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Detailed Contents Preface Acknowledgements List of Illustrations List of Tables Abbreviations and Conventions Introduction 1: John Camden Hotten 2: International Slang Dictionaries of the 1880s and 1890s 3: Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues 4: Other British General Slang Dictionaries 5: British School and University Glossaries 6: Australian Slang Dictionaries 7: Dictionaries of General American Slang 8: American School and University Glossaries 9: Dictionaries of First World War Slang 10: Dictionaries of Homelessness 11: Dictionaries of Crime 12: Glossaries of the Entertainment Industries 13: Conclusion Appendix of Tabular Matter Bibliography Subject Index Word Index
vii xv xviii xix xx xxiii 1 15 35 53 74 102 139 153 195 217 276 303 371 395 399 419 441 454
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Detailed Contents
Preface Acknowledgements List of Illustrations List of Tables Abbreviations and Typological Conventions Introduction 1: John Camden Hotten Hotten’s Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words (1859) The second edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1860) ‘Illustrations of Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words’ (1864) and ‘Slang Phrases’ (1878) The third edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1865) Charles Nordhoff’s ‘Thieves’ Jargon’ (1865) The fourth edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1872) The fifth edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1874) Conclusions
2: International Slang Dictionaries of the 1880s and 1890s Heinrich Baumann’s Londinismen. Slang und Cant (1887) Albert Barrère’s Argot and Slang (1887) and, with Charles Leland, his Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant (1889–90) Karl Lentzner’s, Colonial English (1891) Conclusions
xv xviii xix xx xxiii 1 15 15 21 24 25 29 29 30 34
35 35 38 49 52
3: Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues
53
John Stephen Farmer and William Ernest Henley’s Slang and its Analogues, Past and Present (1890–1904) The revised first volume (1903, 1909) Henry Cary’s The Slang of Venery and its Analogues (1916) Conclusions
53 64 69 72
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Detailed Contents
4: Other British General Slang Dictionaries Charles Hindley’s The True History of Tom and Jerry (1888) ‘Degenerates’ Slang Glossary’ (1900) James Redding Ware’s Passing English of the Victorian Era (1909) Leo Pavia’s ‘Die männliche Homosexualität in England’ (1910) Arthur H. Dawson’s A Dictionary of English Slang and Colloquialisms (1913) A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921) Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of British Slang (1929) ‘U’s Slang Glossary for British Parts in Talkers’ (1929) ‘Phillips’ Rhyming Slang. A Concise Dictionary (1931/2) and the anonymous Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945) Eric Partridge Slang Today and Yesterday: the English list (1933) Conclusions
5: British School and University Glossaries Guide to Eton (1860 and 1861) Robert Blachford Mansfield’s School Life at Winchester College (1866) William Blanch’s The Blue-Coat Boys (1877) George Nugent-Bankes’s A Day of My Life (1877) Henry Adams’s Wykehamica (1878) Charles Pascoe’s Everyday Life in Our Public Schools (1881) Jamieson Baillie’s Walter Crighton (1890) Robert Wrench’s Winchester Word-Book (1891 and 1901) John Stephen Farmer’s Public School Word-Book (1900) Winchester College Notions (1901 and 1910) Christopher Stone’s The Eton Glossary (1902) T. N.’s ‘School Slang at Rossall’ (1907) Augustus Francis’s Christ’s Hospital Sixty Years Ago (1918) Edmund Blunden’s Christ’s Hospital. A Retrospect (1923) Frederick Parker’s Floreat, an Eton Anthology (1923) ‘Dictionary of Bootham Slang’ (1925) John Ainsworth Morgan’s Oxford Observations (1925) Oskar Teichman’s The Cambridge Undergraduate of 100 Years Ago (1926) William La Touche’s Christ’s Hospital from a Boy’s Point of View (1928) Conclusions
6: Australian Slang Dictionaries George Lloyd Hodgkin’s Jacaranda Dictionary (1896) Alfred George Stephens and S. E. O’Brien’s Dictionary of New Zealand and Australian Slang (1910)
Detailed Contents C. J. Dennis’s The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke (1915), The Moods of Ginger Mick (1916) and Rose of Spadgers (1924) Gilbert H. Lawson’s Dictionary of Australian Words and Terms (1924) Jice Doone’s Timely Tips for New Australians (1926) and the Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of Australian slang (1929) Eric Partridge, Slang Today and Yesterday: the Australian list (1933) Conclusions
7: Dictionaries of General American Slang James Maitland’s The American Slang Dictionary (1891) ‘The Slang Dictionary’ (1894) The Chorus Lady (1909) ‘Translated for English Use’ (1913) Newspaper Flapper Glossaries of 1922 ‘A Flapper’s Dictionary’ (1922) Walter Gilkyson’s Spoken in Jest (1924) and ‘American Made Easy’ (1925) Clement Wood and Gloria Goddard’s A Dictionary of American Slang (1926) George H. Maines and Bruce Grant’s Wise-crack Dictionary (1926) Fred Newton Scott’s Contributions to Rhetorical Theory (1926) Aaron J. Rosanoff’s A Manual of Psychiatry (1927) R. S. ‘American Slang in London’ (1928) Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of American slang (1929) Sarah Christine Petersen’s ‘Yellowstone Park Language’ (1931) Eruera Tooné, Yankee Slang (1932) L. W. Merryweather’s ‘The Argot of the Orphan’s Home’ (1932) Eric Partridge, Slang Today and Yesterday: the American list (1933) Howard N. Rose’s A Thesaurus of Slang (1934) Maurice H. Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) Dorothy Cook’s ‘More Yellowstone Lingo’ (1935) Harold W. Bentley’s ‘Linguistic Concoctions of the Soda Jerker’ (1936) J. Louis Kuethe’s ‘Modern Slang’ (1936) Conclusions
8: American School and University Glossaries Edward Evans’s ‘College Slang (Princeton)’ (1889) R. G. B.’s ‘College Slang, Harvard’ (1889) R. B. Woodworth’s ‘College Slang, Hampden Sidney’ (1889) Willard Clark Gore’s ‘Student Slang’ (1896) Eugene Babbitt’s ‘College Words and Phrases’ (1900)
Robert George Whitney Bolwell’s ‘College Slang Words and Phrases’ (1915) Howard James Savage ‘College Slang Words and Phrases from Bryn Mawr College’ (1922) William R. Morse’s ‘Stanford Expressions’ (1927) J. R. McReynolds Banks’s ‘Unabridged Collegiate Dictionary’ (1927 and 1928) Maurice Weseen’s ‘College Slang Glossary’ (1928) Vance Randolph and Carl Pingry’s ‘Kansas University Slang’ (1928) Hervey Brackbill’s ‘Midshipman Jargon’ (1928) Jason Almus Russell’s ‘Colgate University Slang’ (1930) Joe J. Jones’s ‘More Slang’ (1930) Kenneth L. Daughrity’s ‘Handed-Down Campus Expressions’ (1930) Virginia Carter’s ‘University of Missouri Slang’ (1931) John Shidler and R. M. Clarke Jr.’s ‘Stanfordiana’ (1932) J. Louis Kuethe’s ‘Johns Hopkins Jargon’ (1932) and Rose’s ‘College Slang’ glossary (1934) Maurice Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang: College slang glossary (1934) Hugh Sebastian’s ‘Negro Slang in Lincoln University’ (1934) Hugh Sebastian’s ‘Agricultural College Slang in South Dakota’ (1936) Conclusions
9: Dictionaries of First World War Slang James Alfred Moss’s Supplement … to Officer’s Manual (1907) Iddy-Umpty’s ‘Trench Terms’ (1917) ‘Definitions in the R.N.A.S.’ (1917) W. E. Christian’s Rhymes of the Rookies (1917) Arthur Guy Empey’s From the Fire Step or Over the Top (1917) De Witt Clinton Falls’s Army and Navy Information (1917 and 1919) ‘Recruits’ Primer of Trench Idiom’ (1917) Murray Johnston’s ‘Aussie Dictionary’ (1918) Lorenzo Smith’s Lingo of No Man’s Land (1918) Robert Derby Holmes’s A Yankee in the Trenches (1918) J. Lemberger’s ‘War Notes’ (1918) and responses Archibald Sparke’s ‘War Slang’ (1918) and responses ‘The Digger’s Dictionary’ (1919) W. H. Downing’s Digger Dialects (1919) Maximilian Mügge’s The War Diary of a Square Peg (1920)
Detailed Contents A. Forbes Sieveking’s ‘English Army Slang as Used in the Great War’ (1921) and responses Glossary of Slang and Peculiar Terms in Use in the A.I.F. (1921–4) Edward Fraser and John Gibbons’s Soldier and Sailor Words and Phrases (1925) Eugene Stock McCartney’s ‘Additions to a Volume on the Slang and Idioms of the World War’ (1928 and 1929) Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of British War slang (1929) John Brophy’s The Soldier’s War (1929) John Brophy and Eric Partridge’s Songs and Slang of the British Soldier (1930 and 1931) Mary Paxton Keeley’s ‘A.E.F. English’ (1930) Paul Beath’s ‘Aviation Lingo’ (1930), Rose’s Thesaurus, and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (both 1934) Conclusions
10: Dictionaries of Homelessness Josiah Flynt Willard’s Tramping with Tramps (1899) Edgar Young’s ‘Tramp Jargon’ (1916) Patrick Casey’s ‘Flash’ (1917) and Patrick and Terence Casey’s The Gay Cat (1921) F. H. Sidney’s ‘Hobo Cant’ (1919) Randolph Jordan’s ‘Idioms of the Road and Pave’ (1925) Nicholas Klein’s ‘Hobo Lingo’ (1926) Elisha K. Kane’s ‘The Jargon of the Underworld’ (1927) Howard F. Barker’s ‘More Hobo Lingo’ (1927) Vernon W. Saul’s ‘The Vocabulary of Bums’ (1927) George Milburn’s The Hobo’s Horn Book (1930) Godfrey Irwin’s American Tramp and Underworld Slang (1930) and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) Nels Anderson’s The Milk and Honey Route (1931) George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London (1933) Matt Marshall’s Tramp-Royal on the Toby (1933) Thomas Minehan’s Boy and Girl Tramps of America (1934) Howard N. Rose’s A Thesaurus of Slang: the hobo glossary (1934) Hippo Neville’s Sneak Thief on the Road (1935) Conclusions
11: Dictionaries of Crime James Greenwood’s The Seven Curses of London (1869) Alfred Trumble’s Slang Dictionary of New York, London and Paris (1880) Sydney Slang Dictionary (c.1881)
Cornelius Crowe’s, Australian Slang Dictionary (1895) Josiah Flynt Willard’s The World of Graft (1901) No. 1500, Life in Sing Sing (1904), Joseph Sullivan’s Criminal Slang (1908), James J. Finerty’s Criminalese (1926), and Film Daily’s Fast Life glossary (1929) F. H. Tillotson’s How to be a Detective (1909) Lewis E. Jackson and C. R. Hellyer’s A Vocabulary of Criminal Slang (c.1914) W. H. Wells’s ‘Words Used in the Drug Traffic’ (1922) and ‘Drug Addicts Cant’ (1923) George Henderson’s Keys to Crookdom (1924) Henry Leverage’s ‘Flynn’s Dictionary of the Underworld’ (1925) Herbert Yenne’s ‘Prison Lingo’ (1927) Charles L. Clark and E. E. Eubank’s Lockstep and Corridor (1927) Maurice Smith’s ‘Crook Argot’ (1928) Fred Witman’s ‘Jewelry Auction Jargon’ (1928) A. J. Barr’s Let Tomorrow Come (1929) William G. Shepherd’s ‘I Wonder Who’s Driving Her Now?’ (1929) and Atcheson Laughlin Hench’s ‘From the Vocabulary of Automobile Thieves’ (1930) George Ingram’s Hell’s Kitchen (1930) Jack Lait’s Gangster Girl (1930) Roy Chadwick’s Liberty glossaries (1930) Paul Robert Beath’s ‘More Crook Words’ (1930) James P. Burke’s ‘The Argot of the Racketeers’ (1930) John Wilstach’s ‘New Words’ (1931) William Leavitt Stoddard’s Financial Racketeering and How to Stop it (1931) George Milburn’s ‘Convicts’ Jargon’ (1931) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Early lists by David W. Maurer: ‘The Argot of the Underworld’ and ‘The Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’ (both 1931), and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Variety’s ‘English Underworld Slang’, Critchell Rimington’s Bon Voyage Book, John H. Birss’s ‘English Underworld Slang’ (all 1931), and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Eruera Tooné, Yankee Slang (1932) W. L. Hanchant’s Newgate Garland (1932) Associated Press ‘Dispatch from Chicago’ and ‘The American “Ganguage” ’ (both 1932) Robert M. Hyatt’s ‘Correct Underworld “Lingo” ’ (1932) Goat Laven’s Rough Stuff (1933) Charles E. Leach’s On Top of the Underworld (1933)
312 315
316 322 324 328 328 330 332 333 334 335 336
337 337 338 340 341 341 342 343 343
344
347 348 349 351 352 353 354
Detailed Contents
xiii
Noel Ersine’s Underworld and Prison Slang (1933) Hi Simons’s ‘A Prison Dictionary (expurgated)’ (1933) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) H. T. Webster’s ‘They Don’t Speak Our Language’ (1933) Maurice Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang: ‘Crooks’ and Criminals’ Slang’ list (1934) J. Louis Kuethe’s ‘Prison Parlance’ (1934) Robert Arnold’s ‘Criminal Slang’ (1934) J. Glover’s ‘Thieves Slang’ (1935) James Hargan’s ‘The Psychology of Prison Language’ (1935) Albin Jay Pollock’s The Underworld Speaks (1935) Irving Crump and John W. Newton’s Our Police (1935) Thomas Courtney’s ‘Hot Shorts’ (1935) David W. Maurer’s ‘The Lingo of the Good People’ (1935) Robert Arnold’s Underworld Slang (1936) Philip Van Cise’s Fighting the Underworld (1936) Conclusions
355
12: Glossaries of the Entertainment Industries
371 372 372
Charles Leland’s ‘Circus Slang’ (a1903) Frank Jenners Wilstach’s ‘A Stage Dictionary’ (1923) Walter J. Kingsley and Loney Haskell’s ‘A Stageland Dictionary’ (1923) Percy W. White’s ‘A Circus List’ and ‘Stage Terms’ (both 1926), ‘More about the Language of the Lot’ (1928), and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) ‘Circus Glossary Lot Lingo’ (1928) Ellsworth Prouty Conkle’s ‘Carnival Slang’ (1928) Wesley Stout’s ‘Algazam’ (1929) C. P. M.’s ‘The Language of the Speakeasy’ (1930) David W. Maurer ‘Carnival Cant: A Glossary of Circus and Carnival Slang’ (1931) George Milburn’s ‘Circus Words’ (1931) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Francis Beverly Kelley’s ‘The Land of Sawdust and Spangles’ (1931), John H. Birss’s ‘Additional Circus Expressions’ (1932), and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) John Richie Schultz’s ‘Chautauqua Talk’ (1932) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Bert J. Chipman’s Hey Rube (1933) Edward Seago’s Circus Company (1933) and Sons of Sawdust (1934) Philip Allingham’s Cheapjack (1934) Howard N. Rose’s A Thesaurus of Slang: the entertainment industry glossaries (1934)
Charles Wolverton’s ‘Mysteries of the Carnival Language’ (1935) Shepard Traube’s So You Want to go into the Theater? (1936) John Chapman on jazz orchestra slang (1935) Carl Cons’s ‘The “Slanguage” of Swing-Terms the “Cats” Use’ (1936) Louis Armstrong’s Swing that Music and Holman Harvey’s ‘It’s Swing’ (both 1936) Conclusions
388 389 392
13: Conclusion
395
Appendix of Tabular Matter
399
Bibliography Index Word Index
419 441 454
392 393 394
Preface
The work is, probably, worth doing, and an occasional reference may be interesting, but the reading of several pages in succession has a rather depressing effect on the mind.1
This review of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary is an expression of the disrepute into which slang had settled in mid-nineteenth-century Britain. No longer menacing and thrilling glimpses of an exciting underworld, slang terms were just the vulgar, obscene, and profane effusions of the uneducated. They might provide a brief diversion, but those who sought respectability should steer clear of their contaminating influence. In other parts of the English-speaking world, slang had different meanings. In Australia it was a powerful agent of national identity and was used in rebelling against anyone with pretensions to superiority. American commentators of this period were struck by the bewildering diversification of speech, and tended to catalogue it with misleadingly precise labels. While celebrating innovation more than their British counterparts, many American slang lexicographers considered long-lasting slang to be more worthy of note. This volume considers slang and cant dictionaries first published between 1859 and 1936. Volumes I and II in this series looked at the earlier word-lists,2 and later volumes will consider slang and cant dictionaries published from 1937 onwards. Some of the trends dominating the later period are evident in glossaries discussed in this volume: the influence of African-American music and language; the development of separate youth cultures; the rise of organized crime, and the growing international influence of American culture and values. I have many debts to acknowledge. The British Academy and the Arts and Humanities Research Board (and later Council) supported me with funding for research trips and leave. Most of the writing and 1
‘New Books and New Editions’, Pall Mall Gazette 1273 (11 Mar. 1869), 131. Julie Coleman, A History of Cant and Slang Dictionaries. Volume I: 1567–1784 and Volume II: 1785–1858 (both Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 2
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Preface
much of the research was undertaken during study leave funded by the University of Leicester. These sources of funding allowed me to visit many public and private libraries, including the British Library, the Bodleian, the Library of Congress, New York Public Library, the National Library of Australia, and the State Library of New South Wales. University libraries that generously allowed me access to their collections included Cambridge, Harvard, Yale, the University of California San Francisco and Berkeley, California State University at Chico, University College Dublin, and the Australian National University. I would like particularly to thank staff at the interlibrary loan desk at the University of Leicester, who have chased up several of the more obscure glossaries discussed here, some at extremely short notice. I am especially grateful to Bruce Moore, Judith Smyth Robertson, and Julia Robinson of the Australian National Dictionary Centre, for their generosity and encouragement. Judith kindly allowed me access to her unpublished research, which left it hard to find anything new to say about some of the Australian dictionaries. I hope that my reflections on them do not seem too wrong-headedly British. Dr A. R. Morton, archivist of the Sandhurst Collection, Professor Vanessa Toulmin, director of the National Fairground Archive at the University of Sheffield, and Tom Lawson and Suzanne Foster of Winchester College, were also very helpful in response to my email enquiries. I have benefited from the input of three anonymous readers for Oxford University Press in various stages of this work. Their comments were detailed, careful, and extremely useful, and I have no doubt that this is a better book as a result. Thanks are due too to Chloe Plummer and John Davey for their carefulness and patience. I very much enjoyed meeting and learning from Jonathon Green, Jonathan Lighter, and Madeline Kripke. Tony Cowie and Christopher Stray have also been extremely useful correspondents, though I have yet to meet either of them in person. I would like particularly to thank Jesse Sheidlower (this time spelt correctly—and I can’t apologize enough for getting it wrong before) for his generosity and trust in leaving a complete stranger alone with his books. Tom Dalzell, Cathy, and family, were amazingly helpful and hospitable, and I thoroughly enjoyed meeting them, despite the horrible realization of how much I still had to learn. Without access to Jesse and Tom’s collections, this book would be full of unsuspected holes.
Preface
xvii
More personally still, I would like to thank Emma Parker and Sarah Graham, for just being, but also for showing an interest and lending me books. Thanks very much to my Mum, Margaret Coleman, for rooting around in Farmer’s murky family life and for her other genealogical research. She is also an invaluable and much loved childminder. Particularly, and more than ever, my thanks go to Paul, for putting up with my extended absences and not making me feel worse about it than I did already. And finally, John and Patrick have repeatedly reminded me that other things matter more. Thank you. J.C.
Acknowledgements
Figure 1.1 is reproduced by permission of the British Library. Figure 2.1 is reproduced by permission of the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford (Bod. Bookstack 302505.e.5). Figure 8.1 is reproduced by permission of the University Archives at Columbia University. Figure 11.1 is reproduced courtesy of the Library of Congress. Figures 7.1 and 9.1 are from the author’s collection.
List of Illustrations
1.1. 2.1. 7.1. 8.1.
Hotten’s ‘Cadger’s Map’ (1859) Baumann’s Londinismen (1887) The Flapper (1922) The Columbia Jester: “Who wash tha’ lady I seen ya with lash night?” “Tha’ wuzzn’t no lady. Tha’ wusha Shmith student.” (1928) 9.1. Smith’s Lingo of No Man’s Land (1918) 11.1. Trumble’s Slang Dictionary of New York, London and Paris (1881)
17 37 166
205 235 306
List of Tables
The tables are grouped together in the Appendix, pp. 399–418. Table 1.1 Table 1.2 Table 1.2.1 Table 1.3
Table 1.3.1 Table 2.1
Table 2.1.1 Table 2.1.2 Table 2.2
Table 3.1
Table 3.2
Table 3.2.1
Sources of the main word-list in the various editions of Hotten’s dictionary An outline of the subject matter of new entries in Hotten’s dictionary An outline of the subject matter of later dictionaries’ entries from Hotten (1874) Lexicographic features of new entries in Hotten’s dictionary (including additional lists and footnotes) The usage labels in new entries in Hotten’s dictionary Lexicographic features of Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang and Lentzner’s Colonial English glossaries Usage labels in Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang Lentzner’s use of Barrère and Leland’s usage labels An outline of the subject matter of Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang and Lentzner’s Colonial English glossaries An outline of the subject matter of Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues and of Ware’s Passing English (1909) Lexicographic features in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues and Ware’s Passing English (1909) Usage labels in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues
400 400 401
402 403
404 404 405
405
406
406 407
List of Tables Table 3.2.2 Selected Authorities in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues Table 4.1 The sources of Hindley’s True History of Tom and Jerry (1888) Table 4.2 Lexicographic features in Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) Table 4.2.1 An outline of the subject matter of Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) Table 4.2.2 Usage labels in Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) Table 4.2.3 Selected Authorities in Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) Table 4.3 Lexicographic features in Phillips’s Rhyming Slang (1931/2) and in the new entries in the anonymous Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945) Table 4.3.1 An outline of the subject matter of Phillips’s Rhyming Slang (1931/2) and of the new entries in the anonymous Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945) Table 7.1 An outline of the subject matter of the lists in Rose’s Thesaurus of Slang Table 7.1.1 Lexicographic features in Rose’s Thesaurus of Slang Table 7.2 An outline of the subject matter of the lists in Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang Table 7.2.1 Lexicographic features in Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang
xxi
407 408
408
409
409
410
410
410 411 412 413 414
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List of Tables
Table 9.1
An outline of the subject matter of Downing’s Digger’s Dialect (1919) and of terms from it in the Glossary of Slang and Peculiar Terms in Use in the A.I.F. (1921–4) Table 9.2 Lexicographic features of the glossaries in Brophy and Partridge’s Soldiers’ Songs and Slang (1930 and 1931) Table 9.2.1 Semantic coverage of the glossaries in Brophy and Partridge’s Soldiers’ Songs and Slang (1930 and 1931) Table 11.1 Lexicographic features of Maurer’s ‘Argot of the Underworld’, ‘Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’ (both 1931) and ‘Lingo of the Good People’ (1935) lists Table 11.2 Sources of entries in Hanchant’s Newgate Garland (1932)
415
416
416
417 417
Abbreviations and Conventions
Abbreviations a ADB AEF AIF ANB b. BEF c. DNB DORA DSUE edn. HDAS IWW n. OED p = 0.01
ante (before) e.g. a1900 Australian Dictionary of Biography (online) American Expeditionary Force Australian Imperial Force American National Biography (online) born e.g. b.1851 British Expeditionary Force circa (about) e.g. c.1890 Dictionary of National Biography (online) Defence of the Realm Act (1916) Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English edition Historical Dictionary of American Slang Industrial Workers of the World note Oxford English Dictionary (online) probability of less than 1 per cent of something happening by chance p = 0.05 probability of less than 5 per cent of something happening by chance
Typographical conventions3 italics bold italics
cited terms dictionary headwords
3 Each dictionary uses bold, italics, capitalization, and punctuation in different ways. This volume attempts to represent the typography and layout of each dictionary as in the orginal.
xxiv
Abbreviations and Conventions
small capitals semantic ‘single inverted commas’ “speech marks” [square brackets]
fields quotations, including quoted definitions my own definitions restored readings; editorial insertions orthographical notation (exact spelling, letter-forms, capitalization and punctuation)
Introduction Explanation of terms What follows is a brief explanation of the distinctions between some of the central terms used here. Jargon is specialized professional or technical language. It can achieve official status and sometimes becomes more widely used, but technical developments can necessitate a rapid turnover of vocabulary. Jargon excludes outsiders, but that is not its primary purpose: it is intended for the careful communication of precise details among specialists. Cant is the technical language of thieves, tramps, and beggars. It could be considered as a professional jargon used for planning and directing complex operations. Some writers emphasize its use in excluding members of more respectable society from discussions of criminal intent. Others insist that it is used to cement underworld solidarity rather than to exclude outsiders: that using cant is potentially incriminating in itself unless speakers can rely on the criminality of their listeners. Dialect terms are used in geographically restricted areas. Colloquial language is used in normal conversation. It is characterized by greater informality than the written word, but is less geographically specific than dialect and less socially exclusive than slang. Like dialect, colloquial language extends beyond the lexis into grammar, syntax, and pronunciation. Slang is a notoriously difficult word to define,1 to the point that some linguists refuse to use it at all. ‘[W]e are all sure it exists, most of us are sure we know what it is, and many of us are sure that everyone else agrees with us’.2 The term has been used in many senses, and in the period covered by this volume commonly encompassed the forms 1 A selection of definitions are to be found in A. H. Melville, ‘An Investigation of the Function and Use of Slang’, The Pedagogical Seminary 19 (Mar. 1912), 94 –100; Henry Bradley, ‘Slang’, in The Collected Papers of Henry Bradley (Oxford: Clarendon, 1928), 145–56 [reprinted from the Encyclopædia Britannica 25 (New York: Encyclopædia Britannica Company, 1910), 207–10]; G. F. Drake, ‘The Social Role of Slang’, in Howard Giles, W. Peter Robinson, and Philip M. Smith (eds.), Language: Social Psychological Perspectives (New York: Pergamon, 1980), 63–70; Beatrice Warren, Sense Developments (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1992), 154–5; Lars-Gunnar Andersson and Peter Trudgill, Bad Language (London: Penguin, 1992), 67–86; Connie Eble, Slang and Sociability. In-group Language among College Students (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), 12–22; Anna-Brita Stenström, Trends in Teenage Talk (Amsterdam: Benjamins, 2002), 64–5, 67. 2 Bethany K. Dumas and Jonathon Lighter, ‘Is Slang a Word for Linguists?’ American Speech 53 (1978), 5–17: 9.
2
Introduction
of non-standard language now distinguished as jargon, cant, and colloquialisms. Slang is now typically used to delineate a level of language more informal than the standard, less domestic than the colloquial, and less official than jargon. Slang may be as geographically contained as dialect or as widespread as standard English, but its defining feature is its restriction to social subgroups, whether defined by age, shared interest, or social circle. Slang is often ephemeral, but many slang terms are surprisingly resilient, even though each individual user’s contact with them may be temporary. Slang typically functions to establish and cement group membership, often by rejecting social norms. Standard English is a neutral style of language used in writing and sometimes in speech. Its use is often encouraged as a means of personal advancement. Mainstream dictionaries and usage guides typically concentrate on standard English, and some commentators resist linguistic change of all kinds, treating standard English as a monolithic and immutable form. In reality, there are many different national standard Englishes, and these influence one another. Vocabulary, syntax, grammar, word formation, pronunciation, and even intonation vary through time, influenced by more as well as by less formal levels of speech and writing. Slang, jargon, and cant usually refer only to vocabulary, though dialect and standard or colloquial language embrace broader linguistic variation, as noted above. Slang terms may be inserted into otherwise standard English sentences, and slang can thus be considered as part of a continuum rather than as an entirely separate entity. However, the choice of a slang term usually represents the rejection of a standard equivalent, and labelling a term or a set of terms as slang places them in opposition to the standard. This double-facetted relationship between slang and standard English could be seen as equivalent to the relationship between colour terms: while pink is, by definition, not red, there is also a continuum between the two that makes it next to impossible to determine where one colour ends and the other begins. A term’s status as slang, moreover, is not fixed. Terms heard in everyday conversation in New York would be colloquial in that context but might be slang in London. Early commentators on both American and Australian English often stigmatized widely accepted terms as slang because they were not used in polite company in Britain. Some long-established dialect terms in Britain became stand-
Introduction
3
ard forms in American English; others were introduced as slang, and viewed as vulgar innovations. In a conversation between generations, the same term may function simultaneously as slang for one participant and colloquial or standard language for another. For this volume an even greater difficulty than defining slang is deciding whether or not a particular publication is a dictionary of slang. Books described as slang dictionaries in their title or by booksellers or library cataloguers often prove on examination to be lists of technical, dialect, or colloquial terms. More often, they contain a mixture of various types of non-standard language. On the other hand, very few dictionaries exclude all slang terms. Somewhere and somehow, a line had to be drawn. Although it was possible, and is necessary, to exclude glossaries on an individual basis, it was also desirable to exclude whole categories of dictionary listed in Burke’s indispensable but infuriating bibliography.3 For example, the end of this period sees the earliest lists of ‘cowboy slang’, published in periodicals for aspiring writers and as appendices to books about life on the range and collections of western songs.4 They contain a mixture of slang, dialect, and technical terms, and although they certainly deserve thorough attention in their own right, these glossaries do not belong within this volume. Glossaries of other occupations and sports also tend to include at least as much jargon as slang, and are thus excluded here en masse.5 3 W. J. Burke, The Literature of Slang (New York: New York Public Library, 1939). Most vexing is the list of ‘stray newspaper references’ (157). Most of these proved, as Burke predicted, to be ‘of little importance’. 4 For example, S. C. C., ‘Cowboy Camp Expressions’, The Editor 46 (5 Sep. 1917), 309; Charles Wellington Furlong, Let ’er Buck (New York/London: Putnam, 1921); Robert T. Pound, ‘Western Terminology’, Writer’s Monthly 21 (May 1923), 418–22; Frank Reeves, ‘What the Cowboys Say’, Writer’s Monthly 30 (Oct. 1927), 314–17; Frank Reeves, ‘Tips on the Rangeland’, Writer’s Monthly 38 (Nov. 1931), 195–201; Margaret Larkin, Singing Cowboy (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1931); Lynn Riggs, Green Grow the Lilacs (New York/Los Angeles/London: Samuel French, 1931); Ramon F. Adams, Cowboy’s Dictionary of Technical Terms (New York: Street and Smith, 1933); Jules Verne Allen, Cowboy Lore (San Antonio: Nayor Printing Company, 1933); Ramon Adams, Cowboy Lingo (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1936). 5 Most of these are American (e.g., Charles Hallock, Hallock’s American Club List and Sportsman’s Glossary (New York: Forest and Stream, 1878); Alexander Johnstone Wilson, A Glossary of Colloquial, Slang and Technical Terms in Use on the Stock Exchange and in the Money Market (London: Wilsons & Milne, 1895); Sereno Stansbury Pratt, The Work of Wall Street (New York: Appleton, 1910); George C. Bastian, Editing the Day’s News (New York: Macmillan, 1923); A. R. McTee, ‘Oil Field Dictionary’, Texas Folklore Society Publications 4 (May 1925), 64–7; Robert S. Harper, ‘Lingo of Locale’, Writer’s Digest 11 (May 1931), 40, 42, 64; John Kieran, ‘Sportman’s Lexicon’, Saturday Review of Literature 10 (22 Jun. 1933), 1–3, 64; Willis Stork, ‘Varying the Football Jargon’, American Speech 9 (1934), 237–9). There are a few comparable British glossaries (see, for example, A. N. Steele’s list of busmen’s slang and A. Watkins’s glossary of terms used on the mail trains, both in the London Daily Herald 5 Aug. 1936, 8). Australian and New Zealand occupational slang is represented by L. G. D. Acland’s ‘A Sheep Station Glossary’ in his Early Canterbury Runs (Christchurch, NZ: Whitcombe and Tombs, 1933).
4
Introduction
Among dictionaries of occupational slang, exceptions are made for the armed forces and the entertainment industries. In each case this is because a group of glossaries exists focusing on slang terms and also because each group had a marked influence on mainstream slang. During periods of conscription in any case, military slang is more than a professional register: it is widely used by a significant proportion of the civilian population, albeit civilians in uniform. Among military and entertainment glossaries, lists are omitted on an individual basis where they do not concentrate on slang terms. These exclusions are inevitably subjective, and another writer on the same subject might possibly have made different choices. Lists of terms belonging to specific semantic fields are also excluded. These rarely distinguish between slang and standard terms, though they are often described as slang lists, particularly if their subject matter is at all racy.6 The only exception is the earliest dictionary of English sex terms, by Henry Cary, which is included because of its close relationship to dictionaries discussed in this volume. Regrettably, for reasons of space and incompetence, this volume will not provide an exhaustive account of bilingual slang dictionaries. This is another fascinating dictionary tradition which doubtless interacts with the dictionaries included in this volume. Limited discussions of Baumann’s Londonismen (a German dictionary of English slang) and Barrère’s Argot and Slang (an English dictionary of French slang) are included to set the scene for some nineteenth-century dictionaries of English slang that included European synonyms.7 Another group of dictionaries not included here are those that use the format for humour. Perhaps the most famous is Ambrose Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary, whose definitions provide a commentary on social mores: Congratulation, n. The civility of envy. Lawyer, n. One skilled in circumvention of the law. 6 For example, Mamie Meredith, ‘The Human Head in Slang’, American Speech 3 (1928), 408–9; Manuel Prenner, ‘Slang Terms for Money’, American Speech 4 (1929), 357–8; William Juniper, A Merry, Ingenious, and Diverting Work Entitled Liber Compotorum Felicium: or, The True Drunkard’s Delight (London: Unicorn Press, 1933). 7 W. (or K.) von Knoblauch’s Dictionary of Argot (London: Routledge, c.1916) defines French terms in English. J. Manchon’s Le slang (Paris: Payot, 1923) defines English terms in French. M. E. Barentz’s Woordenboek der Engelsche Spreektaal. Anglicismen en Americanismen (Amsterdam: S. L. van Looy, 1895) defines English terms in Dutch.
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5
Marriage, n. The state or condition of a community consisting of a master, a mistress and two slaves, making in all, two.8
Although sharing the iconoclastic stance of some slang glossaries and commonly catalogued as such, comic dictionaries tend to concentrate on non-standard definitions for standard English terms. Glossaries of neologisms often include a great deal of slang, but are generally excluded here unless they focus on slang.9 Finally, a few largely or wholly derivative word-lists were considered in earlier volumes in this series. These include George Matsell’s Vocabulum and all of the Carew lists.10 The glossaries discussed in this volume claim to document many diverse styles of spoken language. Although techniques for recording sound developed during this period, no recording equipment was suitable for linguistic research. In any case, this was not how linguistic research was done. Lexicographers traditionally turned to written texts and to their predecessors for material, and given the level of dependence of some of these glossaries, we can be certain that they do not represent a reliable account of current usage. In many cases this is not what they set out to do. They sought rather to comment on a social problem, to further a political argument, or to make easy money by a slapdash act of showy revelation. A study of slang and cant during this period could not depend on the dictionaries for its material, and I have commented on the reliability of individual lists wherever it is possible to do so.
Summary of contents Despite all the exclusions, many cant and slang dictionaries from this period remain. Chapters 1 to 5 concentrate on British slang dictionaries. Chapter 6 also contains, in a sense, a collection of British slang 8 Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary, vol. VII of The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce (New York: Neale, 1911). Dan Parker’s ‘Lexicon of a Fight Manager’, New York Daily Mirror (7 Jan. 1933), 22, and Turner O’Lingo’s Australian Comic Dictionary (Melbourne: E. W. Cole, 1916) are also comic glossaries rather than slang lists. See Andrea R. Nagy’s ‘Life or Lexicography: How Popular Culture Imitates Dictionaries’, Dictionaries 25 (2004), 107–21. 9 C. Alphonso Smith’s New Words Self-Defined (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, Page & Co, 1919) is an example of the dictionaries thus excluded. 10 George Matsell, Vocabulum (New York: Matsell, 1859). See Coleman, Cant and Slang I, 127–41 for the Carew lists, and vol. II, 90–100 for Matsell.
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lists, although these were produced elsewhere in the Empire. Many have received considerable scholarly attention as early dictionaries of Australian English. This is entirely appropriate, because some of their originators were motivated by nationalistic ideals. At the time, however, the use of English in Australia was largely viewed from the perspective of imperial English. It was widely felt, among educated Australians as much as anyone else, that deviations from standard British English were mere curiosities of uncouth usage. Emphasizing this aspect of the dictionaries’ contemporary context provides a different viewpoint and counterbalances the effects of hindsight. Chapter 7 considers dictionaries of general American slang, including some produced for bemused British theatre and cinema audiences, and Chapter 8 concentrates on lists of American school and university slang. Chapter 9 examines dictionaries of the slang of the First World War. Because of their shorter involvement in the war, and because a vocabulary was already established by the time they arrived, relatively few of these glossaries are American. The effects of the war on American society and language are seen in Chapters 10 and 11, which deal with glossaries of tramp and criminal language. In the American crime glossaries we see the effects of Prohibition and of the glamorization of criminals by cinema and the wider media. There is some continuity between the language of hoboes and criminals, and a few glossaries could justifiably have been placed in either chapter. As America moved towards wage labour and away from the family farm, criminals apparently developed increasingly complicated techniques for parting unwary citizens from their hard-earned cash, with complex specialized vocabularies to match. The Harrison Act of 1914 controlled the sale of opiates and cocaine in America for the first time, and the earliest glossaries of terms employed by drug users and suppliers were not far behind. Drug control remained relatively liberal in the United Kingdom until the 1970s, so there are no glossaries of British drug terms from this period. There are also relatively few British criminal or tramp glossaries, in marked contrast with the period covered by the previous volume in this series. Many of the glossaries of the slang of the entertainment industries, which are grouped together in Chapter 12, could have been treated in Chapters 10 and 11. The theatre, particularly vaudeville, the circus, and the carnival, had all reached their peak by the early years
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7
of the twentieth century. Their itinerant employees often lived on the edges of poverty and legality. Many of the glossaries discussed here were self-consciously preserving the vocabulary of a way of life that was in decline. Circuses were professionalized and commercialized by the Ringling Brothers and Barnum, and attempts to reduce dishonesty necessarily led to a decrease in profits that was intensified by the effects of the Depression. Smaller circuses could not compete, and audiences accustomed to the cinema became more sophisticated and less gullible. Like the glossaries discussed in Chapters 5 and 10, these lists look back to a golden age. Like the glossaries discussed in Chapters 10 and 11, they are largely American. At the end of this final chapter is a taste of what was to become the most important influence on American and international slang in the later twentieth century: African-American music and language.
The Historical Setting In the early part of the period covered by this volume, Britain appeared to be an unassailable world power. It reached out through its empire, political influence, financial services, and mercantile interests to every corner of the globe. In the secure knowledge that no other nation was positioned to benefit from it, Britain imposed free trade wherever it went, using force where necessary. The loss of the American colonies was conveniently overshadowed in the minds of British imperialists by more recent victories over France in the Napoleonic Wars and Russia in the Crimean War. The reason for Britain’s success seemed self-evident: We happen to be the best people in the world, with the highest ideals of decency and justice and liberty and peace, and the more of the world we inhabit, the better for humanity.11
In Darwinian terms (the Origin of Species was first published in 1859), the Empire represented the survival of the fittest over inferior races. From a Christian perspective, it demonstrated God’s desire that heathens 11 Cecil Rhodes, quoted in Bernard Porter, The Lion’s Share. A Short History of British Imperialism 1850–1995, 3rd edn. (Harlow: Pearson Education, 1996), 136. See also Christine Bolt, Victorian Attitudes to Race (London: Routledge, 1971).
8
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be converted and civilized. Many of those who governed on behalf of the Empire really did believe that they were fulfilling a divinely ordained plan. Henry Herbert, Secretary of State for the Colonies, envisaged ‘a great English-speaking community’ which delivered: wise laws, good government, and a well ordered finance . . . a system where the humblest may enjoy freedom from oppression and wrong equally with the greatest; where the light of religion and morality can penetrate into the darkest dwelling places. This is the true fulfilment of our duties; this, again, I say, is the true strength and meaning of imperialism.12
Britain abolished the slave trade in 1807 and slavery itself throughout the Empire in 1833. Having shifted to the moral high ground, Britain sought to encourage other nations to follow suit, demonstrating that with power came responsibility: not that might made right in itself, but that mightiness required righteousness. From international politics to domestic life, this public interest in morality gave rise to the hypocrisy that we now consider so characteristic of Victorian England. Even the working classes in Britain could take pleasure in the knowledge that they were lowly members of the greatest power on earth. Boys’ Own stories about the adventures of British heroes, real and imaginary, and quasi-military organizations like the Scouts and the Boys’ Brigade, fed a longing to play some part in the fight for Queen and Country. The missionary press brought into British homes the news that savages were being enlightened and properly clad throughout the world. The lower classes at home were also subject to the civilizing force of aspiration: the dream of escaping menial roots by honest work and earnest conformity. Britain did become more socially mobile as a result of industrialization. With the increase in trade and financial services, the professionalization of the army, and of teaching, medicine, and the clergy, as well as the steady expansion of the civil service at home and abroad, there were now many respectable ways to earn a comfortable living if one were not blessed with a sufficient inheritance. The middle classes sought respectability through financial security and moral probity and their values spread downwards to the skilled working classes. Even the unskilled labouring poor seemed less threatening now than they 12
Quoted in Robert Johnson, British Imperialism (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 3.
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had a hundred years before. A greater regard for the working classes is demonstrated by the development of folklore as a discipline,13 and also by the slow movement towards universal suffrage. In the midnineteenth century this still seemed far away: 14 per cent of adult males could vote, with the rest of the population considered unfit for involvement in matters of government. In 1918, universal male suffrage was introduced, not as a result of riots or civil disobedience (they certainly did occur, but it would have been unwise to encourage them), but in recognition of working men’s sacrifices in the war. In the same year, women over 30 acquired the right to vote, subject to property requirements, and from 1928 onwards, men and women above the age of 21 voted on equal terms. Changes in the status of the various sections of British society are reflected in the dictionaries and glossaries discussed in this volume. By the middle of the nineteenth century, Britain was an urban nation, joined up by its networks of railways and canals. Travel and communication were easier than ever before, even for the poor. National newspapers, largely from London, were able to interest the rest of the country in sport, politics, royal stories, and scandal. The population of inner London increased by 62 per cent in the thirty years after the 1851 census, but the population of London’s suburbs almost trebled:14 improvements in transport had created commuters. Socially stratified streets and districts replaced the mixed parishes characterizing the pre-industrial period: Just as gentlemanly clothes deflected, so ragged clothes attracted the mid-Victorian policeman’s attention. ‘Move on, there!’ now became the policeman’s characteristic expression. The police had to keep the better shopping areas clear; not only of beggars, pilferers-presumptive, costermongers, etc. but even workmen in their working-clothes were liable to be ‘moved on’.15
Casual contact between the classes in public places certainly decreased, but middle-class households employed a growing number of servants in their homes. Although forced to live to middle-class standards of 13 See Philip Dodd, ‘Englishness and the National Culture’, 1–28, in Robert Colls and Philip Dodd (eds.), Englishness. Politics and Culture 1880–1920 (New York: Croom Hill/Methuen: 1987), 8. 14 Figures from Geoffrey Best, Mid-Victorian Britain 1851–75 (London: Fontana Press, 1979), 25. 15 Ibid., 295–6.
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Introduction
respectability, these servants often had unsupervised opportunities to impart their own non-standard language and world view to their employers’ children. Not permitted to roam freely, middle-class children made their escape from the stiff formality of their parents’ social world in creative language and imagination.16 Standard English was well established through education in the written word, but the late nineteenth century saw a new impetus in the development of standardized speech: Received Pronunciation. To take advantage of new opportunities, it was essential for young men to be taught to look, sound, and think as much like gentlemen as possible, and a range of schools offered this service to the sons of the aspiring and rising classes. The expansion of the railway system and increased middle-class prosperity made it feasible for a growing number of boys to leave home and be educated as gentlemen in the nation’s great and minor public schools. These moulded administrators and regulators for the Empire by imbuing them with ideals of fair play, patriotism, duty, self-control, leadership, and a conviction of their own innate superiority. The influence of middle-class ideals on the public schools was also to be profound. Ironically, many public schools developed their own slang, and a good command of it undoubtedly contributed to personal advancement both at school and afterwards. Standards of living were also improving lower down the social scale, though workers often had to observe standards of dress and morality in order to benefit. Factory Acts throughout the nineteenth century regulated working conditions and hours, particularly with reference to child labour. In various Education Acts from 1870 onwards, the State took on a further responsibility for its most vulnerable members, and gradually funded compulsory school attendance at ratepayers’ expense. Universal education was expected to herald the end of uncouth non-standard speech forms.17 By the end of the period covered by this volume, full-time education was mandatory for all children between the ages of 5 and 14. In the period between 1839 and 1893, the proportion of brides and grooms able to sign the mar16 Christopher Stray explores this aspect of middle-class family life in the introduction to his Contribution Towards a Glossary of the Glynne Language. By a Student (George William, Lord Lyttelton) (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2005). 17 Lynda Mugglestone, ‘Talking Proper’. The Rise of Accent as Social Symbol (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 258.
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riage register rose from 58 to 95 per cent.18 Rather than eradicating non-standard language, literacy enabled its speakers, for the first time, to document it for themselves. In their attempts to improve the morals of the working classes, employers and campaigners focused particularly on the demon drink. Although the results of the temperance movement in the United States were more dramatic, it was also a force to be reckoned with in Britain. In 1915, Lloyd George remarked that: We are fighting Germans, Austrians and Drink, and so far as I can see the greatest of these deadly foes is Drink.19
In 1916, drinking hours were regulated and prices were increased to encourage the working classes to make an ever greater contribution to the war effort. This undoubtedly added to the general improvement of many working families’ lives. The wealth of the Empire did trickle down, just a little, and prices fell as a result of increased trade. Reduced working hours meant more spare time, and new forms of leisure developed in response. Music halls provided diversion, glamour, and a commentary on contemporary society. Spectator sports, particularly football, provided social cohesion and developed regional pride. Excursions to the seaside offered a temporary escape from the realities of everyday life. Not everyone benefited from general improvements in the standard of living, but there was now a much clearer distinction between happy, docile, industrious workers and the menacing underclass. The results of the concentration of the poorest members of society in the inner cities were alarming, but poverty was no longer accepted as a fact of nature. Parliament gave local authorities powers to clear slum areas and to inspect and condemn low lodging houses. Charitable organizations and local authorities financed emigration schemes, seeing the vast untamed lands of the colonies as less dangerous than the morally and physically perilous cities of England. A Norfolk landowner, Lord Walsingham remarked: Look at the pure bred Cockney —I mean the little fellow whom you see running in and out of offices in the city, and whose forefathers have for 18 J. M. Colby and A. W. Purdue, The Civilisation of the Crowd. Popular Culture in England 1750–1900 (Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 1999), 129. 19 Quoted in E. S. Turner, Dear Old Blighty (London: Michael Joseph, 1980), 88.
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the last two generations dwelt within a two mile radius of Charing Cross. And look at an average young labourer coming home from his day’s field work, and I think you will admit the city breeds one stamp of human beings and the country breeds another . . . Take the people away from their natural breeding grounds, thereby sapping their health and strength in cities such as nature never intended to be the permanent home of men, and the decay of this country becomes only a matter of time.20
No matter what measures were taken, cities were corrupting, but the Metropolitan Police Force, established in 1829, provided a model for professional police forces around the country, replacing earlier inefficient and sometimes corrupt constabularies. By the middle of the century even the working classes saw the police as protectors rather than oppressors. Street-lighting had become more effective, changes in fashion made picking pockets more difficult, improvements in domestic and commercial security reduced opportunistic thefts.21 Crimes against property no longer led to the gallows: by the mid-nineteenth century only murder and treason were punishable by death. Transportation was also in decline, and yet, from about 1860 there appears to have been a steady and long-term decrease in serious crime. Richter argues that our perception of the late Victorian period as a time of social order is a misconception, but it is certainly a reflection of contemporary opinion.22 To increase the deterrent effect of imprisonment, isolation was joined by hard labour, designed to be monotonous, unproductive, and humiliating. As the prison service became more systematic and bureaucratic towards the end of the century, it produced studies that redefined criminals in the public consciousness as physically degenerate and mentally deficient. This provides a marked contrast with the mid-century bogeyman, the garrotter, who was menacingly large, callously brutal, and clever enough to be devious.23 In the 1890s there was a move back towards the idea that one of the purposes of punishment was reformation, and by the early years of the twentieth century some of those who could not be reformed were being re-categorized as mentally ill rather than criminal. 20 Quoted by Alun Howkins, ‘The Discovery of Rural England’, 62–88 in Colls and Dodd (eds.), Englishness, 66. 21 Kellow Chesney, The Victorian Underworld (London: Temple Smith, 1970), 159, 174. 22 Donald C. Richter, Riotous Victorians (Athens/London: Ohio University Press, 1981), 163. 23 David Taylor, Policing and Punishment in England, 1750–1914 (London: Macmillan, 1998), 50.
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In the late 1850s, the British Empire was at its height. Britain was by far the richest country in the world. Generations of merchants, soldiers, civil servants, missionaries, and explorers, some selfless and high-minded, others mercenary and brutal, had created an Empire so vast that the sun never set upon it. This proud boast was not only a statement of geographical fact, but also a prediction of continued world domination. By the end of the century, however, it was clear that the Empire was in decline, and many of the British glossaries discussed here are nostalgic accounts of past glory. There was no question about which nation was to take Britain’s place. At the beginning of the First World War, America was both more industrialized and more productive than the United Kingdom. Bearing less of the cost of the war, either financially or in human terms, the United States became a reluctant world power. As America continued to grow in influence and confidence as a nation, American English burst from the shadow of British English, celebrating rather than apologizing for its greater informality and creativity.24 The higher status of the spoken language in America during this period is demonstrated by the numerous scholarly articles on non-standard speech published in Dialect Notes and American Speech.25 Factors influencing the development of society and speech in America are discussed in Chapter 7. English in Australia took longer to assert its independence. The last transported convicts arrived in Western Australia in 1868, but the journey was also undertaken by a cross-section of British society many of whom sought to maintain social differences where it was in their interests to do so. Distinctively Australian English was thus stigmatized even in Australia. Additions to and deviations from standard British English were all dismissed as slang, including dialect and technical terms as well as widely used colloquialisms. However, national values of egalitarianism and mateship are clearly evident in 24 See Jane H. Hill, ‘Mock Spanish, Covert Racism and the (Leaky) Boundary between Public and Private Speakers’, in Roxy Harris and Ben Rampton (eds.), The Language, Ethnicity and Race Reader (London: Routledge, 2003), 199–210: 200. 25 Many of the American Speech glossaries discussed in this volume are derived from articles in newspapers and specialist journals, some of which are now untraceable. Although there are impressive bibliographies and surveys of slang in this period, even Burke and Partridge could not have read every newspaper and magazine, and there are undoubtedly glossaries that have so far escaped attention.
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Introduction
Australian slang dictionaries from this period. Successful resistance to imperial power by miners and sheep-farmers during the 1850s, and popular rejection of the idea that future generations should continue to bear the stigma of convict ancestors, were reflected in defiance of standard English. It is significant that several early Australian slang glossaries document the slang of soldiers during the First World War (discussed in Chapter 9) because events at Gallipoli, in particular, cemented Australia’s sense of what it meant to be a nation. That this took so long to happen was, in part, because Britain had learnt from mistakes made in America, and had parcelled out just enough independence to keep Australia loyal. Like the Oxford English Dictionary (OED ), the multi-volume slang dictionaries of the late nineteenth century are expressions of Empire: they are attempts to encapsulate the scope and spread of English in all its varieties. Nascent national forms of English used in settler colonies —America, Australia, Canada, New Zealand —were viewed as inferior versions of British English. On the other hand, the idea that the Empire’s original inhabitants might be educated to produce perfect standard British English was not a comfortable one, and this period sees educated Indians, known as babus, as a particular target for mockery. By documenting deviant forms, Victorian slang-lexicographers tamed and claimed them. These dictionaries reassured their users that English, like the Empire, could be controlled. Such reassurance was sorely needed. In the decades surrounding the turn of the century, the Empire seemed to be under attack from within as well as without. The national self-confidence of the mid-nineteenth century was undermined by the poor quality of army recruits and subsequent defeats in the Boer War, a series of sexual scandals involving the highest levels of society, the growth of Irish and Indian nationalism, and the unfeminine activities of the suffragettes. Where there is anxiety about change, slang dictionaries often result.
One: John Camden Hotten The first edition of Hotten’s dictionary was published when the British Empire was at its height. London was the centre of that Empire, and Hotten’s is squarely a dictionary of London, reflecting its youthful and mixed population and its attitudes towards the rest of the country and the world. Although many original copies of the various editions are still in circulation, four antiquarian editions have been published since the 1970s.
Hotten’s Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words (1859) John William Hotten (1832–73) was born in London, and was apprenticed to a bookseller at the age of 14. Before his apprenticeship was completed, he left with his brother for the West Indies and later moved on to America where he worked as a journalist. In 1856 he set himself up as a bookseller in London, and by 1858 had become a publisher in his own right. The slang dictionary for which he is now largely remembered was the first book he issued, but he published a diverse and innovative range of over four hundred other titles.1 Hotten introduced various American writers to a British audience, taking advantage of an absence of copyright legislation, and wrote biographies of Thackeray and Dickens. He had stormy relationships with authors and fellow publishers, and vehemently denounced unscrupulous practices that he happily employed himself. On Hotten’s death, ‘of a pork pie’,2 his chief clerk Andrew Chatto bought the business, with W. E. Windus, a minor poet, as his sleeping partner. They found the dictionary a profitable enough proposition to pay an unnamed editor to revise it, and the company reprinted this last edition until 1925. 1 For a detailed account of Hotten’s publishing and authorial activities, see Simon Eliot, ‘ “Hotten: Rotten: Forgotten”?: An Apologia for a General Publisher’, Book History 3 (2000), 61–93, which also provides some of the biographical information included here, along with The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004 –7) (hereafter DNB ). 2 Bierce, ‘A Sole Survivor’ in The Collected Works I, 391. Bierce writes that Hotten choked to death ‘doubtless, of his design’ in order to avoid honouring a post-dated cheque.
