention the often
niggardly attitude of the Oxford University Press towards paying
the bills, would have brought a lesser man to his knees. (The
watershed was crossed when Murray arranged for Queen Victoria to
give permission for the Dictionary to be dedicated to her in her
diamond jubilee year; after that, the English class system would
not permit a project with royal imprimatur to fail.)

Along the way, the cast of characters is as diverse and eccentric
as you would wish, especially when Mr Winchester describes some of
the small army of unpaid readers who contributed those millions of
examples on which the editors based their definitions. I am one of
their linear descendants (though these days we're paid a small fee
for our work, and paper slips and fountain pens have been replaced
by e-mail and databases). I can only marvel at their indefatigable
industry, especially when you think that they were trying to record
the history and evolution of every word in the language, a project
never before attempted, and - once done - never needing to be done
again. The editorial workers were equally idiosyncratic - among
their number was a young J R R Tolkien (who had such trouble with
the W words, especially "walrus") and the man who became the model
for Ratty in Wind in the Willows.

There is much that, perhaps necessarily, has been omitted from the
story. Though he is central to it, somehow the character of James
Murray never becomes fully fleshed out (however, the book is
intended as a history of the OED, not a biography of its chief
begetter). Mr Winchester doesn't mention the deficiencies of the
first edition of the OED: it was weak in some respects, not least
in its coverage of slang, vulgarisms, much scientific and technical
vocabulary, the language of regional varieties of English, and of
idioms and set phrases. The epilogue, bringing the story up to
date, hardly does justice to the work currently going on to create
the third edition - but then a footnote really ought not to
overbalance the text to which it refers.

Despite its minor failings, the Oxford English Dictionary was (and
in its updated version remains) the most accomplished work on the
English language ever produced, truly a monumental achievement. Mr
Winchester provides an entertaining account of the immense labour
that brought it into being.

[Simon Winchester, The Meaning of Everything, published by Oxford
University Press on 23 October 2003; hardback, pp260. ISBN 0-19-
860702-4. UK list price GBP12.99; in the US $25.00.]

AMAZON PRICES FOR THIS BOOK
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3. Weird Words: Knucker  /'nVk@(r)/
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A water demon.

The most famous knucker was said to live in a pool at Lyminster,
near Arundel in Sussex. This was one of many knucker holes in the
flat areas between the South Downs and the sea, which were held in
local folklore to be bottomless. Not the least of the odd things
about them was that they were reputed never to freeze in winter nor
to dry up in summer.

Though the Lyminster knucker lived in water, it could also fly, and
so is often classed with other British dragon legends. It's said to
have rampaged through the area, killing livestock and local people
(in the manner of such beasts in such stories, mainly maidens). One
story says it was disposed of by a wandering knight to gain the
hand of the local king's daughter (so essentially the legend of St
George and the Dragon); another that a local man, Jim Pulk, baked a
large pie laced with poison and left it on a cart by the pool.
After the knucker had eaten the pie, plus the cart and the horses,
it swiftly expired and Pulk cut its head off. Unfortunately, he
then carelessly imbibed some of the poison himself and died along
with the beast.

"Knucker" is a modern spelling of the Old English "nicor" or
"nicker" for an imaginary being that lived in water. "Nickera"
appears in the Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf to refer to a lake monster.
The word is linked to similar monsters in several Scandinavian
languages and to "Nixie", a German term for a female water-elf or
water-nymph. It might also be a source for "Old Nick", one of many
names for the Devil, and for the German "Nickel" for a sort of
goblin that lived in mines and from which we get the name for the
metal. (However, "nick" in the sense of making a mark, of stealing,
being arrested, and other senses, probably comes from a different
root, but as we don't know which one, can't say for sure.)


4. Sic!
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Some time ago, we had many examples of misplaced modifiers. This
problem isn't new, as is confirmed by a notice dating from 1881
that was reproduced in Chambers Journal: "The 'Gleaner' is one of
the finest and fastest boats on the Tyne; her accommodation is in
every respect good and comfortable, her crew skilful, steady, and
obliging, being newly painted and decorated for pleasure-trips".

Dipesh Navsaria found that a fountain near the Moscone Convention
Center in San Francisco has a nicely made metal sign which warns
the public that "This water is not portable".

Jeffrey F. Huntsman wrote: "I know that the category of students'
howlers is both replete and ancient, but I had a new one this week:
'For the flux: dire rear'".


5. Q&A
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Q. I'm in a snit over exactly what a "snit" is. Do you know? [Barry
Nordin]

A. It's a neat turn of phrase, but to write that does indeed
suggest you don't know what it means. A snit is a fit of rather
childish temper, a tantrum or perhaps a sulk. Though word meanings
arouse many emotions in subscribers, snits are not usually among
them.

Several people have in the past asked where this word comes from,
so this is the perfect moment to look into it. All the dictionaries
bar one I've consulted dismiss the matter with their dispiriting
stock phrase "origin unknown". The exception is Jonathon Green's
Cassell Dictionary of Slang, which mentions the name of Clare
Boothe Luce.

Clare Boothe was a talented woman, variously an editor, playwright,
politician, journalist and diplomat; see <http://www.lkwdpl.org/
wihohio/luce-cla.htm> for a brief biography. The Saturday Review of
Literature of 23 December 1939 remarked about "snit" that "nobody
in Georgia seems ever to have heard of either the word or the state
of being until Miss Clare Boothe isolated and defined it". This
must have been in reference to her play Kiss the Boys Goodbye of
the previous year, in which she used it. Through that play (a
successful one that was listed as one of the ten best of the year),
she most certainly popularised it, and may well have invented it
(most dictionaries are cautious about the origin because nobody can
actually prove she did).

What she based "snit" on isn't known, though it's a splendidly
sharp and echoic word that nicely evokes the spitting hissy fit of
such a temper tantrum.


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