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John Camden Hotten
Facing the title page of the dictionary, Hotten provided ‘A Cadger’s Map of a Begging District’ (see Figure 1.1), and commented that: The reader may be startled to know that, in addition to a secret language, the wandering tribes of this country have private marks and symbolic signs, with which to score their successes, failures, and advice to succeeding beggars; in fact that the country is really dotted over with beggars’ finger posts and guide stones.3
Hotten explains that anyone giving money to a beggar would be beleaguered by all future beggars passing through the area. Browsers might have been persuaded to buy a book with such practical application, and references in contemporary newspapers demonstrate the value and appeal of the map.4 In his introduction, Hotten writes a colourful account of the experience necessary for the compiler of a dictionary like his: that he should reside in low areas of London, live among tramps, eavesdrop on the conversations of omnibus passengers and cabmen, attend preachers and the courts, read newspapers and popular literature, and always carry a notebook and pencil. Hotten asked his contacts among streetsellers to collect cant and slang terms for him, and cross-checked their material with other informants: Assistance was also sought and obtained, through an intelligent printer in Seven Dials, from the costermongers in London, and the pedlars and hucksters who traverse the country. In this manner the greater number of cant words were procured, very valuable help being continually derived from Mayhew’s London Labour and London Poor, a work which had gone over much of the same ground. The slang and vulgar expressions were gleaned from every source which appeared to offer any materials.5
At the hub of this network of knowledgeable informants sat Hotten, combining, if his account is to be believed, authentic sociological investigation with the latest developments in scholarly lexicography. 3 John Camden Hotten, A Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words . . . By a London Antiquary (London: John Camden Hotten, 1859), xxxix [from the second of two separate sequences of roman numerals]. 4 See, for instance, Anti-Cadger, ‘The Begging Nuisance’, The Hull Packet and East Riding Times 4169 (16 Dec. 1864), 5; ‘Anti-Mendicity Society’, Jackson’s Oxford Journal 5835 (25 Feb. 1865), 5; ‘Tramps’ Trade-Marks’, Preston Guardian 2935 (5 Oct. 1867), 3. Elisha K. Kane describes a similar use of chalked symbols among American hoboes in ‘The Jargon of the Underworld’, Dialect Notes 5 (1927), 433–67. See Chapter 10. 5 Hotten, Dictionary, 1859, iii–iv [first sequence].
Figure 1.1. Hotten’s ‘Cadger’s Map’ (1859)
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The year before Hotten published the first edition of his dictionary, a group of scholars in Oxford and London had passed a resolution to begin updating Johnson’s dictionary. It was not until eleven years after Hotten’s death that the first fascicle of the New English Dictionary, now known as the Oxford English Dictionary, was to appear, but it was with these modern philologists that Hotten chose to ally himself: It appears from the calculations of philologists, that there are 38,000 words in the English language, including derivations. I believe I have, for the first time, in consecutive order, added at least 3,000 words to the previous stock, — vulgar and often very objectionable, but still terms in every-day use, and employed by thousands.6
Hotten also provides a history of cant, starting with the arrival of the Gypsies during the reign of Henry VIII, including an annotated version of Harman’s canting glossary. He concludes the introduction with a discussion of the slang of various social groups, including the upper classes, theatre-workers, shopkeepers, jockeys, and many others. An annotated bibliography provides comments about earlier cant and slang lexicographers. The dictionary contains 2204 entries for 2030 imperfectly alphabetized headwords. This is rather fewer than the 3000 Hotten claims, even allowing for three further glossaries, of ‘The Costermongers’ Terms for Money’ (22 entries for 22 headwords), ‘Back Slang’ (152 entries for 152 headwords), and ‘Rhyming Slang’ (141 entries for 140 headwords). While it is entirely possible that Hotten adopted small numbers of terms from several of the glossaries listed and discussed in his bibliography (see Appendix, Table 1.1), his main source was undoubtedly Egan’s dictionary, ‘the best edition of Grose’,7 with a preference for
6 Ibid., v–vi [first sequence]. An anonymous reviewer of ‘Mr. Hotten’s Slang Dictionary’, The Reader 4 (22 Oct. 1864), 505, suggested that ‘The Philological Society ought to ask the readers for their Dictionary to note slang words for that gentleman’s use, and then persuade him to carry his work backwards so as to include old slang as well as modern: the old phrases would be even more interesting than the modern ones. Moreover, we should by this means be able to trace the progress of slang words up into respectable and good society.’ 7 Hotten, Dictionary, 1859, 154. It was the more collectable first edition that Hotten later chose to reprint, however: Francis Grose, A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (London: S. Hooper, 1785). Eliot, ‘ “Hotten: Rotten” ’, lists the reprint of Grose among Hotten’s published works and quotes Hotten’s catalogue description. This appears to be the edition held in microform at the New York Public Library and dated to the 1870s for want of publisher’s information. I have located no other copies.
John Camden Hotten
19
entries including cited authorities (p = 0.01).8 Much of the rhyming slang comes from Ducange Anglicus’s ‘silly and childish performance, full of blunders and contradictions’,9 and much of the back slang from Mayhew, acknowledged as a major source in the introduction. Hotten usually rewrote definitions, often adding etymological speculation or usage information: Ducange Anglicus (1857) COWS and KISSES, Miss, or the ladies. Th. EPSOM RACES, n. Braces. Th.
Hotten (1859) COWS AND KISSES, mistress, or missus — referring to the ladies. EPSOM RACES, a pair of braces.
— and sometimes omitting information from his source: Egan (1823) Sick as a Horse. Horses are said to be extremely sick at their stomachs, from being unable to relieve themselves by vomiting. Bracken, indeed, in his Farriery, gives an instance of that evacuation being procured, but by a means which, he says, would make the Devil vomit. Such as may have occasion to administer an emetic either to the animal or the fiend, may consult his book for the recipe.
Hotten (1859) SICK AS A HORSE, a popular simile, — curious, because a horse never vomits.
Hotten provides more information about pronunciation than his sources. He apparently observed Ducange’s practice: Ducange Anglicus (1857) JENNY-LINDER n. Window, pronounced winder. Th. ROUND ME HOUSES n. Trousers, pronounced trouses. Th.
Hotten (1859) JENNY LINDER, a winder, — vulgar pronunciation of window. ROUND THE HOUSES, trouses, — vulgar pronunciation of trousers.
8 Pierce Egan, Grose’s Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. Revised and Corrected. With the Addition of numerous Slang Phrases, collected from tried authorities (London: Printed for the Editor, 1823). In this volume, I will generally only comment on probabilities of p = 0.01 (i.e. the chance of their occurrence by random variation is less than 1 per cent). 9 Hotten, Dictionary, 1859, 153. Ducange Anglicus, The Vulgar Tongue, Comprising Two Glossaries of Slang, Cant, and Flash Words and Phrases used in London at the Present Day (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1857). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 228–35.
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— and extended it to other rhyming slang entries: GODDESS DIANA (pronounced Dianer), a tanner, — sixpence. ISABELLA (vulgar pronunciation, Isabeller), an umbrella.
Although the /r/ might have been pronounced intrusively, these respellings suggest an unstressed syllable with / /. Anecdotal material is found in thirty-two entries (1 per cent). For example: e
SCREEVER, a man who draws with coloured chalks on the pavement figures of our Saviour crowned with thorns, specimens of elaborate writing, thunderstorms, ships on fire, &c. The men who attend these pavement chalkings, and receive halfpence and sixpences from the admirers of street art, are not always the draughtsmen. The artist or screever drew perhaps in half-a-dozen places that very morning, and rented the spots out to as many cadaverous looking men. TUMBLE, to comprehend or understand. A coster was asked what he thought of Macbeth,—“the witches and the fighting was all very well, but the other moves I could’nt [sic] tumble to exactly; few on us can tumble to the jaw-breakers; they licks us, they do.”
Hotten provides citations for only 3 per cent of entries, but 12 per cent include unattributed examples of use, and a further 6 per cent cite authorities without quoting them (see Appendix, Table 1.3). Hotten cites a total of eighty different authorities, many only once, including a wide range of dictionaries as well as texts from the Renaissance and medieval periods. Most commonly cited is Shakespeare (44 times), followed by Grose (26), and an article on slang from Household Words (24).10 Johnson appears sixteen times, and Mayhew nine. Hotten’s usage labels can be used to explore his areas of interest. They reveal that, as his title suggests, slang is only part of his concern (see Appendix, Table 1.3.1). If the implicit labels of the additional lists are excluded, about half of Hotten’s labels mark terms as cant, jargon, or dialect, demonstrating his broad interest in all types of nonstandard language. 10 Hotten’s dictionary could be seen as a response to the article’s insistence that ‘a New Dictionary should be compiled, in which all the slang terms now in use among educated men, and made use of in publications of established character, should be registered, etymologised, explained, and stamped with the lexicographic stamp, that we may have chapter and verse, mint and hall-mark for our slang’ (‘Slang’, Household Words (24 Sep. 1853), 75). Burke (Literature of Slang, 21) attributes the article to George Sala, who ‘according to Ambrose Bierce, was the compiler-in-chief of Hotten’s Dictionary’. Sala, Hotten, and Bierce were certainly acquainted, so there may be some truth in this unverifiable claim.
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A contemporary reviewer commented that: A Slang Dictionary written by a philologist, well read in his science and accustomed to reflect on what he reads, was wanted and is wanted still. . . . [Hotten] collects unsifted information, trustworthy in very various degrees . . . and . . . the writing is but slovenly.11
This is an entirely fair assessment. Hotten was unfortunate in producing his dictionary at a time when reviewers expected more than an amateur compilation from earlier sources. Readers, it appears, were more easily satisfied.
The second edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1860) The first edition of the dictionary was quickly sold out,12 and the following year Hotten issued a second edition, retitled The Slang Dictionary Etymological, Historical, and Anecdotal: A Second Edition, although urgently called for, was not immediately attempted. The First had been found incomplete and faulty in many respects, and the author determined to thoroughly revise and recast before again going to press. The present edition, therefore, will be found much more complete than the First; indeed, I may say that it has been entirely rewritten, and that, whereas the First contained but 3,000 words, this gives nearly 5,000, with a mass of fresh illustrations, and extended articles on the more important slang terms.13
This edition, reprinted without change in 1864, is certainly larger than the first, but not quite as extensive as Hotten suggests. The main list contains 3139 entries for 2750 headwords, with supplementary lists of back slang (153 entries for 150 headwords) and rhyming slang (145 entries for 144 headwords). The list of costermongers’ terms for money is incorporated into the back slang glossary, which already contained most of the terms, and a glossary to a cant letter is added (18 entries for 18 headwords). Overall, this represents a 31 per cent increase in headwords, and a 37 per cent increase in entries. The most 11
‘The Literary Examiner’, The Examiner 2686 (23 Jul. 1859), 468. The Daily News and Birmingham Daily Post both carried a notice on 8 August 1859, that a second edition was to be produced. 13 John Camden Hotten, A Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words, 2nd edn. (London: John Camden Hotten, 1860), ‘Preface to the second edition’, iii. 12
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important source is the first edition, from which about two thirds of the main list is derived, but Hotten also returned to all of his original sources for a handful of new entries (see Appendix, Table 1.1). Hotten cites authorities significantly less often in new entries in this edition ( p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.3). Among the ninety-three new citations, Shakespeare is cited eleven times, Dickens five, and Johnson, Bulwer-Lytton, and Notes and Queries four times each. New entries in this edition are significantly more likely to include etymologies, cross-references, semantically related terms, and usage labels than in the first edition (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.3). These increases alone justify Hotten’s claim to have rewritten the dictionary, but much additional information is also provided for terms carried over from the first edition: 1859 ABSQUATULATE, to run away, or abscond. FEATHERS, money, wealth. SETTER, sevenpence.
1860 Adds: a hybrid American expression, from the Latin ab, and “squat”, to settle. Adds: “in full feather,” rich. Adds: Italian, sette.—See saltee.
In the first edition, Hotten had requested ‘cant, slang, or vulgar words not mentioned in the dictionary’,14 as well as information about etymology, and it is clear that his readers responded: 1859 DISH . . . dished, done for, floored, beaten, or silenced.
LADDLE, a lady. Term with chimney-sweeps on the 1st of May.
1860 Adds: A correspondent suggests that meat is usually DONE BROWN before being DISHED, and conceives that the latter term may have arisen as the natural sequence of the former. Adds: A correspondent suggests that the term may come from the brass ladles for collecting money, always carried by the sweeps’ ladies.
Hotten tends to present comments from his correspondents without evaluation, and this combination of politeness and uncer14
Hotten, Dictionary, 1859, vi [first sequence].
John Camden Hotten
23
tainty produces entries including several mutually incompatible etymologies: SHOW-FULL, or shoful, bad money. Mayhew thinks this word is from the Danish skuffe, to shove, to deceive, cheat; Saxon, scufan,—whence the English shove. The term, however, is [1860: is possibly] one of the many street words from the Hebrew (through the low Jews); shephel, in that language, signifying a low or debased estate. Chaldee, shaphal. See Psalm cxxxvi. 23, “in our low estate.” [1860 adds: A correspondent suggests another very probable derivation, from the German, scofel, trash, rubbish, — the German adjective, schofelig, being the nearest possible translation of our shabby.]
Hotten’s unwillingness to choose between competing etymologies is a feature of his dictionary that would only worsen in succeeding editions. Other editorial changes include the systematic expansion of abbreviations: PADDLE, to go or run away. Ho. Words, No. 183. [1860: Household Words, No. 183] TIDY, tolerably, or pretty well; “How did you get on to-day?”—“Oh, TIDY.” Sax. [1860: Saxon]
—and some rather less consistent modifications of spelling: CHEAP JACKS, or Johns, oratorical hucksters and patterers of hardware, &c. at fairs and races. They put an article up at a high price, and then cheapen it by degrees, indulging in vollies [1860: volleys] of coarse wit, until it becomes to all appearance a bargain, and as such it is bought by one of the crowd . . . GENT, a contraction of “gentleman,”— in more senses than one. A dressy, showy, foppish man, with a little mind, who vulgarizes [1860: vulgarises] the prevailing fashion. ROUND . . . Synonymous with “buff,” which see. Shakspere [1860: Shakespere] has rounding, whispering.
Among the new entries, there are significantly more for home life and animals & nature and significantly fewer for crime & punishment and money & poverty than can be explained by chance (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.2). New entries include significantly fewer terms labelled as archaic or cant, and significantly more as slang in general, American, Anglo-Indian, school or university slang, professional jargon, and sporting slang (all p = 0.01; see Appendix,
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Table 1.3.1). The coverage of Anglo-Indian words was to be expanded in later editions, and they include: MUFTI, the civilian dress of a naval or military officer when off duty. — Anglo-Indian. QUI-HI, an English resident at Calcutta. — Anglo-Indian. TIFFIN, a breakfast, déjeûner à la fourchette. — Anglo-Indian slang.
Hotten’s additions are a reflection of his broadening sense of slang: he was moving away from the concentration on the language of criminals and the poor found in earlier slang dictionaries.
‘Illustrations of Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words’ (1864) and ‘Slang Phrases’ (1878) An extremely positive review of Hotten’s dictionary in The Reader magazine encouraged the collection of additions, and the magazine published this correspondence over a period of about two months in response to a letter from the reviewer: I beg to ask you now whether you are willing to find room for any such illustration that may be sent to you, so that you may let your other readers see them before Mr. Hotten uses them. I cannot help thinking that any columns you may devote to this purpose will not be the least entertaining part of your journal, and will interest a large number of readers.15
Some respondents presented their observations in connected prose, but other material approximates a dictionary format, though seventeen of the fifty-nine headwords listed were defined only by their citation, while others provided no evidence of use: Light-fingered. “Is any tradesman light-fingured, and lighter-conscienced? Here [‘Stolen waters are sweet’] is a whole feast of Fraudes, a table furnished with Trickes, conveyances, glossings, perjuries, cheatings.”—Leslie’s “Second Defence of the Snake in the Grass,” p. 356.
Fiver.—A five-pound note.
15 Reviewer, ‘Illustrations of Slang and Cant Words’, The Reader 4 (29 Oct. 1864), 545. Responses included J. D. C., ‘Illustrations of Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words’, The Reader 4 (29 Oct. 1864), 609 –10; and two contributions by Edward Viles: ‘Illustrations of Slang, Cant, and Vulgar Words’, The Reader 4 (26 Nov. 1864), 673–4 and ‘Illustrations of Slang, Cant, Colloquial, and Vulgar Words’, The Reader 4 (3 Dec. 1864), 707.
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25
Hotten did not make use of this material in later editions of his dictionary, but they were re-published by an anonymous contributor to Notes and Queries in 1878, ‘reduced to alphabetical order’.16 This glossary includes 38 entries for 37 headwords, retaining the variability in content of the original contributions to The Reader.
The third edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1865) The 1865 edition17 is another extensive revision of the dictionary, with a 37 per cent increase in headwords and entries. The main list contains 4430 entries for 3880 headwords, representing an increase of 41 per cent in both. The three supplementary word-lists are reduced slightly in size, to 314 entries for 309 headwords. Hotten consulted his original sources again for a scattering of terms, but 20 per cent of the new entries have no obvious source (see Appendix, Table 1.1). Significantly fewer new entries in this edition contain semantically related terms than in the last. Significantly more provide etymologies or usage labels (all p = 0.01, see Appendix, Table 1.3). In this edition, Hotten set 427 entries for 380 headwords in the main list apart by placing them at the bottom of the page. Eighty-two per cent of these are from the previous edition. In comparison with other entries carried over from the last edition, the footnoted entries are significantly less likely to contain etymologies, examples of use, cited authorities, cross-references, proverbs, pronunciation guidance, anecdotes, or semantically related terms. There are no significant differences in the distribution of usage labels, but more terms for crime & punishment are moved to the bottom of the page than can be explained by chance, and fewer terms for alcohol; emotion, behaviour & temperament and fools & victims (all p = 0.01). No explanation is provided for their separation from the main word-list, but perhaps Hotten was beginning to doubt his earlier editorial practices and now considered these to be dubious or marginal, but did not
16
‘Slang Phrases’, Notes & Queries 223 (1878), 263–4: 263. John Camden Hotten, The Slang Dictionary; or The Vulgar Words, Street Phrases, and “Fast” Expressions of High and Low Society. Many with their Etymology, and a few with their History traced, 3rd edn. (London: John Camden Hotten, 1865). 17
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John Camden Hotten
have the confidence to delete them altogether. It is possible that he singled these entries out in order to encourage his readers to provide additional evidence. In editing existing entries, Hotten tended to change present participle headwords into infinitives, and to make singular from plural headwords: 1860 CASCADING, vomiting. JIGGER-DUBBERS, term applied to jailors or turnkeys.
186518 CASCADE, to vomit. Jigger-dubber, a term applied to a jailer or turnkey.
He also corrected non-standard features of his own grammar: HORSE’S NIGHTCAP, a halter; “to die in a horse’s nightcap,” to be hung [1865: hanged ]. PAY, to beat any [1865: a] person, or “serve them [1865: him] out.”
—and modified his spelling, often continuing changes he made in the last edition, but sometimes adopting a more conservative form (as in toucher): TO FADGE, to suit or fit; “it won’t fadge,” it will not do. Used by Shakespere [1865: Shakspeare], but now heard only in the streets.19 FAST, gay, spreeish, unsteady, thoughtless, — an Americanism that has of late ascended from the streets to the drawing-room. The word has certainly now a distinct meaning, which it had not thirty years ago. QUICK is the synonyme [1865: synonym] for FAST, but a QUICK MAN would not convey the meaning of a FAST MAN, — a person who by late hours, gaiety, and continual rounds of pleasure, lives too fast and wears himself out . . . MACE, a dressy swindler who victimizes [1865: victimises] tradesmen.20 TOUCHER, “as near as a toucher,” as near as possible without actually touching. — Coaching term. The old jarveys, to show [1865: shew] their skill, used to drive against things so closely as absolutely to touch, yet without injury. This they called a toucher, or, touch and go, which was hence applied to anything which was within an ace of ruin. 18 In the entries placed at the foot of the page, the headword is in small capitals. Headwords in the main list are in large capitals. 19 20 Compare round (23). Compare gent (23).
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27
There are also some fairly systematic changes in punctuation, some of which had been introduced, but not carried through, in the 1860 edition: Hotten (1860) AWFUL (or, with the Cockneys, orful), a senseless expletive, used to intensify a description of anything good or bad . . . POTTED, or potted out, cabined, confined; “the patriotic member of Parliament potted out in a dusty little lodging somewhere about Bury-street.” . . . RAP, a halfpenny; frequently used generically for money, thus: “I hav’nt a rap,” i.e., I have no money whatever . . .
Hotten (1865) AWFUL, (or, with the Cockneys, orful,) . . .
. . . Bury Street . . .
. . . haven’t . . .
Hotten also began to enclose phrasal headwords within quotation marks and to capitalize usage labels: “ADMIRAL OF THE RED,” a person whose very red face evinces a fondness for strong potations. DIDDLE, old Cant [1860: cant] word for geneva, or gin.
More radical editing included updating content, and correcting inaccuracies: Hotten (1860) BURKE, to kill, to murder, by pitch plaster or other foul means. From Burke, the notorious Whitechapel murderer, who with others used to waylay people, kill them, and sell their bodies for dissection at the hospitals.
Hotten (1865) BURKE, to kill, to murder, secretly and without noise, by means of strangulation. From Burke, the notorious Edinburgh murderer, who, with an accomplice named Hare, used to decoy people into the den he inhabited, kill them, and sell their bodies for dissection. The wretches having been apprehended and tried, Burke was executed, while Hare, having turned king’s evidence,
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PEG-TOPS, the loose trousers now in, small at the ankle and swelling upwards, in imitation of the Zouave costume.
was released. Bishop was their London imitator . . . PEG-TOPS, the loose trousers recently in fashion, small at the ankle and swelling upwards, in imitation of the Zouave costume.
Hotten also censored some definitions: 1860 KERTEVER CARTZO, the venereal disease. From the Lingua Franca, cattivo, bad, and cazzo, the male generative organ. RANDY, rampant, violent, warm, amorous. North . . .
1865 KERTEVER CARTZO, the disease known as the morbo gallico. From the Lingua Franca, cattivo, bad, and cazzo. RANDY, rampant, violent, warm.—North . . .
In each case, Hotten’s willingness to cut out potentially offensive material overrides his desire to provide useful information. This edition is the first to include illustrations for four entries. The text-box for two upon ten shows a note passed between shop assistants to warn of a potential shoplifter. The drawing of an inner and outer door for oak is a straightforward illustration of the term defined. Hieroglyphic letters are provided in the entry for breaky-leg “strong drink” to support the assertion that the Egyptians employed a similar metaphor. Least useful is the picture of an anthropomorphized wedge arm-in-arm with a spoon at wooden wedge, linking the sense “the student achieving the lowest marks for Classics” with wooden spoon “the student achieving the lowest marks for mathematics”, both used at Cambridge. The ‘curious illustrations’ were emphasized and reproduced in subsequent advertisements for the dictionary.21 This edition contains significantly more new entries for animals & nature; geography & travel; leisure & pleasure; war & violence; and work. There are significantly fewer for emotion, behaviour & temperament; fools & victims; and knowledge & communication (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.2). In comparison with the new 21 In, for example, Robert Blachford Mansfield’s School Life at Winchester College (London: John Camden Hotten, 1866), ‘Popular and interesting books published by John Camden Hotten’, unpaginated appendix.
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entries of the 1860 edition, significantly fewer new entries are labelled as school or university slang, American, archaic or dated, and significantly more as dialect, theatrical slang, Anglo-Indian, and AngloChinese (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.3.1). The Anglo-Chinese terms are a new feature of this edition, and include: CHINCHIN, a salutation, a compliment.—Anglo-Chinese. HY-YAW! an interjectional exclamation of astonishment.—Anglo-Chinese. PIDGEON, business, simply the Chinese pronunciation of the English word.—Anglo-Chinese.
Charles Nordhoff ’s ‘Thieves’ Jargon’ (1865) In a review of Hotten’s dictionary published in Harper’s Magazine in New York, Nordhoff presented a detailed account of British slang based on Hotten’s lengthy introduction, selecting the letter ‘written by . . . an English vendor of street ballads, to a gentleman who had taken some interest in his welfare’22 and the glossary of terms that Hotten had provided to it.
The fourth edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1872) Having reprinted the third edition in 1867, 1869, and 1870, Hotten revised the dictionary again the year before he died.23 The fourth edition contains 4455 entries for 3900 headwords in the main list, and a further 314 entries for 310 headwords in the supplementary lists, representing an overall increase in entries and headwords of only 0.5 per cent. The new entries in this edition are so few that they make no significant difference to any aspect of the dictionary’s content (see Appendix, Table 1.3). A few minor changes are made to existing entries, usually refining the style without altering the meaning of definitions in any way: BARN STORMERS, theatrical performers who travel the country and act in barns, selecting short and frantic [1872: tragic] pieces to suit the rustic taste. Theatrical.
22 23
Charles Nordhoff, ‘Thieves’ Jargon’, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 30 (Apr. 1865), 601–7: 601. John Camden Hotten, The Slang Dictionary, 4th edn. (London: John Camden Hotten, 1872).
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John Camden Hotten
HUMBLE PIE, to “eat HUMBLE PIE,” to knock under, to [1872 deletes: to] be submissive . . . MAN-HANDLE, to use a person roughly, as to take him prisoner, [1872 inserts: or] turn him out of a room, give him a beating.
Changes in spelling are sometimes consistent with the previous edition: COLD COFFEE, an Oxford synonym [1872: synonyme] for a “Sell,” which see. SELL, to deceive, swindle, or play a practical joke upon a person. . . . Shakespere [1872: Shakspeare] uses SELLING in a similar sense, viz., blinding or deceiving . . .24
The fifth edition of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1874) The next edition of Hotten’s dictionary was published the year after his death. The new preface, written by the unnamed editor and dated 20 December 1873,25 describes Hotten’s aspirations in compiling the dictionary: though the vulgar use of the word Slang applies to those words only which are used by the dangerous classes and the lowest grades of society, the term has in reality, and should have — as every one who has ever studied the subject knows — a much wider significance. Bearing this in mind, the original publisher of this Dictionary lost no opportunity of obtaining information of a useful kind, which could hardly find place in any other book of reference.26
The editor suggests that Hotten did not live to see his dictionary attain the comprehensiveness he would have wished: Of my own share in the work I wish to say nothing, as I have mainly benefited by the labours of others; but I may say that, when I undertook the position of editor of what, with the smallest possible stretch of fancy,
24
Compare fast and fadge (26). For Sala’s claim to this role see n.10 above. A series of articles in Notes and Queries discuss the possibility that Henry Sampson (1841–91), a proprietor and editor of sporting newspapers, was Hotten’s editor (Robert Pierpoint, ‘The Slang Dictionary’, Notes & Queries 260 (1914), 488; F. J. Hytch, ‘The Slang Dictionary’, Notes & Queries 263 (1915), 30–1 (and others in the same issue); C. P. Hale, ‘Racing Slang: “Pony”, “Monkey” ’, Notes & Queries 165 (1933), 177–8). The OED uses both 1873 and 1874 for this edition. 26 John Camden Hotten, The Slang Dictionary Etymological, Historical, and Anecdotal. A New Edition, revised and corrected, with many additions, 5th edn. (London: Chatto & Windus, 1874), v–vi. 25
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31
many now be called a new book, I had no idea that the alteration would be nearly so large or so manifest.27
The content of the dictionary is indeed radically revised. The main list contains 5291 entries for 4481 headwords, and the supplementary lists 304 entries for 291 headwords, representing a 17 per cent increase in entries and a 13 per cent increase in headwords. Terms found at the bottom of page in the third and fourth editions are now reintegrated into the main word-list, and quotation marks around phrasal headwords are removed. The semantic coverage of the new entries is in line with additions made in 1865,28 except that there are significantly fewer terms for work than can be accounted for by chance, and significantly more for emotion, behaviour & temperament and sex & prostitution (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.2). Significantly more new entries are labelled as school or university slang, American, archaic or dated, or as belonging to the lower classes. Significantly fewer are labelled as jargon, dialect, Anglo-Indian, or Anglo-Chinese (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.3.1). The increase in archaic and dated labels among the new terms is particularly interesting in the light of the editor’s note that: this is a Dictionary of modern Slang, — a list of colloquial words and phrases in present use, — whether of ancient or modern formation. Whenever Ancient is appended to a word, it means that the expression was in respectable use in or previous to the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Old or Old English, affixed to a word, signifies that it was in general use as a proper expression in or previous to the reign of Charles II. Old Cant indicates that the term was in use as a Cant word during or before the same reign.
Although the editor may have used these labels with these meanings in new entries, he did not revise their use in entries carried over from earlier editions. For example: BANDY, or cripple, a sixpence, so called from this coin being generally bent or crooked; old term for flimsy or bad cloth, temp. Q. Elizabeth. BITE, a cheat; “a Yorkshire bite,” a cheating fellow from that county. The term bite is also applied to a hard bargainer. — North; also old slang — used by Pope. Swift says it originated with a nobleman in his day.29 27
Hotten, Slang Dictionary (1874), vi–vii. The additions in the 1872 edition are too few in number for a meaningful comparison. 29 Pope (1688–1744) lived after the reign of Charles II (1660–85). Swift (1667–1745) was still in Ireland when Charles died. 28
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A variety of small orthographical changes are made, often returning to spelling rules that had clearly vexed Hotten in earlier editions of the dictionary: BLAZES, a low synonyme [1874: synonym] for the infernal regions . . .30 PICKANINNY, a young child is thus styled by the West Indian negroes. The word is now completely naturalised [1874: naturalized ] among sailors and water-side people in England.31 SCAB, a worthless person. — Old. Shakespere [1874: Shakspeare] uses SCALD in a similar sense.32 SCOT, temper, or passion, — from the irascible temperament of that nation [1874: of the Scotch]; “oh! What a scot he was in,” i.e., what temper he shewed [1874: showed] . . .33
Usage labels are not capitalized in this edition, and commas previously moved inside closing brackets are now moved back outside. Headwords are presented in bold instead of block capitals. A few other minor changes are peculiar to this edition. Some tabooed terms are now spelt in full: 1872 DARN, vulgar corruption of d — n. — American. OLD GENTLEMAN, the d — l . . .
1874 Darn, vulgar corruption of damn.—American. Old gentleman, the devil . . .
— and usage labels are often deleted if they repeat information included in the definition: 1872 FLYING-MESS, “to be in a flying mess” is a soldier’s phrase for being hungry and having to mess where he can.—Military. TORMENTORS, the large iron flesh-forks used by cooks at sea.—Sea.
1874 Flying mess, “to be in a flying mess” is a soldier’s phrase for being hungry and having to mess where he can. Tormentors, the large iron flesh-forks used by cooks at sea.
Other entries are more radically revised, with cross-references, usage labels, and cited authorities often omitted (all p = 0.01): 30 32
31 Compare fast (26) and cold coffee (30). Compare gent (23) and mace (26). 33 Compare round (23), fadge (26), and sell (30). Compare toucher (26).
John Camden Hotten 1872 Area-Sneak, a boy thief who commits depredations upon kitchens and cellars.—See crow. BEMUSE, to fuddle one’s-self with drink, “bemusing himself with beer,” &c.—Sala’s Gaslight and Daylight, p. 308. CORNERED, hemmed in a corner, placed in a position from which there is no escape.—American.
33
1874 Area Sneak, a thief who commits depredations upon kitchens and cellars. Bemuse, to fuddle one’s self with drink, “bemusing himself with beer,” &c. Cornered, hemmed in a corner, placed in a position from which there is no escape.
It is less usual for extra information to be provided for existing entries: CHEE-CHEE, this word is used in a rather offensive manner to denote Eurasians [1874 inserts: † ], or children by an English father and native mother. It takes its origin in a very common expression of these half-caste [1874 deletes: these] females, “chee-chee,” equivalent to our Oh, fie!—Nonsense! — For shame! — Anglo-Indian. [1874 adds: † Eurasian is not a child of mixed race, but one born of European parents in an Asiatic clime. A similar error exists with regard to the word creole, which is generally supposed to mean a man or woman in whom white and black strains are mixed. I need not say how wrong this is, but the vulgar error is none the less current.—ED]
Semantically related terms are significantly more likely to be added in this way than other types of additional information ( p = 0.01). New entries also allow us to identify changes in practice between the unnamed editor and Hotten. There are significantly fewer named authorities in new entries in this edition than in 1865, and significantly more new entries including etymologies, semantically related terms, and usage labels (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.3). Taken together, these changes suggest an editor who felt less need to justify his information than Hotten did, but more pressure to reduce the size of the volume. Hotten’s unnamed editor attempted to reposition the dictionary as an account of contemporary rather than historical slang. There was no major competition for either role at this time, but owners of earlier editions might thus have been persuaded to upgrade. While this redesignation of the dictionary may have informed the editor’s
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additions, it did not lead to alterations in material carried over from earlier editions.
Conclusions Hotten’s dictionary is, in many ways, in a class of its own. He attempted to do for the nineteenth century what Grose had done for the eighteenth: to summarize the history of cant and slang to date, and to provide an account of contemporary non-standard usage. Unlike Grose, however, he was swayed by notions of decency, and this is one of the reasons why his dictionary sold so well.34 It was priced for the popular market, and often parades its dubious scholarship for the benefit of this largely uncritical audience. Although Hotten emphasized his use of slang-speaking informants, he also made extensive use of numerous written sources, giving due acknowledgement to some and belittling others, thus producing the appearance of a scholarly and authoritative reference work at the pinnacle of slang lexicography to date. The dictionary is not as scholarly as it tries to appear, however, and informed reviewers clearly felt the need for something better.
34 The otherwise critical reviewer in The Examiner (n.11) remarked that although the dictionary was not very good, it would nevertheless be appropriate to ‘any household’.
Two: International Slang Dictionaries of the 1880s and 1890s The lexicographers discussed in this chapter were not native speakers of British English. The dictionaries often include information about slang in other European languages. Its function varied, but its inclusion indicates that these works were not competing for Hotten’s market share.
Heinrich Baumann’s Londinismen. Slang und Cant (1887) Heinrich Baumann (c.1846–1912) was born in Prussia and is listed as a schoolmaster at London University in the censuses of 1881 and 1891. In the 1901 census, Henry Baumann, a tutor and author, was living in Brighton. His other publications include a revision of the MuretSanders bilingual encyclopaedic dictionary in English and German, and text books for both English and German.1 He is described on the title page of the 1902 edition of Londinismen as ‘Master of Arts at London University’ and ‘Formerly Headmaster of the German School, Brixton, S.W. London’. Partridge was particularly impressed by Baumann’s extensive introductory material: In some ninety pages he contrives to give an astonishing amount of sound information on the differences between slang and cant . . . [He provides] extremely useful notes on the nature and the ‘literature’ of military and naval slang, school slang, cockney slang, Romany, Lingua Franca, Americanisms, society slang; some genuinely enlightening extracts illustrating certain kinds of slang; the jargon of sports and games; notes on pronunciation . . .2
Indeed, Baumann’s description of the pronunciation, grammar and syntax of Cockney English was well ahead of his time. Like the rest 1 Unless otherwise noted, biographical information is gleaned from census records and indices of births, deaths and marriages accessed through . Additional bibliographic information is through . 2 Eric Partridge, Slang. Today and Yesterday, 4th edn. (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1970), 104.
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of his text, it is in German, and the translation into English of explanations in the list of abbreviations is the only indication, apart from a few English usage labels within the word-list, that Baumann expected his dictionary to be of interest to any other audience. In the fourth edition, the word-list contains approximately 7900 headwords and 10,600 numbered entries, the contents and scope of which are best represented by Figure 2.1, showing the first edition, not least because of the difficulties of reproducing the various symbols and fonts used. The metalanguage, used for definitions, usage labels, and for grammatical and encyclopaedic information, is German, interspersed with English collocations (see mother ) and citations, which are translated into German (see mortal). Different typefaces distinguish between text in the two languages, and numerous symbols and diacritics provide additional information. Square brackets enclose literal translations. The gallows symbol (e.g. moskeneer) indicates that the headword is cant. Mossoo is marked as popular, mought as nautical, the first sense of mount as military, and mouthing as characteristic of familiar company. The use of a tilde <~> (e.g. mort) allows Baumann to avoid repeating the headword. <†> and <*>, not shown here, mark obsolescence and neologism, and several other less frequently used symbols are also employed. Baumann gives guidance on pronunciation for every headword, using the Toussaint-Langenscheidt method developed by his publishers. This system, employing a combination of scripts and diacritics, was also used in Baumann’s revision of the Muret-Sanders encyclopaedia. The blackletter fraktur typeface is used where the English sound corresponds exactly with a German sound. The consonants in English mouse, for example, correspond with sounds found in German. For correct pronunciation, a German-speaker need only read the letters as if they were German. The Latinate antiqua typeface is used for imperfect correspondences: the vowel in mouse does not correspond exactly to any German phoneme. Smaller script is used for unstressed syllables and those with secondary stress (see mortal and mortarboard ). Voiced and unvoiced dental fricatives, spelt
in English, are represented in italics (as dh and th, respectively: see mother and mouth). It is a very complex system, not easily accessible to anyone not fluent in German, and was superseded by the International Phonetic Alphabet in 1888. Neither Baumann nor his publishers adopted IPA in
Figure 2.1. Baumann’s Londinismen (1887)
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later publications, however and the Toussaint-Langenscheidt method continued in limited use in Germany as late as the 1970s. In a limited sample of 256 entries for 191 headwords, consisting of the first 50 entries for the letters A, G, M, S and Y,3 25 per cent are in Hotten’s Slang Dictionary (1874) and 16 per cent in the Lexicon Balatronicum (1811). Though Baumann acknowledges both, his use of these dictionaries is for reference rather than as sources: many entries are not listed by Baumann because he did not find any additional evidence. Twenty-three per cent of Baumann’s entries cite or name an authority, many including more than one. Of the 63 cited authorities, 38 per cent are novels or autobiographical works, with Dickens accounting for a quarter of this group. Twenty-seven per cent of the cited authorities are dictionaries, with Grose and the Lexicon Balatronicum accounting for more than half of the dictionary citations.
Albert Barrère’s Argot and Slang (1887) and, with Charles Leland, his Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant (1889–90)4 Although the DNB does include some individuals born outside Britain, it does not list Albert Marie Victor Barrère (c1845–?1921). The 1881 and 1891 censuses reveal that he was working as a French tutor (later professor) and boarding in the London home of Hector France, who was similarly employed. By the 1901 census the household had dispersed and I have found no further record for Barrère. Partridge notes, additionally, that Barrère was an officier de la Legion d’Honneur and an officier de l’Institution Publique. He had previously written a book on French grammar and idioms and co-written a history of French literature. His later publications were an edition of Lamartine’s Jeanne d’Arc, a French composition book for military students, and a dictionary of French and English military terms, all pedagogical aids. His Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant, co-written with Charles Leland, is discussed below. 3 This brief analysis is based on Heinrich Baumann, Londonismen (Slang und Cant), 4th edn. (Berlin: Langenscheidts, 1902). 4 An earlier version of this section was presented at the third International Conference on Historical Lexicology and Lexicography at Leiden, and published as ‘Lost between Hotten and Henley: Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang, Jargon & Cant’ in Marijke Mooijaart and Marijke van der Wal (eds.), Yesterday’s Words: Contemporary, Current and Future Lexicography (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2008), 29–40.
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In the ‘Preface’ to Argot and Slang, Barrère explains that French novelists, depicting the ‘vices of society’5 naturally used a great deal of slang incomprehensible to English readers no matter how fluent their French. He observes, too, that slang was spreading among all classes of French-speaker, and that teachers of French in England did not initiate their pupils ‘into the mysteries of the vernacular of the highest and lowest strata of society’.6 Hotten’s dictionary and the Carew word-list are acknowledged among his debts to English lexicographical sources, but Barrère lists many more French dictionaries, and notes that he had also referred to fictional writing, newspapers in both languages, and first-hand accounts from policemen and criminals: In one particular instance I was deprived of my informants in a rather summary manner. Two brothers, members of a family . . . [in which] the father had mounted the scaffold . . . had volunteered to become my collaborators . . . Unfortunately for the Dictionary the brothers were apprehended when coming to my rendez-vous, and are now, I believe, far on their way to the penal settlement of New Caledonia.7
Unusually among slang lexicographers of this period, Barrère acknowledged the difficulty of identifying terms as slang. He used Littré’s Dictionnaire de la langue française as his authority for standard French, and excluded the terms it listed from his own dictionary. The simplest entries provide a usage label, a definition in standard English, and an English slang equivalent: Gréer (naval), se —, to dress oneself, “to rig oneself out.” Mikel, m. (mountebanks’), dupe, or “gulpin.” Nogue, f. (roughs’), night, or “darkmans.”
Approximately half of the entries found under ‘A’ include English synonyms, but by the time Barrère reached ‘R’ this had fallen to about 40 per cent. Quibus includes numerous French and English slang terms for money, quilles many synonyms for leg and pipe many synonyms for death. There appears to be more repetition among the English slang synonyms towards the end of the alphabet, with to 5 Albert Marie Victor Barrère, Argot and Slang. A New French and English Dictionary of the Cant Words, Quaint Expressions, Slang Terms and Flash Phrases used in the High and Low Life of Old and New Paris (London: Privately Printed at the Chiswick Press by C. Whittingham and Co., 1887), vi. 6 Barrère, Argot and Slang, vi. 7 Ibid., vii–viii. New Caledonia, now called Grande Terre, in the southwest Pacific, was used as a French penal colony between 1854 and 1922.
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cast up accounts “to vomit” appearing under render, renverser, restitution, and revoir la carte. More complex entries include several different uses of the same term: Anglais, m. (familiar), creditor, “dun;” man who keeps a mistress; a carefully made up dummy parcel in shops. Il a de l’ —, is said of a horse which shows blood. Anglais à prunes, voyageurs à prunes, prudent travelers, who, being aware of the long price asked for fruit at restaurants, are satisfied with a few plums; (cabmans’) — de carton, an expression of contempt applied to a stingy “fare.” Fabriquer (thieves’), to apprehend, “to smug.” See Piper. Fabriquer, to steal, “to claim,” see Grincher; — un gas à la flan, à la rencontre, or à la dure, to rob from the person with violence, “to jump,” or “to ramp;” — un poivrot, to rob a drunkard. A rogue who thus takes advantage of a “lushington’s” helplessness is termed “poivrier,” or “bug-hunter.”
In keeping with Barrère’s assertion that ‘the meaning of a term is better conveyed by examples’,8 some entries provide citations: Larder (obsolete), to have connection with a woman, “to dille, to screw.” Terme libre, qui signifie, faire le déduit, se diverter avec une femme. — Le Roux, Dict. Comique.
Retour, m. (police and thieves’), cheval de —, old offender who has been convicted afresh, “jail-bird.” Un vieux repris de justice, un “cheval de retour,” comme on dit rue de Jérusalem, n’eût pas fait mieux. — Gaboriau.
Also one who has been a convict at the penal servant settlement. Ce n’est pas non plus le bouge sinister de Paul Niquet, . . . dont ces memes tables et ce meme comptoir voyaient les mouches de la bande à Vidocq, en quête d’un grinche ou d’un escarpe, trinquer avec les bifins . . . les chevaux de retour (forçats libérés). — P. Mahalin.
(Popular) L’aller et le — et train rapide, the act of slapping one’s face right and left, or kicking one on the behind.
Barrère does not provide any information about dating except through the reader’s knowledge of the provenance of his citations. Charles Godfrey Leland (1824–1903), ‘a rather Hemingwayish character’,9 was born in Philadelphia into a wealthy merchant family. He entered Princeton in 1841, but ‘he and the university were mutu-
8 9
Ibid., vi. Robert L. Chapman, New Dictionary of American Slang (New York: Harper & Row, 1986), viii.
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ally unimpressed’,10 and he undertook further studies as he travelled in Europe from 1845. He took part in the French Revolution in 1848 and, having sent eyewitness accounts back to America, became a journalist after his law practice failed. He was outspoken in his support for the abolition of slavery during the Civil War, and fought at the Battle of Gettysburg. He travelled widely in America as a prospector for oil, but inheriting his father’s wealth allowed him to retire to England in 1870. Leland was staying at a London hotel at the time of the 1871 census, and is listed there, along with his wife, as a ‘landowner’. He was interested in many types of non-standard language,11 but was particularly fascinated by Gypsies. He learnt their language and lifestyle first-hand and founded the Gypsy Lore Society in 1874. Leland also moved in London literary circles and was an influential member of the Arts and Crafts movement. His interest in witchcraft and hypnosis provide further demonstration of Leland’s willingness to investigate everything on the fringes of respectability. Leland was a prolific author, with publications ranging across his many interests. His first influential publication was Hans Breitmann’s Ballads, a collection of verses that had already been published in a variety of newspapers and magazines. Several collections of Breitmann verses followed, pirated by, among others, John Camden Hotten. Their humour ‘derived from both the German-English interlanguage and the persona, a robust, beer-guzzling, giant of a man who matched the American spirit’:12 HANS BREITMANN gife a barty, Dey had biano-blayin; I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau, Her name vas Madilda Yane. She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel, Her eyes vas himmel-plue, Und ven dey looket indo mine, Dey shplit mine heart in two.13 10 This quotation and most of the biographical information are from Regenia Gagnier, ‘Cultural Philanthropy, Gypsies, and Interdisciplinary Scholars: Dream of a Common Language’, 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 1 (2005), <www.19.bbk.ac.uk>. 11 See also Chapter 12. 12 This quotation and some of the biographical information are from the American National Biography Online (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), (hereafter ANB), an account of Leland’s life that does not mention his dictionary. 13 Charles G. Leland, Hans Breitmann’s Ballads (Philadelphia: Peterson, 1869), ‘Hans Breitmann’s Party’, 5. This volume includes a glossary of the broken English of German immigrants in America.
42
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Mr C. G. Leland . . . is at work with Mr. Whitaker on his great “Slang Dictionary,” for which Mr. Leland anticipates the help of Mr Gladstone to do the Parliamentary terms, and Mr. Henry Irving the dramatic portion. His own contributions to the work will consist chiefly of Americanisms, gypsy and pidgin English, and . . . German-Hebrew.14
A year later, the same newspaper reported that the dictionary was to be jointly edited by Leland and ‘Professor A. Barrère’.15 Throughout 1888, newspapers carried lists of experts in various fields who would be contributing to the dictionary. The use of expert advisers was an interesting innovation, but it did not entirely pay off. In his ‘Modern Welcome’ to a reprint of the dictionary, Eric Partridge described it as: alert, instructive and readable, very much to the point, and [containing] no padding. . . . Although [the editors] made a few claims that might be difficult to substantiate, their book is neither arrogant nor wrong-headed.16
Partridge’s praise is carefully measured, but not entirely justified. The Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant is not only full of padding, but also confidently wrong-headed in many respects. A sample of 1214 entries for 1050 headwords concentrates on crime & punishment (15 per cent) and leisure & pleasure (11 per cent; see Appendix, Table 2.2). Thirty-six per cent of entries include a citation, with a further 4 per cent naming an authority without quoting them and 2 per cent providing an unattributed example of use. Novels and (auto-)biographical works account for 36 per cent of the authorities cited, with Francis Francis’s Saddle and Moccasin, an account of travels in the United States, the most frequent (16 citations). Twenty-nine per cent of cited authorities are newspapers or journals, most frequently Sporting Times (37 citations) and Bird o’Freedom, a satirical Australian journal (24 citations). Songs, sermons, scientific works, and personal observation are also presented as evidence. 14
‘Gossip on Books, Music, and Art’, The Leeds Mercury 15397 (13 Aug. 1887), 6. ‘Literary and Art Gossip’, The Leeds Mercury 15614 (23 Apr. 1888), 3. 16 Eric Partridge, ‘A Modern Welcome to Barrère & Leland’, in Albert Marie Victor Barrère and Charles Godfrey Leland, A Dictionary of Slang, Jargon, and Cant Embracing English, American, and AngloIndian Slang, Pidgin English, Tinkers’ Jargon, and Other Irregular Phraseology (Edinburgh: Ballantyne Press, 1889/1890). Reprinted (Detroit: Gale Research, 1967), i–iii. 15
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Rarely is enough information given to allow the interested reader to locate the source of the citation: A-fly (low), to get a-fly is to become expert at. Go first to costermongery, To every fakement get a-fly, And pick up all their slangery. — The Leary Man.
Vinegar on his oysters (American), applied to men not perfectly familiar with the minor refinements of highly civilised life. “What kind of man is he — a gentleman?” “Oh yes, he believes himself to be one, calls himself ‘an Amurican,’ takes vinegar on his oysters instead of lemon-juice, very often skips his daily bath, and never mentions a picture, or a horse, or a human being, without telling you how much it, or he, or she is worth.” — Newspaper Letter.
Barrère and Leland’s dictionary is cited more frequently by the OED than Farmer and Henley’s (340 times as opposed to 187), but this is not because it is a better dictionary. Rather, it is a dead end for the researcher: it does not facilitate access to its sources. To verify these citations, OED researchers would have had to read every page of The Leary Man, and every letter published in every American newspaper to date. Dictionaries account for 12 per cent of the cited authorities. Although Hotten’s dictionary is cited 28 times, it appears to be the sole dictionary source for 262 entries in total (22 per cent), though the material is not copied verbatim: Hotten (1874) Earl of Cork, the ace of diamonds.—Hibernicism. “ ‘What do you mean by the Earl of Cork?’ asked Mr. Squander. ‘The ace of diamonds, your honour. It’s the worst ace, and the poorest card in the pack, and is called the Earl of Cork, because he’s the poorest nobleman in Ireland.’ ” — Carleton’s Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry. Palaver, to ask, or talk — deceitfully or otherwise, as occasion requires,
Barrère and Leland Earl of Cork (Irish), the ace of diamonds. According to Carleton, “It is the worst ace and the poorest card in the pack, and is called the Earl of Cork because he is the poorest nobleman in Ireland.”
Palaver, to (general), to talk, Vide Palaver. The
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“palaver to his nibs for a shant of bivvy,” ask the master for a pot of beer. Nantee palaver (pronounced perlarver), cease talking. In this sense used by tramps. Derived from the Portuguese.
expression is common among tramps, itinerant vendors, strolling actors, &c. Nantee palaver, cease talking.
There are few statistically significant trends in Barrère and Leland’s overlap with Hotten, but it does include significantly fewer terms for emotion, behaviour & temperament than can be accounted for by chance (p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.2.1). Trumble’s Slang Dictionary of New York17 provides 71 entries (6 per cent), many of which can be traced back to considerably earlier dictionaries through a sequence of careless copying: Ames ace, within ames ace; nearly, very near. [Grose (1785)] Amerace. Very near; within call. [Trumble (1881)] Amerace (American thieves’ slang), very near, within call. [Barrère & Leland] OS-CHIVES, Bone-handled Knives [New Canting Dictionary (1725)] Ochives. Bone-handled knives. [Trumble (1881)] Ochives (old cant), bone-handled knives. O chiv, the knife, in gypsy. [Barrère & Leland]
Amerace, a miscopying found only in American dictionaries, is taken by Barrère and Leland on face value. They were probably aware of the earlier British evidence for oschives, but did not allow it to disprove their etymology. 1042 entries (86 per cent) include usage labels. These are extremely varied and often provide more than one piece of information. For instance: Cabbage-tree mob (obsolete Australian slang), now called “larrikins,” not quite equivalent to the London street rough or loafer, because they generally are or might be in prosperous circumstances. Thus called on account of the emblem of their order being the low-crowned cabbage-palm hat. . . . 17 Alfred Trumble, Slang Dictionary of New York, London and Paris. A Collection of Strange Figures of Speech, Expressive Terms and Odd Phrases Used in the Leading Cities of the World. Their Origin, Meaning and Application. Collected and Arranged by a Well-known Detective, 3rd edn. (New York: National Police Gazette, 1881). See Chapter 11.
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The 1042 labelled entries provide 1299 separate pieces of information about usage, summarized in Appendix, Table 2.1.1. Barrère and Leland wrote separate introductory essays. Barrère claims in his that the Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant provides more thorough coverage of non-British varieties of English than any existing dictionary, particularly of American and Australian English. Just over a fifth of usage labels refer to geographical distribution, most commonly ‘American’ (65 per cent of geographical labels), ‘Anglo-Indian’, and ‘Australian’ (both 8 per cent). With reference to Americanisms, Leland writes: For these the dictionary of Mr. Bartlett,[18] is an invaluable source of reference. We cannot praise too highly the industry and sagacity manifested in that work. His weak point lies in the fact that having been guided by dictionaries such as that of Wright,[19] he . . . gives as peculiarly and solely American words which have no special claim to be regarded as such . . . This dictionary contains a large collection of true and recent American colloquial or slang phrases . . .20
Barrère and Leland fall into this same trap, their mistakes presumably based on Leland’s native-speaker intuitions. Of the terms that Barrère and Leland label as peculiar to the United States, the OED cites nine from before 1700, all also in British use. For terms cited from the eighteenth century in the OED, seven of their twelve entries marked as exclusively American were also used in Britain. In its coverage of nineteenth-century American terms, however, the dictionary is more reliable: only eight out of forty-four terms are wrongly labelled. Barrère wrote that the need for a comprehensive dictionary of slang was most easily understood with reference to American English: one only has to reflect that a vast number of more recent American slang phrases (not only old English provincialisms established ab initio in New England, but those chiefly of modern Western manufacture) have never been collected and published.21
18 John Russell Bartlett, Dictionary of Americanisms: A Glossary of Words and Phrases Usually Regarded as Particular to the United States (New York: Bartlett and Welford, 1848). 19 Joseph Wright, The English Dialect Dictionary, 6 vols. (London/New York: Frowde/Putnam, 1898–1905). 20 21 Barrère and Leland, Dictionary of Slang, xxiii. Ibid., ix.
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The American English terms make up a small proportion of the whole, and later lexicographers have not generally looked to the dictionary for this material. Barrère and Leland also laid claim to unprecedented coverage of Australian terms: this being also the first Slang Dictionary to which the rich and racy slang of the fifth continent — the mighty Australian commonwealth of the future — has been contributed by one long resident in the country and familiar both with its life and literature.22
The sample contains twenty-one entries (2 per cent) labelled as ‘Australian’. This is too few for statistical analysis, but an early reviewer concentrated particularly on this aspect of the dictionary: Isn’t it awful! . . . [full of] ignorant or misleading explanations of actual slang; disquisitions on imaginary ditto; attributions to all Australians of expressions which, a dozen years ago, had temporary vogue in a limited district — backed up and enforced by scores of references to D. B. W. Sladen’s reminiscences, or quotations from his unspeakable verse! . . . One can only hope that the historian of the period will be able to refer to this notice (it is written to that end) and authoritatively contradict the philologist23
Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen’s writing ‘was English in tone and undistinguished in quality’,24 and thus not a reliable source for Australian English. Although they appear less frequently, two other usage labels are also worthy of note: ‘gypsies’ ’ and ‘tinkers’ ’.25 The following examples suggest that these terms were not integrated into English slang at all: Ja– rifa, ja– rika, jallico, &c. (gypsy), an apron. The variations of this word are numerous. Mailyas, maillhas (tinker), fingers. Gaelic, meirlach, stealers, as “pickers and stealers,” hands. Possibly the real origin of “maulies,” influenced by “maul.” Va– ccasho (gypsy), a calf, also a lamb. 22
Ibid., x. The Sydney Bulletin, quoted in Sidney J. Baker, The Australian Language (Melbourne: Sun Books, 1986), 18. 24 Australian Dictionary of Biography Online Edition (Canberra: Australian National University, 2006), (ADB). 25 The possessive apostrophe follows all the plural usage labels. 23
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Hotten had labelled ten entries as belonging to gypsies (0.6 per cent), but Leland writes dismissively that Hotten “knew nothing whatever of Romany”.26 Two per cent of entries in the sample from the Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant are attributed to ‘gypsies’ and ‘tinkers’, evenly divided. Leland noted that Hotten ‘or his collaborateurs seem . . . never to have heard of’27 Shelta, the language of the tinkers, on which Leland apparently believed himself to be not only the best but also the first authority. Another respect in which earlier slang dictionaries were particularly weak, Leland wrote, was in their treatment of etymology, which was largely based on similarity of form and baseless conjecture: The day has gone by when it sufficed to show something like a resemblance in sound and meaning between a dozen Choctaw and as many Hebrew words, to prove positively that the Red Indians are Jews. But “wild guess-work” is still current even in very learned works, and though “in a pioneer way” it is useful in affording hints to true philologists, it should never claim to be more than mere conjecture.28
Barrère and Leland include etymologies in 27 per cent of entries (see Appendix, Table 2.1). They are very often reliant on guesswork and flimsy correspondence in form. For instance: Argol-bargol. According to Hotten this is a Scotch phrase signifying “to bandy words.” It is possible that it has a Hebrew derivation. Bar-len in Yiddish is, “to talk or speak in any way,” and bargolis is one who goes about in misery and poverty, perhaps a fluent beggar. Argol is the popular pronunciation of ergo—as given by Dame Quickly—a word which of old was continually used in argumentative conversation.29 Rosser, rozzer (thieves), a new term for a detective. From the slang term to “roast,” to watch, or more probably from the French rousse, roussin, a detective, police. . . .30
Barrère attempted to justify this approach by arguing that the origins of slang and cant should be sought not in words of similar meaning, but in words of similar form: 26 28 29 30
27 Barrère and Leland, Dictionary of Slang, xxii. Ibid., xxvi. Ibid., xix. OED: ‘prob. a popular perversion of argue, or confusion of that word with haggle’. OED: ‘Origin unknown’.
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The reader will probably best understand what is meant if he will, for the sake of argument, suppose the modern English language to have become a dead language known only to scholars. Then let him take the slang word “top-lights,” meaning eyes. . . . If he were to find in the old language a word having some resemblance in form and bearing the identical meaning of eyes he would have to reject it. But when he finds the same word signifying the upper lantern of a ship, he may adopt it without hesitation, because the metaphor forms a connection link and furnishes a safe clue.31
In its provision of etymologies, Barrère and Leland’s dictionary is considerably more thorough than any that had gone before, and correspondingly unreliable. Despite Partridge’s assertion that their dictionary does not include any padding, Barrère and Leland include a great deal of anecdotal and encyclopaedic material. For example: Bed-post (common), in the “twinkling of a bed-post,” in a moment, as quick as lightning, in a jiffy, or as rapidly as a staff can be twinkled or turned. A more modern expression extensively used is, in the “twinkling of a pike-staff,” which explains itself. Bed-post, in this case, seems to have replaced bed-staff, a wooden pin stuck formerly on the sides of the bedstead to keep the clothes from slipping on either side, and which might be wielded as a stick or staff when a brute thought it necessary to chastise his better half. Nous avons changé tout cela, and now the improvised staff has been superseded by the poker, varied by an application of hob-nailed boots. Laker, Although applied as a term of derision to Wordsworth, Southey, and their famous friends, because they lived in the Lake country, the word had been in use from time immemorial in Yorkshire and Lancashire, in another sense, with reference to players. . . . In the year 1750, Gentleman Holman, a famous actor and author, and the recipient of high honours from his Alma Mater at Oxford, was fulfilling an engagement at Leeds. He had dressed at his hotel for Beverley, in “the Gamester,” and was attired in his court suit, with powdered hair and bag, chapeau bras, diamond buckles, &c. On his way to the theatre, in a sedan chair, the porters were stopped on Leeds Bridge, and overhauled by a gang of roughs of the period, 31
Barrère and Leland, Dictionary of Slang, viii.
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who demanded to know who was inside. On being informed that the gentleman in court dress was a play-actor, the ringleader said to his friends — “Oh! it’s nobbut a laker; chuck him in t’river, lads.” Before they could carry out this laudable intention, the laker stepped out, confronted them with his rapier, which he slipped into them, right and left, sending the ruffians howling in every direction.
This type of material renders the dictionary entertaining and diverting for a casual reader, but it has not endeared it to those whose primary interest is the historical development of the language. A reviewer of the revised 1897 edition, remarking that alterations were only apparent by ‘the conspicuity of absence’, commented that: Not to every compiler, we wot, is it given to know what not to compile, nor to every editor to know how to edit.32
Karl Lentzner’s, Colonial English (1891) Karl Lentzner was a German-born teacher who spent some time in Sydney and nearby Parramatta. His Colonial English was published in London, but quickly withdrawn and reissued under less stringent copyright laws in Germany.33 It is also referred to and catalogued as Dictionary of the Slang English of Australia and of Some Mixed Languages and Wörterbuch der englischen Volkssprache Australiens und einiger englischen Mischsprachen. Lentzner presents his material in seven separate glossaries: of ‘Australian and Bush Slang’ (265 entries for 237 headwords), ‘Anglo-Indian Slang’ (215 entries for 207 headwords), ‘Chinese Pidgin’ (94 entries for 93 headwords), ‘West Indian Slang’ (24 entries for 24 headwords), ‘South African Slang’ (16 entries for 16 headwords), Addenda (90 entries for 88 headwords), and ‘List of words contributed by Prof. W. Sattler of Bremen’ (31 entries for 31 headwords). The rest of the volume is a compilation of observations by a variety of writers on the use of English throughout the world. These include a list of
32
‘Slang’, Pall Mall Gazette 9989 (1 Apr. 1897), 4. For a detailed account of Lentzner’s Australian list, see Judith Smyth Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography 1880–1910. An Evaluation’, Ph.D. dissertation (Australian National University, Canberra, 2005), 74–91. 33
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aboriginal place names in Australia, ‘Specimens of English Jargon in New Caledonia’, ‘Specimens of Baboo English’, ‘Japanese Pidgin English’, ‘Negro English’, and ‘The English Language in America’. Lentzner wrote: Whether Slang is regarded, merely as the slipshod language of the vulgar and unrefined, or as a strange and curious illustration of the impulse inherent in language to attain more expressive forms, there is no denying that there is a growing demand for books to explain the meanings and applications of these excrescences on correct and orthodox speech.34
He lists his sources, including several of the slang dictionaries discussed above: Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues, Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant, and Hotten’s Slang Dictionary. Robertson has analysed the contents and sources of the Australian slang list in some detail, and concluded that ‘it is in fact a work of synthesis and plagiarism’.35 Barrère and Leland’s dictionary is Lentzner’s main source, accounting for 54 per cent of entries. Lentzner’s list includes more miscellaneous entries and more for people than Barrère and Leland, but fewer for crime & dishonesty and leisure & pleasure (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 2.2). The semantic disparities are a reflection of the type of material that Barrère and Leland include for various types of colonial English. Lentzner usually adopts these entries verbatim, though arranging the entries in separate lists makes it possible to delete the usage labels: Barrère & Leland Lentzner Buckra yam As in negro eyes Buckra yam (West Indian). As in “the white man”, or buckra, negro eyes “the white man,” or is the synonym of something buckra, is the synonym of superior and beyond him something superior and beyond him in the scale of being, so the in the scale of being, so the word word has come to mean has come to mean anything good. anything good. Thus buckra Thus buckra yam, good yam; buckra yam, good yam; buckra cloth, cloth, good cloth. A “swanga
34 Karl Lentzner, Colonial English: A Glossary of Australian, Anglo-Indian, Pidgin English, West Indian, and South African Words (Leipzig: Ehrhardt Karras, 1891), vii. 35 Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 77.
International Slang Dictionaries buckra” is a specially well-dressed white man.
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Muchee (pidgin-English), much, very; intensified as muchee-muchee.
good cloth. A “swanga buckra” is a specially well-dressed white man. [West Indian list] Muchee, much, very; intensified as muchee-muchee.
My catch one spirit tell my all, but he can no be heard; Some notha spilit hab got heah — he no can talkee word. They makee muchee bobbely — too muchee clowd aloun’, They wantchee muchee bad one time to chin-chin Captin Bloun. — The Ballad of Captain Brown.
My catch one spilit tell my all, but he can no be heard; Some notha spilit hab got heah’ — he no can talkee word. T’hey makee muchee bobbely —too much clowd aloun’, T’hey wantchee muchee bad one tim to chin-chin Captin Bloun. — The Ballad of Captain Brown.
[Chinese pidgin list]
Note that Lentzner edits the citation in muchee to increase its pidgin content. Lentzner did make some additions to his main source, though he cannot always take credit for them. For example: Swagman. [cf. p. 46.] That nomadic portion of the Australian population known as “swagman”. — Id. [Chamb. Journal] 1885. 285. A good bust. Their work finished and paid for, they make for the only enjoyment they know of that the bush has to offer; that is, what they call “a good bust”, or, in other words, a drunken spree. — Id. [Chamb. Journal. 1885. 286 ]
These are typical of entries in the list provided by Professor Sattler in that they have no definition other than that provided by the citation. Robertson’s is a good summary of Lentzner’s contribution to English lexicography: [He] appears to be the first to recognise the new English words from the colonies as separate forms of English . . . However, his division of terms into colonial groupings was inaccurate, as he included many American and common terms in his ‘Australian and Bush Slang’ section.36
As Table 2.1.2 shows (see Appendix), Lentzner’s categorization was largely dependent on Barrère and Leland’s usage labels, though he 36
Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 91.
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also sometimes categorizes on the strength of the etymological information they provide. His limitations are largely, but not soley, those of his main source.
Conclusions Knoblauch’s Dictionary of Argot (c.1916) used standard English to translate French slang. Although acknowledging Barrère and Leland’s dictionary as an important source, it includes little English slang. Its main interest here is a prefatory comment: In conclusion I beg to point out that a Dictionary of Argot is not a book to be placed in the hands of the young and inexperienced. I have endeavoured to omit obscene and the coarser slang expressions as far as possible, but there are still enough left to justify this warning.37
If slang, cant, and the subjects discussed in slang and cant were to be treated with such caution as late as 1916, we can only imagine the disreputable status of slang lexicography in the 1880s. Gentlemen might be forgiven for producing and for buying these dictionaries, but it was necessary to emphasize the scholarly nature of the endeavour, and to produce a work beyond the understanding and the pockets of the uneducated. For these dictionaries, the inclusion of material from other European languages and of material from English-speakers throughout the Empire provided a temporary screen behind which English slang lexicography could proceed. We shall see the dangers of producing an unmediated lexicon of English slang in Chapter 3.
37
Knoblauch’s Dictionary of Argot, 3.
Three: Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues By the last decade of the nineteenth century Britain’s position in the world had changed dramatically. Though it was still a world power, it could no longer take its influence for granted and it began to adopt a more expansionist policy in response to other nations’ growing colonial interests, particularly in Africa and South-East Asia. Britain’s portion of world trade was shrinking: America had already exceeded it, and Germany looked set to. The advantage of having been the first industrialized nation was lost through complacency and failure to modernize. In the face of this unthinkable decline, the British gave themselves wholeheartedly to the celebration of Victoria’s golden and diamond jubilees. They constructed monuments and edifices to commemorate the extent and power of the Empire, and produced similarly monumental reference works, like The Dictionary of National Biography (sixty-three volumes, published between 1882 and 1900), the OED (originally ten volumes: 1884–1928), and Joseph Wright’s English Dialect Dictionary (six volumes, 1898–1905). This was a time for ambitious and far-reaching research projects, and together with the dictionaries discussed in Chapter 2, these works provide the publishing context for Slang and its Analogues.
John Stephen Farmer and William Ernest Henley’s Slang and its Analogues, Past and Present (1890–1904)1 John Stephen Farmer (1854–1916) was born in Bedford. His father worked as a plumber, glazier, painter, and City Missionary. Working as a reporter in London when he first married in 1873, Farmer 1 A more detailed account of Farmer and Henley’s changing practice was presented at the 2nd International Conference on Historical Lexicology and Lexicography at Gargnano, and published as ‘Expediency and Experience: John S. Farmer and William E. Henley’s Slang and its Analogues’ in John Considine and Giovanni Iamartino (eds.), Words and Dictionaries from the British Isles in Historical Perspective (Newcastle: Scholars Press, 2007), 136–65.
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did not let his existing wives’ continued health prevent his repeated remarriage.2 He was a prominent figure among London spiritualists, publishing books, editing a journal, and attending committees and séances. Although Slang and its Analogues was a life-time’s work, starting with data collection during the 1880s, Farmer also published collections of early English drama, songs, and ballads. He produced several other reference works, including a regimental history of the British Army and dictionaries of public school slang (see Chapter 5), of Americanisms, and of French sexual terms. Slang and its Analogues was first published in seven volumes between 1890 and 1904. In the preface to the first volume, of which he was the sole editor, Farmer outlined his ambitious intentions. There was to be a chapter on the comparative study of European slang, a bibliography, a list of authorities and references to periodical literature, and a complete list of all the foreign slang terms included. It is little wonder that these promises remained unfulfilled. Revens comments that ‘Apart from its admirably chosen title and subtitle, the work itself offers no discussion of the principles on which it was compiled, scant definitions of slang, and no comprehensive enumeration and classification of its analogues’.3 At this stage of the project, Farmer estimated that the work would contain ‘upwards of 100,000’4 citations (I estimate 38,000), and compared his labour to that of Johnson. While acknowledging imperfections and the influence of his predecessors, he was proud of his achievement: I cannot but recognize that, again and again, having adopted a new mode of treatment, I have found myself forced to “blaze” the way into what was practically a terra incognita.5
Farmer’s work on the dictionary was not to continue unaided. 2 Farmer’s biographical information is a summary from Damian Atkinson’s The Correspondence of John Stephen Farmer and W. E. Henley on their Slang Dictionary, 1890–1904 (Lewiston: Mellen, 2003), xix–xxxii. Atkinson did not include in his account the three children that Alice Caswell had with Farmer (Jim Farmer (great-grandson), private communication). 3 Lee Revens, ‘Introduction’, in John Stephen Farmer and William Ernest Henley, Dictionary of Slang and its Analogues Past and Present, revised edn. of vol. I (New York: University Books, 1966), vii–xxix: vii. 4 John Stephen Farmer and William Ernest Henley, Slang and its Analogues Past and Present. A Dictionary, Historical and Comparative, of the Heterodox Speech of all Classes of Society for More Than Three Hundred Years. With Synonyms in English, French, German, Italian, etc. (London/Edinburgh: Subscribers only, 1890–1904), I, viii. 5 Farmer and Henley, Slang and its Analogues, I, v.
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William Ernest Henley (1849–1903) was born in Gloucester, the son of ‘an unsuccessful stationer, bookseller, and printer’.6 Health and financial difficulties made it impossible for him to attend school on a regular basis, and in 1867 he moved to London to scrape a living as a hack journalist. Having had his left leg amputated below the knee as a child, Henley resisted medical advice that his right foot should also be removed, and travelled the country in search of alternative treatment. He did manage to keep his foot, and spent a two-year convalescence, reading, learning languages, and writing poetry. While in hospital he met Robert Louis Stevenson, who later immortalized him in the character of Long John Silver. It was through Stevenson’s influence that Henley became editor of the magazine London in 1877, and he went on to contribute articles and reviews to many influential London journals. By 1891, when the second volume of Slang and its Analogues was published, the first bearing his name, Henley was established as a leading light in literary circles in Edinburgh and London. He was also a passionate imperialist, as expressed in one of his most famous poems: They call you proud and hard, England, my England: You with worlds to watch and ward, England, my own! You whose mailed hand keeps the keys Of such teeming destinies, You could know nor dread nor ease Were the Song on your bugles blown, England, Round the Pit on your bugles blown!7
Henley ‘let his name be used on Volume 2 in 1891 and on the subsequent five volumes through 1904 . . . [though] his part in it is not well understood’.8 His interests were so varied and his influence so 6 7
This quotation and all of the biographical information for Henley is from DNB. William Ernest Henley, ‘England my England’, in Poems, 4th edn. (New York: Scribner, 1900),
254. 8 Chapman, New Dictionary, viii. In fact, Henley’s name does not appear on all copies of the second volume (Atkinson, Correspondence, xxvi). Geshon Legman, ‘On Sexual Speech’, in Farmer and Henley (1966), xxx–xciv: lix, dismisses the idea that Henley was involved from the start but initially chose to be unacknowledged.
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extensive, that his lexicographical work merits only one line in his DNB profile: With J. S. Farmer he enjoyed over many years the task of compiling a Dictionary of Slang and its Analogues (1890–1904).
Henley’s contacts and prominence in literary London would have helped sell the dictionary. He was also rather better off than Farmer, who not only encouraged him to purchase useful books as sources for the dictionary, but also repeatedly requested more direct financial support.9 Partridge apparently believed Henley’s contribution to amount to little more than this, describing Slang and its Analogues as ‘one of the three or four most remarkable one-handed achievements in the whole record of dictionary-making’.10 However, Henley certainly provided corrections and additions in several drafts before proofs were produced, though Farmer appears to have done much of the preparatory work. James Murray and Charles Whibley of the OED also provided detailed comments on individual entries in draft and proof form.11 Between the ambitious preface of 1890, and the appearance of the last volume in 1904, the project suffered a number of setbacks and changes. The dictionary was published for subscribers only, and was never likely to generate enough income for the intermittently impecunious Farmer to live on, but his financial situation was exacerbated by a dispute with his publisher, who refused to print indecent terms in Volume II (C-Fizzle). Farmer went to court to enforce the contract, and the case received considerable press coverage. To justify publishing the first volume it was necessary to argue that the second was more obscene: ‘Mr. Henley had been the “evil genius” of Vol. II.’12 The first jury failed to reach a verdict, but Farmer continued to argue that documenting obscene terms did not make him guilty of obscenity. The retrial judge was not impressed, commenting that: it seemed that if the plaintiff heard of a dirty word he at once felt free to ferret it out, and call it a scientific process.13
Farmer lost the case and was ordered to pay costs, but this contractual wrangle did not prevent the continued publication of the dictionary. The dictionary contains approximately 20,300 entries in all, structured in a variety of ways. There are approximately 10,750 main headwords and 6600 sub-headwords. As an example, the main headword chisel contains two entries, including one for the phrasal subheadword to go full chisel: CHISEL, CHIZZLE, or CHUZZLE, verb (common). — To cheat. [Possibly an extension of the orthodox meaning of the verb in the sense of ‘to cut, shave or pare with a chisel to an excessive degree.’ . . .]. . . To go full chisel, phr. (American). — To go at full speed or ‘full drive’; to show intense earnestness; to use great force; to go off brilliantly.14
A sample of 1266 entries for 669 main headwords includes 257 subheadwords, averaging at slightly under one sub-headword to every third main headword. The structure of entries within the dictionary varies from volume to volume. For example, Volume II includes significantly fewer main headwords than Volume I, and Volume III sees a further drop (both p = 0.01). This is because the first volume tends to accord separate main headword status to compounds and phrases, and even sometimes to separate senses of the same word. For instance, babe, babe in the wood, and babes are presented as separate main headwords: BABE, subs. (parliamentary). — The last elected member of the House of Commons. The oldest representative of the chamber is called the father of the house (q.v.). (American).—The youngest member of a class at the United States Military College at West Point. A term sans wit, sans point, sans almost everything. BABE IN THE WOOD, subs. phr. (old). — i. A victim of the law’s solicitude; in other words, a culprit sentenced to the stocks or the pillory. Obsolete. 2. Dice are also called Babes in the Wood. BABES, subs (auctioneers’). — A set of auction thieves, who attend sales for the express purpose of blackmail. Their modus operandi is as follows. In consideration of a small bribe of money or beer, or both, they 14
As here, citations are generally omitted in the examples from Slang and its Analogues.
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Farmer and Henley agree not to oppose the bidding of the larger dealers, who thus dishonestly keep down the price of lots. The practice is generally worked in connection with knock-outs (q.v.). (American).—A set of Baltimore rowdies are so-called; at various times they have also received the names of blood tubs and plug-uglies (q.v.).
Later volumes group such entries together under a single main headword: Volume V thus contains significantly more sub-headwords than the earlier volumes. By Volume VII, the presentation method has become even more efficient, and the number of sub-headwords falls again. This is because minor phrases are now grouped together rather than each having the status of a sub-headword in its own right. For instance, cock of the walk, ladies’ walk, to walk the streets, and to walk into are all listed as sub-headwords under walk: cock (or hen) of the walk (club, school, etc.), subs. phr. (common)—A man (or woman) of parts, a worthy, a leader. ladies’ (or gentlemen’s) walk, subs. phr. (American).—A W.C.: a euphemism (hotel-proprietors’). to walk the streets, verb. phr. (colloquial).—To frequent the streets for the purpose of prostitution; to make public quest for men. to walk into, verb phr. (colloquial).— 1. To attack, assault, drub: also to walk into the affections 2. = to scold, rag (q.v.) slang (q.v.) 3. to demolish, overcome, get the best of . . . 4. to eat heartily, to wolf (q.v.).
Also under walk is a group of minor phrases without citations. In earlier volumes these would have been accorded separate sub- or even main headword status: Also in various phrases: Thus to walk alone = to be an outcast, forsaken, shunned; to walk the hospitals = to attend the medical and surgical practice of hospitals as a student under one of the qualified staff; to walk spanish = to be seized by the scruff and the seat and thus forced along, to act under compulsion; to walk about (military) = an occasional instruction from officers to sentinels for the purpose of waiving the ceremony of the salute . . .
This grouping of phrases and derivatives has the added advantage of making them easier to locate. An alphabetical sequence from Volume I will illustrate the limitations of the earlier approach:
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BAG, subs. To empty the bag To give the bag To give one the bag to hold In the bottom of the bag To let the cat out of the bag To put one in a bag To put or get one’s head in a bag To turn to bag and wallet Verb. To get baggy BAG AND BAGGAGE BAG AND BOTTLE BAGGAGE BAGGAGE-SMASHER BAGGED BAGGING BAGMAN BAGNIO BAG OF BONES BAG O’MOONSHINE BAG OF NAILS BAG OF TRICKS BAGPIPE
subs. to have the bags Bags of mystery to take the bags B.A.G.S.
BAGS,
This sequence runs across six pages, enough to confound an easily discouraged user. There is no reason to expect that bags of mystery would be listed under the separate plural headword, or that phrases and compounds beginning with bag would be listed after baggage. Seventy-two per cent of entries include information about grammatical function, some indicating that an entry includes more than one part of speech: OBIQUITOUS, adj. and adv. (American).—Innocence of right and wrong. [From oblivious and obliquity].
This grouping of parts of speech under a single definition is one of the efficiency measures found from Volume V onwards. Despite the
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increasingly concise presentation, Slang and its Analogues continued to grow. The Glasgow Herald announced the appearance of the fourth volume in 1896, but anticipated only two more.15 Eighty-eight per cent of entries include a usage label, most commonly ones indicating wide usage, such as ‘common’, ‘colloquial’, ‘popular’, ‘general’, or falling usage, such as ‘old’ or ‘obsolete’ (see Appendix, Table 3.2.1). Occupational and professional slangs included range from chimney-sweeps’ and servants’ words to parliamentary and legal language. As they worked their way through the dictionary, Farmer and Henley tended to label fewer terms as geographically restricted or as belonging to particular professions or occupations, and more as belonging to the slang of educational establishments16 or the marginalized activities of crime and venery. Forty-nine per cent of entries include a citation, with a further 9 per cent naming authorities but not quoting them. Four of the six most commonly named authorities are slang dictionaries (see Appendix, Table 3.2.2), together accounting for 13 per cent of named authorities. Farmer’s interest in Renaissance dramatists is expressed in the frequency with which Shakespeare, Jonson, Dekker, and Fletcher are cited. Less frequently cited sources include publications such as the Daily Telegraph, Daily News, and Pall Mall Gazette, suggesting that the editors made notes for the dictionary as they went about their daily lives. When he was working alone on Volume I, Farmer tended to cite modern reference works, such as Hotten or Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable.17 After Volume I, a more thorough and methodical approach towards consulting earlier dictionaries developed. This may be one of the contributions that Henley made to the work as it was being revised. The New Canting Dictionary18 is not cited in the sample after Volume IV, and Matsell’s Vocabulum not after Volume V, perhaps because experience had taught that they had little to add to B. E.19 and to Grose. 15
‘Literary Notes and Gossip’, Glasgow Herald 64 (14 Mar. 1896), 6. The increased inclusion of school slang terms is also probably related to Farmer’s work on his Public School Word Book (London: privately issued, 1900). The relationship between the two dictionaries is discussed in Chapter 5. 17 E. C. Brewer, Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (London/New York: Cassell, Petter, and Galpin, 1870). 18 New Canting Dictionary (London: The Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1925). 19 B. E., A New Dictionary of the Terms Ancient and Modern of the Canting Crew (London: W. Hawes, c.1698). 16
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Cited and named authorities are not always correctly noted. For instance, snipes “scissors” and awake “alert” are attributed to Grose, with awake actually quoted from the 1785 edition. Neither attribution is correct, and they appear to stem from the lazy assumption that there was little difference between Grose’s first edition of the dictionary and the actual source: Egan’s edition of 1823. Between Volumes I and VI there is an increasing trend both in the proportion of entries including citations and in the number of citations provided. In each case there is a reduction in Volume VII as the dictionary races to its end. It is evident from correspondence between Farmer and Murray, editor of the OED, that the two projects complemented one another. Indeed, the fourth volume bore the title Supplementary Glossary of Colloquial English. Part of the role of Farmer and Henley’s dictionary was to document terms that Murray could not include.20 For instance: CUNT, subs. (common).—The female pudendum; Latin cunnus. A language word, but vulgar in usage. Diminutives of varying degrees are cunnicle, cunnikin, cuntkin, cuntlet, cunny. Derivatives, the result of an obvious play upon words (old), are cunny-catcher and cunny-burrow ferret (Urquhart), for which see Cream-stick; cunny-hunter=a whoremonger; and cunny-skin (Durfey), for which see Fleece. For synonyms, see Monosyllable. FUCK, subs. (venery).—1. An act of coition. For synonyms, see Greens. (venery).—The seminal fluid. For synonyms, see Cream. Verb. (common).—To copulate. For synonyms, see Greens and Ride.
Although these entries appear to be working hard to direct the reader away from their insalubrious headwords, they are not uncharacteristic of the work as a whole. Forty per cent of entries include a total of 790 cross-references, with the proportion remaining more or less constant through all seven volumes. There are multiple cross-references at in, jack, and saint, for example, but 97 per cent of entries including cross-references have three or fewer. What is striking about the crossreferences is that, despite the length of time it took to complete the dictionary, few are dead ends.
20 Robert W. Burchfield, ‘Four Letter Words and the Oxford English Dictionary’, Times Literary Supplement (13 Oct. 1972), 1233.
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Another indication of the plan for the whole work is given in the provision of 657 semantically related terms (usually synonyms) in English and other languages in 113 entries (9 per cent). For example: DAIRY, subs. (common).—The paps. To air the dairy = to expose the breast. English Synonyms. Bubs or bubbies; charlies; blubber; butter-boxes; butter-bags; berkeleys; cat-heads; diddies; globes; dugs; milk-walk; milk-shop; milky way; dumplings; udder (Browning); ‘Nature’s founts’; feeding bottles; ‘charms’; hemispheres; apple-dumpling shop; meat market; poonts; titties; cabman’s rests (rhyming); baby’s bottom. French Synonyms. Les avantages (familiar); l’avant-cœur (popular = the fore-heart; as l’avant-bras = the fore-arm); l’avant-main; les avant-scènes (properly that goes before; the front of a stage); les avant-postes (literally, the outposts); l’oranger (popular = the orange-tree). Cf., des oranges sur l’étagère; les nénais or nénets (popular); deux œufs sur le plat (common); le monzu or mouzu (Old Cant); des blagues à tabac (popular = tobacco-pouches); des bessons (common = twins); une étagère or un étal (properly a butcher’s stall; étalage = goods exposed for sale; Cf. étaler sa marchandise = to wear a low-necked dress); la doublure de la pièce (popular); devant de gilet (popular: un gilet à la mode = well-developed paps); une livraison de bois devant sa porte (popular); le ragoût de la poitrine (ragoût = pleasure, poitrine = breast); la mappe-monde (popular: literally a map of the two hemispheres); les nichons (familiar); il y a du monde au balcon (said of one with large paps); les bossoirs (sailors’; gabarit sans bossoirs = thin or withered paps); les calebasses (= gourds); les éclaireurs (popular: scouts); des gibasses (popular: skinny paps); des œufs sur la place d’armes (popular). German Synonym. Gleishaus (i.e., milk-house; Gleis = milk). Italian Synonym. Tetta. Spanish Synonyms. Balsopeto (m; properly = a large pouch carried near the breast; chiche or chichi (f; a Mexican vulgarism); pechera (f; also = a stomacher or frill on the bosom of a shirt).
Collating the foreign terms to produce ‘a comprehensive dictionary of foreign slang’21 was one of the promises of the introduction that Farmer failed to fulfil, though he does cross-reference from the first volume to lists of synonyms not published until the last. After Volume II there is a marked decrease in the provision of synonyms both from English and from other languages, perhaps in recognition of the impracticality of the task. 21
Farmer and Henley, Slang and its Analogues, I, x.
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Sixteen per cent of entries include etymologies. For instance: EAGLE-TAKERS, subs. (military).—The Eighty-Seventh Foot. [The title was gained at Barossa (1811), when it captured the eagle of the 8th French Light Infantry. Its colours also bear ‘the plume of the Prince of Wales’ and ‘the harp and crown,’ an eagle with a wreath of laurel.] It was also nicknamed ‘The Old Fogs’; also ‘The Faugh-a-Ballagh Boys,’ from Fag an bealac! = ‘Clear the Way,’ the regimental march, and the war-cry at Barossa.
Forty-six per cent of entries in Volume I include etymologies, and there is a downward trend to 2 per cent in Volume VI. In a letter written in 1902, Henley reminded Farmer that ‘the question of origins . . . should in no case be mooted in our work’,22 indicating that the reduction in etymologies was a deliberate policy. Henley did work on the last volume during his final illness, but perhaps not with his usual vigour. In this volume, the proportion of entries including etymologies rose to 11 per cent (p = 0.01). Twenty-three entries (2 per cent) provide anecdotal or encyclopaedic information. For example: X, TO TAKE ONE X (or LETTER X), verb. phr. (police).—To secure a violent prisoner: two constables firmly grasp the collar with one hand, the captive’s arm being drawn down and the hand forced backwards over the holding arms; in this position the prisoner’s arm is more easily broken than extricated.
The provision of encyclopaedic and anecdotal information follows much the same trend as the provision of etymologies: it is at its peak in Volume I (20 per cent of entries), falls thereafter, though not consistently, to none in Volume VI. In Volume VII, 10 per cent of entries include encyclopaedic or anecdotal information (p = 0.01). The last volume of Slang and it Analogues includes a frontispiece in memory of Henley: This section of Slang and its Analogues was in course of despatch to subscribers when sad word came of the “passing” of my colleague and co-editor . . . more than once he expressed himself as delighted to realise
22
Atkinson, Correspondence, 73.
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that the end was in sight. As a matter of fact, save for proof-reading and actual publication, our task was practically complete . . . Still, when all is said, there remains the fact of irreparable loss—in “final suggestions” and “finishing touches.” . . . At the moment, however, I can do little more than add my own personal tribute of reverent affection, high esteem, and sincere gratitude to one who is, humanly speaking, no longer amongst us.23
Henley’s health was clearly failing while he and Farmer worked on Volume VII, but his last letter to Farmer, including comments on revised entries for the letter ‘A’, was written only weeks before his death.24 Farmer claimed, in offering some of Henley’s notes for sale as souvenirs, that he had been working on the dictionary ‘till within ten days of his death’.25
The revised first volume (1903, 1909) The first volume of Slang and its Analogues was reissued in a revised form in two parts. These both appeared after Henley’s death, though he was ‘especially concerned’26 with the editorial process. These revised entries represent the application of acquired experience to Farmer’s earlier work, as well as the addition of new material. 112 of a sample of 204 entries (55 per cent) were not in the original edition. Existing entries are edited in a number of ways in the revised volume, usually in the interests of greater efficiency. For instance, although main headwords make up 67 per cent of entries in the original version of Volume I, they account for only 51 per cent in the revised version. The revised entries for babe, babe in the wood, and babes (cited above, pp. 57–8) read: BABE, subs. (parliamentary).—i. The last elected member of the House of Commons. Cf. father of the house=the oldest representative. 2. (American).—The youngest member of a class at the United States Military College at West Point. 23
Memorial frontispiece to Volume VII of Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues. 25 Atkinson, Correspondence, 63–7, 86, 94–5. Legman, in Farmer and Henley (1966), lix. 26 This comment, from the memorial frontispiece to Volume VII, suggests that it was Henley who felt the need to revise Farmer’s earlier work. 24
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3. (auctioneers’).—An auction shark (q.v.); a knock-out (q.v.) man: for a consideration these men agree not to oppose the bidding of larger dealers, who thus keep down the price of lots. 4. (American).—A Baltimore rowdy: also blood tub (q.v.) and plug-ugly (q.v.). BABE IN THE WOOD, subs. phr. (old).—i. A culprit in the stocks or pillory. (Grose). 2. (old).—In pl. = dice.
In these examples, the entries originally listed under babes are subsumed under babe, and Farmer’s editorial comments, encyclopaedic information, and witticisms are deleted altogether (see babe sense 2; babe in the wood senses 1 and 2). Other entries do benefit from additional material including extra citations, though these and existing citations are also more efficiently edited than in the original version, with titles abbreviated and unnecessary bibliographic abbreviations omitted. For instance, the original version of Volume I reads: BACKHANDER, subs. (common).—i. A drink out of turn; also detention of wine at a table so as to get an extra share. 1855. Thackery [sic], Newcomes, ch. xliii. ‘Thank you, Mr. Binnie, I will take a backhander, as Clive don’t seem to drink.’ 1873. Saturday Review, p.798. Long experience has shown us that to get small advantages over us gives the Scotch so much pleasure, that we should not think of grudging them the mild satisfaction, just as a kindly host affects not to notice a valued guest, who, he observes, always helps himself to an innocent backhander.
2. A blow on the face with the back of the hand. 1836. Marryat, Midshipman Easy, p. 11. ‘Go away, Sarah,’ said Johnny, with a backhander. 1862. Farrar, St. Winifred’s, ch.xxxiii. He administered a backhander to Elgood, as he spoke, and the next minute Charlie, roused beyond all bearing, had knocked him down. 1870. Mansfield, School-Life at Winchester College. The doctor comes suddenly round a corner, and finds Tibbs [a fag] mopping the rosy fluid from his nose with a rueful countenance, having just received a sharp backhander from one of his lords and masters.
3. Hence, figuratively, a rebuke; a ‘setting down.’ 1856. Whyte Melville, Kate Coventry, ch. i. I knew this was what John calls a back hander at me, but I can be so good-natured when I have anything to gain, therefore I only said————
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The revised version is only one word longer, but includes an additional citation, new cross-references, two new derived forms, and a longer and more accurate definition: BACK-HANDER, subs. phr. (common).—i. A glass of wine out of turn, the bottle being passed back or retained for a second glass instead of ‘following the sun’ round the table. Hence back-hand (verb.) and back-handing (subs.). 1855. Thackeray, Newcomes, xliii. ‘Thank you, Mr. Binnie, I will take a backhander, as Clive don’t seem to drink.’ 1857. Lawrence, Guy Livingstone, viii. Livingstone, if you begin backhanding already, you’ll never be able to hold that great raking chestnut. 1873. Sat. Rev., 798. A kindly host affects not to notice a valued guest, who . . . helps himself to an innocent backhander.
2. (common) A blow on the face delivered with the back of the hand; hence an unexpected rebuff, a set-down (q.v.). 1836. Marryat, Midshipman Easy, 11. ‘Go away, Sarah,’ said Johnny, with a backhander. c.1840. Mansfield, School-Life. The doctor . . . finds Tibbs mopping the rosy . . . with a rueful countenance, having just received a sharp backhander. 1856. Wh. Melville, Kate Coventry, i. This was . . . a back hander at me, but I . . . only said . . .Ibid. (1862), Inside Bar, x. This—was obviously a back-hander at James. 1862. Farrar, St. Winifred’s, xxxiii. He administered a backhander to Elgood, . . . and the next minute Charlie . . . had knocked him down. 1880. World, 21 Aug., 7. The Lieutenant-General got a prompt back-hander when he asked for a return of the contributions. 1881. Worboise, Sissie, xxii. A heavy backhander by way of punishment.
Most of this efficiency is achieved by reducing extraneous material in the citation from the Saturday Review. Senses 2 and 3, one literal and one figurative, are treated together in the revised edition. The resulting entry is only two words longer than the original, although it includes three new citations. The edited quotations from Mansfield and Farrar are not only shorter, but also more effective. The Mansfield citation is re-dated, and the citations are correspondingly reordered. In short, this is a methodical, efficient, and confident revision. Farmer cited Shakespeare and the Bible with great frequency in Volume I. This may have been to give the dictionary an air of respectability, or it may have been because the availability of concordances made them easily citeable. The Bible does not appear in later volumes, but in the revised edition of Volume I it occurs even more frequently in new entries than in existing entries.
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Significantly more new entries in the revised version are labelled as having wide usage and as belonging to the field of ‘venery’ (both p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 3.2.1). The revised edition contains significantly more labels indicating falling usage than the original edition (also p = 0.01). This is not only because more new entries are labelled as ‘old’ or ‘obsolete’, but also because existing entries for words that had since fallen in usage are now labelled as dated. Only fifteen terms in the sample from Volumes I–VII were labelled ‘vulgar’ (1 per cent). Five of these were in Volume I, significantly higher than in all the other volumes taken together. There was a sudden and significant decrease in Volume II, followed by a rise in Volume III. In Volume IV, the proportion of ‘vulgar’ terms dropped once more, and never recovered (all p = 0.01).27 The revised edition of Volume I not only contains no new entries labelled as ‘vulgar’, but also edits out four of the existing ‘vulgar’ entries. While at first glance this might suggest that the editors were censoring their dictionary following the court case over Volume I, examination of the entries in question demonstrates that the label vulgar indicates the social class of a term’s users rather than obscenity. For example, one of the entries deleted in the revised version of Volume I is: A-BEAR, v. (provincial and vulgar).—To suffer, or to tolerate. [From old English abearan, to bear or carry].—This term, though hoary with age, and long of honorable usage (from a.d. 885 downward), must now be classed with degenerate words, or at all events with non-literary English. Though still largely dialectical, its use amongst people of education is reckoned vulgar. It is now invariably employed in conjunction with ‘cannot’—‘I cannot abear furriners.’
This confirms the idea that Farmer and Henley gained a greater focus as a result of their experience of working through the alphabet. Like dialect terms, ‘vulgar’ terms, they decided, should have only a limited place in the dictionary. Uneducated speech and slang were no longer synonymous.
27
A rise in Volume VII is not statistically significant.
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The revised edition also edits out encyclopaedic and anecdotal material, reducing: ABANDANNAD, ABANDANNAAD, subs. (thieves’).—i. A nearly obsolete term to designate primarily a pickpocket, whose chief quarry is pocket handkerchiefs or bandannas; and, hence. 2. A petty thief, i.e., one whose depredations are regarded by the fraternity as not worth the risk incurred. Brewer writes down the word as a contraction of ‘a bandanna lad.’ With this derivation is connected the story of an incident said to have been a prime factor in the movement resulting in the passing of Sir Samuel Romilly’s Act for the abolition of capital punishment for highway robberies under 40s. value. Briefly told, it is that a footpad robbed a woman of a bandanna shawl, valued at 9d., an offence for which a notorious highwayman was hanged. Subsequently, however, he was proved to have been innocent, whereupon the fact of her mistaken accusation having done an innocent man to death so preyed upon the woman’s mind that she became raving mad. The incidents touched the public conscience, an agitation ensued, and the law was amended, as stated.
—to: ABANDANNAD (or ABANDANNAAD), subs. (thieves’).—i. A handkerchief (or bandanna) thief. Hence (2) a petty thief. [Brewer: ‘A contraction (sic) of a bandanna lad.’]
‘Alphabet fatigue’ is a common feature of large dictionary projects: lexicographers usually begin with ‘A’ and work their way through the alphabet, inevitably changing their practices before they reach the final word.28 Under normal circumstances it is difficult to do anything other than guess whether changes through the alphabet arise out of a desire to finish the work as quickly as possible or out of the greater experience of the editors. Farmer and Henley’s revised volume is undoubtedly the product of experience. Where it bears out trends found in earlier volumes, we can confirm that they too are deliberate changes rather than the accidental results of exhaustion or of impatience to reach the end of the alphabet. Experience taught Farmer and Henley more efficient ways of presenting and structuring their entries. It gave them a sharper sense 28 Noel Osselton, ‘Alphabet Fatigue and Compiling Consistency in Early English Dictionaries’, in Considine and Iamartino (eds.), Words and Dictionaries, 81–90.
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of what should and should not be included in terms of register. The anecdotal and encyclopaedic entries of Volume I were replaced by terser, more efficient definitions. The desire to speculate about etymology was repressed, though Henley was more ruthless in this respect than Farmer. They learnt where most fruitfully to look for citations for their terms, and developed a systematic method for providing grammatical information. They seem to have recognized that a comprehensive provision of comparative slang terms from other European languages was not viable, and English synonyms are also edited out of the revised edition of Volume I. New entries in the revised edition of Volume I give us an insight into the difference between Farmer working alone and the two men working as a team. When Farmer worked alone, he consulted important dictionary sources, particularly Grose and B. E., less methodically, relying instead on the Bible and Shakespeare for his citations. These changes allow us to pinpoint exactly what Henley’s influence on the dictionary was. What is not clear is how this influence was exercised. There are two possible interpretations. The first is that Farmer conformed to Henley’s ideals while he was alive, but reverted to his own rather lazier methodology after his partner’s death. The second, and more likely, explanation is that Farmer’s working practices did not radically change: that the new entries in the revised edition represent Farmer’s work without Henley’s improvements.
Henry Cary’s The Slang of Venery and its Analogues (1916) Henry Nathaniel Cary (1858–1922) is not listed in American National Biography (ANB). The only Henry N. Cary in the 1900 census is a newspaper editor in Wisconsin. An unverifiable internet source describes the arrest of Henry Cary, a reporter for the New York Morning Telegraph in 1906, for exaggeration and fabrication in his coverage of a murder trial.29 In 1910 Cary was still working in newspapers, but had relocated to St. Louis. In 1917 he corresponded
29 , posted by Frank Herron on 12/12/2006.
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with Theodore Dreisler as a representative of the Chicago local branch of the American Newspaper Publishers’ Association. His only other book is a bibliography to the Slang of Venery. Both were privately published. Cary’s work, compiled from ‘the Works of Ash, Bailey, Barrere, Bartlett, B. E., Bee, Cleland, Cotgrave, Dunton, D’Urfey, Dyche, Egan, Farmer, Florio, Grose, Halliwell, Harman, Johnson, Mayhew, Matsell, the Lexicon Balatronicum, and Other Sources’ (subtitle), consists of about 5400 headwords. He wrote that he was attempting to collect the ‘slang of venery with the idea of classifying and preserving this most interesting language, which, while current during the ages, has never, so far as it is known to the compiler, risen to the dignity of a dictionary of its own’.30 Volumes I and II of Cary’s three-volume work are an alphabetical dictionary. There is considerable variation in the detail provided: Apple Squire--A harlot’s attendant, or fancy man. These gentry are not commonly called bullies. Nares gives Squire of the Body as a synonymous term. 1500. Way to the Spyttal Hous. (Here given as Applesquyers). 1580–1654. Taylor, Discourse by Sea. Are whoremasters decai’d, are bawds all dead, Are pandars, pimps, and apple-squires all fled? 1738. Poor Robin. Little truth will be found amongst cut-purses, liars, bawds, whores, pimps, pandars, and apple-squires; only the pimp pretends to something more of truth than the other, for if he promise to help you to a whore, he will be sure that she shall not be an honest woman. Buck Face--A cuckold; one who in French slang is said to be un loger rue de Croissant. 1690. B. E. Buck’s Face, a Cuckold. 1785. Grose. Buck’s Face, a cuckold. 1859. Matsell.
30
Henry Nathaniel Cary, The Slang of Venery and its Analogues (Chicago: Privately Printed, 1916), i.
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Buck’s Face. A Cuckold. Shagging--Copulation. Tenuc--The cunt. (Back slang).
All of the citations in apple squire are from Farmer and Henley. Those in buck face are not, and may be the fruits of Cary’s own research. Cary failed to distinguish between slang and standard English, including entries for terms like cuckold and whore, which are by no means slang. Neither was he terribly accurate in identifying sexual terms, apparently considering that more or less anything to do with women, marriage, or the human body was admissible under this heading: Farmer & Henley GLUE-POT, subs. (common).—A parson. [Because he joins in wedlock.] For synonyms, see Devil-dodger and sky-pilot . . . KANGAROO. Kangaroo droop, subs. phr. (common).—A feminine affectation (cf. Grecian bend and Roman fall): the hands are brought close to the breast and set to droop palm downward, as if muscular action were lost. . . . TUBBY, subs. . . . 2. (common.)—A big-bellied man; fatty (q.v.); forty-guts (q.v.). As adj. (or tubbish)=round-bellied, swag-bellied: like a tub. . . . WEAKER SEX, subs. phr. (colloquial).—Womankind: also (in singular) the weaker vessel [See 1 Peter iii. 7]. . . .
Cary Glue pot--A parson. Because he joins in wedlock.
Kangaroo--A feminine affectation. The hands are brought close to the breast and set to droop palm downward, as if muscular action were lost. See Grecian Bend and Roman Fall. Tubby--A big-bellied man; fatty; forty guts. As an adjective, (or tubbish)–round bellied, swag bellied, like a tub. Weaker Sex--Womankind. Also, in singular, the weaker vessel. See Peter, iii, 7.
In the third volume ‘an attempt has been made to collect under subject headings the analogues and synonyms of the slang of venery’.31
31
Cary, Slang of Venery, Introduction, pages not numbered.
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Under the heading ‘Unnatural practices’, for example, Cary lists various ‘English synonyms’, including: Farmer & Henley BARBER’S-CAT, subs. (old).—A weak, sickly looking individual. . . . According to Hotten, the term is also ‘used in connexion with an expression too coarse to print.’ FLOGGING CULLY, subs. phr. (venery).—A man addicted, whether from necessity or choice, to flagellation; a whipster (q.v.) . . . FUCK-FINGER, subs. phr. (venery). —A fricatrix. LESBIAN, subs. (venery).—A fellatrix of women. [From the legend of Sappho and the women of Lesbos].
Cary barber’s cat. Used in connection with an expression too coarse to print. (Hotten). flogging cully. A man addicted, whether from necessity or choice, to flagellation.
fuck finger. A fricatrix. lesbian. A fellatrix of women.
Four ‘French synonyms’ are also provided: agenouillee. The kneeler. A prostitute whose specialty is best described by the appellation itself. A cock sucker. chipette. A Lesbian woman, that is, one with unnatural passions. diligence de Rome. Roman practices. To tongue the velvet. emboucher. To put in one’s mouth.
In other entries there are synonyms in Italian, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and Walloon (a Romance language spoken in Belgium).
Conclusions Farmer and Henley’s dictionary represents many improvements in English slang lexicography. They provided fully referenced citations both to support their definitions and to indicate dates of usage. At Henley’s insistence, they resisted the temptation to speculate about unknowable etymologies. They defined obscene and offensive terms without undue resort to evasion or obscurity. As their work progressed, they developed a firmer sense of the boundaries of slang, and became more ruthless in excluding dialect and colloquial terms. They
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recognized that Farmer’s original plan was overambitious, and pared it down to a more manageable, but still monumental, scale. Their influence on later slang lexicographers cannot be overstated. Cary’s is an example of a largely derivative work, and several abridged and supplemental versions were produced (see Chapter 4). Partridge’s Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English (hereafter DSUE) was also heavily dependent upon it.32 Naturally there are limitations. The presentation of citations in chronological order, as in the OED, can lead the dictionary’s users to assume that it is equivalent in quality to the OED: that considerable care had been taken to locate the earliest documented use of each sense of each term. A more realistic assessment would be that Farmer and Henley were engaged in many other activities alongside their work on the dictionary. They provided what evidence was available to them, and also some that was not. Nevertheless, Slang and its Analogues has yet to be superseded—even Partridge could not sustain the detail as well as the scope of the earlier work.
32 Eric Partridge, A Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English (London: Routledge, 1937). See Julie Coleman, A History of Cant and Slang Dictionaries. Volume IV: 1937–1984 (forthcoming), ch. 1.
Four: Other British General Slang Dictionaries The late nineteenth century saw the development of an interest among the middle and upper classes in the lives of the working classes. No longer merely a threatening mass of uncultured humanity, a fascinating backdrop to sporting events, or recipients of seemly benevolence, they became interesting in their own right: they had their own customs, traditions, beliefs, and even language.1 They were essential to the continuation of the Empire. Some reformers concentrated on enabling the working classes to achieve middle-class ideals through education or emigration programmes, while others were content to observe and document their behaviour, often considering it to be more natural and honest than the lives of more sophisticated people. Some of the glossaries in this chapter represent attempts to understand the working classes better. The lower classes, however, were beginning to fall in with middle-class notions of decency and respectability, and slang was increasingly associated with the upper reaches of society instead. It was particularly alarming to some that the use of slang was spreading from schoolboys and students to their otherwise respectable sisters.2
Charles Hindley’s The True History of Tom and Jerry (1888) Charles Hindley (c.1821–93) was born in Hackney, London. He was apprenticed to a bookbinder and later worked as a bookbinder and bookseller in London and Brighton. His publications range from 1 Wright’s English Dialect Dictionary, concentrating on rural speech, is the most obvious example of increasing interest in working class language. Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable combined an education in history and mythology for the unlearned with an overview of folklore for the more educated. A. Wallace’s Popular Sayings Dissected (London: Unwin, 1894) is another contemporary account of proverbial sayings. It includes some slang and made use of earlier slang dictionaries, particularly Grose’s. 2 Richard D. Altick, The Presence of the Present. Topics of the Day in the Victorian Novel (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1991), 773–5.
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sensational accounts of murder and execution to semi-scholarly studies of popular culture. His professional knowledge presumably helped him to anticipate whether his own publications would be profitable and what type of customer might buy them. This volume was issued in only 250 copies, and its numerous plates appear to be hand-tinted. The True History of Tom and Jerry is entirely in keeping with Hindley’s interests in popular literature and culture. It provides a retrospective view of the extraordinary popularity of Egan’s Life in London, first published in 1821:3 But although Life in London, or, Tom and Jerry did make our grandfathers so very—very! merry in the first quarter of the Nineteenth Century, we are constrained to admit; that it is a terrible dull and tedious work to read through in the present day . . . we have in the first place, made numerous selections from the original work, then given the principal scenes of Moncrieff’s dramatic version of the same, [and] the two concluding chapters of Pierce Egan’s continuation of his Life in London. . .4
The presentation of these extracts demonstrates a continued interest in Egan’s phenomenally successful work, albeit now as a curiosity. This is best demonstrated in the ‘Key to Persons and Places and an etymological and critical vocabulary and glossary of flash and slang terms occurring in the course of this work’, which includes many encyclopaedic entries relating to the text and its history: Corinthian Kate.—and her friend Sue.—In the original Life in London these ladies were meant as sketches in water colours of the notorious Mrs. Maples, alias Mrs. Bertram, alias Mother Bang; and the no less notorious Harriett Wilson, alias Mrs. Colonel Rochfort; heroines whose “birth, parentage, and education—life, character, and behaviour,” have been made execrable by that congenial part of publishers in infamy Messrs. Stockdale and Duncombe:—The characters of Kate and Sue are in rather different keeping in the dramatic version, and are at the service of any couple of modest, harmless, though at the same 3 Pierce Egan, Life in London; or, the Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq. and his elegant friend Corinthian Tom, accompanied by Bob Logic, the Oxonian, in their Ramble and Sprees through the Metropolis (London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1821). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, ch. 5. 4 Charles Hindley, The True History of Tom and Jerry or . . . Life in London from the Start to the Finish. (With Selections from the Original by Pierce Egan.) With a Key . . . a Vocabulary and Glossary, etc. (London: Reeves and Turner, 1888), ii–iii.
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time somewhat adventurous, love-sick, roving young ladies, that may choose to claim them. Olympic Theatre.—Was originally erected by Philip Astley, and opened with horsemanship, September 18, 1806. The theatre was leased in 1813 to the celebrated R.W. Elliston. On Monday, November 12, 1821, a dramatized version of “Tom and Jerry,” by Charles Dibdin, was produced: Tom, Mr. Blake; Jerry, Mr. Oxberry; Logic, Mr. Vale. Madame Vestris had the management to 1839, then followed Mr. George Wild, Miss Davenport, and Watts. The theatre was destroyed by fire March, 1849; re-built and opened by Mr. Watts, December 26, 1850.
There are 68 encyclopaedic entries in a sample of 610 entries for 569 headwords. The word-list contains a total of approximately 880 entries for 820 headwords. Six per cent of entries include examples to provide colour, comment or proverbial wisdom rather than illustration. The type size varies: Lily.—A black.—To paint the lily is wasteful—and very silly. Prads.—Horses. The swell flashes a fine pair of horses. Hindley used a variety of sources for his lexical entries (see Appendix, Table 4.1). They are alphabetized with almost complete success: Source at home To the Provincials, this phrase may operate rather as a sort of paradox—as houses and persons, in general, are robbed not “at home,” but when the parties are abroad. But more of this anon, as it most certainly forms a very prominent feature of LIFE IN LONDON.5 All out—the reckoning drank out, ‘How stands the account ’twixt me and vengeance?’6
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At Home.—To Provincials, this phrase may operate rather as a sort of paradox—as houses and persons, in general are robbed not “at home” but when the parties are abroad.
All Out.—The whole of the reckoning. “How stands the great account t’wixt me and vengeance!”
Egan, Life in London, 11. George Kent, Modern Flash Dictionary; by George Kent, Historian to the Prize Ring (London: J. Duncombe, 1835), or the closely related Sinks of London Laid Open: A Pocket Companion for the Uninitiated (London: J. Duncombe, 1848). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 122–31. 6
Other British General Slang Dictionaries Muff, a silly or weakminded person, a duffer; MUFF has been defined to be “a soft thing that holds a lady’s hand without squeezing it.”7 ‘Calf ’s head is best hot,’—was the apology for one of those who made no bones of dining with his topper on.8
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Muff.—A soft article, a tool, a fool: a soft thing that holds a lady’s hand without squeezing it!
Calves’ Head.—A tallow-faced fellow, with a large meaty head. “Calves’ head is best hot,” was the apology for one of those who made “no bones” of dining with his hat on.
Hindley’s book demonstrates that only sixty-five years after its publication, Egan’s vision of Life in London seemed almost entirely alien. Its racy appeal was no longer acceptable, its prostitutes and gamblers no longer admirable, and the unreforming interaction between the classes now seemed utterly reprehensible.
‘Degenerates’ Slang Glossary’ (1900) In January 1900, a comedy called The Degenerates opened its American tour in New York. Lillie Langtry played a divorcée whose reputation was threatened by an apparently compromising situation, but audiences were undoubtedly keener to examine the Prince of Wales’s mistress than to admire her acting skills. The Mayor of Detroit was later to cancel performances on the grounds of indecency, but this scandal was in the future when the Chicago Daily Tribune published a brief guide to the slang used in London Society: Some much-needed information concerning the meaning of the slang words in her play, “The Degenerates,” was given the public yesterday by Mrs. Langtry. Along with the glossary came the statement the slang itself was furnished—for a price—to the dramatist, Sydney Grundy, by one of the best known women in London’s “smart” set.9
7
Hotten, Slang Dictionary (1874). John Bee, Slang. A Dictionary of the Turf (London: T. Hughes, 1823). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, ch. 6. 9 ‘Degenerates’ Slang Glossary’, Chicago Daily Tribune (8 Mar. 1900) 7. 8
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Only thirteen terms are listed, of which eight are abbreviations of standard English terms, including: Tellie.............................................................................................. Telegram Cossie ..............................................................................................Costume Three others play with the-ie abbreviation, including: Frillikies ................................................................................................. Frills Pritt ...................................................................................................... Pretty
—and the remaining two entries are based on a baby-talk version of sweet: My twee .................................................................................... My sweetest Tweost ............................................................................................. Sweetest
This list was undoubtedly issued to attract additional media attention, and it is one of several in this volume publicizing a play or film.
James Redding Ware’s Passing English of the Victorian Era (1909) James Redding Ware (c.1833–1909) was born, according to his census returns, in Southwark, though he is only easily identifiable from 1881 onwards, when his occupation is described as ‘author journalist fiction’. It is not clear what name he used before this, although ‘James Redding Ware’ appears on publications from 1860 onwards. He seems to have lived in London throughout his long life, though he contributed text to an early book of photographs of the Isle of Wight. He wrote numerous plays, a novel, and a biography of the colourful travel-writer and soldier, Colonel Fred Burnaby. He also compiled anthologies of dreams, famous centenarians, mistaken identities, the speeches of Prince Leopold, and accounts of the police court. Ware usually published with Diprose and Bateman, but Passing English was a Routledge publication. It was advertised as a supplement to Slang and its Analogues, also in Routledge’s catalogue, but its focus is on short-lived terms in general. Like Hindley, Ware appears to have been motivated by the sense that the world was changing and that it was important to preserve ephemeral language before it was lost for good. Although he humbly apologized for errors and omissions, he insisted on the importance of his glossary:
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not an hour passes without the discovery of a new word or phrase . . . Nor is it too ambitious to suggest that passing language has something to do with the daily history of the nation. Be this all as it may be—here is a phrase book offered to, it may be hoped, many readers, the chief hope of the author, in relation with this work, being that he may be found amusing, if neither erudite nor useful.10
There are approximately 5000 entries for 4850 headwords, with Ware’s tendency to repeat headwords rather than number senses explaining the high ratio. A sample of 1140 entries for 1128 headwords concentrates on Leisure & pleasure (17 per cent); emotion, temperament & behaviour (9 per cent); and fools, failure & insults (8 per cent). Although approximately 13 per cent of Ware’s terms are also in Slang and its Analogues, comparison demonstrates that Ware defined them independently: Farmer & Henley ALEXANDRA LIMP, subs. (popular). —The name given to an erstwhile fit of semi-imbecility on the part of ‘Society.’ The Princess of Wales, through a slight infirmity, walks with a suspicion of lameness, and servile imitation of everything pertaining to royalty caused the sudden appearance (circa 1860–70) of a crowd of limping petticoated toadies. The craze passed away as suddenly as it came. Cf., Grecian Bend.
Ware Alexandra Limp (Soc., ab. 1872). An affected manner of walking seen for several years amongst women. Said to have been imitated from the temporary mode in which the then Princess of Wales walked after some trouble with a knee. (See Buxton Limp, Grecian Bend, Roman Fall.)
1876 Chambers’ Journal, No. 629. Your own advocacy of the Grecian bend and the Alexandra Limp—Both positive and practical imitations of physical affliction. [h.]
10 James Redding Ware, Passing English of the Victorian Era (London/New York: Routledge/ E. P. Dutton, 1909), vii. Partridge (Slang, 114–15) responded: ‘Erudite? No; yet very far from being ill-informed. Useful? Extremely useful to all those who have any interest in the spoken English of 1860–1910’.
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HARD-TACK, subs. (nautical).—1. Ship’s biscuits; specifically, ordinary sea-fare as distinguished from food ashore, or Soft-Tommy (q.v.). [2 citations omitted] 2 (common).—Coarse or insufficient fare.
Hard tack (Sailors’). A sea biscuit. In passed-away times it was hard. Tack is the diminutive of tackle, to encounter. (See Soft tack.)
Ninety-six per cent of entries include usage labels. For example: Acting Ladies (Theatrical, 1883). Indifferent artistes. Mrs Langtry, moving in society, having (1882) appeared as an actress in London, and in the same year gone to America, where she made vast sums of money, many ladies of more education than dramatic ability turned their attention to the stage. Eleven out of a dozen totally failed, and few ‘twelfths’ kept before the public: hence an ‘acting lady’ soon came, amongst theatrical people, to represent an incapable actress: e.g., ‘She isn’t a comedian, you know, she’s an acting lady.’ . . . Rational costume (Society, 1895). Trousers for women. Early in the fifties these appendages were called Bloomers—from an American lady of that name. A generation passed, when they loomed up again as divided skirts and Bectives (probably from Lady Bective having approved the fashion). Next, about 1890, they took over the name for young boys’ knee-trousers, and were styled knickerbockers—the name of which probably came from Washington Irving. Finally, in 1895, the female trouser was known as rational costume.
As is clear from these examples, Ware also gives indications of dates of usage wherever possible. Almost half of the entries in the sample include at least one date, and of those almost 60 per cent belong to the period from 1880 onwards. Ware is remarkably thorough in his provision of etymologies, offering them for 49 per cent of entries. He does not try to hide the fact that many are unfounded speculation. For example: Canister (Street). A preacher. Evidently a corruption of a street preacher whose name was something like, for instance, ‘Kynaster’, and popularly Anglicised. (See Sky Pilot.) Daverdy (Devon). Careless. Probably from an individual notoriously untidy—possibly David Day.
Twenty-nine per cent of entries include citations, with a further 3 per cent naming authorities but not quoting them, and another
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7 per cent offering an example with no provenance provided. Just under half of the citations are attributed to three main sources: the Daily Telegraph (18 per cent), the Daily News (17 per cent), and ‘(Newspaper) Cutting’ (14 per cent). Other sources are cited only once, such as ‘a Radical flag carried on Sunday, 7th March 1897, to Hyde Park and to a meeting in favour of the Cretans’ (Ogotaspuotas) and ‘Heard on a Thames steamboat when approaching Gravesend’ (Can’t you feel the shrimps?). As is already evident, Ware tends towards discursive definitions. In these he reveals his sympathies and interests. He is unapologetically patriotic and imperialistic:11 Backsheesh (Anglo-Arabic). Bribe. The origin of this word is historical. When Mohamed [sic] Ali endeavoured, after his lights, to bring Egypt within the pale of civilization, he sought to abate the endless begging exercised by most of his subjects. To this end he assured his people that if they did not beg, foreigners would always make them a backsheesh, or ‘present’. The natives accepted the theory, but only to apply it to their old practice. They begged, as they beg to this day, as much as ever; but they made their entreaties elegant by asking for a backsheesh—the one word of Arabic that every Englishman in Egypt learns, even if he acquire no other. . . . Yankee paradise (England). Paris. In the time of the Second Empire, it was said, ‘All good Americans go to Paris when they die’. As, however, the century wore on, the excessive extortions of the Parisians drove the touring Americans to London, where they remain in peace and comparative economy. Ware is also interested in sexuality and gender roles: B. and P. (Lond.). Initials of two young men whose public proceedings resulted, about 1870, in a long police-court inquiry and trial. (See Beanpea.) Beanpea (London Streets). A coalescing of B and P (q.v.) into one word, the d being dropped. Doubtless the outcome of time, and the droll idea of combining the two vegetables which come in almost at the same time. Still hastily, too hastily, applied to effeminate youths. The case was thrown out of court when it came before Lord Chief-Justice Cockburn. 11 Denis Judd, Empire. The British Imperial Experience, from 1765 to the Present (London: Fontana, 1997), 139, writes that unthinking jingoism, fed by the popular press and the music halls, was particularly characteristic of the 1890s.
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Female personator (Music-hall ). Another misnomer (see Male impersonator), for the performer is a male who impersonates female appearance, singing, and dancing. A man who dresses and acts like a woman, while the male impersonator is a woman who dresses and acts like a man. These interchanges of sexual appearance are still much relished on the music-hall stage.
Under a last-minute amendment to the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, any form of male homosexuality, whether public or private, merited two years’ imprisonment. Oscar Wilde was convicted under this law, but his was not the only exposure to scandalize London society. Newspaper coverage of the Cleveland Street Scandal hinted at royal patronage of a homosexual brothel closed by police in 1889. Many traditionalists, remembering Gibbon’s account of Rome, saw ‘effeminacy’ as both a portent and a cause of the decline of Empire. Ware is unusual not only in including these terms at all, but also in his lack of condemnation (see particularly Beanpea). Despite his relative explicitness on the subject of sexuality, there are terms that Ware evades defining: Camera Obscura (Amer.-Eng.). Le queu. The Arkansan walked behind the stooping darkey, swung his right boot into the air three or four times, and then sent the sole whizzing against the darkey’s camera-obscura.—Newsp. Cutting.
Irish toothache (People’s). Enceinte. (see I.T.A.) Part that goes over the fence last (American). Evident.
—and others he claims to be unable to define: OVO (Low Class, Hist.) Quite inexplicable. No solution ever obtained from the initiates.12 Propers (Low. Class). Meaning refused—but thoroughly comprehended by the coster classes. Erotic.
Ware was one of the first to document an increasing use of acronyms and initializations to produce new words:13 Espysay (Stable, 1880 on). A word composed of the letters S.P.C.A.—initials of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 12
This may be a pictograph. In initializations, the letters are produced separately; in acronyms, they are pronounced together to form a new word. 13
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Animals. Secretive in its nature, being created by people about horses and cattle, many of whom go about in savage fear of this valuable society. P.C. (Soc., 1880). Initials of ‘poor classes’.
—and as a source of wit: Vagabonds removed (Peoples’ ). Droll application of the initials V.R.—the letters standing, of course, for Victoria Regina, which appeared on the outside of the prison van to the end of the reign of Victoria. Virtue rewarded (Peoples’ ). Prison van—ironical reference to the moral nature of its occupants, and based upon the initials V.R., which used to be seen on each side.
Ware also included nicknames and overblown phrases. For instance: O.P.H. (Polit., 1886). Old Parliamentary Hand—meaning Gladstone. Invented by Times (February 1886). Unbounded assortment of gratuitous untruths (Politc., 1885). Extensive systematic lying. From speech (11th November 1885) of Mr Gladstone’s at Edinburgh . . .
Ware’s dictionary does not match the standards set by Farmer and Henley, but he was a careful observer of language, and used a variety of written and spoken sources. He appears to have had a good ear for ephemeral language. Despite its focus, his dictionary is decidedly not of the Victorian era. It is more parochial in scope than Farmer and Henley or Barrère and Leland. The Boer War (1899–1902) had finally forced into the national consciousness the fact not only that many of the subjects of the Empire were inexplicably blind to their own good fortune, but also that the Empire was not strong enough to impose its will by force. Ware’s interest in sexuality is also more characteristic of his own time than of the period he was documenting.
Leo Pavia’s ‘Die männliche Homosexualität in England’ (1910) Isidore Leo Pavia was a minor composer who published a book on piano technique and was responsible for German translations of the work of Oscar Wilde. His article on homosexuality in England is a critical account of British legal structures and social attitudes. He states that the use of this slang is sufficient to identify the ‘Urning’ as
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a homosexual, and incorporates a glossary into his text. There are sixteen headwords, listed non-alphabetically and defined in German. They often contain additional information about semantically related terms, compounds and derivatives. For instance: To camp == sich homosexuell-weibische gebärden. Camp-Party == wider ein Ausdruck für eine h.-s. Privatgesellschaft. Pouf == Schimpfname für einen männlichen Prostituierten.14
Simes provides a detailed commentary on Pavia’s glossary, and writes: That a glossary could be made attests to the reality of a considerable and highly developed homosexual underworld . . . It was necessarily an underworld because of the criminal status of homosexual acts . . . But it was in some respects also a demi-monde because otherwise respectable people frequented it15
Another author might have presented the same terms as a type of criminal cant, as we shall see in Chapters 10 and 11.
Arthur H. Dawson’s A Dictionary of English Slang and Colloquialisms (1913) Arthur Hawkins Dawson (b.1880) was the son of a Marylebone solicitor.16 He and his twin brother attended the Friends School in Saffron Walden, and by 1901 Arthur was living with his parents in Hampstead and working as a clerk in the civil service. He married in 1914, and an A. Hawkins Dawson is listed in London telephone directories until 1931. He may be the author of a volume called Stories from Dutch History, which also appeared in 1913. Dawson’s Dictionary appeared only four years after Ware’s Passing English, and was also published by Routledge. Ware filled in the gap between Farmer and Henley and the present, but Dawson used Farmer and Henley’s dictionary to document contemporary language. 14 Leo Pavia, ‘Die männliche Homosexualität in England mit besonderer Berücksichtigung Londons’, Jahrbuch für sexuelle Zwischenstufen (1910), 18–51. 15 Gary Simes, ‘Gay Slang Lexicography: A Brief History and a Commentary on the First Two Gay Glossaries’, Dictionaries 26 (2005), 1–159: 1. 16 There was also a painter called Arthur H. Dawson (1859–1922), but this specialist in portraits of American military heroes seems a less likely candidate for the authorship of a dictionary of British slang.
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Although he described this as ‘the best pocket-dictionary of English slang’, Partridge considered it ‘less amusing than Ware’.17 Its publication as part of ‘the Miniature Reference Library . . . A New Series of Bijou Reference Books for the Pocket, desk, or armchair . . .’18 indicates that it was intended for a wider audience. Other dictionaries in the series dealt with abbreviations, art, the Bible, Christian names, commercial terms, English literature, French argot, and historical allusions. A quotation from Eliot’s Middlemarch indicates that Dawson’s understanding of slang is a broad one: All choice of words is slang. It marks a class . . . Correct English is the slang of the prigs who write history and essays, and the strongest slang of all is the slang of poets.19
Dawson advised his readers to turn to Farmer and Henley or Ware for more detailed information, and acknowledged his debt to both: although the book comprises considerably over 6,000 entries, it might have been made several times as long had he included every specimen which came under his notice . . . it is almost impossible to draw a hard and fast line between what is Slang and what is not, [so] the opinions of any two people upon what should be included in a work of this sort are almost sure to differ.20
The dictionary contains an estimated 9600 entries for 6400 headwords. Perhaps its most striking feature is the economical use of space. It is printed in a tiny font, with only a single empty line between the end of one letter and the beginning of the next. Dashes and initial letters indicate the repetition of the headword. For instance: Irish: To get one’s I. up: to lose one’s temper, get angry. Used as an adj. generally to reverse the meaning of the thing qualified; e.g., An Irish promotion: a reduction in position. ——apricot: A potato. ——beauty: A woman with two black eyes. ——pennants: Fag ends of rope. ——rifle: A small tooth-comb. ——theatre: A military guard-room, lock-up. 17
Partridge, Slang, 115. Arthur H. Dawson, A Dictionary of English Slang and Colloquialisms (London/New York: G. Routledge & Sons/E. P. Dutton & Co., 1913), unpaginated prefatory material. 19 20 Dawson, Dictionary of English Slang, vi. Ibid., vii. 18
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In a sample of 1217 entries for 811 headwords, 28 per cent of headwords include a dash. This was not a new technique, and Dawson fell prey to some of its familiar failings21 by producing ambiguous headwords: Lag: (1) An old convict, ticket-of-leave man. (2) A long sentence. (3) Water. To be lagged: to be sentenced, imprisoned, transported. Lag-fever: Feigned sickness assumed by a convict to avoid being sent to the hulks. ——ship: A convict transport. Main-brace, To splice the: To serve out grog (q.v.): to drink. ——toby: The highway.
In these examples, the headwords should be lag-ship and maintoby, but it would be possible to misinterpret them as lagfever-ship and mainbrace-toby. Lag is presented in full in lag-ship because a page break occurs after the entry for lag. There is no entry for main. Dawson’s treatment of phrases is also impressively economical, though somewhat varied. They are usually listed by a key word: Abbey: To bring an a. to a grange; to squander. Enemy: Time; e.g., How goes the enemy? Wallah (Army): Found in many combinations signifying one who does something; e.g. Hospital w.: a hospital orderly. Kitchen-w.: a cook’s assistant, etc. See Competition-w.
Abbey defines the phrase as a whole, while wallah defines the headword in its own right. In enemy Dawson provides a definition for the headword even though it only occurs with this sense in the phrase given. Ninety per cent of Dawson’s entries are from Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues, using the original version of the first volume. Crib, quoted here without Farmer and Henley’s citations, illustrates how this source was abridged: CRIB, subs. (old).—1. The stomach. Cf., Cribbing, sense 1. [A transferred sense of crib = a manger, rack, or feeding place. Cf., Isaiah i., 3, ‘The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib.’] For synonyms, see Bread-basket and victualling office. . . .
21
See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 116, 130.
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2. (colloquial).—A house; place of abode; apartments; lodgings; shop; warehouse; ‘den,’ ‘diggings,’ or ‘snuggery.’ For synonyms, see Diggings. [From A.S., crib, or crib a small habitation.] . . . 3. (popular).—A situation, ‘place,’ or ‘berth.’ [The transition from subs., sense 2, is easy and natural.] 4. (school and University).—A literal translation surreptitiously used by students; also a theft of any kind; specifically, anything copied without acknowledgement.—[See verb., sense 2.] For synonyms, see Pony. . . . 5. (thieves’).—A bed.—[See subs., senses 2 and 3.] . . . Verb (colloquial).—1. To steal or pilfer; used specifically of petty thefts. For synonyms, see Prig. . . . 2. (school and University).—To use a translation; to cheat at an examination; to plagiarise. . . . To crack a crib.—See under Crack.
From this lengthy entry, Dawson extracted: Crib: (1) The stomach. (2) A house or place of abode. (3) A situation, berth. (4) A translation used surreptitiously by students in preparing lessons. To c.: to steal, to cheat at examinations, to plagiarise.
Dawson deleted all dates and grammatical information, and tended to omit citations, cited authorities, unattributed examples of use, etymologies, cross-references, anecdotal and encyclopaedic material, semantically related terms from English and other languages, and usage labels (all p = 0.01; compare Appendix, Tables 3.2 and 4.2). Dawson selected in favour of terms belonging to the fields of crime & punishment; commerce, money & poverty; and measurement and against those dealing with sex & prostitution (all p = 0.01; compare Appendix, Tables 3.1 and 4.2.1). Thirty-one of Dawson’s entries are in Ware’s dictionary but not Slang and its Analogues, including: Ware Queen’s weather (Soc., 1837 to end of reign). Fine sunshine—from the singular fact that through her reign the Queen almost always had fine weather when she appeared in public.
Dawson ——[Queen]-weather: Fine weather; from the fact that in Queen Victoria’s reign the weather was almost invariably fine when she appeared in public.
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Sandwich man (Street, 1860 on). The doleful, broken-down men employed at one shilling per day to carry pairs of advertisement boards, tabard-fashion, one on the unambitious chest, the other on the broken back.
Sandwich-man: A man carrying advertisements pasted on boards hung from his shoulders before and behind him.
While Queen’s-weather appears to be based on Ware’s definition, Sandwich-man is apparently defined independently. Thirty-three entries in both Passing English and Slang and its Analogues have been included in the totals for Farmer and Henley, which is undoubtedly the main source. The ninety-one entries remaining (8 per cent) for terms not listed by Farmer and Henley or Ware are in keeping with the lexicographic features and semantic distribution of those that are. Dawson’s dictionary did not make a great contribution to the documentation of contemporary slang, but his dictionary does suggest a changing attitude towards slang. This was the first British slang dictionary since Hotten’s to be designed for the mass market.
A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921) With very little introductory material, Routledge issued another abridgement of Slang and its Analogues eight years later. This was based on the revised edition of volume I alongside the unrevised volumes II–VII, and contains an estimated 30,400 entries for 14,420 headwords. In a sample of 1474 entries for 699 headwords, terms for body & health and sex & prostitution were omitted significantly more often than other terms, while terms for fools, failure & insults are significantly more likely to be included (all p = 0.01, compare Appendix, Tables 3.1 and 4.2.1). Labels indicating wide or falling usage tend to be deleted more than others, while miscellaneous labels and those indicating use at schools and universities are more often retained (all p = 0.01; compare Appendix, Tables 3.2.1 and 4.2.2). Seven volumes were radically abridged to fit into one. From the following nine entries for five headwords: CACKLE, subs. (theatrical).—1. The dialogue of a play; especially used at first, of the patter of clowns, etc., in a circus. [From the figurative usage
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of cackle, to make a noise as a hen after laying an egg, a usage traceable as far back as 1225.] . . . 2. (colloquial).—Idle, inconsequent, noisy chatter. Verb (old).—To talk idly, especially in the sense of telling secrets. For synonyms, see Peach. . . . CACKLE-CHUCKER, subs. (theatrical).—A prompter. [From cackle, the dialogue of a play, + chucker, one who throws out (from the mouth).] CACKLE-MERCHANT, subs. (theatrical).—A dramatic author. [From cackle, the dialogue of a play, + merchant. Cf., Caper-merchant, a dancing-master.] CACKLER, subs. (old).—1. A fowl. [From cackle (q.v.) + er.]—See also Cackling-cheat. . . . 2. (colloquial).—A noisy talker; a ‘blab.’—See Cackle, verb. . . . 3. (circus and showmen’s).—An actor or showman who has a speaking part. CACKLE-TUB, subs. (old).—A pulpit. [From cackle (q.v.) + tub, in allusion to the shape of old-fashioned pulpits.]. For synonyms, see Hum-box. . . .
—were extracted one headword for seven entries: Cackle. The dialogue of a play, spec. a clown’s patter: whence cackle-chucker, a prompter; cackle-merchant, a dramatist; cackler (or cackling-cove), an actor, preacher, or lecturer; cackle-tub, a pulpit. 2. Idle talk, inconsequent chatter, a short spasmodic laugh; and as verb, to talk idly, fussily, or loudly of petty things, as a hen after laying an egg: see Cackler (1676).
Although this is a dramatic reduction, most of the terms given headword status in the original are still separately defined. There is a significant decrease in the proportion of entries including citations, etymologies, cross-references, synonyms from other languages, usage labels, and grammatical information (all p = 0.01; compare Appendix, Tables 3.2 and 4.2). References to the dictionaries of Grose, B. E., and Halliwell are all retained more often than references to other authorities (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Tables 3.2.2 and 4.2.3).
Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of British Slang (1929) The fourteenth edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica included four glossaries in the entry for slang, the first of which lists approximately 160 ‘well-established slang [terms] of a general type dating from the
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eighteenth century’.22 Its acknowledged sources are B. E.’s dictionary (c.1698) and Raymond Postgate’s Murder, Piracy and Treason.23 Entries, which are disproportionately for the first half of the alphabet, include a range of ancient and modern cant, slang, and colloquial terms, including: Adam-tiler, a pickpocket’s ally. Corker, very good. Puke, to be sick; vomit. Tube, a deep level railway.
Although this list demonstrates a degree of interest in contemporary as well as ancient slang, it is an extremely cursory account.
‘U’s Slang Glossary for British Parts in Talkers’ (1929) A brief article in New York’s Variety magazine included a selection of slang terms circulated by Universal Studios to their writers with the instruction that ‘Englishmen must not use American slang but must use the British equivalent’.24 The glossary provides equivalents for eighteen American words and phrases, with varying success. It concentrates on failure & insults (24 per cent) and work (12 per cent), and begins: She gave him air—she chucked him over; beat it—clear out; burg—dorp; dicks—tecs; egg—mutt, bad egg, bad hat; fire (to discharge[ ) ]—sack, kick out; gob—tar; guy—fellow, chap, bloke; hazing—ragging; kidding—joking; nuts, cuckoo—crazy, balmy, barmy; punk—dud, rotten . . .
This short list conflates a number of registers and was intended to produce superficially convincing dialogue rather than anything like genuine usage.
22 ‘Slang’, Encyclopædia Britannica, 14th edn. (London/New York: Encyclopædia Britannica Company, 1929), XX, 767. 23 Raymond William Postgate, Murder, Piracy and Treason. A Selection of Notable English Trials (New York/London: Houghton Mifflen/Cape, 1925), which includes a glossary called ‘The City Marshal’s list of flash words’ (1718). The title and date suggest that it is based on Charles Hitchin’s The Regulator (London: T. Warner, 1718). See Coleman Cant and Slang I, 158–61. 24 ‘U’s Slang Glossary for British Parts in Talkers’, Variety 97 (20 Nov. 1929), 4.
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‘Phillips’ Rhyming Slang. A Concise Dictionary (1931/2) and the anonymous Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945) It appears that rhyming slang, like back slang, was used for concealment when first devised in the mid-nineteenth century.25 In 1933 Orwell wrote: Twenty-five or thirty years ago . . . the ‘rhyming slang’ was all the rage in London . . . It was so common that it was even reproduced in novels; now it is almost extinct.26
Orwell reckoned without the influence of pearly-costumed music-hall entertainers like Albert Chevalier and Harry Champion. The possibilities for humour gave rhyming slang the edge over back slang, and it survived as an elaborate form of wordplay and an emblem of cockney identity. Hotten had included a short glossary of rhyming slang in his dictionary, but this is the first self-contained publication dedicated to it. The British Library has two copies. One (referred to here as A) has a title page: Rhyming Slang. A Concise Dictionary. An authentic compilation by P. P. (London: Desti, 1932). The other (B) has no title page, but a title is provided in pencil ‘A Dictionary of Rhyming Slang edited by I. Phillips’. Also in pencil are the names and addresses of the publisher (I. Phillips) and of the printer (A. J. Mortimer & Co.). No date is given on B, but the British Library catalogue dates it to 1931, which may have been the date of purchase. In each case the verso is blank—only right-hand pages bear text—presumably for readers’ notes. There are only slight typographical differences between the two forewords. B has no page numbers; A includes the blank pages in its numeration. Thus only odd-numbered pages contain any text. Both editions provide an English-rhyming slang list. A also offers a rhyming slang-English glossary.
25 Leonard R. N. Ashley, ‘Rhyme and Reason: the Methods and Meaning of Cockney Rhyming Slang, Illustrated with some Proper Names and some Improper Phrases’, Names 25.3 (1977), 124–54: 125. 26 George Orwell, Down and Out in Paris and London (London: V. Gollancz, 1933), 195–6. Bradley ‘Slang’, 153, remarked that rhyming slang ‘does not seem to have had any considerable currency except in the columns of the sporting newspapers’.
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The Foreword is worth quoting at length, if only for its informal and rather combative style: There is very little doubt that Rhyming Slang originated in the East End of London, and that it first knew the light as a thieve’s [sic] jargon. But to-day it has crept into our ordinary conversation, though few people realise the fact . . . contradict me if you can. . . . Anyone can make up rhyming slang, but what we give you in the following pages is authentic stuff, understood anywhere within the sound of Bow Bells, and that’s all you want, and if you use your own stuff you’ll be made to feel the biggest fool in the world . . .27
A comment about the users of rhyming slang indicates that the compiler of this dictionary was not one of them: Much has been written about rhyming slang, and most of it utter rot, the vocabulary is very limited indeed, and for the very simple reason that the vocabulary of the people who habitually use it is about as limited as is compatible with coherence.28
The English-rhyming slang list, found in both editions, lists 135 entries, including: Bank Barrow †Bass Bed Beef †Beer
Tin tank Cock sparrow Beggar boy’s ass Skein of thread Stop thief Pigs ear
<†>, marking twenty-seven entries, refers the reader to the end of that letter of the alphabet, where an abbreviated form of the rhyming slang term is listed. For example, between the last entry for ‘B’ and the first for ‘C’ are: † Beer. The abbreviation may be used “Pigs.” † Bass ” ” ” ” ” “Beggar Boy’s.”
Also at the end of the letter ‘B’ are the following examples: Example: (1) I’m going to the “tin tank” to draw some “Oscar Ashe.” (2) All right this morning, “Oats?” 27 Rhyming Slang. A Concise Dictionary. An authentic compilation by P. P. (London: Desti, 1932), foreword, 3. All quotations are from the A-version unless otherwise indicated. 28 Ibid., 3.
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Yus, all “Sir Garnet.” ’Strewth, yer “King Death” don’t arf “Pen and Ink,” been on the “River Ouse”? not ’arf.
The compiler attempts to indicate h-dropping and London vowel sounds by respelling half as <’arf>, yes as , and your as . Non-standard don’t for doesn’t is also used to make the examples seem more genuine. Examples of rhyming slang words in use are provided for fifty-five of the headwords (41 per cent). Many of the terms included in these examples are on the same page, a few (like Sir Garnet, which is not rhyming slang) are not listed in the glossary at all. Six entries (4 per cent) are slightly expanded by the inclusion of additional information, usually to disambiguate the standard English defining term. For instance: Copper (Cop) ............................................. Fag (cigarette) ............................................. † Tout .............................................
John Hop Oily rag Salmon Trout (bookmaker)
The word-list focuses on human relationships and on essential and desirable elements of life, concentrating on body & health (18 per cent); leisure & pleasure (13 per cent); clothes & other artefacts (12 per cent); and money & poverty (10 per cent). It is followed by an untitled verse exploring many of the same issues, beginning: When pore old Jim got the “Tin tack” ’E went aht and got “Elephant’s trunk,” And when ’e got ’ome to ’is “trouble and strife” She gives ’im a biff on the bunk. Nah when ’e woke up in the morning, ’Is pore “Uncle Ned” was so sore ’E at once takes a walk to the “Rub-a-dub-dub,” After slammin’ the “Rory O’Moore.”
This is followed by information about a competition, printed on a perforated page in the A version, but squeezed in at the bottom of the glossary in B: A prize will be given by the Landlord for the best verse in Rhyming Slang submitted before Christmas. The Landlord will appoint a Committee to judge the verses and the Landlord’s decision shall be final.
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All in, run or not, best past the post pays. They’re off !!!! Attach this numbered form to your competition verse, and don’t forget to fill in your name and address.29
The rhyming slang-English list, found only in the A version, contains 136 headwords. It was apparently compiled from the Englishrhyming slang list, but includes a few terms not found there: Johnnie Rutter ...................................... Oats and barley ...................................... Peckham rye ......................................
Butter Charley Tie
The additional entries make no statistical difference to the semantic content of the list. In 194530 the London publishers, J. Langdon, produced an edition of the A version of Phillips’s rhyming slang dictionary without acknowledging the debt. This version is eighteen pages long and cost 6d. The introduction, entitled ‘England’s Merriest Slang’, is signed ‘A. D.’: Unfortunately the information available concerning the origins of rhyme (or rhyming) slang is somewhat scanty. A slang dictionary published by Chatto & Windus just over forty years ago contains a section devoted to this entertaining argot, but speaks of it as though it were mainly a product of Victorian days. So too does the excellent Dictionary of Slang edited by Eric Partridge and published by Routledge. . . . The common phrase, “I haven’t got a coal” (coal—coal-heaver—stiver—a penny) suggests that this form of slang dates back nearly two-and-a-half centuries to the days when Dutch William was King of England and stiver was a word in common use.31
The dictionary uses three columns to present information found in Phillips’s dictionary in a more accessible way: Dictionary Word Child (Kid)
Ibid., 17. The title page bears the date 1941, but this appears to be when the distribution company was formed. The New York Public Library catalogue lists 1945 as the date of publication. 31 Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (London: J. Langdon, 1945), 2. The reference to Hotten’s dictionary would provide more help in dating if it had not been reissued so many times. 30
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It provides significantly more abbreviated forms than Phillips’s list, even for entries carried over from it (both p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 4.3), and links synonymous rhyming slang terms more effectively than Phillips’s list. There are 136 new entries in the English-Rhyming slang list (59 per cent), including: Army.........................................................................................Kate Carney Fiver .........................................................................................Lady Godiva Navy .................................................................................... Soup and gravy
In comparison with the original list, there are significantly fewer new terms for body & health and significantly more for geography & travel, all for terms meaning “car” (both p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 4.3.1). Seven entries are omitted, apparently at random. Following the ‘Dictionary Word-Rhyming Slang’ list is a rhyming slang-English list, entitled ‘Cross Reference’. This too is based on Phillips’s list, but again incorporates abbreviated forms and synonyms: Rhyming Slang Dictionary Word Ave Maria (also Jeremiah and Obadiah) ...............................................Fire Barnet Fair (Barnet) .............................................................................. Hair Coalheaver (Coal) also Kilkenny ............................................ Penny (stiver)
This is a more useful method of presenting the material found in Phillips’s list, but the dictionary is not without its flaws. For example, Artful dodger “lodger” is listed both in ‘A’ and, for some reason, at the end of ‘B’. It is also listed under its standard English definition under ‘L’. The Rhyming slang-English list also includes 136 entries not found in Phillips’s list. In comparison with the original, these include significantly more terms for geography & travel and more for number & time (both p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 4.3.1). Eight entries from Phillips’s list are omitted, but without apparent semantic motivation. The two lists in this edition both provide significantly more additional information to explicate the meaning of the standard English term or the relationship between that and the Rhyming slang term than do the parallel lists in Phillips (both p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 4.3). In the English-Rhyming slang list this is largely because extra information is added to terms carried over
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from the earlier dictionary. In the Rhyming slang-English list this continues, but there is also significantly more additional information in new entries. The English-rhyming slang lists are central to these dictionaries. As the competition emphasizes, they are for the production of rhyming slang rather than for its comprehension, demonstrating that for these users rhyming slang was for fun rather than secret communication.
Eric Partridge Slang Today and Yesterday: the English list (1933) Eric Honeywood Partridge (1894–1979) was born in New Zealand, and lived also in Australia. He interrupted his studies in French and English at the University of Queensland to serve in the Australian infantry at Gallipoli and on the Western Front. Thereafter he studied, taught, and published in Britain, and later established his own press, called Scholartis.32 After it failed in 1931, Partridge earned his living as a freelance writer. Routledge commissioned Partridge to write Slang. Today and Yesterday (1933), and from it grew the work for which he is best known: his DSUE (1937). At the end of his account of the history of English slang, Partridge appended glossaries of the slang of England, America, and Australia. The Australian list is discussed in Chapter 6; the American list in Chapter 7. The English list contains approximately 3600 entries for 3330 headwords. In a sample of 1060 entries for 980 headwords, the largest semantic areas are leisure & pleasure (12 per cent); crime & punishment (10 per cent); and body & health (9 per cent). The alphabetization is almost perfect, though there is no consistency in the treatment of phrases. In the sequence bad, go to the; bad, to the; bad bargain inverted phrasal entries precede the uninverted; in the sequence Cain and Abel; Cain, to raise, alphabetical order is allowed to override this rule. Acronyms and initializations are alphabetized as words rather than presented separately at the beginning of each letter. In DSUE, Partridge was to group O.K. and O.P.H. 32 Scholartis published two of the dictionaries discussed in this volume: John Brophy and Eric Partridge’s Songs and Slang of the British Soldier (London: Scholartis, 1930) and Godfrey Irwin’s American Tramp and Underworld Slang (London: Scholartis Press, 1931).
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with other initializations and acronyms at the beginning of that letter, the practice also followed by Ware, but here they are slotted into the alphabetical sequence, so that O.K. follows ointment and O.P.H. follows Ooja-cum-pivvy. Partridge provides an indication of the date of usage for 99 per cent of his entries, significantly more than in the Australian and American lists (p = 0.01), and claims that: The indication of period of use is something of an innovation for slang. My debt, here, is mainly to Farmer and Henley, Professor Weekley, and the Shorter Oxford Dictionary: it consists almost wholly of dates and etymologies.33
Fifty-eight per cent of entries are derived from Slang and its Analogues, and only 3 per cent from the Shorter Oxford.34 Weekley’s dictionary does not generally provide definitions. It supplements information rather than providing complete entries: Weekley (1924)35 scoff 2 [slang]. To eat, “grub.” SAfr-Du., for Du. schoft, eating time, cogn. with schuiven, to shove, in ref. to spell of work. wallah [Anglo-Ind.]. Hind. –wa¯la¯, an agent. suffix. doer.
Wallah. A fellow. With English words, late C 18–20. From Hindustani. 283.
—and it is difficult to identify Partridge’s debts to Weekley with any certainty, because where etymologies were available for these terms, they are often in the Shorter Oxford too. Partridge provides etymologies for 10 per cent of the entries in the English slang list, significantly fewer than in American and Australian glossaries (p = 0.01), presumably because Farmer and Henley, his main source, tended to not provide them. Although Partridge may have combed through Slang and its Analogues to compile his list, he did not make systematic use of the other dictionaries. Had he consulted the Shorter Oxford for bait “a rest”, for example, he could have dated this sense to the sixteenth instead of the 33
Partridge, Slang, 349, n.1. C. T. Onions et al., The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Historical Principles (Oxford: Clarendon, 1933). 35 Ernest Weekley, A Concise Etymological Dictionary of Modern English (London: John Murray, 1924). 34
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nineteenth century. Similarly, he dates pay “to thrash” to the period ‘C 18–19’, although the Shorter Oxford gives 1591 as the earliest date of use. Partridge’s list also overlaps with other dictionaries that he does not acknowledge as sources: 6 per cent of entries appear to be from Dawson’s dictionary, 0.8 per cent from Ware’s Passing English, and 0.5 per cent from Barrère and Leland. Eighteen per cent of entries are listed in more than one of these sources. Fifty-eight per cent of entries that include dates indicate the year or decade of first use. These are derived either from a citation given in the source dictionary or from its date of publication: Source Deaner, The. (Oxford ’er) The Dean. The dean of a college is the ‘deaner’ or the ‘dagger’, while even this is reduced by some to ‘the dag’.—D.T., 14th August 1899. [ Ware]
Gadget . . . colloq. 1886 [Origin obsc.; orig. in nautical use.] A small tool or piece of mechanism. b. gen. An accessory or adjunct, esp. of a trivial character 1915. [ Shorter Oxford ] Kipper: (1) A jocular epithet applied indiscriminately to any one; e.g., A giddy old k. (2) (Navy) a stoker. To k. to die. [Dawson] SATURDAY-TO-MONDAY, subs. phr. (colloquial).—1. A week-end jaunt; and (2) a week-end woman. [Farmer & Henley]
Partridge (1933) Deaner. . . . Dean of a college (—1899): Oxford.36
Gadget. A small tool or mechanical fitting (—1886); a small accessory: 1914 +. (S.O.) 258.37 Kipper. A fellow: (Navy) a stoker. (—1913)
Saturday-to-Monday. A week-end woman (—1903); ob.
The remaining dated entries give the century: Marrowbones and Cleavers. In C18, lit.; in C19, fig.: music, so made, for a bridal pair by their butcher relatives and friends. See F. & H. Gawd (or God) Forbid. A “kid”, i.e., a child: C20.
36 37
‘—before a date: recorded then, but presumably in use some years earlier.’ (Partridge, Slang, 349.) ‘+ after a date: in use after that date.’ (Partridge, Slang, 349.)
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Taking these two methods of dating together, 12 per cent of dated entries are from the twentieth century, 52 per cent from the nineteenth, 12 per cent from the eighteenth, and 15 per cent from the seventeenth. Of the 147 dated entries not derived from the sources listed above, 86 per cent are dated to the twentieth century, 13 per cent to the nineteenth, and 1 per cent to the eighteenth. About threequarters of these entries had been listed in Brophy and Partridge’s Songs and Slang, first published three years earlier (see Chapter 9), though they are considerably abbreviated here: Brophy & Partridge (1st edn.) Game.—“It’s a game!” meant, “It’s absurd! There’s no sense in it.” Frequently applied to the war and to the military machine. Ragtime.—Literally, music written in syncopated time. Now superseded by jazz. The troops used ragtime as an adjective for any special form of inefficiency or absurdity, e.g. “Oh, it’s a ragtime camp, this is,” or “We’ve got a ragtime sergeant now”.
Partridge (1933) Game, It’s A. It’s absurd: G.W. +.
Ragtime. Inefficient; absurd: G.W. +.
Partridge provides usage labels for 31 per cent of his entries, significantly more than in the American and Australian lists in the same volume (p = 0.01). These are extremely varied, and often describe different phases in a word’s history: Candle, Burn the, At Both Ends. To work early and late (—1660). From ca. 1700, coll. Fix. A dilemma (—1840). In C20, coll. (Medical) to preserve. 192. Great Unwashed, The. The proletariat (—1892). In C.20 snobbish coll.
The English list has significantly more ‘low’ terms, sporting terms, and terms labelled as belonging to the armed forces than the American or Australian list. It has significantly fewer labelled as being in falling use, as ‘cant’, or belonging to students at schools or universities (all p = 0.01). Ten per cent of entries include page references for references to the text of Partridge’s book (see gadget and fix, above). These often lead
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to an example of the word in use or to a list of other words associated with it in some way. The English slang list contains significantly fewer page references than the other two lists in this volume (p = 0.01). Partridge gives general rather than specific credit to his sources. Fewer than 1 per cent of entries include a citation (significantly lower than the Australian and American glossaries, p = 0.01), and 2 per cent a named authority: Neggledigee. “A woman’s undressed gown” (Grose): C18–20.38 Vanner. A van horse (—1888). C20, coll. The O.E.D. gives as S.E.
The most commonly cited authorities are the OED, the Shorter Oxford, and ‘(my) Grose’, each of which appears three times. Shakespeare and Weekley occur twice. Although Partridge mentions Slang and its Analogues as a major source, he cites them only once within an entry in this sample (see Marrowbones and Cleavers, above). This glossary saw Partridge building on his work with Brophy and undertaking detailed historical research into slang for the first time. He clearly enjoyed the process of collating material from a variety of sources, and was pleased with the result, but found that modern slang was not well documented. The DSUE undoubtedly came into being as a result of this preliminary work.
Conclusions Slang lexicography conducted in Britain during this period was predominantly historical. As the Victorian period progressed, there developed a sense that everything was changing faster than ever before. The present was felt to be a departure from the past rather than a continuation of it.39 Looking back to the nineteenth from the early years of the twentieth century, let alone the inter-war period, the discontinuity between the past and present was even more apparent. Change was not necessarily for the better: Britain was in decline as a world power, and the new Commonwealth countries were not always as biddable as had been expected. There were also threats to
38 39
Partridge may have picked up this reference to Grose from Farmer and Henley. Altick, The Presence of the Present, 7–9.
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the Empire from within Britain, particularly in the shape of men and women who refused to conform to their proper gender roles. There was some interest in contemporary British slang, however. American English and its slang were now distinct enough from their British equivalents that mutual explanation was required. Although glossaries of American slang for British audiences were considerably more common (see Chapter 7), American commentators did remark on contemporary British usage: Today even Charles Dickens, were he to step from a Putney Green bus, would find the most casual public-house conversation distressingly over his head . . . Remember, in piecing together the small talk, that the master of the house is “old pot and pan”; the mater “muffer” and “skin and blister” simply a fellow’s sister. “The Duke of Kent” is house rent, and to inspect the second story you must climb the “wooden mountains.” . . .40
Rhyming slang encapsulated a particular image of the British urban working classes and captured the imagination of those who heard it, both at home and abroad, particularly during the First World War. Despite hardship, rhyming slang provided an outlet for irreverent humour and was to be disproportionately represented among dictionaries of British slang for many years to come.41 Of the glossaries discussed in this chapter, Dawson’s and Partridge’s are the only ones that offer even a limited insider-perspective, and that only in the relatively few entries that are original. The other glossaries are all distanced by time, geography, or social class from the language they document. The tendency towards nostalgia is even more marked in the British dictionaries of school and college slang discussed in the next chapter.
40 41
‘When London Uses Slang’, New York Times (5 Feb. 1928), V, 21. See Coleman, Cant and Slang, IV.
Five: British School and University Glossaries Glossaries from a variety of public and private schools are discussed in this chapter. The public schools had traditionally educated the sons of the upper classes in a narrow classical curriculum. This was felt to develop the mind without sullying it with practical knowledge. The boys governed themselves in many respects: there were too few teachers to offer much more than the occasional flogging by way of guidance. Prefects and the fagging system were considered useful methods for developing leadership, obedience, and responsibility for others. Close supervision by adults was regarded as a suspiciously continental system that failed to develop boys’ self-reliance and sense of honour. Under the influence of Thomas Arnold, Rugby School had already begun to make changes, particularly in the development of religious instruction, and these were disseminated to a wide audience by Hughes’s Tom Brown’s Schooldays.1 There was considerable scope for abuse by masters and older boys in many schools, and the Clarendon Commission report (1864) recommended but could not enforce reforms. Pressure came from parents too, and from the media, both for conserving traditions and in favour of reform.2 A classical education did not equip applicants for the newly introduced professional examinations. Affluent middle-class parents who aspired to send their boys to the ancient public schools were alarmed by tales of debauchery and extravagance, and demanded stricter supervision. Unlanded families had a greater need for education in mathematics, science, and modern languages. At the same time, if the aristocratic associations of the public schools were to rub off on their pupils, some traditions had to be retained. During the second half of the nineteenth century, British public schools generally 1
Thomas Hughes, Tom Brown’s Schooldays (Cambridge: Macmillan, 1857). Pupils at the schools were often among the most vocal conservatives. Reforms had a tendency to curb their freedom and attempts to impose them were met with disobedience and open rebellion (see John Chandos, Boys Together. English Public Schools 1800–1864 (London: Hutchinson, 1984), 173–95). 2
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reformed their curricula and traditions, placing a new emphasis on developing the boys’ characters through team sports and moral teaching. The Public Schools Act (1868) established boards of governors for nine public schools,3 in an attempt to reduce corruption amongst the staff, but personal and collective responsibility among the boys was largely retained. The maintenance of Empire was dependent upon a steady supply of adventurous young idealists: A generation of university teachers, schoolmasters, clergymen, poets, journalists and boys’ fiction writers concentrated their minds and energies on popularizing the cult of the new imperialism. At its heart lay the concept of ‘Anglo-Saxon manhood’, an abstraction compounded in equal parts of patriotism, physical toughness, skill at team games, a sense of fair play . . . self-discipline, selflessness, bravery and daring. . . . The end product was a Christian gentleman with a stunted imagination, who played by the rules and whose highest aim was to serve others.4
Many of these public schoolboys went on to university, traditionally Oxford or Cambridge, but by 1859 they could also study in London and Manchester, among other institutions, where religious freedom, civic ideals, and a wider and more practical range of subjects were promoted.5 During this period, higher education became increasingly accessible and relevant to the sons of professionals and businessmen. Moreover, the University of Oxford began to admit female students in 1878, though it did not award them degrees until 1920. Cambridge admitted women after 1869, and even allowed them to sit examinations, but did not actually award degrees to women until 1947. The University of London claims the first female graduates in England, in 1880. Like the public schools, universities were changing, and perhaps even more dramatically. It is only natural that their inhabitants would seek to document these changes. 3 These were Eton, Harrow, Rugby, Winchester, Westminster, Shrewsbury, Charterhouse, St Paul’s, and Merchant Taylors’. The list was to grow in later Acts. 4 Lawrence James, The Rise and Fall of the British Empire (New York: St. Martin’s, 1994), 206–7. Other sources for this section are Best, Mid-Victorian Britain, 183–4; and Dodd’s ‘Englishness and the National Culture’, in Colls and Dodd, Englishness, 3–4. 5 Many other universities were established during this period, and several claim the prize for third earliest foundation. The educational system in Scotland was already much further advanced, particularly in science and medicine.
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Although many had been set up as charitable institutions to provide education to the deserving poor, hence the name, public schools generally found paying pupils more rewarding and were by this period beyond the means of all but the wealthiest families.6 More affordable private and minor public schools also took boys as day-boys or boarders. The boarding and grammar schools aimed to produce young men capable of going on to further study where necessary, and of earning a living in various respectable professions, like law, medicine, and the civil service. These professions, along with the church and the army, which had long operated on patronage and commission, had begun instead to impose entrance requirements and examinations in order to ensure appointment by merit, potentially opening them up to any educated young man. Some professions even admitted a small number of women. There were also schools that eschewed the traditional emphasis on classical languages, and focused instead on practical subjects like science, and a few of these are also represented in this chapter, though the earliest glossaries are all from long-established public schools with a strong sense that their own peculiar traditions were under threat.
Guide to Eton (1860 and 1861) Eton College was founded in 1440 by Henry VI to prepare poor scholars and a small number of fee-payers to enter the church. The value of the scholarships inevitably diminished and, by the time this Guide was published, Eton was educating only the sons of the wealthy. This anonymous volume contains a number of poems, many of them acrostic, and most not very good. The ‘Glossary of Eton words, or words which though not solely, are commonly used at Eton’ was included for the benefit of posterity and: also to save new Boys from being laughed at for ignorance of what they cannot by inspiration possibly know, and an inquiry into the meaning of which might subject “the new Boy” to an explosive shout of derision, which materially adds to his distresses . . .7 6 Many schools stopped offering free places to the poor at around this time, arguing that the traditional curriculum did not fit them for their role in life. 7 Guide to Eton. Eton Alphabet, Eton Block, Eton Glossary, &c., &c., &c. (London/Eton/Manchester: Simpkin, Marshall, & Co./Ingalton & Drake/Simms, 1860), 11.
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The glossary consists of sixty-seven imperfectly alphabetized headwords with definitions varying considerably in length: Funk. s. & v. Fear. To fear. Fag. Fagging.
Fag, a Lower Boy who performs some trifling offices for an Upper Boy, such as laying his breakfast or tea; sometimes (but uncommonly, as it is against the Rules,) lighting his fire. Upper Boys are sometimes mean enough to send Lower Boys to the tobacconist, which is a certain flogging if the boy is caught. The gentlemen of the fifth Form would not do this. In former days, and not many years since, Boys could be fagged at Cricket; but this has most properly been put down. Fagging is the remains of the old feudal idea. The Fag performing any small offices of which he is capable for his master, who on his side is bound to protect and assist his Fag, saving him from being bullied, reproving and advising him, should reproof and advice be needful. I have known an Upper Boy write home to his Fag’s parents, should he think it for the boy’s good; and I have known a boy removed in consequence. A Fag’s “master” may have great influence for good or bad on the Fag, and is most culpably responsible if he does not use it for good. They should be most careful that attendance on themselves should not interfere with the Fag’s meals or lessons. The glossary is followed by general advice and information for new boys and their parents. In a section entitled ‘A Word to Mammas’, reassurance is offered about behaviour at the school: I have heard of Mammas taking fright at what they may have heard of swearing, drinking, smoking, &c., amongst some of the Boys at Eton; there is no doubt that amongst seven hundred or eight hundred Boys there must be a percentage of devils; but . . . I believe our Public school system of English education, and the comparative freedom from the constant supervision, meddling, and espionage that exists in most foreign schools, is a great and important item in what makes England great, glorious, and free, and gives the Eton Boy that self-reliance which teaches him, in after life, “aequam, rebus in arduis servare mentem.”8 8 Guide to Eton (1860), 34–5. Horace, misquoted here, advised ‘remember to keep a clear mind when attempting difficult tasks’.
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The 1861 edition of the guide9 has much the same content as the first. The glossary has seventy headwords, with the few additional entries including: Booby Trap A jug of water or a book put over a partly opened door, so that the new boy on entering his room gets ducked, or the book falls upon him—one of the welcomes to Eton. To Toodle Toodling Sticks. To Toodle is for a party of Boys, on each side of a hedge, to tire down a bird, and knock it on the head with toodling sticks, short sticks armed with lead at the end. An excuse for a good run.
A few first edition entries are deleted, including one that might have alarmed anxious mammas: College Licking. Never do anything mean or unfair, and you will never know practically what this means. It is the punishment of Boys by their fellows, not by the Masters. The punishment is as severe as it is deserved and answers to what in the Army used to be called Booting.
Only one existing entry is changed: Guide to Eton (1860) Long Room. Where all the Collegers used to sleep; but there is now additional room provided.
Guide to Eton (1861) Long Chamber Where all the Collegers used to sleep; but there are now additional rooms provided.
This amendment corrects the headword and improves the definition slightly. Long Chamber had become notorious for the behaviour of its entirely unsupervised inhabitants.
Robert Blachford Mansfield’s School Life at Winchester College (1866) Winchester College was founded in 1382, by William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor to Richard II, who also 9 Guide to Eton. Eton Alphabet, Eton Block, Eton Glossary, &c., &c., &c. (London/ Manchester: Whittaker/ Edwin Slater, 1861).
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established scholarships for poor boys. By the nineteenth century, the growing numbers of paying pupils were required to board at the college. By the middle of the century, after Mansfield’s time, a tradition had developed of examining new boys’ knowledge of Winchester customs and language, called the Notions. Mansfield was born in Hampshire in 1824, to a solidly respectable family. His ‘five undistinguished years’10 at Winchester were followed by a degree at Oxford and a rather dilatory career as a barrister. His main interests were sporting, and family wealth allowed him to indulge them. School Life at Winchester College was his first publication, but he also produced a series of accounts of his rowing trips in Europe, and edited posthumous works by his brother and cousin. School Life was published by Hotten11 and, having been unable to supervise the proofs, Mansfield was not entirely impressed with the results: The little cuts inserted in the glossary would have been more effective if the artist . . . had ever seen a Winchester College boy in his peculiar costume.12
He also comments on the peculiarities of Winchester language: The Winchester slang is very peculiar and expressive, and I confess that I regard it with much affection. Some of the words can hardly be expressed in English without considerable periphrasis . . . Besides the slang, there are other peculiarities in the language. The definite article is never used in connection with any of the institutions, buildings, or localities connected with College . . .13
Mansfield remarks on the difficulty of documenting an oral and changing language, but asserts that ‘on the whole, it is believed this Glossary will be found pretty nearly correct for the period . . . 1834–40’.14 To check the reliability of his ‘Glossary of Words, Phrases, and Customs, peculiar to Winchester College’, Mansfield consulted a 10 This quotation and all biographical information from DNB. Note that he sometimes spelt his middle name . 11 Hotten advertised two other school slang dictionaries as works in preparation during the 1960s: Winchester Words and Phrases and The School and College Slang of England, but neither reached publication. 12 13 14 Mansfield, School Life, x. Ibid., 47. Ibid., 197–8.
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Mr Algernon Simeon of Christ Church, Oxford, who had attended the school more recently.15 The glossary includes approximately 250 headwords, many of which assume an alphabetical reading of the list. For instance: BEEVER-TIME—A quarter of an hour’s relaxation allowed to boys in the middle of afternoon school in summer, to give them an opportunity of disposing of BEEVERS—A portion of bread and allowance of beer laid out in hall at the time above mentioned; from the French boire, buveur. GAGS—Slang name for GATHERINGS—Criticisms on some Greek or Latin author, written in Latin by Sixth Book and Senior Part, eight times in the year. In the other Parts an analysis of some history, in English, was so called.
Cross-references and the use of specialist vocabulary, particularly in those entries dealing with the customs of the school, indicate that the list is intended for fellow old boys rather than for those wanting to learn about the customs of the college: CANDLEKEEPERS—The seven Inferiors (v. inf.) who had been in College the longest time. They were excused from all fagging, though if there was an absolute dearth of Juniors, Præfects in full power had (though they rarely exercised it) the right to fag them. They were allowed a Breakfast fag in Hall, and a Valet (v. inf.) in Chambers; and the Senior Candlekeeper had the power of fagging the twenty Juniors on the School side of Seventh Chamber Passage Gate.
These readers might also recall with nostalgia some more informal customs: FINJY—When some one of a number of boys had something unpleasant to do, he who said “Finjy” last had to do it. PLEDGE YOU—An expression used when a boy wished to secure the next turn at anything which was in the use, enjoyment, or occupation of another, such as the next drink from a bob of beer, the next read of a newspaper, or the next occupation of a seat.
Entries are generally in the past tense, and although those cited so far are fairly lengthy, Mansfield could also be very concise: 15 This is, presumably, the individual who later became warden of St Edward’s School in Oxford, founded to further the teachings of the high-Anglican Oxford Movement.
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FURKED—To be expelled. HOLLIS—An oval pebble. SCADGER—A Ruffian.
As in the Eton Guide glossary, education plays only a small part in the contents of this list.
William Blanch’s The Blue-Coat Boys (1877) Christ’s Hospital was founded by Edward VI in 1552 for the education of poor children, girls as well as boys. Whether it was better endowed or its funds were more shrewdly invested, Christ’s Hospital has remained truer to its original mission of educating the children of the poor than many similar foundations, and fees still vary according to means. It is generally classed as a boarding- rather than public school. By the middle of the nineteenth century, girls and younger boys were based at a site in Hertford, and older boys in London. William Harnett Blanch (c.1837–1900) was born at sea during his parents’ emigration to Australia. Both gun-makers, they died in an accident when William was two. He later returned to England to attend Christ’s Hospital and was apprenticed to his uncle. After finishing his apprenticeship, Blanch founded his own gun-making business in Liverpool. By 1871 he was living in Camberwell in London and working as assistant overseer of the poor for the parish of St Giles. He was still employed in parish work in Camberwell in 1891, but his death was registered in Gravesend, Kent.16 In addition to The Blue-Coat Boys, Blanch also published an account of the lives of famous and successful students from Christ’s Hospital, a history of Dulwich College, another independent boarding school for boys, and a history of the parish of Camberwell. This volume is an account of ‘the happiest eight years of my life’,17 from 1843–51, apparently published in response to unfavourable newspaper coverage of a boy’s suicide at the school.18 Chapter XII 16 Biographical information from Toby Barclay’s John Blanch & Son. Gunmakers, , supplemented by and checked against census material. 17 William Harnett Blanch, The Blue-Coat Boys, or School Life in Christ’s Hospital (London: E. W. Allen, 1877), xiv. 18 For information about ‘the sad end of poor little William Arthur Gibbs’ (Blanch, Blue-Coat Boys, xiii), see The Christ’s Hospital Inquiry Commission Report, .
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considers ‘School slang and literature’, and appears to anticipate a lengthy slang glossary: Christ’s Hospital rejoices in a rare and extensive vocabulary of slang. Every public school has words peculiar to itself, but the scholars of Christ’s Hospital can point to a magnificent collection of indigenous jargon which bristles at every point with etymological nuts, hard enough to puzzle the most profound scholar . . . and extensive enough to make up a small dictionary. . . . The comparative isolation which has always distinguished Christ’s Hospital has favoured the accumulation, or rather the retention of characteristic words; and now that it is gradually emerging into the outside world, these are necessarily dropping away.19
There are, however, only forty-five headwords in the list, some of which were restricted to one of the school’s two sites: Crug, subst. A corruption probably of crust, in which sense it is used at Hertford. At London, however, it is used for crumb and crust alike. . . . Titch, verb and subst. A flogging. Hertford word.
Blanch often illustrates the use of his terms with examples of use and frequently suggests etymologies: Fudge, verb, trans. or intrans. To prompt a fellow in class, or prompt oneself in class artificially. Thence to tell; e.g., “Fudge me what time it is.” Wooston, adv. (Such is the spelling we have seen in a book: it is open to correction); pronounced wissent. Very. “Wooston a jolly fellow.” “A wooston jolly fellow.” “I am wooston chaffy.” One ingenious person has suggested “wasn’t it?” as the derivation of this remarkable word, used in the first sense, and then applied to the others. It may be or it may not. We should say it may not. Another proposes “worse then,” originally used with bad words. But according to the recent researches of the Rev. J. Guillemard, once a Grecian here, it is a corruption of the old and not refined Shakesperian word whoreson.
He remarks that many of the words listed were more common at the Hertford than the London site, and that in London they tended to be confined to the school’s lower classes: ‘The vulgar are always the most conservative’.20 19 20
Blanch, Blue-Coat Boys, 95–6 Ibid., 99.
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George Nugent-Bankes’s A Day of My Life (1877) George Nugent-Bankes (c.1860–1935) was born into a wealthy family of London barristers. He attended Eton and King’s College, Cambridge. This volume was a rather precocious start to a writing career that included autobiographical books about life at Eton and Cambridge, and an account of a journey across Europe. His Leading Insurance Men of the British Empire must surely have been a best-seller. A Day of My Life begins: The intending reader need not take up my book expecting to hear of “hairbreadth ’scapes and exciting adventures,” which books about school always seem to me to be full of . . . If there are any expressions that may shock the gentle reader, let him or her shut it up. It is written by a boy, about a boy’s thoughts. What can be in it, then, but a boy’s expressions? And then there is nothing absolutely immoral in it, nothing but a little school-slang.21
Despite an apology for any ‘unintentional likeness’, Nugent-Bankes provides vivid portraits of his contemporaries and masters along with a detailed account of the activities of a single day.22 Chapter 1 begins: Six o’clock. My first impressions are of a dreamy and vague character. I am conscious from a feeling in the tip of my nose, the only portion of me above the bed-clothes, that it is inclined to be cold. I lie and try to collect my thoughts. . . . Jenson has discovered that I usually wake an hour too early, to enjoy the luxury of going to sleep again, and so gets me to call him, “to do such a lot of sap,* you know,” he says. * See Explanatory Chapter.23
The text consists largely of humorous complaints about the inconveniences of life in general, particularly the poor time-keeping of his friend Palley, the unaccountable severity of his teachers, and the incompetence of fags, tradespeople, and servants. The volume ends as the narrator drifts off to sleep. The glossary appears to have been an afterthought: I have heard some people state it as their opinion, that there are a good many expressions in this book that are very difficult to be understood
21 George Nugent-Bankes, A Day of My Life (New York: George R. Lockwood, 1877), ‘Preface’, iii–iv. 22 23 Ibid., iv. Ibid., 1, 3.
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by any one who is not well up in Eton manners and customs, and so I consider it to be my duty to explain some of these. I will therefore take such as appear to me to require it in alphabetical order and expound their meaning.24
Following the glossary, Nugent-Bankes comments that it was harder to write than the whole of the rest of the book, and that he is glad to have finished it. It contains twenty-six headwords, including four describing local shops. For instance: Atkins is a family grocer of great repute at Eton. At his shop one can get almost any kind of potted viand, or any sort of jam that exists. (No charge for advertisements.) Dick Merrick is a regular Eton institution. He is a watchmaker and jeweller, but is chiefly made use of to gossip to. In case I should appear to have damaged his character in this book, I hereby make all the amends in my power, by certifying that he has mended my watch once and it has been constantly going ever since—(to Dick Merrick’s).
Other entries explain the oddities of Eton schooling and explicate words used in sport. The glossary is characterized by jocularity rather than clarity: Rouge, a football term, used to express an advantage gained by one side over the other. It is obtained by touching the ball where it lies behind the enemy’s quarters. It may eventually lead to a goal, but the rules are too complicated for me to explain. Staying out is what we do when we are ill, that is, we stay in doors. The reason that it is so called is, really, I suppose, because we stay out of school.
Nugent-Bankes’s Eton is carefree and its boys confident and aristocratic. He depicts the educational aspects of school life as distractions from the much more important activities of sport, eating, and shopping.
Henry Adams’s Wykehamica (1878) Henry Cadwallader Adams (1817–99) was born in London, the son of an assistant judge. He attended Westminster and Winchester schools and went on to Oxford. He spent seven years as a master 24
Ibid., 179.
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at Winchester and was then ordained into the Church of England. A ‘prolific writer . . . [of] religious commentaries, Greek and Latin grammars, school stories, and historical tales . . . [he was also] a passable poet’.25 Adams includes an anecdote about a lady who took a group of Winchester boys to lunch: “. . . I couldn’t understand at least half of what they said . . . They told me that young S—couldn’t come. He had been shuffling continent; and he and others been furked abroad, for shirking out. The whole pitch up had had their names ordered; but as to-day was a remedy, they wouldn’t be bibled till to-morrow!” The above information, I have no doubt, was given perfectly bonâ fide, with no intention of mystifying the lady; and it was a fair specimen of their ordinary talk.26
Like his predecessors, Adams comments on the difficulty of documenting a language ‘so liable to continual flux and change.’27 The glossary contains 199 entries for 192 headwords, almost half including attempts at etymology: Raymonder, a ball bowled underhand, in a series of hops along the ground, (traditionally said to, be derived from one Raymond, who bowled after this fashion). Sometimes it was pronounced “ramroder.”28 Splice, “to throw,” “to sling.” (Possibly the bringing together of the two ends of a sling was thought to bear some likeness to the process of splicing proper: otherwise this word also is a puzzle.)
About a fifth of entries include encyclopaedic and anecdotal information, often about school customs and traditions: Apple-pie day, the name given to the Thursday in sealing-week, when there were apple-pies for dinner in College. On this day Six-and-Six was usually played. It was the first Thursday after the first Tuesday in December. Settler, “a crushing retort.” Boys were extremely fond of this mode of putting others down; and traditional “settlers” were handed down for the admiration of posterity. Thus . . . in one of the verbal duels, which were wont to take place between College-boys and Commoners—the 25
Quotation and biographical information from DNB. Henry Cadwallader Adams, Wykehamica. A History of Winchester College and Commoners, from the Foundation to the Present Day (Oxford/London: James Parker, 1878), 414. 27 28 Ibid., 414. OED prefers ramrod. 26
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time being shortly after the completion of “New Commoners”—the Commoner junior is reported to have assailed his opponent with the usual το′ πος, “well, charity boy!” but to have received the crushing “settler,” “well, wurkus!” . . .
Adams inevitably includes some of the same terms as Mansfield, but clearly defined them independently, and thus provides additional evidence of their continued use: Mansfield (1866) NAIL, TO STAND UP UNDER THE—The punishment inflicted on a boy detected in a lie; he was ordered to stand up on Junior Row, (v. inf.,) just under the centre sconce, during the whole of school time. At the close of it he received a “Bibler,” (v. sup.)
Adams (1878) Nail, the central sconce at the east and west ends of the school were so-called. A boy who had committed some unusually disgraceful offence, was placed there during school, previously to being “bibled.”
Charles Pascoe’s Everyday Life in Our Public Schools (1881) Charles Eyre Pascoe (born c.1842) was the son of a captain in the Royal Marines. By 1881 he had settled in London, and was describing himself as a ‘Retired Civil Servant’ and ‘Author’. His ‘Literary Pursuits’29 included books on royal history, London, Dickens, the stage, girls’ schools, licensing laws, the civil service, the professions, and various travel guides. His last publication was in 1912. Everyday Life in Our Public Schools is a collection of accounts of school life apparently written for this volume by ex-pupils of Eton, Winchester, Westminster, Shrewsbury, Rugby, Harrow, and Charterhouse. It appears to be intended for parents choosing a school and for boys wanting to know what awaited them, and thus provides a more balanced account than those discussed so far.30 Pascoe added introductory historical matter for each school and additional historical accounts of St Paul’s, Merchant Taylors’, and Christ’s Hospital. 29
This is the occupation given on his 1901 census return. Edward C. Mack, Public Schools and British Opinion Since 1860. The Relationship Between Contemporary Ideas and the Evolution of an English Institution (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1971), 138–9. 30
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Many terms are used and some explained in the text, as in this example from Harrow: On the appointed evening in the Christmas term, the whole house assembles in pupil-room . . . all the “fezzes” (viz., football eleven) sit in state, in red dressing-gowns, on a bench placed in front of the table. . . . Every one present has in turn to sing a song, standing in a somewhat perilous position on the table, with a candlestick in each hand, and an officer armed with a toasting-fork ready on the right, and another with a racquet to the left. If the singer show any hesitation, or refuse to sing out properly, he is unmercifully “progged” by the two officials. . . . The general result of the entertainment is a good deal of fun, and some slight damage to the trousers.31
The appended ‘Glossary of words, not otherwise explained in the foregoing pages, in common use in our public schools’ contains 186 entries for 165 headwords, all labelled by school: Apple-pie Day, Win.—The name give to the first Thursday after the first Tuesday in December, when the Scholars have apple-pie for dinner. Ducker, Har.—Corruption of “Duck-puddle,” the old name for the school bathing-place at Harrow. Hook-on, Rug.—To take a boy’s arm in walking—a custom universal at Rugby.
Winchester, Harrow, and Charterhouse between them account for over two thirds of Pascoe’s entries. Although there are overlaps in coverage between this and earlier glossaries, there is no compelling evidence that he used any of them as a source.32 It is not impossible that he compiled the list while he was reading about the schools included in his book.
Jamieson Baillie’s Walter Crighton (1890) In 1624, George Heriot, jeweller and goldsmith to James VI of Scotland (James I of England) left a substantial sum in his will to establish a school 31 ‘Harrow: The School Life’ by M. J. Rendall, Head of the School, Harrow, 209–20 in Charles Eyre Pascoe, Everyday Life in Our Public Schools (London: Griffith and Farran, 1881), 213–14. 32 Apple-pie day could conceivably be from Adams’s entry, quoted above, but few entries are even this similar.
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for orphans and sons of freemen. The school began to charge fees in the 1880s. Walter Crighton is a fictional account of the experiences of a typical boy at ‘one of the oldest and perhaps one of the most famous schools of its kind in Scotland’.33 The words in the glossary ‘were used invariably by the boys in the Hospital. To substitute any other expression was enough to put any boy out of caste’.34 The list contains 195 entries for 188 headwords, including only one lengthy definition: Trash—Odds and ends of all and sundry curiosities. (Some pieces of trash were always about the place and were bought and exchanged, just as the antiquarian does with his relics. The possession of certain well-known pieces brought their possessors into note in our Commonwealth.)
The rest are much briefer: Hawker—One who was not a Herioter, an outsider. Muckle chields—seven eldest boys (old). Roux—To win all a boy’s marbles from him. Stabido—(stappit-nose) one who speaks with a nasal twang. Thrym—Threepence.
Like many lexicographers of school slang, Baillie considered that he was recording something that was ‘slipping away’.35 The Scottish National Dictionary cites Walter Crighton several times, suggesting that although fictional, it probably is a reliable account of local usage.
Robert Wrench’s Winchester Word-Book (1891 and 1901) Robert George Kensington Wrench (c.1843–1913) was born in Camberwell, Surrey, the son of a seed-merchant. He appears to have been educated at home, but was a teacher of modern languages at Winchester College by 1881, and remained there for at least twenty years. His death was registered in Winchester. Wrench comments on the oddness of a school preserving ancient English words that have become obsolete in the outside world, but is dismissive of earlier attempts to discover their origins:
33 Jamieson Baillie, Walter Crighton, or, Reminiscences of George Heriot’s Hospital (Edinburgh: Livingstone, 1890), x. 34 35 Ibid., 283. Ibid., 286.
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The Glossaries hitherto published have done these words scant justice; and in assuming that an imbecile Wykehamical ancestry composed them by spelling words backwards, or by choosing a word at random out of the Classics, have relegated them to the position of nonsense.36
Two editions were published, ten years apart, each glossary containing approximately 250 headwords.37 Some include several lengthy quotations, and thus those that are brief enough to quote here are not entirely representative. In the second edition, Wrench noted that ‘I have specially to thank Mr. A. F. Leach, to whose able researches are due all the valuable quotations’.38 Either Wrench or Leach consulted a number of dialect dictionaries to fill out the information in the original list. An asterisk indicates a word of unknown etymology: First edition (1891) DEAD. Utterly.
Second edition (1901) DEAD. Utterly.
In extensive use as an intensifying adverb: dead-brum, dead-croppled, etc.
In extensive use as an intensifying adverb: dead-brum, dead-croppled, etc. Dead, exceeding, very. North.
GLOPE*. To spit. (Obs.)
GLOPE*. To spit. (obs.) Cf. gloup, to gulp, swallow.
Hal.
E.D.Dict.
There are also some minor typographical changes (see glope, above) and a great many additional illustrative citations. New entries are also added, including: LAVENDER MEADS. The washerwoman’s meads. Lavender is the M.E. form of laundress. PARADISE. A small garden, as in “Paradise Lost” and “Paradise Regained.” The former is marked “Paradise” in the old maps.
Two entries from the first edition are deleted in the second: BIDDY. A bath in College. HUSKY. Gooseberry fool with the husks in it. (Obs.)
36 37 38
Robert George Wrench, Winchester Word-Book, 2nd edn. (Winchester: P&G Wells, 1901), vi–vii. Robert George Wrench, Winchester Word-Book (Winchester/London: J. Well/D. Nutt, 1891). Wrench, Winchester Word-Book, 2nd edn., vii
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In neither case is the reason for the deletion clear. Neither is listed in the OED, so they may never have been widely used.
John Stephen Farmer’s Public School Word-Book (1900) Farmer (see Chapter 3) published this book of public-school slang while he was part way through Slang and its Analogues. He explained the need for such a work: It has been a matter of note and, maybe of surprise that no attempt has hitherto been made to gather in one volume the numerous Words, Phrases, and Turns of Expression peculiar to Our Great Public Schools. Bare lists of a dozen or more examples may be found in certain (mostly out-of-date) Records and Histories; but taking the Schools individually, only in one instance—Winchester—has there been anything but the most perfunctory attention given to the subject; and in no case has the question received that analytical, scientific treatment—historically and comparatively—which has proved so invaluable in the “Oxford Dictionary” and in “Slang and its Analogues.”39
He denied that this dictionary was merely excerpted from the larger one, and asserted that only a few of the terms listed in it were to be found elsewhere. There are approximately 2350 entries for 2100 headwords in the main list and about 240 entries for 230 headwords in the appendix. Based on a sample of 922 entries for 825 headwords from the main list, and 70 entries for 65 headwords from the appendix, the dictionary concentrates on sport (17 per cent); geography & travel (11 per cent, largely concerning the geography of the school and surrounding area); and lessons & learning (9 per cent). There are no statistically significant differences between the semantic coverage of the main list and the appendix. Ninety-six per cent of headwords include a usage label: Abber, subs. (Harrow).—1. An abstract: on history, &c.; set as a punishment. 2. An absit (q.v.): on whole holidays, or under medical advice. Vaseline, subs. (Royal Military Academy).—Butter. 39
Farmer, Public School Word-Book, v.
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Fourteen per cent of entries are labelled as obsolete: terms from Durham40 and the Royal High School, Edinburgh, significantly more often than terms from other schools (both p = 0.01). All but three of the headwords without a usage label are empty cross-references, though seventy empty cross-references do include labels (see nomenclature). Empty cross-references are significantly less likely to include grammatical information or usage labels than entries also providing definitions (all p = 0.01): Nomenclature (Harrow).—See Upper School. Ragged Soph, See Soph.
Ninety-four per cent of headwords that provide a definition also include the part of speech. Twenty-nine per cent of entries provide a citation (e.g. rag), and a further 3 per cent name but do not cite an authority (e.g. bostruchyzer). Two per cent include an unattributed quotation (e.g. match): Bostruchyzer, subs. (Oxford: obsolete).—A small comb for curling the whiskers.—Hotten.41 Match, subs. (Stonyhurst).—A division in which the boys play: e.g. “I’m in the third match.” “This is the second match ground.” “He’s a first match bowler.” Rag, subs. (University).—1. An undergraduate’s gown. 1899. Answers, 14th Jan., 1.1. This matter of the rag is hedged about with many unwritten laws. One who has mastered these will never go to breakfast in another man’s rooms in cap and gown. . . . Nor will he wear the rag in the theatre, which is strictly barred.
2. A jollification. 1900. Daily Mail, 10th Mar., 2.4. There was keen excitement at Cambridge yesterday when the magistrates proceeded to deal with the last two prosecutions of students arising out of the notorious rag in celebration of the relief of Ladysmith.
From the letter ‘N’ onwards, significantly fewer entries include a citation or quotation (p = 0.01). The most frequently mentioned authority (11 per cent) is Mansfield’s School-Life at Winchester College. Where dates 40 Farmer includes terms both from Durham Grammar School and Durham University, using ‘Durham’ for both. 41 Farmer and Henley have ‘A small kind of comb for curling the whiskers.—Hotten. Obsolete.’ Match is not listed. Both senses of rag are included with the same citations, but under more general definitions.
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are included, only 24 per cent predate 1800; 51 per cent are from 1850 onwards. Farmer was clearly interested in contemporary usage: No wonder our Mother-tongue is so vigorous, adaptable, and expansive—reaching out in its creative energy to all the forms and necessities of modern life—when even Young England shows such aptitude in coining new expressions, and adapting older forms to its ever-changing (and, shall I say, ever-increasing) needs.42
Twenty-three per cent of entries include cross-references, and a further 11 per cent of entries are empty cross-references. Taken together, almost a quarter of entries in this dictionary direct the user on to another entry for further information. Another 8 per cent leave the task of definition to their citations. For example: Bags’-stile, subs. (Rugby).—See quot. 1867. Collins, The Public Schools, 363. On the Danchurch Road there was a stile long known as bags’ stile; here a certain set of boys, of whom Lyttelton was one [c. 1793], used to sit and “chaff” the passing “bagsmen”—for the commercial travellers to Rugby then rode with actual saddle-bags; and this practice led to terrible fights occasionally with the aggrieved riders.
Piggin, subs. (Christ’s Hospital).—See quot. 1798. “Christ’s Hospital Three Quarters of a Century Ago” [Chelmsford Chronicle (1875), Ap. 16]. Beer we had certainly served out in wooden vessels of an extraordinary shape, called piggins; about six of them for four boys to drink out of, but such beer! The piggins were seldom replenished, for we could not drink it.
Since 11 per cent of entries include compounds and derivatives, the dictionary lists significantly more terms than an estimate of the number of entries suggests. For example: Egg (or Egg-up), verb (Marlborough).—To show ostentatious zeal. Whence egger (subs.) and eggy (adj.). Roker, subs. (Winchester).—A ruler; a stick; a poker. See roke. flat-roker=a flat ruler.43
Seventy-five per cent of entries in the appendix are for words not included in the main list. The remaining twenty-three entries add to
42
Farmer, Public School Word-Book, vii. Slang and its Analogues has: ROKER, subs. (schools).—A ruler; a stick; a poker. Flat-roker=a flat ruler. [Roke (Halliwell)=to stir a fire, a liquid, &c.]. 43
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or amend material found in the main list. There is no marked alphabetical bias in the terms listed in the appendix, so it would appear that Farmer had completed a draft of the main list when he compiled it. However, not only do entries in the appendix commonly refer back to their originals in the main list, but entries in the main list also refer to those in the appendix, indicating that Farmer was working on the appendix before the main list was finalized. The appendix contains significantly more terms labelled as belonging to Stonyhurst and Christ’s Hospital than the main list, though both are also well represented there, suggesting that Farmer discovered additional sources too late to insert substantial new material. In keeping with the more ruthless editorial practices of the second half of the alphabet, however, entries in the appendix contain significantly fewer citations and quotations (all p = 0.01). Comparison with Slang and its Analogues demonstrates the complexity of the relationship between the two dictionaries.44 The entry for gomer in volume III (1893) reads: GOMER, subs. (Winchester College).—I. A larger pewter dish used in college. 2. (Winchester College).—A new hat. See Golgotha.
In the Public School Word-Book main list, Farmer presents the same information fleshed out with an etymology and some citations: Gomer, subs. 1. (Winchester).—A large pewter dish used in College. [Probably from its holding a homer or omer in measure: see quots.] 1610–31. Donne. Not satisfied with his gomer of manna. d. 1656. Hall, Satires, Bk. V. He that gave a gomer to each. 1778. Inventory of Kitchen and Hall. Twenty-four gomers (amongst dishes and brass pots).
2. A new hat: specifically a beaver when first introduced: but see quot., Peals, and Appendix. 1867. Collins, The Public Schools, 68. Top-boots are no longer considered, by young gentlemen of twelve, “your only wear” to go home in, although the term for them—gomers (i.e. go-homers)—still survives in the Winchester vocabulary.
44 Vaseline and ragged soph appear in much the same form in Slang and its Analogues. Except where indicated, other terms quoted above from the Public School Word-Book are not listed in the larger dictionary.
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The appendix adds: Gomer, subs. (Winchester).—See ante, sense 2. I am informed that there is yet another usage. Gomers=a suit of clothes in which to go home. [Because College men wear gowns.]
It was clearly too late to insert this new information into a volume of Slang and its Analogues already published, but a word from later in the alphabet shows that the collection of citations for the two dictionaries worked in tandem: LITTLE MAN, subs. (Eton College).—See quot. c.1880. Sketchy Memoirs of Eton, p. 16. He called the footman (or little man . . .) and bade him reach down the obnoxious placard. . . . [Slang and its
Analogues Vol. IV (1896)] Little Man, subs. (Eton).—See quot., and Appendix. 1866–72. Sketchy Memoirs of Eton, p. 16. He called the footman (or little man . . .) and bade him reach down the obnoxious placard. [Public
School Word-Book main list] Little Man, subs. (Eton).—See ante: this term, I am informed, is only applied to one particular man in a certain shop. [Appendix]
Sketchy Memories of Eton [sic] was published in 1885, but covered the period 1866–72, which almost explains Farmer’s disparate dating. Towards the end of the alphabet new material could be inserted into Slang and its Analogues: Tap (Eton).—See Appendix. [Public School Word-Book main list] Tap (Eton).—Originally the Christopher (q.v.). Now the only place recognised by the authorities where a boy can get beer. [Appendix] TAP . . . 3. (Eton College).—The only place, recognised by the authorities, where a boy can get beer. [Slang and its Analogues Vol. VII (1904)]
Farmer clearly uncovered the Eton usage of tap after the compilation of his main word list, but in time to include it in Slang and its Analogues.
Winchester College Notions (1901 and 1910) The ‘3 Beetleites’45 who wrote this book are identified only by their initials. They are William Hamilton Lawson (1882–1961), John 45
The founder of ‘A’ house, to which they belonged, was nicknamed ‘the Beetle’.
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Frederic Roundell Hope (born c.1884), and Alfred Henry Seddon Cripps (1882–1977), later to be the 2nd Baron Parmoor. Lawson was the son of a barrister, Hope of a landowner, and Cripps of a politician. The Preface states that: The primary object of this work is to supply Wykehamists with a dictionary of their language; the secondary, to give the outside world some idea of the words and usages that have been and are in vogue at Winchester College. . . . it was decided to include . . . all traditions and customs peculiar to Winchester, all words that are either obsolete except at Winchester, or are elsewhere used in a different sense; and finally, the names which have been given to certain places by past generations of Wykehamists.46
Indeed, names for parts of the school do make up a large part of the contents of this volume, and these entries often include encyclopaedic material and architectural detail. For instance: Meads. The field adjoining College, enclosed by Meads Wall on the south and east sides, by School on the north, and by Museum and Sick Houses on the west. It is properly College playing ground, but School clubs now play cricket there. In old days Eton Match used to be played there. Originally it was the “viridarium et ambulatorium Sancti Swithuni,” the quiet pleasure ground for the Priory Monks, and was bought by William of Wykeham as an extension for his College to the south. Tunbridge. A bridge over New Barge at the end of Double Hedges. Formerly it was a wooden bridge, too narrow to allow a four to pass beneath without shipping oars, but this defect was remedied in 1870, when an iron bridge was erected.
The book uses an archaic typeface for its headwords, as if to emphasize their antiquity, but the authors note that they have not concerned themselves with derivations ‘because Mr. Wrench so extensively deals with that department in his admirable work’.47 They acknowledge Adams’s Wykehamica and a few additional sources, and provide
46 W. H. Lawson et al., Winchester College Notions [by three Beetleites] (Winchester: P. & G. Wells, 1901), vii. 47 Ibid., vii.
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appendices dealing with word formation, school prizes, colours, and songs. Boys were expected to learn this type of material and were tested on it by their seniors. A newspaper reported that: A sharp discussion has been going on in the daily papers about a practice which prevails at Winchester of allowing the Præfects, or senior boys, to punish the juniors, by beating them with ash sticks at discretion. A boy has recently received thirty severe blows for not being “up” in the slang dictionary of the school48
This is unlikely to refer to a specific dictionary, although many were in circulation. The school archive holds numerous manuscript copies of Winchester notions, because each boy created his own.49 The second edition (1910) raises the number of headwords to approximately 890 from 700. The initials of William George Ingham Hope (born c.1879), brother of John, are added to the list of editors: In bringing out a Second Edition . . . the Editors have endeavoured to bring the work thoroughly up to date. For the sake of clearness certain passages have been rewritten, and all Notions—excepting the word “man”—have been printed with capitals throughout the text. All examples and derivations have been omitted, and are now contained in a second volume, which should be read concurrently with the first.50
Unreferenced quotations are often deleted altogether. For instance: 1901 Pick Off. vb. To hit with any object. Ex.—He picked me off in the eye with a Fives’ pill. Up to. adv. To be “up to” a don means to be taken in mugging by a don. Ex.—Whom are you up to next hour?
48 49 50
1910 (vol. 2) Pick Off. vb. To hit with any object.
Up to. adv. In the division of; under the instruction of.
‘General News’, Newcastle Courant 10326 (22 Nov. 1872), 2. I am grateful to Suzanne Foster of Winchester College for this information. W. H. Lawson et al., Winchester College Notions I (Winchester: P. & G. Wells, 1910), vii.
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Few entries in the first edition included fully referenced citations; in the second edition these are recorded in abundance in volume two. For a reader seeking only the meanings of words, this layout is probably preferable, but anyone wanting to access the additional material could not fail to be irritated by it: 1901 † Bigging. subst. A coffee pot in two parts.
1910 (vol. 1) † Biggin. [sic] subst. A coffee-pot.
1910 (vol. 2) Bigging. subst. A coffee-pot in two parts. Fr. Beguin. A child’s cap. In Rabelais (Pantagruel, Bk. IV. ch. 46) signifies a monk’s hood. Presumably the peculiar shape of the coffee-pot suggested the name. Biggen. A perforated contrivance for holding coffee grounds, through which boiling water is poured. (Wright.) Piggin. A small vessel. A little piggen and a pipkin by. Herrick, Noble Numbers, 1. 115.
The second edition thus provides more information in a less accessible format. It changes the spelling of a small number of headwords, improves a few imperfections in the alphabetization, and rationalizes headwords by combining material listed separately in the first edition: 1901 Junket! An exclamation of joy. cf. M. E. junket—to have a good time. Junket over. vb. To exult over. Junket over you! Shortened into “junket”! “I wouldn’t be in your shoes for something.”
1910 (vol. 1) Junket! 1. An exclamation of joy. 2. vb. to rejoice or exult—usually employed when comparing one’s own good fortune with that of some other less fortunate person, as in the phrase “I junket over you.”
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Junket over you is also listed in the second volume as a headword in its own right. The second volume lists mad “angry”, which is not found in the first volume, as well as nihil-ad-rem “not to the point”, which was in the first edition, but deleted in the first volume of the second. There are also small differences between the spelling and grammatical function of a few headwords in the two volumes (e.g. peals/peal, tégé/teegé). These inconsistencies indicate that the two projects proceeded with insufficient reference to one another once the parameters had been set. The small number of entries from the first edition deleted in the second are generally for terms in wider use: Thick. adj. Stupid, dull.51 Whole-School Day. subst. A day on which there is full afternoon school.
The second edition also updates information in some entries. For instance: 1901 1910 (vol. 1) Half-way House. [adds] This is now out of bounds. 1. A low house near Second Pot. 2. A house half-way between Pot and Tunbridge on New Barge or River.
Christopher Stone’s The Eton Glossary (1902) Christopher Reynolds Stone (1882–1965), the son of a schoolmaster, was born as well as educated at Eton. He later studied at Oxford and served as a Temporary Captain and Staff Major in the Royal Fusiliers between 1914 and 1920. He published about thirty books, including his own novels and poems, compilations of sea and war songs, accounts of his wartime experiences, books about parody and comedy, and two other books about Eton. He became the editor of a magazine called The Gramophone, founded by his brother-in-law, Compton Mackenzie. After convincing the BBC to experiment with playing gramophone
51
Though deleted in vol. 1, vol. 2 of the second edition does list thick.
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records on air, he became their first disc-jockey in 1927, though the word had yet to be coined. He later worked for Radio Luxembourg, but returned to the BBC as a children’s presenter, ‘Uncle Chris’. His informal style was in marked contrast to his radio contemporaries, and the same informality is found in his Eton Glossary. Stone explains that the book is intended to update and replace the Guide to Eton as a source of information for new boys. He describes his work as ‘singularly imperfect . . . one can only hope that the first edition will be sold with all speed, so that a second and more correct one may be prepared’:52 To a new boy it may possibly have this use: if he hears boys using words which he does not understand, he can look up the difficulties in this glossary, and he will get a vague notion of what they were talking about. It is impossible to give every meaning which a word can bear in different contexts, for the use of a word is constantly being broadened.53
The glossary contains 261 entries for 250 headwords, well over half of which include encyclopaedic or anecdotal information. For instance: Brown’s.—The little sock-shop next to Spottiswoode’s. Originally Joe Brown’s, now owned by Mrs. Jeffries; but it is still called ‘Brown’s,’ or ‘Little Brown’s.’ You can find out more about it for yourself; but if it is raining, mind you put your umbrella in the stand, or you’ll get a wigging. Also don’t try to pull the table out by the roots, or talk betting-shop. This is valuable advice.
Stone is particularly interested in commenting on changes in Eton usage, based presumably on his father’s experience as a teacher there: Up Town.—Nowadays boys almost invariably say ‘down town,’ though our fathers used to say ‘up town.’
He also likes to define terms humorously, sometimes producing entries that are impenetrable to an outsider. For instance: Dutchman’s Farm.—The cricket ground which lies beyond Agar’s Plough looking from the Slough road. So called because the farm is not on it. Little Man.—A famous character in Spottiswoode’s, whose acquaintance is essential to every Eton boy. 52 53
Christopher Stone, The Eton Glossary (Eton: Spottiswoode & Co., 1902), unpaginated preface. Ibid., 5.
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The volume includes seven appendices: I Football; II Cricket; III Boating; IV Minor Games at Eton (including a glossary of seven ‘technical terms of fives’); V College; VI Pop and Other Societies;54 Appendix VII Eton College Rifle Volunteers. Twenty-five entries refer the reader to these appendices.
T. N.’s ‘School Slang at Rossall’ (1907) Rossall School, in Lancashire, was founded in 1844 to provide a more affordable public-school education to the sons of the clergy. This list of Rossall slang was published by Notes and Queries, with the justification that the language of schools is subject to such rapid change that it ought to be recorded while it can. The list is divided into five sections: abbreviations (e.g. mu “museum”), -er forms (e.g. brekker “breakfast”), ‘American types’, idioms, and: More distinctive are: scanty (a small roll, by masters called a cob); Flood (Fleetwood), biff (=to cane), stub (in one house “root”=kick), gut (=to guzzle), dak (=doctor), clew (=to hit), blood (=a prominent boy).55
Reference to the OED suggests that even among these ‘more distinctive’ forms, stub, kick, gut, and blood were by no means restricted to Rossall.
Augustus Francis’s Christ’s Hospital Sixty Years Ago (1918) Augustus Lawrence Francis (born c.1848), son of a barrister, was headmaster at Blundell’s School in Tiverton, Devon. In his retirement, he published this pamphlet of reminiscences of his own schooldays. His father was a judge in the High Court of New South Wales, and Francis was taken to Christ’s Hospital by an aunt: Through the mist of years there looms upon my memory the figure of a chubby boy nine years old, fresh from a happy home, passing within the portal of Christ’s Hospital, Hertford . . . A boy sauntered up and accosted 54 Pop was a society that had ‘an enormous influence on the school for good or for bad’ (Ibid., 49), membership brought considerable privileges. 55 T. N., ‘School Slang at Rossall’, Notes and Queries 164 (1907), 125–6.
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me with a good-natured “I’ll have you.” Being of an imitative disposition, I replied in the same words, whereupon, to my surprise and consternation, he knocked me down out of hand! It seems that I had unwittingly accepted a challenge to fight . . .56
On another occasion, Francis’s unfamiliarity with school slang cost him the better part of a plum cake brought from home. This is not an idealized account of school life. Francis does not play down the hardships: he complains of monotony, insufficient and poor-quality food, the cold, poor sanitation, and bullying by staff and boys. The glossary appears in the middle of the text: ‘I have given instances of our quaint School vocabulary in their proper places. I subjoin some others’.57 It lists twenty-eight headwords, including: Luxon .................................................................... Pleasant to the taste or eye Owls and fotches................................................... Blows distributed when running the gauntlet Towny ................................................................... Belonging to the outside world Whissin (for whizzing?) ......................................... Exceedingly
Despite his critical appraisal, Francis concludes that: I am deeply indebted to my old school. The evils of which I have given a faithful and not exaggerated portrait, were due to times and circumstances long passed away. The lessons which we learnt are still there; industry, thrift, good-tempered endurance, and sturdy grit and fibre, are life-long treasures to us all.58
Edmund Blunden’s Christ’s Hospital. A Retrospect (1923) Edmund Charles Blunden (1896–1974), the son of two schoolteachers, was born in St Pancras, London. He won a scholarship to Christ’s Hospital, and later spent two years in the trenches. After the war he studied English literature at Oxford, and worked as a journalist and poet before becoming a tutor at Oxford in 1931. He published scores
56 57
Augustus Francis, Christ’s Hospital Sixty Years Ago (London: Published at Christ’s Hospital, 1918), 3. 58 Ibid., 15. Ibid., 20.
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of books, largely on English literature, particularly biographies of nineteenth-century poets and novelists and collections of poetry from the First World War.59 Blunden’s Christ’s Hospital is a carefully researched expression of gratitude to his school, concentrating on its history and most notable pupils.60 These include some of the authors he wrote about elsewhere, particularly Charles Lamb. The glossary, entitled ‘Some Christ’s Hospital Words’ acknowledges Blanch’s Blue-Coat Boys as its main source. It contains 101 entries for 91 headwords, well over half of which are marked with an asterisk to indicate that they were not in use during Blunden’s time at the school. For instance: Blanch (1877) Ack, ick, &c., interj. Refusal of a request; e.g. “Lend me your book.” “Ack!” i.e., “no.” Lux, subst. A lux, a splendid thing; e.g. “My knife is wooston a lux.” Probably short form of luxuriant. Hertford word.
Blunden’s literary interests are evident in the authorities he cites. Nine entries (9 per cent) include a named authority, with Lamb and Leigh Hunt (another ex-pupil) the most frequently cited.
Frederick Parker’s Floreat, an Eton Anthology (1923) Frederick Moore Searle Parker (1870–1955) was the son of a Hertfordshire solicitor. He attended Eton and then Oxford, worked briefly as a teacher, and soon embarked on his career as a journalist and author. He served as an army captain from 1914, and in the intelligence department at the War Office from 1918. He published ‘fifty-odd’ books,61 on subjects ranging across religion, sport (especially shooting, angling, and cricket), Surrey, wildlife, and gardening. He wrote novels, books for children, a biography of Hesketh-Prichard
59 60 61
DNB. Edmund Blunden, Christ’s Hospital. A Retrospect (London: Christophers, 1923). The estimate and biographical information are from DNB.
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(a big game hunter who trained snipers in the First World War), and several books about Eton. Parker also gave radio talks about wildlife on the BBC. The title of Parker’s book is an allusion to Eton’s motto Floreat Etona ‘May Eton Flourish’: This Anthology is an attempt to present, within the compass of a single volume, a mirror of the life of Eton as it has been lived from the Founder’s day to our own. I have tried to collect passages from authors of different periods, illustrating customs, manners, events, the method of school, the issues of play; to show boys as they were seen by masters and by themselves, masters as they showed themselves to boys and to other men; to find somewhere the thoughts of those still at school and of those who look back at Eton after they have left.62
Parker specifically excludes material relating to ‘the Great War so lately over’, as requiring ‘a whole separate book’.63 The glossary, placed at the end of the text, lists thirty-three entries for thirty-one headwords. Most are relatively brief, but they are often informative, including encyclopaedic information (e.g. calx, non nant) and etymologies (e.g. non nant). Sock includes a derivative form, an additional sense, and an example of the term in use: Calx. A space marked off by a white line at each end of the Wall. Only in Calx can a shy be “got up,” enabling the getter to throw the ball at the goal. Non nant (“They do not swim”). A list of “non-nants” is put up at the beginning of each swimmer half, giving the names of those who have not passed in swimming. Sock. Food: thus, sock-shop. Or in the sense of to “stand” or “give”; “I’ll sock you this or that.”
‘Dictionary of Bootham Slang’ (1925) Bootham School was founded in York in 1823 by the Society of Friends, probably still better known as the Quakers. It was always feepaying, and concentrated particularly on education in the sciences.
62
Eric Parker, Floreat, an Eton Anthology (London: Nisbet, 1923), v–vi.
63
Ibid., vi.
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This glossary appears to have been issued with a school magazine, and its only introduction is ‘For explanation of this, please refer to correspondence in this number of “Bootham.” ’64 It contains 131 entries for 115 headwords, and is presented in a tabular form, as shown. On the otherwise blank right-hand pages are columns headed ‘IN USE?’ and ‘PARTICULARS (as requested), AND REMARKS’. It appears that the list was a preliminary glossary intended to extract further information. Fifteen entries (12 per cent) include usage labels, most of which (80 per cent) indicate that the term was obsolete or becoming so: WORD MODERN MEANING BLAB .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Now obsolete; superseded by “juicemeeting.” (q.v.) GREASER .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Obsolete; An apology: see article in “Bootham” c.1918 SACRIFICE . .. .. .. .. .. .. ?obsolete
The omission of a definition for sacrifice demonstrates the unfinished nature of this glossary. Only three entries (2 per cent) include etymologies, though others could perhaps have been provided without difficulty by those familiar with the school and its setting: JOHN FORD’S
YORK
.. .. .. .. .. J.F.’s leg=“roly-poly” pudding hat=? and prob. altar=master’s desk many more bath=horse’s trough
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. To rain
John Ainsworth Morgan’s Oxford Observations (1925) John Ainsworth Morgan (1899–1974) was born in San Francisco.65 His father was an English emigrant who had married an American woman and become a successful businessman. John returned to New York en route to California in 1922, which would fit in with a return from Oxford, but the family were all regular transatlantic travellers in any case. He is listed as a writer for magazines in the 1930 census, 64
‘Dictionary of Bootham Slang’ (York: Bootham School, 1925), title page. Biographical information from ships’ records and government documents at , and from the California Digital Library, . 65
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worked at Princeton, and served in the Second World War. This, Morgan’s only book, is a collection of essays based on his own experiences at Oxford. It was published in only 500 copies, each signed by the author: It is the sincere hope of the author that nothing in these pages will offend the Englishman or the American, for if such were the case, one of its chief purposes—that of an ardent endeavour to increase the most necessary brotherhood between the two countries—would be unhappily lost.66
The glossary contains about 142 headwords, which are marked with a <°> on their appearance in the essays. It includes encyclopaedic entries and offers general advice for Americans visiting England as well as specific advice to students: Clarendon Hotel. Located in Cornmarket; ranks among the first three of Oxford’s best uncomfortable hotels. Undergraduette. Many female students at Oxford; have own colleges such as Lady Margaret Hall or St. Hughes; also what is known as Home Students who do not belong to any College but are somewhat looked after and “over” (before they are permitted to establish residence) by Home Student Committee; rules more strict for weaker sex; must be in at 9 p.m.; no “blinds” allowed; good looks phenomenally rare. Wolsey<s. Famous mark of British underwear; trade mark: the Cardinal’s portrait; sensible if visiting English country house for first time.
These entries also illustrate Morgan’s clipped telegraphic style. Reference to the OED suggests that many of the slang terms listed were by no means restricted to Oxford, including bags “trousers”, gasper “a cigarette”, and quid “a pound”.
Oskar Teichman’s The Cambridge Undergraduate of 100 Years Ago (1926) Oskar Teichman (1880–1959) was the son of a German-born Commission Merchant. Born and educated in Britain, he studied at Caius College, Cambridge, and ‘served with distinction in the Great
66
John Ainsworth Morgan, Oxford Observations (New York: F. H. Hitchcock, 1925), xii.
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War’,67 rising to the rank of Major in the Royal Army Medical Corps. He published several historical works, concentrating particularly on military history. In the preface to this volume, Teichman explained that: Owing to the great social changes which have taken place in undergraduate life at Cambridge during the past 100 years, it has occurred to the compiler of this little volume that some account of the undergraduate in the early twenties might be of interest to the same individual of to-day.68
He acknowledged the 1824 edition of the Gradus ad Cantabrigiam69 as the source of his 67 entries for 64 headwords, noting that “[d]uring the past hundred years a large number of these terms have become obsolete or have changed their meaning”.70 Since there are no semantic or lexicological biases in Teichman’s selection from his source, we can take his own account of the editiorial process on its own terms. He tends to abbreviate entries by deleting citations and quotations, whether in English, Latin or Greek (p = 0.01), and also deletes authorities, etymologies, semantically related terms, and anecdotal or encyclopaedic material from his extremely discursive source: Gradus (1824) LARK. A spree, a row, any thing out-and-out, whether it consists in upsetting a Snob, or topping a five barr’d gate, boning a knocker, or demolishing a lamp. The ancient and inveterate antipathy which exists between Gown and Town, has been the prolific source of many a lark; as the following imitation of Horace evidences [four pages of citations omitted]
Teichman (1926) Lark.—A spree, a row, anything out-and-out, whether it consists in upsetting a snob, or topping a five barr’d gate, or boning a knocker, or demolishing a lamp.
67 The family’s papers are held at the University of Bristol, from whose website most of the biographical information is derived; see . 68 Oskar Teichman, The Cambridge Undergraduate of 100 Years Ago (Cambridge: W. Heffer and Sons, 1926), v. 69 Gradus ad Cantabrigiam (London: John Hearne, 1824). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 251–3. 70 Teichman, Cambridge Undergraduate, 96.
British School and University Glossaries RAFF (probably contracted from Rag-a-muffin); a dirty, low, vulgar fellow; one whose vices are not the vices of a gentleman.
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Raff.—A dirty, vulgar fellow; one whose vices are not the vices of gentlemen.
Teichman has little to add to his source, but nobleman includes a note updating its content: Nobleman.—Allowed to proceed to a degree without keeping the usual number of terms, nor the usual solemnity of ceremonies or commencements! This statute is strictly observed. (Note.—In 1825, the year following the publication of the Gradus, a grace was passed requiring noblemen to be examined before admission to any degree.
William La Touche’s Christ’s Hospital from a Boy’s Point of View (1928) William Martin Digues La Touche’s reminiscences of Christ’s Hospital school, written ‘in his 72nd year, and only finished in the early days of his last illness’71 were edited for publication by his brother, Thomas Henry Digues La Touche (1855–1938). The brothers were born into a Huguenot family whose members had become eminent as bankers, merchants and civil servants throughout the Empire. In his later years, William had spoken to a Christ’s Hospital boy and been ‘surprised to find how few of the words and customs which prevailed in the old School in London were known to him’.72 This shock induced him to write his memoirs: the present book is written as though the author were still a light-hearted school boy, making little of the hardships and interested only in the day’s work and play. There can be no doubt that he had an intense love for his old School, and throughout his life he lost no opportunity of showing how proud he felt of having belonged to it.73
71 William Martin Digues La Touche, Christ’s Hospital from a Boy’s Point of View (Cambridge: W. Heffer and Sons, 1928), v. 72 73 Ibid., v. Ibid., vi–vii.
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Footnotes to the text explaining individual terms were presumably written by Thomas. For instance: I was taken off to the Wardrobe, and then appeared as a prospective “Brother Crug.”* * Crug = Bread. A hungry boy was spoken of as being cruggy. “I am awfully cruggy.”74
The glossary is ‘Note A.—School Slang’ in a section headed ‘Editor’s Notes’ and is also Thomas’s work, though it appears that he did not attend Christ’s Hospital himself. He makes many references to Blunden and Francis’s lists, and gives page references to his brother’s reminiscences for the use of all but one of the twenty-seven terms listed in the glossary. Asterisks mark fourteen entries that are not found in Blunden or Francis’s lists, or that are defined differently there. They include: “*Gun” (p.30), to alter the words of a phrase, usually in a ludicrous sense, while retaining the general sound. Or, to misinterpret a word used by another. Both Mr. Blunden and Mr. Blanch give examples of this practice, but do not mention the term employed for it in the school. Mr. Francis gives another example, which perhaps throws some light upon the origin of the word. He says that the mathematical master, Mr. Webster (“Ogey”) was fond of saying, “I have a cane, and I’ll show it to you,” which was quoted by the boys as “I have a gun and I’ll shoot you!” If this is so, the transition from the use of the word “gun” in this particular instance to its application as a name for the general type of expression must have taken place in the short time that separated Mr. Francis’ schooldays from my brother’s about five years; and it furnishes an interesting example of the evolution of schoolboy slang. The practice was much older, but hitherto it has been without a name. Used either as a noun or as a verb. “*Sharking” (p.28), begging. “Sharks,” according to Messrs. Blanch and Francis were piratical boys who haunted the staircases and cloisters, and relieved the smaller boys returning from their holidays of all their possessions, including money.
Thomas’s distance from his material is emphasized by the hedges (‘if this is so’) and repeated reference to his sources. 74
Ibid., 3.
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Conclusions In 1906, a contributor to T.P.’s Weekly commented that: Learned men have told us of the limited vocabulary of the English peasant, but the working daily word stock of the normal British schoolboy is a thing to wonder at. . . . [At Bootham School] the boys are perhaps above the average in all-round intellectual ability, and yet here we have existing a vocabulary of between fifty and one hundred words peculiar to the place.75
While it is not to be imagined that knowledge of school slang drove all other vocabulary from a boy’s mind, it is clear that many schools did develop their own slang, some of which was surprisingly persistent, and that old boys went to great lengths to document it. Such slang remains an important part of some schools’ identities, and several provide a glossary on their official websites or distribute a list to new pupils.76 We have seen in the glossaries discussed here that older boys were ready to visit verbal or physical abuse on non-initiates, and important functions of school slang were to enforce conformity and to instil respect for school traditions, no matter how bizarre. Knowledge of school slang would provide a bond between old boys who had never met at school and could, presumably, ensure that the advantages of a public-school education persisted through connections made in later life, though a reviewer in the Times was to comment that: one of the most remarkable features about public school slang is the ease with which those to whom it was second nature drop it when they leave school to come among strangers77
These glossaries, like many of those discussed in Chapter 4, are generally backward-looking, associated with memoirs of school life in earlier days. During the late nineteenth century, men looked back on their schooldays as a time of hope and youthful idealism; after 1918, school memories were bathed in the light of pre-war innocence. All
75
‘A Little Study of School Slang’, T.P.’s Weekly (31 Aug. 1906), 270. Charterhouse, Eton, Harrow, and Bootham have slang glossaries on their websites. There is currently a glossary of Rugby school slang in Wikipedia, . 77 ‘Public School Slang’, TheTimes (6 Apr. 1940), 7. 76
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expressions of pride in school tradition in this period have also to be seen in light of the general pressure to modernize and reform: these survivals of the past remain through the change and turmoil of centuries to remind us of our ancient and noble foundation. . . . Elsewhere old and simple methods of life and speech are being gradually overwhelmed and swept into the torrent of modern progress, to be whirled away far from our ken . . . there is something of melancholy in the thought that . . . ancient customs, ancient manners, and ancient forms of speech . . . may share a similar fate . . .78
The dominant view was to change again in the 1930s, with leftwing intellectuals attacking public schools as brutalizing, elitist, and anti-intellectual.79 Whether public-school slang was a victim of the decline of school pride, or whether reformed schools produced less creative and rebellious pupils, the school slang glossaries discussed here were to be among the last published in Britain for some time.
78
Lawson, Winchester College Notions (1910) II, v–vi. L. C. B. Seaman, Life in Britain Between the Wars (London/New York: B. T. Batsford/G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1970), 109. 79
Six: Australian Slang Dictionaries During this period, Britain was the centre of a vast empire. Its dominion over distant lands created an outlet for undesirables, the hope of a better life for manual labourers, and financial and career opportunities for the more affluent. ‘British identity was a totem for settlers in a strange land’,1 and emigrants often held on to it with greater determination than those who stayed at home in order to distinguish themselves from the indigenous population and from objectionable fellow immigrants. The dictionaries discussed in this chapter are accounts of English used in Australia, largely by British emigrants. Many publications from elsewhere in the Empire, although sometimes catalogued as slang dictionaries, turn out on examination to be glossaries of pidgin English or of widely used dialect terms that were to become the basis of new national forms of English.2 Australian English was shaped by the peculiarities of Australian society, in which attempts were made to recreate the British class structure and governmental system without any power to enforce them. While would-be aristocrats acquired vast estates and attended balls, the working classes, who were supposed to support that lifestyle by hard work and deference, made a mockery of it in the goldfields and at public meetings. By sheer force of numbers, they just refused to be ruled in this way. More affluent later arrivals were keen to distinguish themselves from transported felons, and often did so by imitating all things British. Ex-convicts and their descendants refused to accept the perpetual stigma of transportation. Nationalists fought for independence, but business and industry were unsustainable without British investment. City-dwellers rejected the uncouthness of the
1
Johnson, British Imperialism, 10–11. For example, John Sandilands, Western Canadian Dictionary and Phrase-Book (Winnipeg: Telegram Job Printers, 1912). Henry Yule and A. C. Burnell’s Hobson-Jobson (London: John Murray, 1886) is a collection of loan-words, pidgin, jargon, place names and encyclopaedic information. It includes a few Anglo-Indian terms, some of which functioned as slang, particularly in military contexts (see Chapter 9). See Chapter 2 for a discussion of Lentzner’s Colonial English. 2
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sheep station; the graziers and shearers scorned the pretensions of urban life. Australia’s colonial territories, all separately administered, were in rivalry with one another. Trade unionists battled with the police. Protestants feared the influence of Catholics, but they united against indigenous Australians as well as the Chinese and other nonwhite immigrants. What emerged from these multiple layers of rebellion and rejection was a sense that, regardless of origins, no man was intrinsically better than another and that all men (of the white male variety) deserved a fair chance. The realities of existence in Australia stripped away claims to inherited superiority. Life was hard, and it was in everyone’s interests to offer help and stand together in times of need. Australian English, and particularly Australian slang, became a symbol of the masculine solidarity which is also expressed in the Australian dictionaries of First World War slang and of cant discussed in Chapters 9 and 11. The question of nationality became increasingly heated during the last decade of the nineteenth century.3 Perhaps the centennial celebrations of 1888 had created a sense of Australia’s history. Strikes and bank failures in the 1890s may have caused some to wonder whether matters could be handled better closer to home. Whatever the reason, this interest in nationalism was matched by the increasing attention paid to Australian English at this time. In 1898, Joshua Lake published a supplement of Australasian terms for Webster’s International Dictionary, but it was Morris’s Austral English Dictionary, published in the same year, that received the most critical attention.4 Austral English documented Australian and New Zealand English without stigmatizing them as slang, but ‘it was more a catalogue of flora and fauna than a dictionary’.5 Given the tendency of glossaries of Australian slang to include widely accepted Australianisms, there is sometimes only a fine line between the Australian slang dictionaries discussed
3 The historical material in this chapter is based on Michael Cathcart’s abridgement of Manning Clark’s History of Australia (London: Random House, 1993) and Stuart Macintyre’s A Concise History of Australia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 4 Joshua Lake’s list of Australian words in Noah Porter, Webster’s International Dictionary of the English Language (Springfield, MA: Merriam, 1898) and Edward Ellis Morris, Austral English. A Dictionary of Australasian Words Phrases and Usages (London/New York: Macmillan and Co., 1898). 5 Baker, Australian Language, 17. Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 139, 155, estimates that about 9 per cent of terms in both Morris’s and Lake’s lists were slang.
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here and the dictionaries of Australian English that are excluded. Fortunately, Australian English has received a great deal of scholarly attention in recent years, and detailed accounts already exist of all the early dictionaries.6
George Lloyd Hodgkin’s Jacaranda Dictionary (1896) George Lloyd Hodgkin (1880–1918) was born into an affluent Quaker family in Newcastle. He travelled extensively but did not visit New Zealand and Australia until 1902, suggesting that this glossary is either wrongly dated or was written without any first-hand knowledge of its subject.7 The handwritten list, subtitled ‘Australasian Colloquialisms’,8 contains about 150 headwords. <X>, with points above, below, and at either side, indicates entries that are ‘In such general use as not to be considered slang’. Another note remarks that ‘As far as has been known vulgar slang has been excluded.’ Hodgkin provides suggested derivations in square brackets. Entries generally consist of a headword and definition, though some are more expansive. For example: To BACK DOWN = give in, give way, submit. X BILLY = a can like a small bucket for carrying on picnics or on “prospecting” excursions for boiling water for tea, in the “bush” play the (GIDDY) GOAT = act the fool. NIPPER = small boy.
A handful of entries provide additional information, including etymologies (e.g. goorie) synonymous terms (e.g. tack) or different semantic and grammatical uses of the same term (e.g. rocks):
6 See, for example, Baker, Australian Language; W. S. Ramson, Australian English. An Historical Study of the Vocabulary 1788–1898 (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1966); Peter Collins and David Blair (eds.), Australian English. The Language of a New Society (Queensland: University of Queensland Press, 1989); Bruce Moore, ‘Australian English: Australian Identity’, 44–58, in Bruce Moore, Who’s Centric Now? The Present State of Post-Colonial Englishes (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001); and Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’. Where they are in agreement, this chapter summarizes material found in these sources. 7 Biographical information from Lucy Violet Hodgkin, George Lloyd Hodgkin 1880–1918 (Printed for Private Circulation, 1921). 8 George Lloyd Hodgkin’s Jacaranda Dictionary (MS, 1896) is held by the State Library of New South Wales. Jacaranda describes a family of trees which grow widely in Australia but are indigenous to Central and South America.
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GOORI [Maori word] = dog (in N.Z.). ROCKS; “to fire rocks” =throw stones; to ROCK = to throw stones; ROCK IT IN = bowl swift (at cricket). TACK or TUCKER = food.
Although this is not a dictionary of slang, it represents an early attempt not only to record distinctively Australian terms, but also to distinguish between levels of standard and non-standard language.
Alfred George Stephens and S. E. O’Brien’s Dictionary of New Zealand and Australian Slang (1910) Alfred George Stephens (1865–1933) was a nationalist, literary critic, editor, and publisher, best known for his work on the ‘Red Page’ of the Sydney newspaper, The Bulletin, whose slogan was ‘Australia for the White Man’. Stephens aimed to foster the talents of Australian authors, and was disappointed with existing attempts to document Australian English, particularly Morris’s. In response, he set out to do it himself, using The Bulletin to collect contributions.9 Robertson identifies his collaborator as Steve O’Brien, a freelance contributor to the Bulletin under the pseudonym ‘Jack Shay’.10 Three versions of the typewritten manuscript survive, each with slightly different annotations. Commentators have rarely expressed anything other than disappointment in the work: it is hard to see how the completed dictionary could have been of any value. The selection of words is careless: American and English slang words, obsolescent and localized expressions and abbreviated placenames are included with no reference to their origin or currency, as are a number of Australian words . . . which have never been slang; definitions, where provided, are frequently only lengthy comments on a word’s use and supposed etymology.11
Robertson estimates that only about half of the entries in the dictionary are for Australian terms, and notes that the editors made no attempt to define what they meant by ‘slang’.12
9 Baker, Australian Language, 18–19. Biographical information from ADB; and Ann Atkinson, The Dictionary of Famous Australians (St Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 1992), 229–30. 10 11 Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 166. Ramson, Australian English, 19–20. 12 Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 181.
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The three copies are referred to by Robertson’s designations, summarized here: A is in the Alexander Turnbull Library in Wellington, New Zealand; B, in the National Library of Australia, is a carbon-copy of A, with different annotations; C is in the Mitchell collection in the State Library of New South Wales.13
There are no introductions or explanations. Pages are typed on only one side, and verso pages are not included in the numeration. In B, newspaper cuttings have been glued on the verso pages, which are numbered 11/2, 21/2, and so on. The cuttings are sometimes defining, but are more commonly anecdotal. They give examples of words in use, provide evidence of alternative spellings, or even illustrate the word’s referent. For instance, at barracking there is an example of the practice, but no evidence regarding the word. A note is added under the typed definition: This is a first class illustration of what “barracking at matches or contests consists of. The word has reached up out of the domain of pure slang and has become good journalese.
There are significantly more newspaper cuttings for mining than for the other semantic fields covered by the dictionary (p = 0.01), perhaps because this was outside the personal experience of the editors. Robertson estimates that the dictionary includes 810 headwords.14 My sample (from version B) is of 634 entries for 511 headwords. There are an additional 59 newspaper cuttings. In version C, the dictionary had been typed out again without reference to the clippings attached to B, apparently in the misguided belief that the existing notes could be tidied into a useful dictionary. Unfortunately, the typist showed little initiative, and introduced as many mistakes as corrections. Slashes enclose terms that would be in italics in a published version of the dictionary. Handwritten 13 B: Alfred George Stephens and S. E. O’Brien, Dictionary of New Zealand and Australian Slang (1897); quotations are from C (Materials for an Austrazealand Slang Dictionary (1925) ) unless otherwise noted. I have not examined A. See Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 172–5. Appendix 6, Volume 2 is an edited version of all three MSS. Robertson argues that a date of 1910 is preferable to the dates offered by the library catalogues. 14 Robertson, ‘Australian Lexicography’, 185.
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corrections in C are noted within curly brackets <{ }>.15 My own annotations are in square brackets <[ ]>: B FORTIES: /larrikins/ gangs of men and youths who congregate about street and public places, often getting into crime or mischief. Probably from Ali Baba, or the Forty Thieves. A police name for the pickpockets et hoc genus. In Hindmarsh, Adelaide, in the late Seventies and Eighties there was particualr [sic] crowd of roughs known to all as the Forty Thieves, and the particular aversion of magistrates and police. One magistrate, the late S. Beddoes made heroic efforts to break up the gang. Forties in Sydney preceded larrikins as a name for the street prowlers, gamblers thieves etc. etc. JONICK: all right, good: indifferently used: have no idea of its origin: sounds Yiddish: not in B. & L. Dictionary.
C FORTIES: larrikins: gangs of men and youths who congregate about streets and public places, often getting into crime or mischief. Probably from Ali Baba, or the Forty Thieves. A police name for the pickpockets et hoc genus. In Hindmarsh, Adelaide, in the late Seventies and Eighties there was a particualr [not corrected] crowd of roughs known to all as the Forty Thieves, and the particular aversion of magistrates and police. One magistrate, the late S. Beddoes{,} made heroic efforts to break up the gang. Forties in Sydney preceeded {e |} Larrikins as a name for the street prowlers, gamblers{,} thieves etc. JONICK: all right, good: indifferently used: have no idea of its origin: sounds Yiddish: not in B. & L. Dicty.
These corrections suggest that the editors still hoped the dictionary would reach publication. That it never did may indicate their recognition of how much work would be involved in turning their notes into a functional dictionary. The typed entries concentrate on leisure & pleasure (12 per cent) and crime & punishment (11 per cent). There are also a great many miscellaneous terms (13 per cent). Forty-eight per cent of entries include usage labels, predominantly indications of register (40 per cent of labels), geographical distribution (21 per cent), and professional usage (16 per cent). 15
Ibid., II, 2.
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Thirty-two per cent of entries include cited authorities.16 It is fitting that Morris should be the author most commonly cited, since Stephens and O’Brien were attempting to improve on his work, but it is striking how often they had little to add: ABSENTEE: /convict term/: use Morris’s text and quotes. HUMPY: Morris leaves nothing much to be said. TANNERGRAMS: /Morris/. Limited local use in New Zealand.
Barrère and Leland are also regularly cited: ARTESIAN: B. & L. give: Gippsland /Vic./ for colonial beer. Cascade beer is well known in Tasmania from name of Cascade Brewery. There seems to be a reversal of an old phrase in artesian as applied to beer. “Adam’s ale” is a nickname for water. MOCKER: name or signature. B. & L. give: /popular thieves and tinkers/ a man’s signature or name, a corruption of monarch, which see.
Thirty per cent of entries include etymologies, as illustrated by forties, jonick, and mocker, above. These are often speculative or derivative. This unrealized dictionary shows how far early lexicographers of slang depended on written sources. Stephens and O’Brien could undoubtedly have recorded the slang terms in use around them with greater success, but relied instead on newspapers and previously published dictionaries. This inevitably left them with patchy coverage or poorly focused material.
C. J. Dennis’s The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke (1915), The Moods of Ginger Mick (1916), and Rose of Spadgers (1924) Clarence Michael James Dennis (1876–1938) was the son of IrishAustralian hoteliers. He worked as a clerk after leaving school, but also had various other jobs, including journalism, and published his first verse at the age of 19. He was subject to ‘bouts of intemperance’17 and initially enjoyed little financial success as an author. By the time The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke was published,18 most of the poems had 16 17 18
See ibid., 185–8 for a detailed analysis of the use of citations. Quotation and all biographical information from ADB. Also published as Doreen and the Sentimental Bloke.
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already appeared in The Bulletin, and this volume was a tremendous and immediate success. The Moods of Ginger Mick gathered together more verses from The Bulletin as a sequel in the following year, and contains the same glossary of approximately 260 headwords. Dennis’s next book of verse, Backblock Ballads, does not contain a glossary, but a further sequel to the Sentimental Bloke, called Rose of Spadgers (1924), contains an expanded version of the earlier glossary, adding fortyseven new entries, but not amending existing ones.19 ‘The Stror ’At Coot’ exemplifies the style and humour of Dennis’s verse. It begins: Ar, wimmin! Wot a blinded fool I’ve been! I arsts meself, wot else could I ixpeck? I done me block complete on this Doreen, An’ now me ’eart is broke, me life’s a wreck! The dreams I dreamed, the dilly thorts I thunk Is up the pole, an’ joy ’as done a bunk.20
The following are explained in the glossary: ’Ar.—An exclamation expressing joy, sorrow, surprise, &c., according to the manner of utterance. Block.—The head. To lose or do in the block.—To become flustered; excited; angry; to lose confidence. To keep the block. —To remain calm; dispassionate. Pole, up the.—Distraught through anger, fear, etc.; also, disappeared, vanished.
Clearly much of this is dialect rather than slang,21 and often Dennis merely respells standard English terms to represent their colloquial pronunciation. Since the glossary explains terms found in the poems, it also contains encyclopaedic material: A.I.F.—Australian Imperial Forces. Rocks.—A locality in Sydney. Saints.—A football team of St Kilda, Victoria.
19 Clarence James Dennis, The Moods of Ginger Mick (New York: John Lane, 1916); Backblock Ballads and Later Verses (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1918); and Rose of Spadgers (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1924). 20 Clarence James Dennis, The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke, reprinted edn. (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1915), 51. 21 As also observed by Baker, Australian Language, 19, and Ramson, Australian English, 20.
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The humorous tone of the verse is also carried over into the definitions, where there is sometimes a marked disparity between the levels of language used: Clobber.—Raiment; vesture. Knock-down.—A ceremony insisted upon by ladies who decline to be “picked up;” a formal introduction. Spank.—To chastise maternal-wise.
In a sample of 438 entries for 421 headwords, the largest semantic area is emotion, temperament & behaviour (16 per cent), followed by fools, failure & insults (11 per cent); leisure & pleasure; war & violence (both 8 per cent); and crime & punishment (7 per cent). This is a useful characterization of the list, which deals largely with the personal relationships of a larrikin “A (usually juvenile) street rowdy; the Australian equivalent of the ‘hoodlum’ or ‘hooligan’ ” (OED). Although it is sometimes discussed as one, this is not an Australian slang glossary: its contents are more mixed than that designation would suggest. The need for such a dictionary clearly predated its realization. Dennis’s cynical yet sentimental heroes appealed to the growing sense that there was (or ought to be) a distinctively Australian national character.
Gilbert H. Lawson’s Dictionary of Australian Words and Terms (1924) The introduction to this dictionary, entitled ‘Contests of Skill’, is an extract from Smith’s Weekly describing the value of perseverance and determination in winning prizes. The dictionary was compiled ‘to aid those competing in [a] series of Australian Picture Puzzles Contests’22 organized by its publishers, the Direct Hosiery Company of Sydney. It contains approximately 860 headwords, many of which are for Australian plant and animal names, including: IBIS—A species of heron, about two feet long, with long, slender, downwardly curved bill like that of a curlew, with which don’t confuse. LYRE BIRD—An Australian bird about the size of the English grouse, having sixteen tail feathers very long, and when spread during courtship arranged in the form of a lyre. 22 Gilbert H. Lawson, A Dictionary of Australian Words and Terms (Balmain, Sydney: Direct Hosiery Company, c.1924). Accessed online at .
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TASMANIAN DEVIL—A carnivorous burrowing marsupial, with a coarse, mostly jet black fur, and about the size of a badger.
This list was published in a period of considerable immigration from Britain, and the European comparisons may be for the benefit of that audience. The slang entries include many Rhyming slang (Noah’s ark, pig’s ear), American (buttinski, put wise) and First World War (furphy, mafeesh) terms, as we might expect of Australian slang at this period, and there is no obvious source: BUTTINSKI—An intruding person. FURPHY—Wild Rumour. MAFEESH—The finish (Arab.). NOAH’S ARE [sic]—Park. PIG’S EAR—Beer. PUT WISE—To be informed.
Jice Doone’s Timely Tips for New Australians (1926) and the Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of Australian slang (1929) Doone’s glossary is presented alongside other practical information for the potential British emigrant: The Australian has ideas and characteristics which are peculiarly his, and which MUST be assimilated by a stranger who hopes to make good within his gates.23
He notes that much British slang is used in Australia, and that he has ‘studiously avoided’ their inclusion in his glossary, of approximately 250 headwords, including some that are clearly not slang, Australian or otherwise: ANTIPODES.—A term which signifies places on the earth’s surface directly opposite to each other. Hence its frequent application to Australia by English writers. MARSUPIAL—An animal of a type common to Australia which carries its young in a pouch.
This list is only included because of its use by the fourteenth edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica, which provides a glossary of approxi23 Jice Doone, Timely Tips for New Australians (London: The Empire Publishing Co., 1926), pages not numbered.
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mately 100 ‘Australian Slang’ terms derived from Doone’s list, tending to select that Doone marked as slang (p = 0.01): Timely Tips JACKAROO.—A young man of good position who goes on a station to learn the routine of sheep and cattle farming. SHIELAH.—A slang word for a girl.
Encyclopædia Britannica Jackaroo, a young man of good position who joins a station to learn sheep and cattle farming. Shielah, a girl.
The compiler claims that Australia has slang because occupying the country ‘has been in no little degree an exhilarating and romantic adventure’,24 an assessment that must have raised many an Australian eyebrow. Although no more a comprehensive and thorough account of a country’s slang than the British list in the same volume, this glossary does emphasize the growing awareness of national differences in non-standard language.
Eric Partridge, Slang Today and Yesterday: the Australian list (1933) This glossary was presented as part of an appendix to Partridge’s discursive history of slang. The glossaries of British and American slang also included are discussed in Chapters 4 and 7. In considering this list, it is important to remember that Partridge was born in New Zealand and educated in Australia. The Australian slang list contains 312 entries for 278 headwords, and is analysed here in its entirety. It concentrates on animals & nature (12 per cent); leisure & pleasure; people; and emotion, behaviour & temperament (all 9 per cent). It has significantly more terms for animals & nature and for mining than the British and American lists, and significantly fewer for body & health (all p = 0.01). As in the British and American glossaries, most entries (96 per cent) include an indication of the date of usage. This list has no citations from before the eighteenth century, but significantly more nineteenthcentury terms than can be accounted for by chance (p = 0.01). This is because of the later settlement of Australia, but it also reflects 24
Partridge’s dependence on Morris’s Austral English, from which many of his dates of earliest use are extracted or to which they allude: Morris (1898)
Partridge
Eagle-hawking, n. bush slang: plucking wool off dead sheep.
Eagle-Hawking. The plucking of wool from dead sheep.—1890; †
Willy Willy, n. native name for a storm on the North-west of Australia.
Willy-Willy. A terrific storm of wind and rain in N.W. Australia (—1894). Ex. Aborigine.
1894. ‘The Age,’ Jan. 20, p. 13, col. 4 [Letter by ‘Bengalee’]: “ . . . The willy willy is the name given to these periodical storms by the natives of the north-west.” . . .
Partridge made no secret of his debt to Morris, the source for 49 per cent of entries in this list, although only one cites him explicitly. Many commentators have noted this dependence and discussed the limitations arising from it, particularly the high proportion of obsolete terms included and the failure to distinguish between slang and more established Australian terms.25 Twenty-six per cent of the entries in the Australian list include usage labels. There are significantly fewer ‘cant’ labels, but Partridge labels his Australian terms as being in falling use (largely ‘obsolete’ or ‘obsolescent’), as ‘slang(y)’, and as ‘not slang’ significantly more often than his British and American terms (all p = 0.01). He was clearly struggling with the application of usage labels to Australian English. As discussed above, Australian English tends to be less formal than British or American, making ‘slang’ a particularly difficult label to employ. Partridge appears to have followed many earlier commentators on Australian English by considering anything not found in British English to be slang. Significantly more entries in this list include compounds, derivatives, and phrases (p = 0.01): Knock along. To idle, chiefly in form go knocking along; ca. 1870–1910. Nark. To annoy; also a nark, a wet-blanket, ill-disposed (—1910). 290.
25
E.g. Ramson, Australian English, 23–4.
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Eighteen per cent of the entries in the Australian list include page references, significantly higher than in the other lists in the volume. This suggests either that Partridge had more to say about Australian English in his text or that what was in the text was all he had to say. Over a quarter of the terms that are dated belong to the decade beginning 1910, and only nine (3 per cent) are dated from 1920 onwards. This demonstrates that Partridge had not been able to maintain his knowledge of Australian and New Zealand English while living in England.
Conclusions Modern dictionaries of Australian English still struggle with usage labels, and some avoid them altogether. In the introduction to the Australian National Dictionary, Ramson comments that labels ‘can be over-interpretative and over-restrictive. . . . Australian English . . . allows easy movement between formal and informal usage’.26 Although the Australian Oxford Dictionary does employ the labels ‘formal’, ‘colloq’, and ‘coarse’, it does not use ‘slang’.27 Slang is a particularly problematic label for Australian English for two reasons. The first is the inherent informality of Australian English identified by Ramson: many terms that would be slang elsewhere in the English-speaking world are acceptable in relatively formal discourse in Australia. The second, I believe, is a reaction against the nineteenth-century tendency to stigmatize every word and phrase that was distinctively Australian as slang. Before Australian English had its own standard form, it could only be measured against British English. Baker wrestled with this problem: If we class as slang every Australian term that sounds strange to English ears, much of our language will certainly fall into that category. If we are going to set a time limit on the subject and declare that all Australian terms without a history of, say, at least twenty-five years are slang—irrespective of whether they have been in print or not—the result will be hopeless confusion, since obviously a good deal of the language tossed up 26 W. S. Ramson (ed.), Australian National Dictionary. A Dictionary of Australianisms on Historical Principles (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1988), vii. 27 Bruce Moore, The Australian Oxford Dictionary (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1999), xiv.
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by our social growth last century was ephemeral, while many expressions that have been established in the past quarter-century are here to stay.28
Early dictionaries of Australian ‘slang’ have to be understood in this context. What they list is by no means all slang but there was, at the time, no other satisfactory way to describe it. Some early Australian glossaries were written for a home audience and motivated by nationalism, others demonstrate that speakers of British and American English were becoming curious about this developing form of the language. While slang undoubtedly cemented relationships on an interpersonal level, standard British English still held the upper hand. Convict ancestry continued to be a source of shame, and sustained emulation of all things British contributed to what is now known as the ‘cultural cringe’: ‘the belief that things Australian are necessarily inferior to overseas products, and that Australians should ape foreign manners and matters in order to overcome a provincial roughness’.29 This national inferiority complex applied particularly to the language. Although Australia became a Commonwealth in 1901, and achieved full independence in 1942, educated Australian English was only a slight modification of Received Pronunciation. Broad Australian English, hardly distinguished from Australian slang at this period, was seen, on both sides of the world, as a reflection of intellectual limitations: . . . the vocabulary of the Australians . . . is smaller and simpler than the vocabulary of middle-class Englishmen, for Australia does not tolerate forms of thought and expression (such as irony) which are perplexing or offensive to the average man . . . 30
The earliest dictionaries of Australian English are generally informed by this Anglocentric perspective, whatever their political stance. For those at the top of the social hierarchy in Australia, this model had much to recommend it, but for many of its native speakers Australian English has always been an indicator of trustworthiness and lack of pretension: an embodiment of egalitarianism.
28
Baker, Australian Language, 11. Roland Sussex, ‘The Americanisation of Australian English’, 158–68 in Collins and Blair, Australian English, 161. 30 William Keith Hancock, Australia (London: Ernest Benn, 1930), 293. 29
Seven: Dictionaries of General American Slang The transportation of English to new settings around the world was nothing new, and by this time American English was becoming well established as a self-determining national standard. Even so, and as late as 1919, Mencken found that ‘the whole literature of the subject was astonishingly meagre and unsatisfactory’.1 His study of American English represented a marked change in emphasis, asserting that it was both more vivid and in many respects actually better than British English. Mencken was a journalist, not a scholar, but he insisted that the development and use of American English deserved and required serious research. However, traditionalists on both sides of the Atlantic outlawed all American colloquialisms and dialect terms as slang.2 Although this was probably the dominant viewpoint, some commentators joined Mencken in expressing more positive attitudes: In every State of the Union, the language of the inhabitants can be understood without the slightest difficulty. This is more than can be said of the dialects of the peasantry in various parts of England, these being in many instances perfectly unintelligible to a stranger. Again, the fluency of expression and the command of language possessed by Americans, even in the humbler ranks of life, form a marked contrast to the poverty of speech of the same class in England, where, as an eminent philologist has declared, a very considerable proportion of the agricultural population habitually make use of a vocabulary not exceeding 300 words.3
1 H. L. Mencken, The American Language: An Enquiry into the Development of English in the United States (London: Jonathan Cape, 1922), ‘Preface to the First Edition’, vii 2 This period also saw the production of lists of American jargon and slang for specific purposes, most of which I will not be discussing here, but which include H. G. Crickmore’s Dictionary or Glossary of Racing Terms and Slang (New York: H. G. Crickmore, 1880) and Grover Jones, ‘Railroad Lingo’, Bookman 69 ( Jul. 1929), 524–7. Edwin Linton’s Diary of an Expedition through Yellowstone National Park, held in manuscript at Yale University, includes a glossary of ‘words, slang, etc.’ and a long list of ‘Choice western Geographical terms’. Most of its entries are dialectal and technical terms, few are slang. 3 Sylva Clapin, A New Dictionary of Americanisms (New York: L. Weiss & Co., c.1901), vi.
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At the beginning of this period however, and despite Webster’s earlier efforts, many in America and quite possibly everyone in Britain considered standard British English to be, without question, the highest form of the language. Several of the glossaries discussed in this chapter were produced for British theatre- and cinema-goers bewildered and disconcerted by unfamiliar American terms: English audiences are beginning to get very tired of the continued use of American slang, much of which is unintelligible to them . . . One has a good deal to put up with nowadays, but surely this kind of thing is a needless infliction.4
This period saw increased immigration into the United States, particularly from Europe, but also from South America and Asia. New immigrant communities challenged and changed American society and values, and their influence can also be seen in the development of American English in both its standard and non-standard forms. At the same time, only a short period of residence was necessary for those who wished to look down upon more recent immigrants with their shabby clothes, feckless behaviour, strange customs, and ignorance of the American way of life. Even those immigrants who spoke English as their first language needed help with American English, and many dictionaries and guides to usage were published to meet this need.5 Authors often expressed their regret that English in North America was diverging from British English, and worried about the effect of this degeneration on American society and morals. In one such usage guide, Malcolm writes that slang terms, originating in public shows, gambling halls, and novels: are drifting us away into a carelessness of speech or a want of gracefulness in our deportment, which, in the case of many is to be much lamented, while others, not quite so fortunate, will be vitiated, debauched, and finally by reading slang novels, slinging slangs and associating with the
4 ‘Need of a Slang Dictionary’, The Times (23 Jun. 1919), 18, with reference to a film called Alias Mike Moran. 5 These include Giles’s Slang and Vulgar Phrases and Forms as used in the Different States of the Union (New York: Hurst & Co., 1873) and Ralcy Husted Bell’s The Worth of Words (New York: Grafton, 1902).
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companions who use them and love the low dens in which they are nurtured, will be landed into irretrievable ruin.6
For Malcolm, the use of slang is both cause and effect of social and moral degradation. During the period covered by this volume, America changed from a predominantly rural, agricultural economy to an urban manufacturing one. This volume covers the period of the Civil War and Reconstruction, the development of an extensive railroad network, territorial expansion resulting in America’s emergence as a world power, World War I, and the lead-up to World War II. On a more human level, it covers the abolition of slavery, the Harlem Renaissance, Prohibition, the Roaring Twenties, and Depression. American English came into increasing contact with other forms of English through the movement of populations, improvements in shipping, touring theatre companies, and the development of radio and film. American glossaries of the slang of students, the armed forces, tramps, criminals, and the entertainment industries are discussed in Chapters 8–12. What is most striking in this chapter is how long it took for an original and substantial dictionary of American slang to appear. In this period, American slang lexicography is characterized by its concentration on diversity: slang could not become national without the power of radio, film, and television.
James Maitland’s The American Slang Dictionary (1891) James Maitland was a Chicago journalist who published several anecdotal books between 1879 and 1890 on the history of the city. Although the title of this volume emphasizes its American content, Maitland insisted that he was not concentrating solely upon American slang and, indeed, that it would not have been useful to do so: The United States, when it borrowed the language of the Mother Country, adopted also many of its colloquialisms and many more of its provincialisms. Ours is the tongue that Shakespeare spoke, and our inheritance includes much of the heterodox philology of our British cousins. . . . This 6
Sherman Malcolm, The American Slangist (Blenheim [Ont.], no publisher details, 1888), 5–6.
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work, therefore, while aiming to present a full list of distinctively American slang,—that which is born of the soil—will include also the recognized slang words and phrases of English origin and use . . . whether [from] London or New York, . . . Chicago or Sydney.7
Maitland outlined the achievements and limitations of Grose, Egan, and Hotten, and drew the not altogether surprising conclusion that his work was the best available: The present compiler holds, without the slightest disrespect to earlier searchers in this field, (to many of whom he is under great obligations) that no work heretofore published upon this subject meets the needs of educated people of the United States in the present day. No dictionary of American slang exists, although collections of Americanisms have been published, one of which (that of John Russell Bartlett) is valuable, but does not cover the field of American slang.8
Partridge commented, with some justice, that Maitland ‘ambitiously claims much that he performs indifferently’.9 Many commentators, including contemporary reviewers, have observed that Maitland’s criteria for inclusion are unclear.10 The dictionary includes approximately 5300 entries for 5000 headwords, though Maitland claimed over 6000 definitions. In a sample of 1067 entries for 1009 headwords, the largest semantic areas are crime & punishment (12 per cent); money & poverty (8 per cent); and emotion, behaviour & temperament (7 per cent). Fifty-three per cent of entries are from the 1874 edition of Hotten’s dictionary,11 from which Maitland selects significantly more entries labelled as euphemisms than can be explained by chance. Hotten’s miscellaneous entries and those for fools, failure & insults are over-represented in Maitland’s dictionary, those for work under-represented (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.2.1). Maitland labels 62 per cent of the entries taken over from Hotten as English terms:
7 James Maitland, The American Slang Dictionary (Chicago: Privately Printed [?R. J. Kittredge], 1891), Preface, pages unnumbered. 8 9 Ibid., Preface. Partridge, Slang, 325. 10 See, for example, ‘The American Slang Dictionary, by James Maitland’ Chicago Daily (17 Oct. 1891), 13, and an untitled review in the Boston Daily Globe (18 Jul. 1892), 3. 11 J. E. Lighter, Historical Dictionary of American Slang (New York: Random House, 1994), xlv (hereafter HDAS), notes that Maitland’s dictionary ‘owes a great deal to Hotten’, but does not quantify the debt.
Dictionaries of General American Slang Hotten (1874) Eye water, gin. Term principally used by printers Kickshaws, trifles; made, or French dishes—not English, or substantial. Corruption of the French, QUELQUES CHOSES Parson, a signpost. Common term in the north, where they say that the PARSON points, but does not lead. This is given, as the lawyers say, “without prejudice.”
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Maitland Eye water (Eng.), gin. Kickshaw (Eng.), a made dish. See II Henry IV, v. I. Parson (Eng.), a signpost; one who points the way but does not travel it.
The only other significant tendency in Maitland’s selection from Hotten’s dictionary is that he shows a preference for entries illustrated by example (p = 0.01), although he tends to delete the examples: Hotten (1874) Added to the List, a euphuism [sic] current among sporting writers implying that a horse has been gelded. As, “Sabinus has been ADDED TO THE LIST.” Another form of expression in reference to this matter is that “the knife has been brought into requisition.” “ADDED TO THE LIST” is simply a contraction for “added to the list of geldings in training.”
Maitland Added to the list (Eng.), a euphemism current among sporting writers, implying that a horse has been added to the list of geldings. Nail, “dead as Nail, We say, “as dead as a door-NAIL;” a door nail.” most probably because of “apt alliteration.” Shakespeare uses Shakspear ehas [sic] the expression in Henry IV the expression “Falstaff. What! is the old king dead? Pistol. As in King Henry IV, NAIL in door.” while Dickens Dickens, in that marvellous little book, A expressed his Christmas Carol, says:— inability to “Old Marley was as dead as a DOOR-NAIL. figure out why Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know of my a door-nail is own knowledge what there is particularly dead deader than any about a DOOR-NAIL. I might have been other piece of inclined myself to regard a COFFIN-NAIL as ironmongery. the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country’s done for. You will, therefore, permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a DOOR-NAIL.”
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As nail and kickshaw (above) demonstrate, where Maitland did include reference to authorities, he had a marked preference for Shakespeare and Dickens. Maitland sometimes lists Hotten’s etymologies and derivatives as headwords in their own right:12 Hotten (1874)
Maitland
Parney, rain; “dowry of PARNEY,” a quantity of rain. Anglo-Indian slang from the Hindoo, PANI, water; Gipsy, PANE. Old Indian officers always call brandy-and-water “brandy pawnee.”
Pane or Parney (Gip.), rain.
Yid, or yit a Jew. yidden, the Jewish people. The Jews use these terms very frequently.
Yidden. [sic] the Jewish people.
Thirty-nine per cent of Maitland’s entries also appear in Barrère and Leland’s dictionary. Because Barrère and Leland used Hotten, there is considerable overlap between the two, but it appears to be the sole source for 12 per cent of Maitland’s entries. Maitland tended to adopt entries labelled as ‘American’, and was less likely to label terms selected from this dictionary as English (both p = 0.01): Barrère and Leland Darned, darn it (common), a corruption of and euphemism for damn. Of American origin . . .
Maitland Darn (Am.), a euphemism for damn.
Enthuse (Am.), to manifest Enthuse (American), to excite delight; to become enthusiasm, to be enthusiastic. enthusiastic. A mere A favourite word with “gushing” newspaper barbarism. clergymen. “An object large enough to enthuse an angel’s soul.” Enthused, excited with liquor.
12 Matsell also followed this practice with regard to Grose’s dictionary. See Coleman, Cant and Slang, II, 93.
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Maitland is also interested in comparing British and American usage: Mail (Am.), to place a letter in the postoffice. An Englishman “posts” his letter. Mean (Am.), which in England is used for stingy or close, is applied in this country in an entirely different sense. When one young girl says to another “Now, Sadie, you’re real mean,” she desires to express, not that Sadie is close in money matters, but that she is bad-tempered or has done something to the detriment of her friend. The word is abominably misused. Neat (Eng.), undiluted spirits. In this country “straight” is used.
Maitland provides etymologies for 9 per cent of entries. These tend to explain semantic developments within English rather than identify the origin of terms in other languages: Teetotaller, a total abstainer from drink. The term is said to have arisen from the efforts of an enthusiast who stuttered when trying to express his t-t-total abstinence. Uncle Sam, the tutelary genius of the United States. All ye icebergs make salaam You belong to Uncle Sam.—Bret Harte. The phrase “Uncle Sam” arose during the war of 1812 with England. An army contractor named Elbert [sic] Anderson had a stoneyard at a small town on the Hudson. A government inspector named Samuel Wilson, who was always called “Uncle Sam,” superintended the examination of the supplies, and when they were passed each cask, box, or package was marked “E.A.—U.S.,” the initials of the contractor and of the United States. The man whose duty it was to mark the casks, being asked what the letters meant, replied that they stood for Elbert Anderson and “Uncle Sam.” The story was retold, printed, and spread throughout the army and the country.13
Partridge remarked that Maitland’s ‘etymologies (he gives very few) are frequently defective’,14 as are these examples. As we have already seen (e.g. enthuse), Maitland sometimes comments disparagingly on the terms he labels as Americanisms. For example: 13 Bartlett’s Dictionary of Americanisms quotes the same origin for Uncle Sam, but gives as its source ‘Mr. Frost, in his Naval History of the United States’. Maitland inevitably includes some of the same terms as Bartlett, but they appear to be independently defined. 14 Partridge, Slang, 325.
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Invite (Am.), a vulgar corruption of “invitation” used by parvenu society people. Splendiferous (Am.), sumptuous, first rate. Splendacious is used also; both being indefensible from any standpoint.
This dictionary has not fared well in the hands of critics. Chapman wrote that it: is not a jewel in the tradition, perhaps for the reasons that caused an anonymous reviewer in the Nation to observe that most of the entries were not American and not slang, and that the philological grounding of the editor was meager indeed. The review concluded, in cruelly measured words that make any slang lexicographer cringe in a nightmare, “it must be said of the present work that it not only has no reason to show for its existence, but furnishes a good many reasons to suggest the desirability of its non-existence”.15
It would be hard to argue that Maitland’s is a good dictionary of American slang, but neither is it considerably worse than others in circulation at the time. Like several of the lexicographers documenting the slang of the Empire, he turned to British slang dictionaries rather than local sources. His misfortune, like Hotten’s, was to publish at a time when reviewers, and perhaps the reading public at large, were beginning to hope for something better.
‘The Slang Dictionary’ (1894) An article in the Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle presented ‘a short list of the very latest slang terms’.16 It defines about fifty-four American slang terms, and although the article refers to the Detroit Free Press, it does not explicitly say that that is the source. The list is structured as a glossary but typeset in paragraphs: “A cop” is a policeman, although occasionally the English “bobby” is heard . . . “A speak easy” is a bar-room open after hours.”
The Chorus Lady (1909) A brief notice in the New York Times explains that the slang used in a play set in an American theatre was unintelligible to British audiences: 15 16
Chapman, New Dictionary, ix. ‘The Slang Dictionary’, Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle 5881 (12 May 1894), 11.
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The day was saved by a critic, who published a sort of dictionary of slang as found in America, and after that the lofty language of Patricia O’Brien no longer passed over their heads.17
I have not been able to trace this ‘sort of dictionary’.
‘Translated for English Use’ (1913) An article in the Boston Daily Globe also commented on British audiences’ difficulties with American slang: Moving Pictures’ Popularity Causes English Paper to Print Lists of American Slang Words. It is becoming almost necessary for the proprietors of picture palaces to provide their patrons with American-English slang dictionaries, says an English paper.18
The article provides a list of terms useful to British cinema-goers. Thirteen entries define eighteen terms in all, including: Mutt, Sucker, Comeon, Boob, Lobster—An innocent, simple minded, or stupid person. In the Band Wagon—Superior to other people. Featuring—presenting a favorite actor or actress in a picture. Junk—Worthless goods.
At this stage films were still silent, and it was slang in captions that was confusing audiences. The First World War interrupted film production in many European countries, providing a further impetus to the spread of American English. After the war, although the Depression reduced many Americans to abject poverty, others enjoyed unprecedented affluence and leisure.19 The cities grew, and grew apart from the countryside: For the first time the number of people living in towns—communities of 2,500 or more—exceeded those living in the countryside . . . American cities offered their inhabitants a variety of experience, whether for work, 17 ‘London Finally Laughed. “Chorus Lady” Missed Them Till They got a Slang Dictionary’, New York Times (6 May 1909), 9. 18 ‘Translated for English Use’, Boston Daily Globe (17 Aug. 1913), 45. I have been unable to locate the English original. 19 Sean Dennis Cashman, America in the Twenties and Thirties. The Olympian Age of Franklin Delano Roosevelt (New York/London: New York University Press, 1989), 43–4.
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recreation, or social life, that was beyond the capacity of the countryside and small towns. Country dwellers dreaded the encroaching political power of the growing cities with their jazz and bootlegging, racketeering and municipal corruption, and their diverse mix of ethnic groups.20
Cities particularly appealed to the young, who were beginning to express their desire for a freer lifestyle through their clothes, hairstyles, and language. Women benefited most of all from changing social standards. Those who were wealthy enough to aspire to an independent life could drive cars, smoke cigarettes, bob their hair, wear scandalously revealing clothes, dance to jazz music, drink in speakeasies, and stay out late without a chaperone. These shockingly liberated flappers and their male companions were identified in part by their language, and this spawned a short-lived flurry of slang glossaries.
Newspaper Flapper Glossaries of 1922 It was not long before the mainstream press picked up on the unusual language used by flappers. The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin published an article called ‘Flapper Filology’, including a mini-dialogue in which a flapper arrives home at one o’clock in the morning to be met by her mother: Mother — “Well, dear, did you have a good time?” Flapper — “Hot dog! It was the cat’s pyjamas. Started perfectly blaah, though. Joe brought a strike-breaker, some tomato he turned sub-chaser for, ’cause his regular jane had given him the air. Jack had a flat-wheeler along who was a cellar-smeller. He got jammed. . . .21
The glossary, alphabetized to the first letter, contains forty-nine headwords in all, including: The cat’s pajamas! — anything that’s very good. Cellar smeller — a young man who always turns up where liquor is to be had without cost. Given the air — when a fellow or girl is thrown down on a date. Hot dog! — a joyous expression of approval. Jane — a girl. 20 21
Ibid., 48–50. ‘Flapper Filology’, Philadelphia Evening Bulletin (8 Mar. 1922), 9.
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Subchaser — a man who tries to pick up girls on the street. Tomato — a pretty girl who can dance like a streak, but is otherwise a “dumb-dora.”
Not long after ‘Flapper Filology’, an article on the language of young people appeared in the New York Times: There’s a brand new language abroad in the land, an argot understood only by the initiated. It goes along with brushed wool hats, periwinkle blue and raspberry homespun suits and sporting shoes and stockings. It’s the patois of the wearers of the green earrings and insignia of the Mystic Order of Shifters. . . . For the benefit of the ignorant, a 1922 model flapper wrote out a glossary the other day as follows22
The non-alphabetical glossary includes forty-nine single-sense headwords, of which 53 per cent appear to be from the ‘Flapper Filology’ list: ‘Flapper Filology’
‘ “Argo” of the Shifters’
Darbs — usually used with the definite article, i.e. “The Darbs,” a person with money who can be relied upon to pay the checks. Flat-wheeler — a young man whose idea of entertaining a girl is to take her for a walk. Goof — a sap, a guy, a fish.
Darb—Can be relied upon to pay the checks.
Flat-wheeler — Chap whose idea of entertainment is a walk. Goof — Sap, guy, fish, but different from “goofy.”
New entries include: Woofy — In place of nothing else to say; generally meaningless. Washout — Maiden somewhat the worse for years. Snugglepupping — Spooning, “petting.” Buried — Flapper who has become married.
During April and May of the same year, the Appleton Post-Crescent published a glossary of 136 headwords in instalments for its readers in Cleveland,23 which is another expansion of ‘Flapper Filology’:
22
‘ “Argo” of the Shifters’, New York Times (23 Apr. 1922), VI, 8. ‘Flapper Dictionary’, Appleton Post-Crescent (6 May 1922), 11. Other instalments were (28 Apr.), 17; (29 Apr.), 7; (1 May), 9; (2 May), 9; (3 May), 7; (4 May), 9; (8 May), 11; (9 May), 9; (10 May), 13; (11 May), 13; (12 May), 11; (13 May), 7; and (15 May), 9. 23
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‘Flapper Filology’ Holaholy — a girl or boy who objects to “parking” or “necking” in a dance. Wallie — a goof with patentleather hair.
‘Flapper Dictionary’ HOLAHOLY — A girl or boy who objects to necking. WALLIE — A Goof with patent leather hair.
New entries include: GERRYFLAPPER—A Barlow who thinks she looks like Geraldine Farrar.24 WOOF! WOOF!—An exclamation of ridicule or indignation.
Howard Savage submitted the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin list to Dialect Notes, with due acknowledgement, as an appendix to his article on slang terms at Bryn Mawr25 (see Chapter 8). He added a few definitions for terms not defined in the original, including some that gloss the extract quoted above: Blaah!—anything that’s no good or is “out.” Strike breaker — a girl put in to take the place of a young man’s regular girl when the latter is away.
‘A Flapper’s Dictionary’ (1922) The Flapper magazine celebrated the liberation of women: the flapper is here to stay! . . . As surely as horsedrawn street cars, the blunderbuss and hoopskirts will never come back, so surely has the doom been sealed of the timid, trusting, retiring, servile, opinionless, unattractive, shrinking creature known as the old-fashioned girl.26
The magazine includes information about how to enter a beauty contest (‘You do not need to be the possessor of a beautiful face, if you have the “pep” and bearing that characterize the flapper of today’27), and a grudgingly mercenary acceptance of male company: The flapper needs someone to take her home from the dance, pay her meal tickets and tip the chauffeur.28 24
An opera singer and star of silent films. Howard James Savage, ‘College Slang Words and Phrases from Bryn Mawr College’, Dialect Notes 5 (1922), 139–48. 26 ‘A Flapper’s Dictionary’, The Flapper 1.2 (Jul. 1922), inside front cover. 27 ‘Good News for Flappers in Big Beauty Contest’, The Flapper (1922), 9. 28 ‘For the Flipper’, The Flapper (1922), 24. 25
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Warnings against the commercialization of flapperdom, with dark allusions to a rival publication, sit oddly beside advertisements for butterfly-painting on silk hose (‘the very latest style creation for distinctive dressers’29), jewellery, insurance, and lamps. The editor notes that the glossary would be particularly useful for those reading stories in the magazine. A serial called ‘The Flapper Trail’ in this issue does contain some dense passages of slang, apparently written with reference to or in justification of the glossary: At length Elgin appeared on the horizon and I began to speculate . . . Would they be as good Hoppers as those in Chicago? Were the Highjohns sociable and Floorflushers, or did they prefer Petting Pantries, Blows in Dimboxes and Mugging? These and many other questions raced through my Brain Box.30
The list is alphabetized to the first letter and is much fuller in the first half of the alphabet than the second. Glosses to this extract include: Blow—Wild party. Dimbox—A taxicab. Floorflusher—Inveterate dance hound. Highjohn—Young man friend; sweetie, cutey, highboy. Hopper—Dancer. Mug—To osculate or kiss. Petting Pantry—Movie.
The glossary is particularly dismissive of the no-longer youthful: Face Stretcher — Old maid who tries to look young. FatherTime — Any man over 30 years of age.
These articles and glossaries are an expression of a wider social trend. In the economic boom of the early Twenties, young people gave themselves over to frivolous hedonism in defiance both of the horrors of the war and of the generation they held responsible for it: A gap yawned between those (mainly young) men who had fought and their civilian elders who had not, the first true generation gap of the twentieth century. To the young who had endured the war, the crimes of their elders must have seemed endless. Not only had they first blundered 29
‘Advertisement’, The Flapper (1922), back cover. ‘The Flapper Trail’, The Flapper (1922), 20, described as ‘the first of a series of articles written by a Flapper of her transcontinental trip by automobile from Chicago’ (22). 30
Figure 7.1. The Flapper (1922)
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into war, but they had also lost a generation of young men and then lost the peace.31
Parents and grandparents, meanwhile, were alarmed by all things modern: urbanization, industrialization, individualism, and the decline of traditional values. They ‘used youth to condemn or to praise the network of change they came to represent’,32 and the flapper glossaries are an expression, by both sides, of a growing gulf between generations.
Walter Gilkyson’s Spoken in Jest (1924) and ‘American Made Easy’ (1925) Walter Gilkyson (1880–1969) was a lawyer and writer. After the Second World War, he became the American secretary at the Nuremberg Military Tribunals.33 Although he published more serious books in his own name, this volume initially appeared under the pseudonym ‘Chateds’. Gilkyson states that a ‘fallacy exists that the natives of America and England speak a common language’,34 and argues that travel is the best remedy for misunderstanding. With chapters on, among other topics, hotels, money, travel, and amusements, Gilkyson aims to prepare his readers for their journey. The advice, like the illustrations, is largely humorous: For real amusement we recommend an American farce played by an English company or an English comedy by an American cast. Both are excruciatingly funny. . . . The “Beau” system does not exist in England. Mothers have an uncomfortable way of asking a man his intentions.35
Following the text is a selection of equivalent terms in British and American English, by no means all slang. In a review of Spoken in Jest, a British magazine, John O’London’s Weekly, commented on Gilkyson’s
31
Cashman, America in the Twenties and Thirties, 384. Paula S. Fass, The Damned and the Beautiful. American Youth in the 1920s (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), 13. 33 Information from the New Hartford Historical Society, . 34 Chateds [Walter Gilkyson], Spoken in Jest: or the Traveller’s De-Confuser (London: Hutchinson, 1924), 1. 35 Ibid., 44, 53. 32
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failure to recognize that many American terms were also in use in Britain ‘owing to the influence of the film and the American novel’.36 The review lists twenty of Gilkyson’s forty-five entries verbatim, including: American Can (to) Dumb-bell Hike (to) Nick Quitter
English Sack (to) Stick Tramp (to) Pinch (to) Bad sport
Following these brief entries Gilkyson comments on twenty-nine words in more detail. These include: “Wangle” (E).
“Fix” (A).
This word gets you there when others fail. You can’t do without it since the war. To obtain or accomplish by guile or ingenuity is about it. To get Ice-water with your meals, you “wangle” it. To cut that party with the Duchess, you “wangle” it. If this word were eliminated it would render many people virtually dumb. There is scarcely anything one can’t “fix.” To bribe a Federal Agent and mix yourself a cocktail, you would have to “fix” them both.
Clement Wood and Gloria Goddard’s A Dictionary of American Slang (1926) Clement Wood (1888–1950) and Gloria Goddard (b.1897), both born in Alabama, shared their married life in New York. They published poetry, novels, and a wide range of other books, several jointly. Wood was a graduate of the University of Alabama, and published largely in the fields of poetry, socialism, and labour relations. On the title page of his Rhyming Dictionary he is described as a ‘Former Resident Poet and Instructor in Versification’ at the College of William and Mary in Richmond. In his novels and poetry he wrote particularly 36
‘American Made Easy’, John O’London’s Weekly (9 May 1925), 182.
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about the African-American experience, but has been criticized in recent years for overemphasizing the nobility of agricultural labour. Goddard largely wrote for women, on subjects including party-games for adults, cosmetics, etiquette, dressing and feeding a family on a budget, and marital relations. Together they hosted ‘extremely lively and uninhibited parties’,37 and appear to have lived their lives in defiance of convention. This dictionary was published as part of the Little Blue Book series by Emanuel Haldeman-Julius, the editor and publisher of a socialist newspaper.38 The series was intended to provide a basic education at affordable prices, including reprints of classic literature and works of philosophy. There were also contemporary discussions on the subjects of religion, marriage, and society.39 The political content of the booklets was alarming, and HaldemanJulius was under observation by the FBI at the time of his death in 1951. The slang dictionary is about 9 cm by 12.5 cm, and contains sixtyfour pages, including the cover. There is no introductory material of any kind. The dictionary of general American slang is followed by a four-page list of baseball slang. In the main list there are 1669 entries for 1553 headwords, concentrating on leisure & pleasure (16 per cent); emotion, temperament & behaviour (13 per cent); knowledge & communication (10 per cent); and fools, failure & insults (9 per cent). The presence of a female editor may account for the 6 per cent of entries that list terms for women, marriage, dating, and sex, many with a feminist slant: flapper. God’s masterpiece, or nature’s; the modern bobbed-haired heart-bandit. lord of creation. Man’s name for himself, as opposed to women and dumb beasts. pop the question. To propose marriage; to dare conjugal shipwreck. virgin. A girl with a Presbyterian reputation; somewhat out of date.
37 Jay A. Gertzman, ‘The Jack Woodford Press: Bestsellers at the Army Base, the Drug Store, and the Tourist Bookstore, 1946–1959’, The Journal of Popular Culture 40 (2007), 25–48:39. 38 Clement Wood and Gloria Goddard, A Dictionary of American Slang (Girard, KA: HaldemanJulius, 1926). 39 Background information about the Little Blue Book series is from the website of the Cunningham Memorial Library at Indiana State University, .
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In keeping with the size of the booklet, most entries are concise and to the point. For example: lummox. A stupid, clumsy fellow. perk up. Cheer up. stink. A disagreeable exposure.
However, 13 per cent of entries provide related terms, usually synonyms: apple sauce. Blah, tripe, nonsense, foolish talk. izzum-wizzum. Hotsy-totsy; red-hot sweetie. pickled. Drunk, soused, stewed to the upper gills.
The inclusion of so many slangy synonyms probably reflects a determination to use accessible language in the definitions. Four per cent of entries include comments remarking on the way terms are used, usually with regard to social and political attitudes: Bolsheviki, Bolshevik. Anything you disagree with, from Russian Communist politics to prohibition. poor white trash. A 100 per cent free and unterrified Nordic financial and mental pauper in the Southern States, whose family never owned slaves. If a child of poor white trash becomes President, historians at once raise his ancestors to the aristocracy.
There are also some more direct comments on society in general: Almighty dollar. Money, the god of America. Babbitt. Typical mediocre-brained middle class American, realtor or otherwise. Upper Crust. The so-called aristocratic class.
—and particularly on the position of the workers: captain of industry. A wholesale human wolf, who buries his bones in profitable investments. strap-hanger. Passengers permitted by public service corporations to exercise their clinging muscles instead of their sedentary anatomy.
This list is the first self-contained dictionary of American slang compiled without reference to earlier British dictionaries. It may be that the political views of its authors have denied it the attention it deserves, but it is probably those views that motivated them to document the everyday language of ordinary people in the first place.
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George H. Maines and Bruce Grant’s Wise-crack Dictionary (1926)40 The subtitle indicates that the entries in this dictionary were collected as part of a newspaper competition, and the Foreword insists that no one can do without ‘this exclusive little dictionary’: This book should provide a valuable source of information to the philologist. No detective should be without it if he would understand the jargon of the criminal he hunts. No parent should be without it to know whereof his offspring speaks. No actor, looking for new lines, should be without it. No writer, who must understand current expressions and words, should be without it. No American should be without it if he would understand the talk about him.41
Many of the 760 or so entries are wisecracks, rather than slang, as the title indicates: Answer like a horse— Getting the wrong number — Yanks are coming —
Say nay but mean yes Date with an ugly telephone operator Dentist reaching for his extractor
Some entries provide an indication of usage: And I don’t mean maybe — Jazz form of putting one’s self on oath Magazine — Crook’s term for six months to a year in jail Sit down — Hobo talk for meal
—but labels are frequently jocular. Some might mislead an unsuspecting reader: Buy a violin— Expression politely informing listener his hair is long Loan me your frame for the next struggle — Polite way of asking for the next dance Your old man must have been a furniture maker — Delicate way of complimenting a young woman on a well-turned leg
40 A Bruce Grant (b.1893) was a prolific publisher on the subject of Native Americans. I have not been able to confirm whether this was the same individual. 41 George H. Maines and Bruce Grant, Wise-crack Dictionary. More than 1,000 Phrases and Words in Every Day Use Collected from 10,000 Communications Received During a Newspaper Prize Contest and Other Sources—a New Addition to the American Dictionary (New York: Spot News Service, 1926), 3.
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Although not an important dictionary of American slang, this volume does exemplify some of the characteristic differences between British and American dictionaries of this period. First, it deals with the present rather than the past. Second, it is written by journalists, not gentlemen-scholars. Third, it is written in an accessible manner and affordable format. Its target audience are users of non-standard language rather than speakers of the standard language looking in from the outside.
Fred Newton Scott’s Contributions to Rhetorical Theory (1926) Fred Newton Scott (1860–1931) was the son of an Indiana lawyer and congressman. He studied and later taught at the University of Michigan, where he was instrumental in establishing a separate Department of Rhetoric, which ceased to exist on his retirement. He became president of the Modern Language Association and the first president of the National Council of Teachers of English. He appears to have been an innovative and energetic teacher and a productive researcher in the fields of English language and literature.42 In its introduction, Scott explains that he compiled the slang list: for British readers who are struggling with the works of Sinclair Lewis and similar contributions to American literature. Although but a small fraction of the total American slang vocabulary (as will be apparent to any one who has heard the American vernacular spoken by those who are to the manner born), these specimens at least illustrate the leading types and may thus serve as a propedeutic to obscurer fiction.43
The content of individual entries varies considerably. Examples of use are sometimes provided, but not always where they are most needed: some lookers—handsome men or women. throw a fit—to go into a rage. ‘Father threw a fit when I came home drunk.’ whale of a—tremendous.
42 Biographical information from Donald C. Stewart, ‘Rediscovering Fred Newton Scott’, College English 40 (1979), 539–47. 43 Fred Newton Scott, Contributions to Rhetorical Theory (London: Clarendon, 1926), 118.
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A few definitions are written as paragraphs rather than dictionary entries. For example: Blurb (a noun) is a term applied to any publisher’s announcement, especially to passages of fulsome laudation on the jackets of newly published books. The word is now used broadly to cover the brief summaries, analyses, and appreciations (usually in smaller type) that often precede magazine stories and articles. [admirable word, indispensable].
Italicized material in square brackets is editorial, and these annotations vary considerably in length: bootlegger—one who smuggles strong drink [now well known]. [‘Bootlegger long antedates its use in Kansas in 1885. More than half a century ago we (then) young bloods in Kentucky used to rely on the local bootlegger for appropriate refreshments at Fourth of July picnics. The bootlegger of those happy days was not the harpy of to-day. He dispensed joy at reasonable rates. . . . In those days in old Kaintuck most of us wore knee-high boots—even the city blade affected the patent-leather top kind. . . . There is your etymology. . . . Inside his wide bootlegs your bootlegger carried the flasks of good stuff which both cheered and inebriated. Alas! for the halcyon days.’—T.A. Wright, in American Mercury, May, 1926.] fan—enthusiast (especially in sports) [known]. great—fine! [common].
—and a few are downright cryptic: hot stuff—talk that is to the point, excellent idea. ‘The colonel’s speech was hot stuff.’ [has more extensive signification.] Lizzie boy—a sissy [?].
As Chapter 8 will demonstrate, many American academics were busy recording slang terms at the time that Scott published this article. He was ahead of his time in looking at slang used outside the university campus, but characteristic in explaining it for a transatlantic audience.
Aaron J. Rosanoff’s A Manual of Psychiatry (1927) Aaron Joshua Rosanoff (1878–1943) emigrated from Russia in 1891, spending most of his professional life in Los Angeles. He published on psychiatric aspects of personality, was an early expert on autism, and had an interest in eugenics that appears to have influenced the
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results of his research.44 Although the Manual as a whole is rather repellent to modern sensibilities, Rosanoff is surprisingly sympathetic towards homosexuality, given that he considers it a type of mental illness. He denies that homosexuals belong to a particular physical type, but concedes that ‘certain psychic characteristics are almost regularly present’: In the speech one often notes an effeminacy of intonation and construction with perhaps stagy and affected gestures, pronunciation, choice of words, and general style. Ordinarily there is a formalism, reserve, and somewhat labored refinement in their conversation; but with the development of more intimate acquaintanceship they begin with ambiguous and suggestive remarks and eventually reveal a fondness for most obscene expressions, salacious stories, and the like.45
Rosanoff explains that some homosexual behaviour is caused by fear of ‘detection, social ostracism, blackmail, economic ruin, and legal prosecution’,46 and that this fear has led to clannishness and ‘the development of special slang expressions’.47 He provides a non-alphabetical glossary of twelve entries for twenty-one terms, including: Turk, wolf, or jocker, an active sodomist. Punk, lamb, queen, bitch, or prushun, a passive sodomist. Fruit, fruiter, fairy, a passive homosexual who practices irrumation.48 Cruising, going out in search of a partner.
In the summary of this section, Rosanoff’s interest in eugenics becomes clear. He argues that it is irrational to persecute homosexuals, because this encourages them to marry, resulting ‘not only in untold misery to the patients and their wives, but also in the perpetuation by heredity of homosexual traits—the very thing that conventional society would wish to avoid.’49 Gay slang is evidence of degeneracy, but since Rosanoff was uneasy about the integration of homosexuals in society, he is not horrified by its existence.
44 See Vera Hassner Sharav, ‘Screening for Mental Illness: the Merger of Eugenics and the Drug Industry’, Ethical Human Psychology and Psychiatry 7.2 (2005), 111–24. 45 Aaron J. Rosanoff, A Manual of Psychiatry, 6th edn. (New York: Wiley, 1927), 202. 46 47 Ibid., 203. Ibid., 204. 48 The 1938 edition has fellatio instead of irrumation for this entry, but the lists are otherwise identical (see Simes, ‘Gay Slang Lexicography’, 2). 49 Rosanoff, Manual of Psychiatry, 207.
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R. S. ‘American Slang in London’ (1928) In 1928 American Speech republished a glossary from the previous year’s stage production of Is Zat So?, a three-act comedy by James Gleason and Richard Taber that had taken Broadway by storm in 1926 and been made into a silent film the following year. The Herald International Tribune carried the following notice of the play’s London debut: Although there have been numerous complaints recently about the number of American plays running in London, not a single critic this morning had anything but praise for this latest one. The reviewers agree that the American language glossary, which was supplied with the play, was a good idea . . .50
‘R. S.’, who re-presented the glossary for the benefit of an American readership, commented: The words glossed have, or had, wide American currency, and they had no little interest for British audiences. It seems to me desirable to let American readers see the glossary as it appeared for the enlightenment of the British. It deserves preservation in a record of the growing language like American Speech.51
The glossary contains forty-four entries for sixty slang terms. The slang terms are listed first, but not entirely alphabetically. The list begins: Dame, Frail, Skirt, Jane, Wren, Broad: Girl Go, Mill, Bout: Prize fight Ginney, Wop: Italian . . . Aces: Perfect Appearance Forfeit: Money put up by fighters to guarantee appearance Apple Sauce, Banana Oil: All wrong, no good
From this point onwards the list is alphabetical to the first letter, and only one further entry defines two terms together.
50 Reprinted in The Herald International Tribune (17 Feb. 2001), page numbers not available online, . 51 S. R., ‘American Slang in London’, American Speech 2 (1928), 167.
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Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of American slang (1929) The fourteenth edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica, already discussed in Chapters 4 and 6, presents approximately 370 ‘American Slang’ terms, with Maitland and Scott’s glossaries listed among the sources. The compiler remarks that: The mixture of races and the general breaking of old associations which accompanied the first great western migrations were peculiarly favourable to the development of a highly flavoured colloquial style. And in general it may be said that the frontier in America, after the colonial period, has always been a border line of romance between reality and unreality in which slang expressions have made a vigorous growth.52
Although clearly writing from a British perspective, and adopting an unpromising source in the American Slang Dictionary, this compiler does use Maitland intelligently. The usage labels enable him to avoid terms derived from Hotten, and entries from both sources are generally abridged: Maitland’s American Slang Dictionary Hang (Am.), “to get the hang of,” to acquire the knack of doing anything. Scott’s Contributions all in—exhausted. ‘At the end of the first mile Jim was all in.’
Encyclopædia Britannica Hang, to get the, to understand. All in, exhausted physically.
This is by no means a comprehensive list of American slang, and appears to involve little first-hand knowledge. It is, though, more than twice as long as the British list, and over three and a half times the length of the Australian glossary. The compiler clearly felt that a shorter list could not do justice to the inventive range of American slang.
Sarah Christine Petersen’s ‘Yellowstone Park Language’ (1931) Sarah Christine Peterson lists terms used by college students working during the summer vacation in Yellowstone National Park.53 There are fifty-nine headwords, many for terms in much more general use than the title suggests: 52 53
‘Slang’, Encyclopædia Britannica, 14th edn., XX, 766. Sarah Christine Petersen, ‘Yellowstone Park Language’, American Speech 7 (1931), 21–3.
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flat — tourist who does not tip. hoosegow — comfort station. pearl diver — dishwasher.
Plenty of others are colloquial rather than slang: nag — horse. shack — cabin. shindig — dance.
It is probable that Petersen documented her own first exposure to these terms and assumed that they had no currency outside the context in which she first heard them.
Eruera Tooné, Yankee Slang (1932) This book was published under the pseudonym Spindrift, more usually a proper noun meaning “spray (also sometimes snow or sand) carried by the wind”.54 The preface suggests that the author had travelled widely in America, but no other publications appeared under the proper name or the pseudonym. Published in London, the preface (‘My say so’) addresses a British audience, and deliberately emphasizes differences between British and American speech: “Howdy, folks? Shake mitts—pleased ter meettcha.” “Say, listen! . . . American “talkie films” that depict the committal of crimes accompanied by vulgar expressions from Slangland are being flashed on cinema screens in every city and town of the British Empire—and Britons “fall for it!” American gramophone records are hollering Yankee slang from John o’Groats to Bluff, and from Franklin Bay to Sydney Harbour — “I’ll tell the World!” American magazines that publish stories of underworld doings, criminal and sexual . . . are being distributed all over Great Britain by the hundreds of thousands—“and then some!” . . . These happenings shout aloud for a vocabulary of American Slang words—“they sure do!”55
54 55
This is a summary of definitions in the OED. Eruera Tooné, Yankee Slang, by Spindrift (London: Privately printed (Harrison & Sons), 1932), 7.
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The glossary includes approximately 950 entries for 870 headwords. While a few list general Americanisms: Chinook: Warm wind. Gulch: Ravine, canyon, corrie. Sidewalk: Pavement.
— most entries are for slang terms proper. In a sample of 737 entries for 674 headwords, the main areas of coverage are approval & disapproval; leisure & pleasure (both 12 per cent); and knowledge & communication (8 per cent). Twenty-nine per cent of entries include synonyms or other related terms, some chosen to provide additional explanation for the benefit of British readers: Ball game: Baseball, Eng. rounders. Omaha: Cousin to Wigan! Mention of Omaha as home town raises a sure laugh. Thirty cents: I feel as cheap as thirty cents. = 1s. 3d.
While rounders is provided as a synonym to baseball rather than as an additional definition for ball game, the other two examples introduce an equivalent to the defined terms to try and convey their connotations. This accessibility of style is continued in the provision of anecdotal and encyclopaedic material in 9 per cent of entries, often exploring ambiguities arising from differences between British and American English: Knocked up: In England, weary and worn, tired; in the States, enceinte. Discreet girls should avoid requesting any man to knock them up in the morning—awaken is much better. Rubber: Inquisitive person. Story: Englishman, wearing eyeglass, in street car. White girl nursing black baby. Anglo hombre keeps stretching and twisting his neck to peep at the baby. Nurse gives him icy glare and calls out “Rubber!” “Oh, is it?” asks the Englishman, “I weally thought it was weal!” Favourite story in States.
Eight per cent of entries provide etymologies, which are frequently wrong: Uncle Sam: This name was originally applied to a merchant named Samuel Wilson, who was known to his workmen as “Uncle Sam.”
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Seeing a large number of barrels of pork marked U.S. (United States), a workman, on being asked what the letters stood for, promptly answered, “Why, Uncle Sam, I guess.”56 Yankee: Corruption of the word “English,” mispronounced Yengees or Yenkees by the Red Indians of Massachusetts in the early days of English settlement. Formerly was applied to Northerners as distinct from the South Americans, now of general application by foreigners.57
Another notable feature of this dictionary is its pronounced (though jocular) anti-feminism: Dumb guy: A dunder-head. Man who says little, reserved, reticent, untalkative—does not apply to women. Shine on the dot: To appear punctually, keep a “date” on the tick of the clock—does not apply to women.
Following the glossary are a few pages discussing American English and giving examples of slang in use and a page of ‘Cracks: wise and otherwise’. ‘The Cops and Crooks Section’ includes ‘some Yankee slang words and vernacular sayings in relation to crime’, although they are not set out as a glossary. For instance: Prisons are officially known as jails and penitentiaries; in Slangland the latter is called pen, also termed big house, stir, hoosegow, iron cage, the steel, can, calaboose, cooler, ice chest, cold storage. The Governor of a jail is officially the warden; to the crook he is the big shot, big stick, big noise.58
This section is followed by a glossary of cant terms, discussed in Chapter 11. There is some overlap between the two lists, though each defines its terms independently. For example: American slang list Fool’s hand: Holding six cards at poker! Moths: Girls lured to the bright lights of cities, who flutter awhile, and then drift into tenderloin quarters—or pass into a graveyard. 56
Cant list Fool’s hand: Holding six cards at poker. Moths: Unsophisticated and vain girls who are attracted by City Lights. They are the embryo of the tenderloins.
Compare with Maitland’s account of the origins of Uncle Sam, cited on pages 159–60. OED ‘source unascertained’, but gives Dutch Janke, a diminutive of Jan, John, as the most likely derivation. 58 Tooné, Yankee Slang, 47. 57
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A number of articles following the cant glossary cover subjects of practical and historical interest ranging from ‘Calamity Jane’ to ‘Tips’. There is also a list of equivalent terms used in America and England, and some spelling and pronunciation guidance. This material confirms that even at this late date, American slang was apparently of more interest to British than American readers.
L. W. Merryweather’s ‘The Argot of the Orphan’s Home’ (1932)59 Merryweather describes the lives and language of children living on what is described as ‘the campus of a large home for orphans’,60 though we are told that some of the children’s mothers worked in the home. Their inability to provide for their children was, presumably, a result of the Depression: The presence of over a thousand inmates, with adults in the ratio of about one to ten, resulted in the children’s forming their own public opinion and to some extent, their own slang and language customs. . . . Many of the quotations are recorded from the actual conversations of the children; the others are my own attempts to present a term in a typical sentence and use.61
Merryweather comments that although the list is not exhaustive, it was the result of several months of observation and consultation with staff and students. There are approximately 130 headwords, some for widely used terms: kluck, n. A stupid person. “You big kluck!” raw, n. Unfair. “The umpire gave us a raw decision.”
—while others appear to be restricted in use: may, n. Water closet; derived facetiously from can (q.v.), after a teacher’s vigorous campaign to secure correct use of the verbs “can” and “may.” sub, n. A very stupid person. From “subnormal mentality.” “You don’t know anything; you’re a sub.” 59 A Leonard William Merryweather (b.1902) graduated in 1923 from Whitman College, Washington, and published a book on the Indian tribes of Washington in 1933. 60 L. W. Merryweather, ‘The Argot of the Orphan’s Home’, American Speech 7 (1932), 398–407: 398. 61 Ibid., 399–400.
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Although not quite a glossary of the slang of the homeless (see Chapter 10), this list documents the language of an underclass. It demonstrates that the development of specialized local slang is not restricted to affluent young people in well-funded schools and colleges (see Chapters 5 and 8), though the slang of poor people is less likely to have been considered worth recording.
Eric Partridge, Slang Today and Yesterday: the American list (1933) Partridge’s glossary of American slang terms includes approximately 2400 entries for 2250 headwords. It is thus about two thirds the length of the English slang list, but includes about eight times as many terms as the Australian glossary (see Chapters 4 and 6). Partridge acknowledges Mencken’s The American Language, Thornton’s American Glossary,62 and Irwin’s American Tramp and Underworld Slang (see Chapter 10) as his main sources. In a sample of 1009 entries for 943 headwords, the American glossary concentrates on crime & punishment (13 per cent); fools, failure & insults (10 per cent); and knowledge & communication (8 per cent). These fields are all significantly larger than in the other lists in the volume, as are geography & travel; luck, success & approval; and politics & bureaucracy. Significantly smaller are leisure & pleasure; body & health; clothes, jewellery & looks; animals & nature; home life; and buildings (all p = 0.01). Twenty-one per cent of entries include usage labels, significantly fewer than the British and Australian lists. These disproportionately mark terms as belonging to cant or to the slang of schools or universities. Although only 1 per cent of entries include a citation, this is significantly higher than in the other lists, suggesting that Partridge felt a greater need to prove his assertions in this glossary (all p = 0.01). Fiend. “A characteristic American hyperbole” (Mencken), as in movie-fiend, bridge-fiend, golf-fiend, drug-fiend, kissing-fiend, all—1910. Nigger in the Woodpile. “A mode of accounting for the disappearance of fuel; an unsolved mystery” (Thornton).—1800. Now coll.
62 Richard H. Thornton, An American Glossary, Being an Attempt to Illustrate Certain Americanisms upon Historical Principles (London: Francis, 1912).
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He clearly had other sources too, and lists several terms originally found in the flapper glossaries discussed above: Cellar-Smeller. A young man with a nose for drinks (—1920). Tomato. A girl, good-looking and a fine dancer—but averse from amorous caressing (—1920). 313.63
Partridge is already, in these entries, applying the practice that he was to follow in his DSUE, of giving a date of use slightly earlier than the first written evidence. Perhaps because of his relative unfamiliarity with American slang, Partridge refers to British and Australian equivalents and use in 6 per cent of the entries in this glossary: John Collins. Mencken considers this term typically American, but it is almost certainly from Australia, where it was current at least as early as 1895. A delectable alcoholic drink, orig. soda water, gin, sugar, lemon, and ice. On the Q.T. On the quiet (—1880). Perhaps orig. English.
In reference to Partridge’s debt to Mencken, Bentley commented that: this reviewer, after reading the chapter through, was quite clearly of the feeling that when better things are written about American slang Mencken will very likely write them.64
The critical reception of this list in the United States may have played a part in Partridge’s decision to exclude American slang from the DSUE.
Howard N. Rose’s A Thesaurus of Slang (1934)65 Rose’s ‘thesaurus’ is actually a collection of reverse glossaries: The immediate purpose of this Thesaurus is to bring to the writer a collection of terms, phrases, and expressions that characterize and typify the every-day language of the various social divisions which have been treated throughout the extent of its pages. . . . It proved obvious that the terms and phrases themselves were actual stimuli for plot inspiration; that merely the 63
Compare the originals on page 163. Harold W. Bentley, [review], in American Speech 10 (1935), 61–5: 64. An earlier version of this section was published as ‘Howard N. Rose’s Thesaurus of Slang (1934). Its Purpose, Structure, Contents, Reliability and Sources’, Historiographica Linguistica 34 (2007), 351–61. 64 65
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reading and studying of the characteristic slang was sufficient to act as a sort of divine inflatus upon the author’s mind.66
He was not the only author to perceive a need for help with contemporary language among the writers of articles, novels, and scripts. Several magazines for aspiring authors offered tips on getting published, and other book-length publications also appeared.67 Rose provides the aspiring writer with plenty of help in ‘How to Use the Thesaurus’: . . . it is best for the author to read over the entire section upon which he intends to base his story. This gives a working idea of the terms, phrases, and expressions which are to be found in that section, so that as the occasion arises, he may turn immediately to the list and find the characteristic expressions which consummate his need.68
—and divides his terms into twenty-four separate lists, covering the slang of groups (e.g. IV Hobo; V Lumberjack), contexts or occupations (e.g. IX Railroad; XIV War), and regions (e.g. VI New England; XIII Western). Rose’s college slang glossary is discussed in Chapter 8; military slang in Chapter 9; tramps’ language in Chapter 10; criminal language in Chapter 11; and the slang of the entertainment industries in Chapter 12. The following are general remarks about the lists as a whole and some specific comments about the lists not discussed elsewhere. There are about 4820 entries in all, with some words appearing in more than one section. In a sample of 1004 entries for 743 definitions, the largest areas of semantic coverage are leisure & pleasure (25 per cent); geography & travel (9 per cent); and knowledge & communication (8 per cent).69 The semantic biases of each glossary are entirely predictable (see Appendix, Table 7.1), but there are other differences too. The aviation glossary contains more usage labels
66
Howard N. Rose, A Thesaurus of Slang (New York: Macmillan Company, 1934), vii–viii. Periodical publications for the hopeful author include The Editor, Writer’s Digest, and The Writer’s Monthly, which include features, short stories by subscribers, and plenty of advertising. Several slang glossaries featured in this volume are from these magazines. Jerome Irving Rodale’s The King’s English on Horseback (Emaus, PA: Rodale Publications, 1938) is a book-length collection of humorous phrases designed to enliven a writer’s style. 68 Rose, Thesaurus, viii. 69 leisure & pleasure is somewhat over-represented in the sample, because there are six lists of sporting slang and the sample includes the first fifty definitions from each. 67
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than the other lists, the railroad glossary more etymologies, and the boxing glossary more variant forms of the headword (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 7.1.1). These inconsistencies are undoubtedly inherited from Rose’s disparate sources.70 An average of 1.4 words is listed for each definition. In the football glossary, there is an average of 1.9, rising to 2.6 in the baseball glossary. The limited semantic range of these glossaries is counterbalanced by a high level of synonymy. For example: Baseball (n.): a pill; pellet; sphere; globule; apple; onion; potato; radish; cantaloupe; tomato; horsehide. [XI a) ‘Baseball’] Go Through the line (v.): to plough; plunge; cut; knife; drive; hit; batter; ram; crash; buck; punch; (phr.): break through. [XI c) ‘Football’]
Other entries provide lengthy definitions for a single word: Cable Attached to Tree Top When Only the Top is Cut Off (n phr.): the high line sky-rigger. [ V ‘Lumberjack’] Early Edition of a Sunday Paper to Be Mailed to Distant Points (n): the bullpup. [ VII ‘Newspaper’] Handsome Guides at a Dude Ranch to Provide a Romantic Touch for Rich Eastern Women (n. phr.): S. A. cowboys. [ XII a) ‘Broadway and the Stage’]
Sometimes Rose fails to link synonyms together, and as a result he provides more definitions than are necessary. For example: Inmate Who Has Become Weak-Minded from Confinement (n. phr.): a stir bug. Prisoner Who Is Insane from Confinement (n): a stir-simple. [ Both from III b) ‘Prison’]
Rose adheres rigidly to an alphabetical ordering of the definitions within each list, even where this is not helpful: In First Place (v phr.): to lead the field. In Last Place (v phr.): to trail the field. . . . Last Bit of Distance at the End of the Race (n phr.): the final drive; home stretch. Last Sprint of a Race (n phr.): the final drive. [all from XI f ) ‘Turf ’ ]
70
See detailed discussions in the following chapters.
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He sometimes fails to match definitions grammatically with the word defined, or fails to understand their grammatical function at all: Involuntary Stopping of the Motor (v): to conk. [I ‘Aviation’] Blackmailer (n phr.): an at black; ex: He’s the best at black you ever saw. [ III c) ‘English Underworld’] Hit by a Bullet (v): pipped. [ XIV ‘War’]
Although to conk is correctly marked as a verb, Rose defines it with a noun phrase. Black “blackmail” seems a more likely interpretation of the example offered in blackmailer. The presentation of pipped in the past participle form suggests that it was generally used in passive constructions. Only 4 per cent of entries include examples of terms in use, including: Debris Which Plugs the Well at a Distance from the Bottom (n): bridge; ex: We’ll fish out that bridge first. [ VIII ‘Oilfield’] Derailment (prep. phr.): on the ties; ex: I just heard that number six was on the ties. [ IX ‘Railroad’]
A reviewer in American Speech was unimpressed with Rose’s structure, coverage, and definitions: As there is nothing about the book to commend it to anyone seeking information, it would seem that Mr. Rose either was not conversant with his subject or else did not exert the proper care in presenting his material . . . A number of the entries given by Rose closely resemble material in articles published elsewhere, but no credit is given.71
In fact Rose did credit his sources, but without any great specificity: I hereby express my sincere gratitude and appreciation to the following writers, scholars, journalists, and friends from whose work I have drawn a portion of the material contained in this volume: George Milburn . . . John Wilstach . . . David W. Maurer . . . Also to the various publications to which I referred: American Mercury, Literary Digest, The Bookman . . . Writer’s Review, Writer’s Digest . . . True Detective, Real Detective, Master Detective, Sky Birds, Wings, Battle Aces, War Birds, The New York Mirror, the New York Daily News . . . and especially American Speech magazine, whose columns furnished a wealth of valuable material.72
71 72
J. Louis Kuethe, [review of Rose’s Thesaurus], American Speech 10 (1935), 142–4, 143–4. Rose, Thesaurus, v.
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As we shall see in the following chapters, Rose was a compiler rather than a documenter of slang. Despite the limitations of the Thesaurus, it was republished in 1972 without any additional material, and is still occasionally used for evidence of 1930s usage.
Maurice H. Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) Maurice Harley Weseen (1890–1941) worked at the Iowa State College and became a professor at the University of Nebraska. Claiming exemption from the draft on the grounds of a ‘crippled hand’, he completed his MA thesis on Tolstoy in 1917, but his published work concentrates on the use of English in various professions and in job applications. His work can be characterized by its interest in the effective use of language.73 In his Crowell’s Dictionary of English Grammar and Handbook of American Usage,74 Weseen had already defined some new and wellestablished slang terms, but generally to recommend their avoidance: Ace. A new slang verb in the sense of to hurry or to speed, as “We aced down the street.” Correct as a noun meaning an aviator who brought down five enemy planes during the World War. Questionable as a general name for one who shows superior qualities, as “a swimming ace” and “a boxing ace.” Chink. Slang name for money. Discourteous slang as a name for a Chinaman. Lose Out. Sports slang. Not in good use in connection with other subjects. A ball team may lose out but a candidate, an applicant, or a suitor simply loses. Compare Win out.
Weseen makes a detailed statement of his intentions in publishing the Dictionary of American Slang: This book aims to make available a fairly complete collection of American slang classified with reasonable accuracy according to the principal types. This is a collection of American slang that is slang. It does not pretend to be a complete historical record of slang. Entirely obsolete slang is not included. Nor are words and expressions that once 73 Biographical information from census and archival material accessed through Ancestry Library Edition, supplemented by bibliographical information from FirstSearch. 74 Maurice H. Weseen, Crowell’s Dictionary of English Grammar and Handbook of American Usage (New York: Crowell, 1928).
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were slang but now have recognized places in the standard language. . . . Craft slang that is really slang has been included, but this is not intended to be a complete compilation of the technical jargon of all trades and occupations. Special effort has been made to bring the lists as nearly down to date as possible and to include current slang not found in general dictionaries.75
His Dictionary clearly found a market. It was published in Britain and America in 1934, reissued twice in the early 1940s, and translated into Chinese in 1946. Dickson, who describes it as ‘the last—and as far as I can tell, only—American topical slang book’, considers that it was rendered obsolete only by the Second World War.76 There are twenty-one separate lists, the longest being of ‘General Slang’. The others categorize terms by users and contexts (e.g. ‘Crooks’ and Criminals’ Slang’, ‘College Slang’, ‘Radio Slang’), others by subject matter (e.g. ‘Drinking Slang’, ‘Eating Slang’, ‘Money Slang’). In a sample of 2425 entries for 2282 headwords,77 the largest fields are leisure & pleasure (20 per cent); geography & travel (8 per cent); and knowledge & communication (7 per cent). Only 5 per cent of entries include anything other than a headword and a brief definition or synonym from standard English. Many of Weseen’s specialized glossaries are discussed in later chapters: college slang in Chapter 8, military slang in Chapter 9, tramps’ language in Chapter 10, criminal language in Chapter 11, and the slang of the entertainment industries in Chapter 12. The ‘General Slang’ list is discussed here along with the other glossaries that did not belong elsewhere. Each of the specialist glossaries concentrates on a particular area of vocabulary, and many of their semantic biases are entirely predictable (see Appendix, Table 7.2). The ‘General Slang’ glossary includes significantly more terms for fools, failure & insults; emotion, behaviour & temperament; knowledge & communication; clothes
75
Maurice H. Weseen, A Dictionary of American Slang (London: Harrap, 1934), vi. Paul Dickson, Slang! The Topic-by-Topic Dictionary of Contemporary American Lingoes (New York: Pocket Books, 1990), xi. 77 This consists of the first 100 entries from each of the first twenty glossaries and the first 20 entries for each letter of the ‘General Slang’ list. 76
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& looks; success & approval; measurements; commerce, politics & bureaucracy; home life; and miscellaneous terms than the other lists in the volume. leisure & pleasure; artefacts; work; and food are all significantly smaller (all p = 0.01). This is because Weseen’s last glossary is not a glossary of widely used slang, as the title ‘General Slang’ might imply, but rather a collection of the terms that did not fit into his other lists: drinking terms tend to be in the ‘Drinking Slang’ list, for instance, which begins: About gone—Intoxicated. A-buzz—Intoxicated. Afloat—Intoxicated. Alcoholiday—A day of drinking; a spree.
The ‘General Slang’ list includes a large number of blends and compounds, probably rarely used, if ever: Bachelordliness—The proud and haughty manner of a bachelor. Inflationphobia—Extreme dread of inflation and inflationary policies. Roundaboutitis—Indirectness of speech.
Other differences between the glossaries include more variant forms for headwords in the ‘Money Slang’ list and more synonyms and related terms in the glossary of ‘Cowboys’ and Westerners’ Slang’. The ‘General Slang’ glossary contains significantly more entries with encyclopaedic material or editorial commentary, most of which is political. It also has significantly more examples of terms in use (all p = 0.01). For instance: Fall for—To like, to be impressed by. A politician has been defined as one who stands for what he thinks voters will fall for. Lab—The Labor Advisory Board. One item in the Alphabet Soup of the New Deal.
Entries in the glossary of ‘Eating Slang’ contain significantly more compounds, derivatives and phrases (all p = 0.01): Adam and Eve—Two eggs. “On a raft” adds toast. Bride and groom—Two eggs. “On a raft” adds the toast.
These variations in the content of entries probably reflect differences between Weseen’s sources. The list of ‘Boxing and Prizefighting Slang’, for example, apparently makes use of two articles from American Speech:
Dictionaries of General American Slang American Speech Rockwell, ‘Color Stuff’78 The boxer, according to the sporting writers . . . “flips or jabs a left or right,” . . . He delivers “sweet sounding socks” when the blows are especially convincing ones and his antagonist “takes the count” or is “k.o.’d.”
Creighton, ‘Jargon of Fistiana’79
POWDER-PUFF. An easy blow, a dancing fighter, an Ethel. SLOW-STARTER. One who fights carefully during the first rounds, but who finishes in a burst of speed. TRIAL HORSE. A good steady fighter used to weed out contenders for the title.
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Weseen Flip a left—To strike quickly with the left hand. Similarly to flip a right. Jab a right—To strike quickly and hard with the right hand. Similarly to jab a left. Sweet sounding socks—Hard blows. Take the count—To be knocked down. K.O.’d—To be knocked out.
Powder puff—A light blow; a dancing fighter; a fist. Slow-starter — A fighter who proceeds cautiously and finishes with a burst of speed. Trial horse—A fighter who is used to eliminate contenders for the championship.
Contemporary scholars reviewing Weseen’s dictionary praised it for its comprehensiveness, but also expressed reservations about its failure to discuss the nature and origins of slang, characterizing it as ‘the product of industry and alertness rather than of study, observation, and thought on the subject’.80 Although slang dictionaries are often blamed for the words they miss, Weseen was also criticized for including ‘every neologism, blend, colloquialism, or other verbal oddity that ever crossed the path of the compilers’.81 With reference to its inclusiveness and poor definitions, Mencken described it as ‘an extremely slipshod and even ridiculous work’.82 Although neither was well-received by the academic community, Weseen’s work fared a little better than Rose’s. It is worth observing 78
Harold E. Rockwell, ‘Color Stuff ’, American Speech 3 (1928), 28–30: 29. Robert E. Creighton, ‘Jargon of Fistiana’, American Speech 8 (1933), 34–9. Bentley [review], (1935), 64. See also J. Louis Kuethe, ‘Modern Slang’, American Speech 11 (1936), 293–7: 293. 81 Bentley [review] (1935), 64. 82 H. L. Mencken, The American Language, 4th edn. (London: Jonathan Cape, 1937), 570. 79 80
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that both were reviewed in scholarly journals. The need for a good dictionary of American slang was evident, but Rose and Weseen’s dictionaries did not fit the bill. That two such similar works should appear at this time suggests a general sense that English in America was too varied for any one individual to know it all, and the sourcedependent methodology of both compilers underlines this. Both attempt to catalogue the contents of numerous specialized glossaries, and both inherit the limitations of their sources. Since many of their sources are still readily available, any serious researcher in the field will continue to bypass both Rose and Weseen.
Dorothy Cook’s ‘More Yellowstone Lingo’ (1935) Cook provided a supplement to Petersen’s list (see above), noting that it was unlikely that all of her additions were new terms. ‘Yet if even a few of them are of recent origin they offer ample proof that Yellowstone lingo is a living and growing language.’83 There are thirty-nine headwords in all including, as Petersen had, some general terms: BOOT. Luggage carrier on the back of a bus. SETTING UP. Getting cabins ready for summer.
Harold W. Bentley’s ‘Linguistic Concoctions of the Soda Jerker’ (1936) Another industry that had developed a specialized professional slang was the soda fountain or short-order restaurant, where some waiters and servers developed a series of humorous synonyms for common orders. A publishers’ internal publication shows how this type of language was used: “One order of split pea soup,” cries the customer. “Splash the split peas,” cries the waiter. “Cup of coffee, without cream and a couple of doughnuts,” another will order. “Two submarines and a mug of murk—no cow!” orders the waiter.84 83
Dorothy Cook, ‘More Yellowstone Lingo’, American Speech 10 (1935), 75–6: 75. ‘Boy, Page American Speech’, The Kalends of the Waverly Press and the Williams and Wilkins Co. Baltimore 5 (Nov. 1926), 17. This article does not include a glossary. A few terms had turned up in earlier glossaries (see Adam and Eve and bride and groom, cited on page 189). 84
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American Speech instituted a new strand of slang lexicography when it published the first glossary of terms used by the operators of soda fountains.85 Although Harold Woodmansee Bentley (1899–1980) collected his terms in New York, he asserted that similar terms were in use nationally, though some corporations were beginning to suppress them. Bentley lists 296 headwords, all for terms used in communication between counter staff, cooks, and waiters. Some operate as abbreviations for common orders: AND ANOTHER. Coffee. GLOB. Plain sundae.
Others allow private communication in a public setting: FIX THE PUMPS. See the girl with the large breasts. GEORGE EDDY. Man who gives no tips.
—but most represent linguistic playfulness for its own sake: CANNED COW. Condensed milk. HEBREW ENEMIES, A COUPLE OF. Two pork chops. MAKE IT VIRTUE. Cherry Coca-Cola.
Bentley suggests that customers, particularly out-of-towners, were entertained and enjoyably bemused by this contrived form of slang, and a few terms did find their way into more general use, generally through military or college slang.
J. Louis Kuethe’s ‘Modern Slang’ (1936)86 James Louis Kuethe (1905–1973) was the son of a German-born Maryland salesman. His MA thesis, at Johns Hopkins University, was on the physical manifestations of anxiety, but he later became University librarian at Hopkins, and a prolific reviewer and contributor to Modern Language Notes and American Speech. He had published a glossary of ‘Johns Hopkins’ Jargon’ in 1932 (see Chapter 8). 85 Harold W. Bentley, ‘Linguistic Concoctions of the Soda Jerker’, American Speech 11 (1936), 37–45. Later glossaries on this subject will be discussed in Coleman, Cant and Slang IV. Tom Dalzell, Flappers 2 Rappers. American Youth Slang (Springfield, MA: Merriam-Webster, 1996), 36, dates the decline of this type of language to the late 1930s. 86 Kuethe notes that a portion of the list has been published in the Baltimore Evening Sun (3 Jul. 1934), under the title ‘The Age of Slang’. I have not seen this article.
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In this American Speech article, Kuethe argued that slang is not always ephemeral, and presented a list of terms found in Slang and its Analogues that were still in use in the United States. The list begins: ADAM’S ALE.—1643. ADAM’S APPLE.–1755, Johnson’s Dictionary. AGAINST THE GRAIN.—1673, Dryden. APPLE-PIE ORDER.*—1813, Scott.
Asterisked terms are listed in Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang, which Kuethe unwisely took to indicate continued currency. Since many headwords are not defined,87 this is not, strictly speaking, a slang dictionary, but it is an interesting indication of the growing sense that American English, even in its non-standard forms, was worthy of serious attention, though the implication that long-lived terms are more interesting than ephemeral ones does imply a continued prejudice against linguistic innovation.
Conclusions Commentators at the beginning of this period were apologetic or condemnatory; by the end there was no doubt that American English was at least as good as British English, and that attempts were being made to study it methodically.88 Even American slang was rising in status: After having had his manuscript burned a year ago, Mr. A. Dilworth Faber, at the suggestion of Sir William Craigie, has begun anew the work on his American Slang Dictionary, which he hopes to make the most comprehensive in the field.89
Although this dictionary never appeared, several interesting developments were taking place in American slang lexicography, as will
87 ‘In most cases the term is so well known that a definition would be superfluous’ (Kuethe, ‘Modern Slang’, 293). 88 As demonstrated by Mencken’s work, the establishment of the journal American Speech, and William A. Craigie and James R. Hulbert’s Dictionary of American English on Historical Principles (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1938–44). 89 ‘Gossip of the Book World’, Los Angeles Times (14 Mar. 1937), C8. Faber is described as ‘the editor of “The Historical Dictionary of American Slang” ’ in a review he published in the same year (A. Dilworth Faber, ‘Eric Partridge’s Dictionary of Slang’, New York Times (23 May 1937), 99).
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be seen in the following chapters: it was beginning to be seen as an acceptable field for academic study, it was beginning to be informed by sociological theories and methodology, and, unlike the British slang-dictionary tradition, it tended to look to the present rather than the past. This is the first period that could begin to discuss ‘American slang’ as a national phenomenon. In colleges and itinerant professions a tight-knit social circle could develop and facilitate the use of specialized slang, but across a vast continent there were no such contacts and no such shared interests at the beginning of this period. Slang is disseminated in informal communication: in person, perhaps by telephone, but possibly most of all through the media. The dictionaries claiming to list general American slang probably do include some national terms, but it is more likely that their compilers documented the slang of their own immediate surroundings, particularly of their own social circle and of linguistically inventive journalists. With the exception of Maitland’s derivative work, all the dictionaries of general American slang written for a home market were published in New York: The city’s nineteenth-century dominance of publishing, popular music, minstrelsy, vaudeville, and, early in [the twentieth] century, movies and radio all amplified the New York idiom and took it across the nation.90
A number of practical developments also raised the international profile of American English during this period. Improvements in transatlantic travel made movement back and forth possible for wealthy individuals, and the First World War made the trip compulsory for many more. Personal encounters with American English were supplemented and eventually overshadowed by the recorded versions distributed by film and record companies. The glossaries for an international audience concentrate on similarities rather than differences between speakers of American English, and this may also have contributed to the development of the sense that there was, or ought to be, a national slang. Speakers of British 90 Irving Lewis Allen, The City in Slang. New York Life and Popular Speech (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 3.
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English were clearly not well equipped to document it, however. Although American slang was being adopted in Britain, these glossaries do not present it as a threat to British English. British readers were probably amused and infuriated by these lists, in more or less equal measure, and may have enjoyed having their prejudices confirmed.
Eight: American School and University Glossaries Several decades before flappers brought youth slang to wide attention, American students were already distinguishing themselves by their speech. In some instances this is the same kind of privileged insider slang that we have seen in the British school and college glossaries, and in the early glossaries it is similarly single-sexed. This type of slang is part of the pride that students felt in association with their colleges, and it sometimes took a relatively fixed form, to the extent that a father might brief his son in college slang. Until the middle of the nineteenth century, college education was rare and tended to be for students in their mid to late teens. All of the glossaries in this chapter date from the later nineteenth century, when things were beginning to change: During the 1880s and 1890s, college enrolments almost doubled. The number of colleges likewise increased, particularly public ones. Many were coeducational, admitting women as well as men. The children of small farmers, merchants, and immigrants now claimed seats in college classrooms. Public interest in college slang at that time is shown by the many short and usually anecdotal articles on the topic published in newspapers and magazines.1
The age at which students attended university continued to increase, and by 1900 most students were at least 18 years old.2 Many were motivated more by ‘the fun of the playing field and club’3 than by any love for learning, and these glossaries document their social lives far more than their education.4
1
Eble, Slang & Sociability, 132. Eugene Howard Babbitt, ‘College Words and Phrases’, Dialect Notes 2 (1900), 3–70: 7. 3 Oscar Handlin, The American People. A New History (London: Hutchinson, 1963), 282. 4 I have been unable to locate the ‘Short Dictionary of Slang, Jargon, Cant, and Popular Customs’, University of Virginia Alumni News 24 (Jan. 1936), 80–1, listed in Burke, Literature of Slang, 135. This may be a description rather than a title. 2
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Edward Evans’s ‘College Slang (Princeton)’ (1889) Princeton was founded as the College of New Jersey in 1746, and gained university status in 1896.5 This brief account of slang used there is signed ‘F. B. L.’, but a note remarks that ‘Mr Edward Evans, of Trenton, has compiled the following list of slang words in use in Princeton College.’6 The list itself is so brief as to bear quotation in full: Crib — A “sit up” or “joker.” Examination notes written on paper, on cuffs, or the like, as “aids to reflection.” Honey man — A retort equivalent to the phrase “you’re another.” Students say to a story, “That’s a honey man.” Poll, to — To study with uncommon diligence, from “poll” the head. Bone, to — Equivalent to poll.
Bone and crib were not restricted to Princeton at this time, and neither Evans nor his editor claimed that they were. Honey and man could be understood separately in this context and the compound is not listed by HDAS or the OED.
R. G. B.’s ‘College Slang, Harvard’ (1889) Harvard College was founded in 1636, and was originally a Puritan institution. It underwent a rapid expansion and redefinition during the second half of the nineteenth century. Published in response to Evans’s list, but with no introduction, were notes on five slang terms used at Harvard, including: A grind is a man who studies hard; on a grind is to be studying hard, and to grind is to study hard. Mucker—is the name given to a townsboy, or to the small boy that infests Cambridge. Shack (perhaps from the French chercher)—is to hunt tennis balls; the mucker who does the hunting is a shacker.
Again, there is no attempt to place these terms in any historical context or to claim that they were peculiar to Harvard. These three terms all seem to have been in wider use. 5 6
Historical information about the universities discussed in this chapter is from their websites. Edward Evans, [F. B. L.], ‘College Slang (Princeton)’, American Notes and Queries 3 (1889), 299.
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R. B. Woodworth’s ‘College Slang, Hampden Sidney’ (1889) Hampden-Sidney, a Presbyterian college, was founded in 1775. In response to the Harvard and Princeton glossaries, but with no other introduction, this note presents a brief list of seven entries concentrating on desserts and embarrassment: Boss, boarding house dessert, flag Boss day, dessert day. Dude, classic sense, eye-glass not necessary. Get the grins, to be in a state of complete embarrassment. Hack; one who has the grins is under the hack.7
Reference to the OED and HDAS, which both only list dude, suggests that these terms were more limited in use than those in the Harvard and Princeton lists.
Willard Clark Gore’s ‘Student Slang’ (1896) Founded in 1817 in Detroit, the University of Michigan had long been situated in Ann Arbor when this article appeared. It was already co-educational by this point. This pamphlet is an edited version of a contribution made to the University of Michigan magazine, The Inlander in 1895.8 Gore had undertaken ‘the first systematic and sizable study of American student slang at a single university. . . . he asked two hundred second- and third-year students . . . to collect and define current student slang that they had heard or read.’9 This produced a collection of about 800 slang expressions, which Gore chose to list etymologically, according to the following structure: I. Arbitrary or Unexplained Coinages. 1. Origin Unknown. [33 headwords] 2. Origin Obscure or Doubtful. [23 headwords] II. Modification of Words and Phrases in Good Use. 1. Changes in form. (Morphological Changes.) A. Abbreviations [61 headwords] B. Phonetic changes. [4 sub-categories, 21 headwords in all] 7 8 9
R. B. Woodworth, ‘College Slang, Hampden Sidney’, American Notes and Queries 4 (1889), 60. Willard Clark Gore, ‘Student Slang’, Contributions to Rhetorical Theory 2 (1896). Eble, Slang & Sociability, 132.
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American School & University Glossaries C. Contamination. [5 headwords] D. Formations due to analogy. [22 headwords] 2. Changes in meaning. (Semasiological Changes.) A. Figurative [9 sub-categories 163 headwords in all] B. Non-figurative. [104 headwords]
An unfortunate feature of this method of presentation is that any disagreement about etymology undermines it, as Gore acknowledged. For instance, dough “money” is listed in section I.1 ‘Origin Unknown’, and bone “to study” as ‘Origin Obscure or Doubtful’ (II.2), though the OED treats both as figurative extensions of standard usage. Hunky “all right; in good condition” is also categorized as ‘Origin Obscure or Doubtful’ (II.2), though the OED derives it from a Dutch dialectal term. All three probably belong in II.2.A. Such disagreements do not require an outside eye: Gore lists prof “professor” and varsity “university” under both II.1.A and B. A sample from Section II.1.A ‘Abbreviations’ will illustrate the content of this list: co-ed. n. A woman at a co-educational college or university. Arg. 4:45. S. [College Slang U.S.]10 exam. n. Examination. fess up. v. Confess. howdy. n. How do you do.
Most of the definitions are similarly brief. It is not clear whether Gore’s primary interest was in etymology and morphology or whether these disciplines are invoked to give status to a dubious area of study.
Eugene Babbitt’s ‘College Words and Phrases’ (1900) Eugene Howard Babbitt (b.1859) was born in Connecticut, the son of a carpenter and joiner. His academic interests included the teaching of modern languages, particularly German, and the dialectology of New York City. This article, published in Dialect Notes, presented the results of a postal survey under the auspices of the American Dialect Society, which was sent to four hundred colleges and secondary schools.11 The 10
‘Arg’ refers to the Michigan student newspaper, The Argonaut. An article concentrating on Babbitt’s coverage of Yale slang (‘Do you “Bone” or “Grind?”; College Slang a Matter of Scientific Study’, Boston Daily Globe (8 Nov. 1896), 32) indicates that this was a subject of local as well as institutional interest. 11
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glossary includes approximately 1440 entries for 975 headwords, and a sample of 803 entries for 543 headwords concentrates on approval & disapproval (21 per cent); lessons & learning (18 per cent); and leisure & pleasure (14 per cent). Babbitt comments that there had been little study of American college language, and that Hall’s Collection of College Words and Customs12 had dealt more with traditions. Babbitt lays out the limitations of his own study, and suggests future areas of research. The list specifically excludes general slang even where it is also used by students, and Babbitt comments that although students use much of the same slang as their less-educated contemporaries, they do so with ‘a better taste’.13 The introduction provides a brief sketch of American college life, largely for the benefit of European readers. Babbitt comments that ‘certain qualities of the American national character appear at their best in the student, and find interesting expression in his speech’.14 These are energy, willpower, self-control, respect without undue reverence, and high personal morals. At the end of each entry, Babbitt lists all the colleges from which the term was reported: grind, v. i. 1. To devote an unreasonable amount of time to study, with or without commensurate results. 2. To ridicule or satirize. 3. To cause to work hard. 4. To be distasteful or burdensome. Ag (1, 2, 4), Al (1), B (1, 2), Bd (1, 2), Be (1, 2, 3), Bk (1, 3), Bo (1), Bu (3), CC (1, 4), Cg (1, 2), Ch (1), Cin (1, 3), Cl (1), Cor (1, 2, 3), CS (1) . . . kitten, n. In phrases ‘get kittens,’ ‘have kittens,’ 1. To get angry. 2. To be in great anxiety, or to be afraid. Ag (1), H (1), Mh (1), Min (1), P (2), PE (1), T (1, 2, 3), We (1), WR (1).
These examples indicate Babbitt’s assumption that readers will want to look specifically at the slang of individual colleges, and 43 per cent of his senses were reported from only one institution. Sometimes the college list is divided by sense rather than in one unbroken alphabetical sequence, which is a more accessible way of presenting the same mass of information for readers with a more general interest in the subject:
12 Benjamin H. Hall, A Collection of College Words and Customs (Cambridge, MA: John Bartlett, 1847). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 253–5. 13 14 Babbitt, ‘College Words’, 11. Ibid., 9.
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P.G. i.e. post-graduate, or pretty girl, n. 1. A post-graduate student. 2. A pretty girl. (1) Bd (rare), Be, Bu, Cin, Cor, El, Ha, Hk, It, IS, LF, M, Min, NW, P, PE, PSC, Sm, Te, Tu, U, URo, WA, We, WR, WS, WyS. (2) Tu.
Perhaps even more useful would have been a geographical summary, stating whether terms were restricted to particular regions or states, though Babbitt did note that there were fewer responses from the South and the West, which would have rendered a geographical approach misleading. Presentation of so much detail from the transcription of questionnaire responses of multiple informants, particularly in the days of secretaries and typewriters, was sure to lead to errors, some of which are easily detectable, such as the attribution of an unlisted sense 6 of the verb grind to ‘PC’ (Pennsylvania College) and an unlisted sense 3 of kitten to ‘T’ (Tulane University). Babbitt’s list of abbreviations does not include all those used in the glossary. With reference to the entries cited above, for example, which are not unrepresentative of the whole, ‘Al’ and ‘Cl’ in grind, ‘Mh’ in kitten, and ‘It’ in P.G. are not explained. Babbitt’s concentration on providing so much localized information, entirely appropriate in its context, also distracted him from the task of ordering and rationalizing his definitions. For instance: cram, v. i. 1. To attempt to store the mind hastily with a great number of facts preparatory to an examination. 2. To study hard. 3. To memorize without digesting . . . foxy, n. [sic] 1. Sly. 2. Bright. 3. Well-dressed. 4. Shy, quiet. 5. Good in seizing an opportunity. 6. Extremely good. 7. Deceitful. 8. Scheming . . .
A single definition would have served for cram and definitions 1, 5, 7, and 8 of foxy could have been combined to produce a more efficient entry. Babbitt’s list remains ‘the baseline for the historical study of twentieth-century U.S. college slang’,15 but his overarching survey appears to have inhibited other scholars in the field for some time. Perhaps there was nothing left to add, but it may also be that the inaccessibility of his apparently exhaustive material deterred all but the most determined enquirers. 15
Eble, Slang & Sociability, 133.
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Robert George Whitney Bolwell’s ‘College Slang Words and Phrases’ (1915) It was not until fifteen years after Babbitt’s article that a further list in Dialect Notes presented words and phrases used at Western Reserve University (now Case Western Reserve University), founded in 1826. Bolwell described Babbitt’s work as ‘of great and valuable assistance’,16 and commented that: It will be readily noted, upon comparison of various words, that considerable change in meaning has occurred in the last fifteen years. The common tendency seems to be abbreviation; hence, in order to illustrate this point, many terms have been introduced at the risk of repetition. As far as possible, no words have been repeated from Mr. Babbitt’s list in which there have been no changes in meanings, with the exception, as noted, of clipt forms.17
The main glossary contains 149 headwords, and the journal’s editor marked those with an asterisk that he knew to be also in use at Harvard. Other editorial notes are included in square brackets: coop. Coo- perative store. [At Harvard ‘the Coop’ (kûp)]. dig,* v.t. To study. “I’m going to dig some German.” mon.* Money. [ Not exclusively student slang.—Ed.] pep.* Pepper: meaning ‘spirit; aggressiveness.’
Dig is from the main list, but coop, mon, and pep are from a separate collection of ‘clipt forms’. There are three further lists of headwords: ‘Words specified by Mr. Babbitt as local to other institutions but heard at Western Reserve, without change of meaning’; ‘Words which Mr. Babbitt gives as not local, but which are not heard at Western Reserve’ and ‘Words specified in Mr. Babbitt’s list as from Western Reserve, but which are not heard there at the present time.’ Bolwell’s decision to structure his own list around Babbitt’s demonstrates the regard in which it was held. By the end of the 1920s, over a quarter of seventeen year olds were graduating from high school, and the number of students in higher education, both male and female, also increased: 16 Robert George Whitney Bolwell, ‘College Slang Words and Phrases’, Dialect Notes 4 (1915), 231–8: 231. 17 Ibid., 231.
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Thus youth received unprecedented opportunities for advancement and fulfilment and began to display greater defiance of traditional values. The natural arrogance of youth and the new opportunity for its display afforded by society reversed traditional patterns of behavior. Youth, rather than maturity, provided the model for others.18
Later slang lists are as much concerned with social interaction as with learning, and the slang they list provides an insight into acceptable behaviour and social hierarchies among the young. These contradict the flappers’ insistence that this was a period of freedom and selfexpression for the young: Personableness and conformity were twin handmaidens fostering peer interaction. . . . The sense of confidence in affiliation was purchased at the price of conformity and renunciation of eccentric interests and styles. Campus dress, campus slang, campus fads, and enthusiasms were uniform. No one stepped very far out of line.19
College authorities still went to considerable lengths to limit students’ interactions with the opposite sex and alcohol was prohibited by law. These restrictions seemed risible to confident affluent youngsters, and many simply refused to observe them. In these glossaries we can see the beginnings of youth culture, albeit in a predominantly white middleclass form.
Howard James Savage ‘College Slang Words and Phrases from Bryn Mawr College’ (1922) Bryn Mawr, the first higher education institution for women, was founded in 1885 as a Quaker college, but by this date had become non-denominational. Savage explains that he had been able to observe college slang continuously between 1915 and 1922 ‘except for two years’ absence’,20 presumably for military service. He admits that some of the terms he lists were widely used in and outside colleges. Where his definition would be the same as Bolwell’s, he gives only an asterisk by way of explanation:
18 20
Cashman, America in the Twenties and Thirties, 59. Savage, ‘College Slang Words’, 139.
19
Fass, The Damned, 163.
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cut.* prep.*
Unfortunately, the asterisk does not help the user to determine which of Bolwell’s lists to consult. Savage’s glossary has four subdivisions: ‘General terms’ (64 headwords); ‘Clipped forms’ (35 headwords), ‘Transferred epithets’ (in which he gives examples, but no glossary), and ‘Abbreviations’ (5 headwords). The following examples are ‘General terms’: jazz, n. (1) Present-day syncopated dance music. “Just listen to that jazz.” (2) n. Animation, animal good spirits. “She’s just full of jazz.” (3) v. i. To dance latter-day steps. “Let’s jazz a bit; the music’s pretty good.” (Encyc. Brit., 12th ed., s.v. “Dancing,” would indicate that this sense is an importation from England, and perhaps also from France.) (4) v. t. To agitate violently and irregularly. “She jazzed the muggle a little.” (Probably not general.) (5) v. phr. to jazz around, to go a great deal to parties. “You mustn’t expect to pass your quizzes if you keep jazzing around like this.” muggle, n. A drink made of instantaneous cocoa, or chocolate, condensed milk, and water, in varying proportions according to taste. “I know I’m heavier than I was—too much muggle, I guess.”
The inclusion of examples to illustrate usage makes this list not only more lively than those preceding it, but also more informative. Savage was also careful to reject the idea that college slang was distinct from youth slang in general.
William R. Morse’s ‘Stanford Expressions’ (1927) Opening its doors in 1891, Stanford was co-educational from the start. In this list, Morse presents ‘expressions heard or seen for the first time by the compiler, in the meanings attached to them, during eighteen months at Stanford University.’21 He numbers entries to indicate their distribution: (1) Used at Stanford (2) Used on the Pacific Coast (3) Used on the Pacific Coast and in the Middle West 21
William R. Morse, ‘Stanford Expressions’, American Speech 2 (1927), 275–9: 275.
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The list includes approximately 310 headwords, generally providing nothing more than a brief definition. For instance: dead line—latest date for receiving literary contributions (1) Indian giver—one expecting return of gift (Texas) (5) pronto—at once (4) ranch—a large farm (3) skibby—Japanese and Chinese (2)
Morse notes that ‘A few expressions are given without meanings attached. These were overheard but their meanings were not ascertainable’.22 They include: slag—meaning not ascertained (1) walk out—meaning not ascertained (1)
This inclusion of undefined terms is odd in itself, but even odder is the failure to provide any contextual evidence for them.
J. R. McReynolds Banks’s ‘Unabridged Collegiate Dictionary’ (1927 and 1928) Columbia University was founded as King’s College in New York by royal charter in 1754. Banks’s glossary was published in four instalments in the student newspaper The Columbia Jester, along with humorous cartoons (see Figure 8.1). The first instalment includes a brief introduction: This dictionary has been especially compiled for Jester by Professor I. Noall, of the department of masticated and Typewritten English, of Columbia University. Prof. Noall spent the prime years of his life studying the English language and now can speak, read and write intelligently in more than a hundred American dialects. He has especially studied the Collegiate Dialect, which is one of the best known and most widely used.23
22
Morse, ‘Stanford Expressions’, 275. J. R. McReynolds Banks, ‘An Unabridged Collegiate Dictionary’, Columbia Jester 27 (Dec. 1927), 10. 23
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Figure 8.1. The Columbia Jester: “Who wash tha’ lady I seen ya with lash night?” “Tha’ wuzzn’t no lady. Tha’ wusha Shmith student.” (1928)
The fourth instalment ends ‘To be continued’, but the list was not completed. Its last entry is: Patience, what you need while waiting for the university to make you a refund.
There are 338 entries for 328 headwords, of which 60 per cent are jocular rather than useful definitions of slang terms. For instance: Dress, you can see through this yourself ! Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace! Nightgown, hey hey!
The list concentrates on leisure & pleasure (24 per cent); lessons & learning (12 per cent); and body & health (7 per cent). Four per cent of entries are empty cross-references, most of which are jocular and do not (as far as it is possible to follow them) lead to another entry: Burlesque, (See “Undraped.”). Cash, (See “Papa”). Easy, (See “Speak”).
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Like the cross-references, etymologies are usually provided only for the sake of humour: A. B., abbreviated form of “All But,” tacked on to guys [sic] names after they have completed four years at college and meaning that they “all but” got an education. January, first month of each year, strange to say; derived from ancient Sanscrit words, jann and arri, meaning “Month of Broken Resolutions.”
Presumably written by and for college students, this glossary provides an interesting parallel with some of the First World War lists discussed in Chapter 9. Like them, it defies the accepted meanings of standard English terms.
Maurice Weseen’s ‘College Slang Glossary’ (1928) In 1928, six years before his Dictionary of American Slang (see Chapter 7), Weseen published a Dictionary of English Grammar and Handbook of American Usage, including a section on college slang: Slang is largely a product of youth, an evidence of exuberance. . . . Most of their inventions are ephemeral; they pass with each college generation. Some of them are adopted by the non-academic world and gain a wider currency. Those that remain on the campus relate chiefly to perennial courses and “activities.” These terms become commonplace to their users and are not regarded as slang. Rather they constitute a campus cant.24
Weseen attempts to represent all these types in his glossary of 268 headwords: babe exam psyc sluff
pretty girl examination psychology loaf
Although this list inevitably overlaps with glossaries discussed above, there is no indication that Weseen turned to any of them as his source, so it could be employed to provide additional evidence of use. 24
Weseen, Crowell’s Dictionary, 123.
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Vance Randolph and Carl Pingry’s ‘Kansas University Slang’ (1928) Kansas University was founded in 1865, by the citizens of Lawrence. Vance Randolph (1892–1980) was born in Pittsburg, Kansas. His father was an attorney and a Republican politician and his mother a librarian. He dropped out of high school, but did eventually graduate from college. Some of his earliest publications were in HaldemanJulius’s socialist newspaper (see page 169). Although he and Pingry went from Kansas University to Yale Law School, Randolph spent most of his adult life in the Ozark Mountains, where he worked as a folklore writer and collector.25 The glossary contains ninety entries for eighty-five headwords. All headwords include grammatical information, and 42 per cent include examples to illustrate usage: Bag, n.—A girl—usually a rather unattractive girl. “Say, Cress, who was that bag I saw you with yesterday?” Get around, v. phr.—To be very popular, to have many desirable dates. “Mary Jane sure did get around last semester.”26
As these examples demonstrate, the list concentrates on leisure & pleasure (29 per cent) and people (14 per cent, of which most are terms for women). rules, infractions & penalties, and looks (there are no terms for clothes) each account for a further 9 per cent of semantic coverage. Twelve per cent of entries include cross-references and a further 11 per cent offer synonyms or other semantically related terms. For example: Hot sketch, n.—A pretty girl who has it—meaning sex appeal. Cf. mean baby. Mean baby, n.—A pretty girl, particularly one who is shapely and inclined to friendly doings. Cf. hot sketch.
Hervey Brackbill’s ‘Midshipman Jargon’ (1928) The United States Naval Academy at Annapolis was founded in 1845. Hervey Brackbill (c.1901–?1999) appears to have been a journalist and 25 26
Biographical information from ANB. Vance Randolph and Carl Pingry, ‘Kansas University Slang’, American Speech 3 (1928), 218–21.
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amateur ornithologist, and presumably spent some time in military service during his youth. His glossary is more in keeping with US college slang lists than with the glossaries of military slang discussed in the next chapter, in that it concentrates on terms used at Annapolis and excludes those in wider use. For instance: Brick — A woman who lacks all that Miss America has. Tecumseh — An old-time wooden cigar-store Indian, the center of snake dances in celebration of great athletic victories; “god of the wooden.”27
As these examples demonstrate, the list deals more with social than military concerns.
Jason Almus Russell’s ‘Colgate University Slang’ (1930) Admitting its first students in 1819, the school of the Baptist Education Society was originally a seminary. It became non-sectarian in 1928, but was still male-only when this article was written. Jason Almus Russell (b.1897) was the son of a New Hampshire brick mason. He wrote his MA thesis on Ruskin and his Ph.D. thesis on ‘The Indian in American Literature’, both at Cornell. He appears to have turned to local and family history in his retirement, and his last publication was in 1977. Russell noted that he had collected the terms in his glossary on campus and that he thought ‘that they may be of more than passing interest to members of other college communities.’28 The forty-seven headwords include: Pig-fight: humorous term for a dance. “The fraternity is holding a pig-fight tonight.” Tunk: a smoker at which light refreshments are served, usually from 8.00–11.00, P.M. “Our fraternity is holding a tunk tonight.”
As these entries demonstrate, Russell followed other contributors to American Speech by providing illustrative examples, though they were probably composed for the purpose.
27 28
Hervey Brackbill, ‘Midshipman Jargon’, American Speech 3 (1928), 451–5. Jason Almus Russell, ‘Colgate University Slang’, American Speech 5 (1930), 238–9: 238.
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Joe J. Jones’s ‘More Slang’ (1930) Jones, who sent this contribution to American Speech from ‘Tecumseh, Nebraska’, provided little information to introduce his list: Here are some slang expressions, current among college students in the central west, that may interest readers of American Speech. All have come into vogue rather recently, I think.29
The list contains only seven headwords, all including at least one example of use. Most list more than one meaning, but Jones illustrates some of the additional senses by example rather than definition. For instance: barrel—Make haste or hurry, or cause to make haste. Used especially of vehicles. “They went barreling up the hill for dinner.” “He sure does barrel that Ford of his.” flop—Used as a transitive verb. “I’ll flop that test as sure as shootin’.” “As near as I can tell she flopped the boy.”
Jones claims to be doing nothing other than listing some terms in use at some colleges. This casual approach was characteristic of many early contributors to American Speech and was presumably intended to encourage someone else to undertake more detailed research into etymology and distribution.
Kenneth L. Daughrity’s ‘Handed-Down Campus Expressions’ (1930) Kenneth LeRoy Daughrity wrote his MA thesis on ‘Four notable progenitors of English biography’ at Columbia, and a Ph.D. thesis on Nathaniel Parker Willis at the University of Virginia. He also published at least two articles on Poe, but appears not to have pursued an academic career. Daughrity wrote in response to Russell’s list, emphasizing particularly the importance of long-lived university slang terms which were ‘part of the cherished traditions of the schools’:
29
Joe J. Jones, ‘More Slang’, American Speech 5 (1930), 305.
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These expressions are to be distinguished from the ephemeral slang of the day. . . . To illustrate the types of expressions I have in mind, I shall record here a few discovered in use—and a use which I believe to be exclusive—in three southern institutions. . . .30
Daughrity divided his glossary into three subsections, one for each of the institutions named below: ’Fessor — “Prof ” at this institution is rarely heard. “ ’Fessor” is in common use, even by the townsfolk. “ ’Fess” is less commonly, yet frequently heard. Both terms are often used in direct address. [Alabama Polytechnic Institute, now Auburn University, founded 1859] Gummy —I am not sure that I could define this word as it is used; its meaning, however, is evident. “That professor’s lectures are gummy.” “That is a gummy book.” “He is a gummy sort of person.” [ University of Virginia, founded 1825] On class—At this institution the students and the instructor are not “at class” nor “in class,” but “on class.” “Where is Smith?” “He is on class.” [University of North Carolina, founded 1789]
Following his presentation of five headwords in total, Daughrity proposed a compilation of similar words across the country: Such a survey, it seems to me, if limited to deep-seated, traditional expressions would be well worth the permanent record it would receive; and, of course, what is more important, perhaps the why of some of the expressions could be determined.31
The interesting departure that Daughrity makes from the norm of the American college slang lists is his emphasis on tradition: it is not the newness of words or their ephemerality that make them worthy of documentation, but their history. This is an approach much more characteristic of the British school slang lists, and was echoed by Kuethe’s ‘Modern Slang’ article in 1936 (see Chapter 7).
Virginia Carter’s ‘University of Missouri Slang’ (1931) The University of Missouri was founded in 1839, but it was to the University of Oklahoma that Virginia Carter submitted her MA thesis on ‘Literary periodicals of the Southwest’ in 1933. In this article, she 30
Kenneth L. Daughrity, ‘Handed-Down Campus Expressions’, American Speech 6 (1930), 129–30:
129. 31
Daughrity, ‘Handed-Down Campus Expressions’, 130.
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noted that Missouri students used their own slang, but also general slang terms and terms imported from other universities: In the following exhibit I have included, where possible, the source at other universities of the slang expression given. Other expressions have come from popular moving-picture shows, books, magazines, and newspapers. Practically all, however, are in daily use at the University of Missouri.32
There are 105 headwords, many of which were, indeed, common slang terms: blotto: a state of unconsciousness after drunkenness. cat’s pajamas: term of extreme eulogy. date: an engagement or appointment with a member of the opposite sex, sometimes with a member of the same sex; also, the person with whom the appointment is made.
Carter marks only one term as restricted to the University of Missouri: jelly: loiter for idle conversation in university buildings, or join friends to pass the time of day at a café or drug-store near the campus. Distinctively a University of Missouri expression.
HDAS presents this as the first citation for this sense of jelly. Three later citations, until 1968, may be independent attestations.
John Shidler and R. M. Clarke Jr.’s ‘Stanfordiana’ (1932) Shidler and Clarke provided a note rather than an article on terms used at Stanford.33 It is almost as if it was becoming necessary for a university to claim a distinctive vocabulary even if there was nothing in particular to say about it. It may also have been useful for young academics to promote their institutions in this way. There is no introduction to the six entries, four of which are presented in conventional glossary format, including: A jolly-up is an informal dance at Stanford University. It is held from seven to eight P.M., and no introductions are necessary. Crud means illness. “I’ve got the crud,” means “I’m ill.” 32
Virginia Carter, ‘University of Missouri Slang’, American Speech 6 (1931), 203–6: 203. John Ashton Shidler and R. M. Clarke Jr., ‘Stanfordiana’, American Speech 7 (1932), 232–3. This is probably the John Ashton Shidler (1911–97), son of a physician, who married an actress (Rosemary DeCamp), and later became a lawyer and Superior Court Judge in California. 33
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The last two take a more discursive form: An umbrella is sometimes called a shower-stick. This usage is said to have got its start in a Bud Fisher cartoon. The California form of the word, roodlens, deserves mention in connection with the poker term roodles. An inquiry from M.O. Shriver concerning the origin of roodles appeared in vol. VI, p.306, of American Speech.
In a further article, Shidler continued his discussion of Stanford language, but gave no glossary. He commented that ‘I know that Stanford lingo will continue to change . . . after four or five years, the expressions now in favor will seem unfamiliar and outdated.’34
J. Louis Kuethe’s ‘Johns Hopkins Jargon’ (1932) and Rose’s ‘College Slang’ glossary (1934) Johns Hopkins was established in Baltimore in 1876, and although the graduate school was co-educational by this point, only male undergraduates were admitted. This glossary, a relatively long one for American Speech, contains about 420 headwords. Kuethe does not provide examples of terms in use, though he sometimes indicates how they were used: babe—a girl (usually used in direct address). Uncle Dudley—used to designate the person speaking. you’re damn tootin’—emphatic affirmation.
Kuethe’s article does more than most of the contributions to American Speech on student language. He claims to include ‘most of the slang expressions used and understood by the students at the Johns Hopkins University’,35 for example, rather than a small randomly selected sample. He talks in more detail than most about the origins of his terms and about the difficulty of defining them, not only because of their shifting meanings, but also because: The most expressive terms, known to all college students, but used by only a few, must perforce be omitted. Some are definitely slang, others shade off into various degrees of obscenity.36 34
John Ashton Shidler ‘More Stanford Expressions’, in American Speech 7 (1932), 434–7: 434. J. Louis Kuethe, ‘Johns Hopkins Jargon’, American Speech 7 (1932), 327–38: 327. For biographical information, see Chapter 7. 36 Kuethe, ‘Johns Hopkins Jargon’, 328. 35
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Kuethe’s list is particularly good at noting shades of meaning, especially where terms were used both generally and specifically: fairy—an effeminate man; a pervert. a nifty—n.—an attractive girl. (The answer to a he-man’s prayer.) Anything attractive. the works—everything; copulation.
Although Kuethe did not compare Johns Hopkins’ slang with that used at other institutions, he provided references to enable his readers to do so. Sixty per cent of entries in the list of college students’ slang in Rose’s Thesaurus are from Kuethe’s glossary. In a review of the Thesaurus in the Los Angeles Times, Paul Jordan-Smith commented that ‘The college slang does not seem to be quite up-to-date’,37 which suggests a very rapid turnover of slang terms.
Maurice Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang: College slang glossary (1934) Weseen also included a glossary of college students’ slang in his Dictionary, but had a wider variety of sources than Rose. Of the 100 college slang entries sampled, Weseen derived twelve from Kuethe, and three each from the college slang glossaries of Carter (Missouri), Russell (Colgate), and Randolph and Pingry (Kansas). Two entries are in more than one of those sources. These sources account for 20 per cent of Weseen’s college slang terms, and other sources could undoubtedly be found.
Hugh Sebastian’s ‘Negro Slang in Lincoln University’ (1934) Lincoln College (now Lincoln University of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania), chartered in 1854, was ‘the oldest institution of liberal arts for the Negro in the United States’.38 At this stage it was still singlesexed. Hugh Sebastian (born c.1905) is listed as a boarder and educator at Lincoln College in the 1930 census, though his next appointment was 37 38
Paul Jordan-Smith, ‘I’ll Be Judge You Be Jury, Los Angeles Times (9 Sep. 1934), A7. Hugh Sebastian, ‘Negro Slang in Lincoln University’, American Speech 9 (1934), 287–90: 287.
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at a white college. According to the Lincoln University Herald,39 he was one of two instructors in the English department, and offered courses on grammar and composition, American literature, and nineteenth-century poets. A letter to American Speech in 193740 is signed ‘The Macmillan Company’, suggesting that he moved from higher education into publishing. He writes that his students helped him to collect ‘a large portion of the printable slang in current use’ and attributes the inventiveness and distinctiveness of language at this institution both to its isolated location and to ‘an imaginativeness which is peculiar to the Negro race’, though he also describes Lincoln slang as ‘an unsophisticated, elemental language’.41 He arranges his 116 terms by grammatical category: MAN. Anyone in authority. When I rode [q.v.] in that exam I took the Man out! means ‘When I cheated in that exam I put one over on the professor!’ [Nouns] HELLACIOUS. Outstanding. [Adjectives] PSYCHE (pronounced [saik]). To outwit; to cross-question; to fathom one’s motives and actions when they appear unfathomable. [I first heard this expression when I went to Lincoln. Since that time the term has had more widespread use, I believe; there is no question in my mind but that the expression was current at Lincoln before its use became more general.] [Verbs]42
Considering the enormous influence that African-American slang now has, it is worth emphasizing that this is one of very few glossaries of Black slang to predate the Second World War.
Hugh Sebastian’s ‘Agricultural College Slang in South Dakota’ (1936) Following a change in employment, Sebastian presented another glossary of student slang two years later: Born and reared on lonely prairie farms and in small, widely scattered agricultural towns somewhat aside from the main paths of civilization, 39
Lincoln University Herald 25, Jan. 1931, 42–4, . American Speech 12 (1937), 235. 41 Sebastian, ‘Negro Slang’, 287. 42 See Thomas E. Murray, ‘Recent Teenage Slang: Sike’ in Gerald Leonard Cohen (ed.), Studies in Slang IV (Frankfurt: Lang, 1995), 83–8. 40
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most of the students have necessarily adopted the simple, homogenous rural ideology of the region, and from this have derived their slang terms. Not so imaginative or vivid or complex as some other slangs, that of the State College is indigenous, naïve, crude.43
South Dakota State University was founded in 1881 as Dakota Agricultural College. There are only forty-six headwords, including: To be CAMPANILED. To be drunk. Explanation: The Campanile (see bellering belfry) is topped by a revolving beacon illuminated at night. Result: To be campaniled means to be ‘all lit up and going round and round’. GINCH. Any girl. NEST. The Kampus Kafe—a local eating place.
Perhaps because he had earlier published on another form of student slang, Sebastian is particularly interested, in this glossary, to record expressions peculiar to his new college.
Conclusions These glossaries leave much to be desired in terms of methodology, terminology, and documentation: their authors usually provide no information about how the lists were collected, they never really define what it is they are listing, and they give little information about currency. They fail to distinguish between slang and ‘the technical vocabulary of academic life’44 and, as later scholars were to observe, they frequently listed general high school or youth slang rather than slang restricted to the college campus, thus creating the illusion that university students were uniquely creative. As such, they document the beginnings of a youth culture that was to transcend educational affiliation. In this context, however, slang was often a measure of conformity rather than rebellion. Despite their limitations, these glossaries are infinitely better than contemporary British school and college lists: different in nature, approach, 43 Hugh Sebastian, ‘Agricultural College Slang in South Dakota’, American Speech 11 (1936), 279–80: 279. 44 The limitations of this type of treatment of student slang were to be discussed in some detail in Lawrence Poston, ‘Some Problems in the Study of Campus Slang’, American Speech 39 (1964), 114–23; Henry Kratz, ‘What is College Slang?’, American Speech 39 (1964), 188–95; and Lawrence Banchero and William L. Flinn, ‘The Application of Sociological Techniques to the Study of College Slang’, American Speech 42 (1967), 51–7. The quotation is from Kratz, 189.
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and content. They are lists of current slang, and are thus likely to be more reliable than old men’s reminiscences of idealized school days. They were largely written by young academics who may have been slang users themselves. The compilers sometimes supplemented their own knowledge with questionnaires or selected informants. These glossaries express a feeling that contemporary slang, no matter how ephemeral, was worthy of scholarly attention, and their origins in a wide variety of institutions also suggest an interest in developing as well as ancient traditions.
Nine: Dictionaries of First World War Slang It need hardly be said that the First World War was unlike any that had gone before it, not only for those engaged in it, but also for the families they left behind. The mass recruitment of civilians, at first voluntarily and later by conscription, brought the war into every home, and there was a hunger for information of any kind. Reports, photographs, and even film from the front, created an appearance of openness, but everyone with first-hand experience knew this to be misleading. Governments began to see the provision of information as a vital part of the war effort, and new laws were passed to censor and control its flow. Newspapers cheerfully spread the stories that governments needed their people to hear: troops and their families were rallied with tales of bayoneted babies, crucified Canadians, and warrior angels. Conscription was not introduced in England until March 1916. Until then there was sufficient popular support for the war for men to be carried along by a communal sense of duty and desire for adventure. Although soldiering had never been seen as a noble profession, the civilians who signed up in wartime did so in the confident knowledge that they belonged to the master race and represented the greatest power on earth. Brought up on literary depictions of war, they expected ‘that they would find occasions for personal combat, personal courage, personal killing and, if necessary, personal dying, personally chosen and accepted.’1 The reality could not have been more different. 1 Samuel Hynes, The Soldiers’ Tale. Bearing Witness to Modern War (London: Pimlico, 1998), 48. General information in this section is also derived from Tony Ashworth, Trench Warfare 1914–1918. The Live and Let Live System, 2nd edn. (London: Pan, 2000); Malcolm Brown, The Imperial War Museum Book of 1918. Year of Victory (London: Pan, 1999); Malcolm Brown and Shirley Seaton, Christmas Truce (London: Pan, 2001); Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975); Cate Haste, Keep the Home Fires Burning. Propaganda in the First World War (London: Penguin, 1977); James, Rise and Fall; Judd, Empire; Trevor Royle, The Best Years of their Lives. The National Service Experience 1945–63 (London: Michael Joseph, 1986); Hunt Tooley, The Western Front (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003).
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The number of British divisions on the western front rose from four in August 1914 to sixty-four in November 1917. Over 6.7 million British men were recruited in all, along with about 2.5 million from around the Empire. More than 10 per cent of these were killed and about 23 per cent were listed as wounded. Many of the one million American soldiers who served on the Western Front were drafted, and they suffered similar casualty rates. To imagine that survivors were unharmed by their experiences is now unthinkable, but it was perhaps the greatest difficulty they faced returning home after the war. The Kitchener Divisions, recruited locally early in the war and populated by men swept on the tide of patriotism, retained their regional identities. The soldiers in these divisions would have continued to use dialect terms for those areas of wartime existence that civilian language could encompass. Army slang from before the war was in use in the regular divisions, and may have been passed on during training. All recruits, no matter what their pre-war experience, were drilled in much the same way, with an emphasis on mindless repetition, unthinking obedience, and personal hygiene. Officers were often less experienced than their men, and were selected largely by social status rather than aptitude or merit. Severe losses to locally based divisions could devastate whole communities, and from September 1916 recruits were allocated to whichever battalion needed them most at the time. Leave was brief, unpredictable, and distributed disproportionately to officers and non-combatants. Opportunities for rest and relaxation near to the line were also limited, though travelling entertainment companies and film theatres did supplement the enticements on offer at the local estaminet. Unofficial concert parties allowed men to let off steam and laugh at their officers’ expense, as did the irreverent, sentimental, and smutty songs with which soldiers accompanied their long marches to and from the front.2 Another outlet for discontent was provided by the troop journals: Officers and other-ranks alike expected grousing and it was tolerated, or even actively encouraged . . . Partly this was because it ‘has always been the unquestioned privilege of the British Army . . . and we like to keep up
2
These were collected in Brophy and Partridge’s Songs and Slang, discussed below.
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the old traditions’, but above all it was because of the widely held conviction that ‘grousing clears the air . . .’ . . . The belief in the positive value of such grousing was in fact very common, forming a minor variant of the general belief in the sovereign power of humour and the unique aptitude of the British for employing this.3
Recruitment drives and propaganda whipped up fervent antiGerman feeling on the home front, but men in the trenches sometimes found it easier to empathize with the shivering ill-fed soldiers opposite than with desk-bound generals or complaisant civilian jingoists. This is demonstrated by the famous Christmas Truce of 1914 and by very many less well-known avoidances of conflict, ranging from regular breakfast-time ceasefires to long-term ‘quiet fronts’. Many soldiers were reluctant to face the greater dangers that promotion would bring and the ‘old soldier’ avoided acts of conspicuous bravery whenever possible. By 1916, commanders were making considerable efforts to ensure that the troops were trying to win rather than merely survive the war. They began to demand proof of engagement with the enemy, and soldiers obliged by shooting a few rounds into the air each day. To ensure that this did not provoke a hostile response, it became a predictable part of the daily routine, known as the ‘morning hate’ and the ‘evening hate’. This is a reference to Ernst Lissauer’s Hassgesang gegen England (1914), known in the British press as ‘The Hymn of Hate’: French and Russians they matter not; A blow for a blow, and a shot for a shot; We love them not, we hate them not . . . We have one foe and one alone. . . . Full of envy, of rage, of craft, of gall, Cut off by waves that are thicker than blood . . . We have one foe, and one alone—England!4
That such an effective piece of propaganda can have been used to describe deliberate avoidance of combat emphasizes the distance between infantrymen, their commanders, and the generally bellicose civilian population. 3 J. G. Fuller, Troop Morale and Popular Culture in the British and Dominion Armies 1914–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 130–1. 4 Quoted in Brown and Seaton, Christmas Truce, 5–6.
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In April 1917, America entered the war. Although a few troops arrived before the end of that year, it was not until 1918 that their numbers were sufficient to tip the balance in the allies’ favour. Earlier in the war, individual Americans had chosen to serve in other nations’ armies, and the training of the earliest official arrivals in British and French units also led to some interchange of slang, as we shall see. The development of slang in this situation was inevitable:5 men had to express feelings and experiences and refer to equipment and routines for which there were no words in their normal vocabulary. They learnt the official and technical terms, but survival might depend on a single shouted syllable, and camaraderie develops better in defiance of officialdom. As well as being used to criticize the authorities, jocular terms enabled the men to distance themselves from the horrors around them. These men were fighting alongside soldiers from different parts of their own country and from around the world. Their lives depended on men with entirely different social and educational backgrounds. Writing for an English audience, Marchand described French trench slang as an emblem of egalitarian cooperation: The brutal German aggression of 1914 has united Frenchmen of all classes to such a point that their former dissensions have vanished in the face of the invaders of their territory. Like the quakers, they thee and thou each other in the army, and have adopted a language of their own called l’Argot des tranchées, thus showing their patriotic equality and fraternity.6
Contacts between soldiers of different backgrounds were undoubtedly amiable sometimes, but they often gave rise to rivalries of varying jocularity. Late arrivals, both national and individual, were popular targets for humour, and their appropriation of established slang was resented: To call the Germans the Alleyman (a corruption of the French allemand ) or Ypres Wipers implied an early arrival at the front, and the use of such 5 As early as 1915 dictionaries and monographs were documenting the slang used by French poilus, “hairy (virile) men”. These include Dictionnaire des termes militaires et de l’argot poilu (Paris: Librairie Larousse, 1915); Lazar Sainéan, L’Argot des tranchées. D’Après les lettres des poilus et les journaux du front (Paris: Boccard, 1915); François Dechélette, L’Argot des poilus. Dictionnaire humoristique et philologique du language des soldats de la Grande Guerre de 1914. Argots spéciaux des aviateurs, aérostiers, automobilistes, etc. (Paris: Jouve, 1918); and Gaston Esnault, Le Poilu Tel qu’Il Se Parle. Dictionnaire des Termes Populaires employes aux Armees en 1914–1919 (Paris: Bossard, 1919). German trench slang is discussed in Karl Bergman’s L’Argot du soldat Allemand pendant la guerre (Paris: Editions et Librairie, Chiron, 1920). 6 Charles. M. Marchand, Modern Parisian Slang. Argot des Tranchées (Paris: Terquem, ?1916), 3.
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words by newcomers would earn the forcefully-expressed disapproval of old hands.7
During the course of the war, a great many articles were written on the official and unofficial language of the troops. These are only discussed here if they set out their material as a glossary, so this is by no means an exhaustive account of First World War slang.8 Most of the glossaries discussed here include some material that is not slang: a new recruit would have needed to learn many new terms, not just slang.9 Other glossaries are predominantly made up of technical or official terms,10 and have therefore been omitted. Naval dictionaries, even those marketed as slang dictionaries, often include a great deal of information about general naval terms and customs.11 These are also omitted.
James Alfred Moss’s Supplement . . . to Officer’s Manual (1907) This ‘Army Slang’ glossary was published with the fifth and subsequent editions of Moss’s Supplement at the West Point military academy near New York.12 It provides both a comparison and a source for early 7 Richard Holmes, Tommy. The British Soldier on the Western Front 1914–1918 (London: HarperCollins, 2004), 494. 8 See, for example C. G. Prescott, ‘Anzac Vocabulary’, Anzac Memorial 2nd edn. (Sydney: Returned Soldiers’ Association, 1917), 300–5. Stars and Stripes, the American army’s newspaper included frequent observations on slang usage during the period from February 1918 to June 1919, for example, but did not organize them into a glossary. Burke, Literature of Slang, 126–30, lists many additional articles discussing First World War slang but not providing glossaries. I have been unable to locate one of the items listed in Burke’s Literature of Slang, 127: Hal, ‘Soldier Slang’, The New York Globe (16 Feb. 1916). 9 Glossaries in which the proportion of slang is minimal (and which are thus excluded here) are: War-words: A Key to the Spelling, Pronunciation and Meaning of Many Terms Brought into Public Notice by the War (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1915); F. M. Cutlack, ‘Glossary’, The Australian Flying Corps in the Western and Eastern Theatres of War 1914–1918, reprinted (Queensland: University of Queensland Press in association with the Australian War Memorial, St. Lucia, 1984); a list of ‘Principal New Words brought into Use since, or as a result of, the Great World War’, in William Lesley Mason’s Troublesome Words and How to Use Them (New York: George Sully & Co., 1924). 10 For example, Walter Wyatt Snypp, ‘The Airplane Story’, Writer’s Monthly 28 (Nov. 1926), 394–6. John Allan Benedict Wyeth’s This Man’s Army (London: Longman, Green, and Co., 1928) is a sonnet sequence. The volume includes a glossary that ranges from military jargon to slang, and also lists snatches of French and German found in the verses. 11 For instance, Frank Cowan, Contributions to a Sailor’s Dictionary. A List of Words in Use Among English-speaking Seamen, Few of Which are in any Dictionary of the English Language (Greenesburgh, PA: The Oliver Publishing House, 1894), Frank Charles Bowen, Sea Slang, a Dictionary of the Old-timers’ Expressions and Epithets (London: S. Low, Marston & Co., 1929) and Gerard Wells, Naval Customs and Traditions ([London]: Philip Allan, 1930). Claude E. Jones presented a glossary (‘A Note on Sailor Slang’, American Speech 10 (1935), 78–9), which included only slang terms used at sea, but many of these, as noted by Bowen (v) were adopted from general non-standard use. 12 James Alfred Moss, Supplement . . . to Officer’s Manual, 5th edn. (West Point, NY: Post Exchange, 1907).
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glossaries of the war, and includes 102 entries for 97 headwords, rarely giving more than a definition: Bootlick—to flatter. Punk—light bread. Yellow-leg—cavalryman.
—though five entries provide examples of use, including: French Leave—unauthorized absence. Absent on French leave—absent without authority. Jaw-bone—credit (to get things on “jaw-bone,” to buy on credit). Ranked-out—to be compelled to vacate by a senior, as “to be ranked-out of quarters.”
The glossary is a small section of a very miscellaneous volume which also includes information about officers’ duties, army discipline, and how to write wedding cards. Like the tips on etiquette, the slang appears to be a means by which an inexperienced officer could get along with those around him.
Iddy-Umpty’s ‘Trench Terms’ (1917) Published in The Listening Post, an officially sanctioned trench journal for the British Expeditionary Force in France, in August 1917, this article was one of several in this publication providing a satirical account of the language of the war. The ‘Encyclopedia of Military Terms’, for example, defined bully or corned beef as something the Government issues ‘when they wish to convince a hungry man he is not hungry . . .’.13 ‘The Dictionary of War Terms’ defined bacon as ‘A mythical breakfast dish rumoured to have been issued to soldiers sometime in the forgotten past . . .’.14 These glossaries were ironic comments on the disparity between expectation and reality. In addition to this type of entry, the ‘Trench Terms’ glossary lists some slang: Trench slang is a language all its own. No dictionary will give you the meaning of half of its words. For the benefit of our young Canadians who are preparing for the great struggle, and also for our American cousins
13
The Listening Post 12, 16 Mar. 1916.
14
The Listening Post 26, 20 Jul. 1917.
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who will soon be with us in the land of mud and cheap (but nasty) beer, we publish a short selection of terms in common use in the trenches, with an explanation of their meaning. Study this list thoroughly, and when you arrive in the trenches you will be able to greet the old soldier in his own language, while the shrapnel bursts around and the machine-gun beats its devil’s tattoo in your ears—that is, of course, if the old soldier hasn’t disappeared into the deepest dug-out on the first whisper of the approaching storm. There are some things we cannot teach you by mail!15
The first instalment contains seventeen headwords. Standard and military terms defined include barrage, bunk, communication-trench, ducking, dug-outs, and front line. These are included as comments on the management of the war rather than for philological purposes. There are a few similarly motivated slang entries: “Brass-Hats,”—These are normal human beings in civil life, who, after enlisting, are dressed up in the clothing of an officer, but with the addition of scarlet-coloured bands around the hat and various parts of the clothing, and the addition of gold leaves on the peak of the hat. The junior of these individuals are usually employed on the game of “Passed to you, please.” This consists of sending a page of meaningless typewritten symbols to some other “Brass-Hat,” who scrawls something illegible on it, and passes it to another “Brass-Hat,” or returns it. Should any “Brass-Hat” forget it, or keep it too long, the sender immediately follows it up with a “chaser.” The “Brass-Hat” who gets out the largest number of chasers in a given time is deemed to be the most brilliant, and is awarded the Military Cross. There are cases recorded of “Brass-Hats” having been seen in the trenches.
The second instalment defines a further twelve terms, and the third ten more, including: “M. and D.” The total amount of sympathy handed out to suffering humanity by members of the medical profession on morning sick-parades. The “M” means “medecine” [sic] which consists generally of sarcastic advice on the question of beating it and not returning thither. The “D” represents “duty” which in these unsettled days may mean anything from going over the top to the latest thing in drill, such as turning about in four movements without letting the feet touch the ground.16 15 16
Iddy-Umpty, ‘Trench Terms and Their Meanings’, The Listening Post 27 (10 Aug. 1917), 10. [Iddy-Umpty], ‘Trench Terms and Their Meanings’, The Listening Post 28 (20 Sep. 1917), 192.
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Tin Hat. Known in official parlance as “Helmet, shrapnel, steel”; is used for washing in, cooking the mulligan, baling out the trench, drawing loose rations, such as tea or sugar; and occasionally as protection for the head during bombardments. When inverted, it makes a comfortable, dry seat on muddy ground. The most useful article of equipment issued to the soldier.17
Although appearing in a censored trench journal, this glossary speaks in a tone more critical of those in authority than many of the more freely published glossaries discussed below.
‘Definitions in the R.N.A.S.’ (1917) Without any additional material, a glossary containing twelve headwords appeared in another trench journal in December of the same year.18 Some of these terms, including zoom, joy-stick, and joy ride have since become colloquial, but were certainly slang at the time. Others include: Hickboo.—A term used to express a general commotion, e.g., a “Brass hat” inspection or an Air-raid. Spike-bozzle.—To completely destroy. A term evolved by pilots in the early days of Zeppelin attacks to signify their intentions should they meet one. Gubbins.—A high explosive shell.
Under the heading ‘Further Definitions in the R.N.A.S.’,19 more terms were defined in the following issue, but these were all technical rather than slang.
W. E. Christian’s Rhymes of the Rookies (1917) Christian’s Rhymes of the Rookies is a volume of poetry largely about the Spanish-American War (1898) and Philippine-American War (1898– 1913), published separately in New York and Fort Collins, Colorado. 17 18 19
[Iddy-Umpty], ‘Trench Terms and Their Meanings’, The Listening Post 29 (1 Dec. 1917), 26. ‘Definitions in the R.N.A.S.’, The Quirk (Dec. 1917), 9. ‘Further Definitions in the R.N.A.S.’, The Quirk (Jan. 1918), 8.
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It is dedicated ‘To Theodore Roosevelt . . . who, more than any other one man[,] gives out the spirit and the meaning of the American soldier’.20 Although most of the experiences documented in the poems belong to other wars, the inclusion of a list of ‘English Army Slang’ and of guides to French and English money indicate that this volume also addressed the current conflict, as do a few of the poems: At the bottom of the ocean Lie the victims of his notion. Bathes in human blood for lotion Does the Kaiser. . . . For his submarines are sinking, And his men in trenches, stinking, While the Western world is linking ‘Gainst the Kaiser.21
The ‘Army Slang’ glossary is from Moss’s Supplement, with minor changes that are not all for the better: Moss (1907) Orderly Bucker—a soldier, who, when going on guard, strives by extra neatness of appearance to be designated as orderly for the commanding officer.
Christian (1917) Orderly Buckle—a soldier when going on guard who strives by extra neatness of appearance to be designated as orderly for the commanding officer.
Christian omits only three entries from Moss’s list: Gold Brick—an unattractive girl. Gold Fish—salmon. O. G.—the officer of the guard. (Rare).
He adds twelve new entries, with a concentration on regulations, infractions & penalties (p = 0.01). These include: Brig—guard-house. Hitch—a term for enlistment period. P.—prisoner.
20 W. E. Christian, Rhymes of the Rookies. Sunny Side of Soldier Service (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1917), preliminary pages not numbered. 21 Christian, ‘Kaiser Bill’, Rhymes of the Rookies, 78.
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The new entries are not in any lexicographic respect different from Moss’s entries, and although current, were not particularly recent additions to American army slang. More interesting than Christian’s reprisal of Moss’s list is his collection of forty entries for thirty-nine headwords of ‘English Army Slang’, which are organized by no apparent principle. In comparison with the list of American Army slang, there are significantly more terms for regulations, infractions & penalties (p = 0.01). These include, in order of appearance: C. B.—confined to barracks. Weighed off—when a soldier has been awarded punishment for an offense he is said to have been “Weighed off.” High Jump—an appearance before the C.O. to answer a charge of breaking regulations.
Four entries in the ‘English Army Slang’ list include etymologies (10 per cent), significantly more than in the ‘Army Slang’ list (p = 0.01). These include: Doolally Tap—when a soldier becomes mentally unbalanced he is said to have received the “Doolally Tap.” “Doolally” is a corruption of the name of an Indian town, Deolali. Chancing his Arm—committing an offence in expectation that it will not be discovered. A N. C. O. is said to be “chancing his arm” because he may be derived of his stripes.
These represent slang that might well have been in use in the British army at the time, and there is no clear written source.
Arthur Guy Empey’s From the Fire Step or Over the Top (1917) Arthur Guy Empey, born in Ogden in Utah ‘just outside of New York’,22 was working in Jersey City in May 1915 when he heard that a German U-boat had sunk the Lusitania, with the loss of over a thousand civilian lives, including many Americans. In exasperation at his country’s failure to enter the war in response, he travelled to London and signed up with the British Army. He served in France until he was wounded and discharged as physically unfit. 22 Arthur Guy Empey, From the Fire Step; the Experiences of an American Soldier in the British Army (London/ New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1917), 15. This is also the source of the biographical information.
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From the Fire Step and Over the Top23 differ only in their title. The preface is dated May 1917, shortly after America declared war but before the arrival of significant numbers of American troops. In this transitional period, Empey’s book would have appealed both to an American audience as an insight into the experiences that awaited them and to a British audience as an American’s account of wartime experience, with wry reflections on the eccentricity and bravery of the British. An interest in cultural differences is also reflected in the glossary: “I’m sorry.” Tommy’s apology. If he pokes your eye out with his bayonet he says, “I’m sorry,” and the matter is ended so far as he is concerned. Tea. A dark brown drug, which Tommy has to have at certain periods of the day. Battles have been known to have been stopped to enable Tommy to get his tea, or “char” as it is commonly called.
The glossary, headed ‘Tommy’s Dictionary of the Trenches’, contains 443 entries for 439 headwords, concentrating on terms for war & weapons (22 per cent); ranks & divisions (12 per cent); defensive measures (8 per cent); and body & health (8 per cent). Many of the words listed are official military terms or standard English rather than slang, but Empey tends to define these irreverently as if to suggest that there is no continuity of meaning between civilian and military life: A.P.M. Assistant Provost-Marshal. An officer at the head of the Military Police. His head-quarters are generally out of the reach of the enemy’s guns. His chief duties are to ride around in a motor-car and wear a red band around his cap. Rats. The main inhabitants of the trenches and dug-outs. Very useful for chewing up leather equipment and running over your face when asleep. A British rat resembles a bull-dog, while a German one, through a course of Kultur, resembles a dachshund.
Sixty-two per cent of entries are jocular, and humour is found across the semantic range of the dictionary: “R.I.P.” In monk’s highbrow, “Requiscat in pace,” put on little wooden crosses over soldier’s graves. It means “Rest in peace,” but Tommy says like as not it means “Rest in pieces,” especially if the man under the cross has been sent West by a bomb or shell explosion.
23
Arthur Guy Empey, Over the Top (New York: G. P. Putnam’s and Sons, 1918).
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Empey apologizes for the irreverence of his tone: The definitions are not official, of course. Tommy is not a sentimental sort of animal, so some of his definitions are not exactly complimentary, but he is not cynical and does not mean to offend any one higher up. It is just a sort of “ragging” or “kidding,” as the American would say, that helps him pass the time away.24
Thirty-four per cent of entries are enclosed in quotation marks (see also I’m sorry and R.I.P. above). These tend to be slang terms or, less often, orders: “Barndook.” Tommy’s nickname for his rifle. He uses it because it is harder to say and spell than “rifle.” “Out of bounds.” The official Army term meaning that Tommy is not allowed to trespass where this sign is displayed. He never wished to until the sign made its appearance.
The quotation marks indicate that these terms were particularly characteristic of speech, and entries within quotations marks are significantly more likely to be described as terms used by ‘Tommy’ (p = 0.01). The quotation marks also distance Empey from the usage, and terms for death are disproportionately likely to be within quotation marks (p = 0.05). Thirteen per cent of entries include etymologies. These are largely expansions of initializations, sometimes jocular (as in R.I.P., cited above)25 but there are also explanations of terms from other languages:26 “Compray.” Tommy’s French for “Do you understand?” Universally used in the trenches. “Strafeing.” Tommy’s chief sport—shelling the Germans. Taken from Fritz’s own dictionary.
24
Empey, From the Fire Step, 226. Similar jocular expansions of official initialization were reported from German: ‘Much of the German soldier slang is derived by putting new words to the initials of familiar objects. Thus the F. A. K. (Freiwilliges Automobil Korps, or Volunteer Motor Corps,) becomes Fahrt-alles-kaput, which means “smashes everything up,” and the M. G. K. (Maschinene Gewehr Kompagnie, or Machine-Gun Company,) becomes Mord Gesellschaft Klub, which means the “Suicide Club.”’ (‘Correspondence of the Associated Press’, New York Times (30 Mar. 1918), 8). 26 The French dictionaries list similarly mangled English terms. In his ‘Slang of the Poilu’ (Quarterly Review 512 (1932), 298–311: 303), Partridge cited afnaf ‘either not too well pleased nor satisfied, or else exhausted, from ‘half and half’ ’ and pouloper “to gallop” (from pull up). 25
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Eight per cent of entries include encyclopaedic material and anecdotal comments, though the anecdotes are usually general rather than providing accounts of specific incidents: Dud. A German shell or bomb which has not exploded on account of a defective fuse. Tommy is a great souvenir collector, so he gathers these “duds.” Sometimes when he tries to unscrew the nose-cap it sticks. Then in his hurry to confiscate it before an officer appears he doesn’t hammer it just right—and the printer of the casualty list has to use a little more type. Green Envelope. An envelope of a green colour issued to Tommy once a week. The contents will not be censored regimentally, but are liable to censor at the base. On the outside of envelope appears the following certificate, which Tommy must sign: “I certify on my honour that the contents of this envelope refer to nothing but private and family matters.” After signing this certificate Tommy immediately writes about everything but family and private matters.
Although these anecdotal comments are found across most of the semantic range, there are significantly more in entries dealing with home & contact with home (p = 0.01). Empey’s text and glossary are both honest accounts of the human face of war: of duty and danger, incompetence and cowardice, bravery and comradeship. Above all, Empey emphasizes anything that strikes him as humorous: Once, out in the front of our wire, I heard a noise and saw dark forms moving. My rifle was lying across the sandbagged parapet. I reached for it and was taking aim to fire, when my mate grasped my arm . . . he challenged in a low voice. The reply came back instantly from the dark forms: “Shut your blinkin’ mouth, you bloomin’ idiot; do you want us to click it from the Boches?”27
De Witt Clinton Falls’s Army and Navy Information (1917 and 1919) Like Moss’s Supplement, this is an American volume of miscellaneous military information intended to aid the uninitiated. It includes descriptions of the uniforms of various armies and navies, and of the
27
Empey, From the Fire Step, 39.
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badges, signals, and flags of home, allied, and enemy forces. It explains the organization of the army and navy, the selective draft, terms of service, and official abbreviations, and provides a table of foreign money ‘giving approximate values in American money’.28 There are two glossaries. The first, headed ‘army slang’, includes twenty-three single-sense headwords, concentrating on ranks & regiments (29 per cent), followed by food; regulations, infractions & penalties; and terms of service (each 10 per cent). Although nineteen of its terms (83 per cent) are also in Moss’s list, they are clearly independently defined here: Moss (1907) Fogy—ten per cent increase of officers’ pay for each five years’ service. On the carpet—called before the commanding officer for admonition.
Falls (1917) Fogy. Increase of pay for long service. On the carpet. Being brought up before an officer to be disciplined.
Terms not in Moss’s list are: Dog Tent. Small shelter tent used in the field. Dolled up. Soldier dressed in his best clothes. Gunner. An artillery soldier. K.P. Kitchen Police. A mild form of punishment.
Of these, K.P. and dolled up were relatively recent terms. The section on Foreign Armies and Navies includes illustrations of uniforms and insignia, and estimates of numbers under arms. In the explanatory notes to this section is a glossary of twenty-seven headwords, including some British army slang: Bosche An expression used to designate a German. Na Pooh A British soldier’s pronunciation of the French Il n’y a plus (It is finished). Used as a slang expression as we would say “Nothing Doing.” Also to express the end of anything as “Dinner is Na Pooh,” or “Sergeant A. got Na Poohed by a shell.” 28
De Witt Clinton Falls, Army and Navy Information (New York: Dutton, 1917), 186.
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Tommy Popular name given to a British soldier. An abbreviation of Thomas Atkins, which has been applied to men in the service for years.
Technical terms and encyclopaedic entries are in the majority in this glossary, however, including: Kilometer The international measure of length used in Europe. It is 936 yards. About 3/5 of a mile. 1,000 meters make a kilometer. War Office Corresponding in England to our War Department.
These glossaries were clearly considered a useful and practical tool for American troops heading for France, suggesting that trench slang was considered a possible source of misunderstanding. Although the war must surely have changed American army slang, there were no changes in the 1919 edition.29
‘Recruits’ Primer of Trench Idiom’ (1917) New York’s Literary Digest presented a list of terms used in the trenches and previously published by The Philadelphia Inquirer:30 For the benefit of the American troops who are going into the trenches the veterans of the British Recruiting Mission have prepared a glossary of trench slang. The list contains a strange mixture of languages, a little Hindustani being now and then employed to convey the meaning of the Tommies . . . Men from the front declare that a knowledge of this trench jargon is quite essential to the comfort of the raw recruit, since without it the language would be unintelligible.31
The list, containing forty-eight entries for forty-six headwords, appears to have been independently compiled. It concentrates particularly on names for weapons and ammunition (30 per cent), which is appropriate in a list with this purpose: the man who looked instead of ducking
29 30 31
De Witt Clinton Falls, Army and Navy Information (New York: Dutton, 1919). Unfortunately, it does not provide any further information to help locate the original article. ‘Recruits’ Primer of Trench Idiom’, The Literary Digest (27 Oct. 1917), 64–6: 64, 66.
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on hearing ‘Flying pig!’ might not live to find out its slang sense of “aerial torpedo”. Forty per cent of entries provide etymologies, including: Emma Gee—Machine gun or machine gunner (signallers’ alphabet). Jack Johnson—A big shell which bursts with a cloud of black smoke.32 Rooti—Bread (Hindustani). Tootfinny—Anglicization of “tout fini,” with the same meaning, “it’s all over.”
Ten entries (21 per cent) include usage labels, usually indicating frequency of use or emotional intent: Heinie—A pet name for the German soldier. Possibly suggested by the name of the well-known poet. Hun—A name (not pet) applied to the Germans as a nation. Never used to designate the troops opposed to the British as a unit. Jake—Universal army term to express satisfaction. If a girl is pretty she is “jake.” If a stew tastes good it is “jake.” If anything is right it is “jake.” Probably an Anglicization of “chic.”
Murray Johnston’s ‘Aussie Dictionary’ (1918) Australian troops had been involved in combat since the early days of the war, having effectively joined it when Britain did. Their heavy losses at Gallipoli are particularly remembered, but these were matched by Australian deaths on the Western Front, albeit over a much longer period. Australian officers tended to be promoted from the ranks, and a more egalitarian relationship prevailed between officers and men, who sometimes combined to resist and defy authority: Extending the spirit of ‘mateship’, one Australian officer shared his bottle of whisky with some British NCOs and found himself reprimanded by a British court martial, which interpreted his gesture as one likely to undermine discipline. Such a view of discipline, indeed the whole concept of hierarchy it was intended to uphold, was utterly incomprehensible to the Australian soldier.33 32 This is not an explicit etymology, but contemporary readers would have heard of Jack Johnson, the current world heavyweight boxing champion and the most prominent African-American of his time. The definition carefully indicates the link between the headword and meaning. 33 James, Rise and Fall, 355–6.
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Fuller34 describes the ‘disbandment mutinies’ of 1918, in which AIF battalions defied an order to disband. The unity of so many war veterans was irresistible, and they not only succeeded, but also escaped punishment. He notes that the British response in these situations would be to grumble, but to keep one’s head down: a Tommy who stepped out of line could not rely on the ‘mateship’ of his comrades, let alone his officers. This glossary, containing forty-one headwords, was published in Aussie, a magazine for soldiers, but subtitled ‘For the Use of those at Home’.35 A few of the entries include straightforward definitions, sometimes followed by explanatory comment: SALVAGE.—To rescue unused property and make use of it. The word is also used of the property rescued. Property salvaged in the presence of the owner leads to trouble and is not done by experts. STUNT.—A successful enterprise or undertaking usually involving surprise. A large scale stunt lacks the latter and is termed a “push,” and the element of success is not essential.
More commonly, the definitions are comments on the realities of trench warfare: BEER.—A much appreciated form of nectar now replaced by a coloured liquor of a light yellow taste. REST.—A mythical period between being relieved and relieving in the trenches, which is usually spent in walking away from the line and returning straight back in poor weather and at short notice. TRENCH.—Long narrow excavations in earth or chalk, sometimes filled with mud containing soldiers, bits of soldiers, salvage and alleged shelters.
This hyper-realism is joined by deliberately misleading definitions. Both techniques express distrust of those in authority: ARCHIE.—A person who aims high and is not discouraged by daily failures. COMMUNIQUE.—An amusing game played by two or more people with paper and pencil in which the other side is always losing and your own side is always winning . . . 34
Fuller, Troop Morale, 23–4. Murray Johnston, ‘Aussie Dictionary (For the Use of those at Home)’, Aussie. The Australian Soldiers’ Magazine (18 Jan. 1918), 10–11. 35
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These definitions could only be understood by readers knowing that Archie was a nickname for anti-aircraft guns36 and a communiqué an official report. They not only criticize the military authorities, but also suggest a shared understanding between veterans that civilians could not penetrate.
Lorenzo Smith’s Lingo of No Man’s Land (1918) Lorenzo Napoleon Smith (b.1892) was working as an electrician in Massachusetts when he was ‘fired by the newspaper reports of desecrated Belgium and France . . . [U]nwilling to wait until his own country-men were sure that it was their business to fight’,37 he joined a Canadian regiment: the 58th, known as the Westmount Rifles and was soon posted to the Western Front. He returned to Canada as an invalid in April 1916 and later joined the British-Canadian Recruiting Mission. The purpose of the Recruiting Mission was to locate and enlist British subjects in America, and the Lingo of No Man’s Land was published under their aegis. Its cover bears a jolly picture which belies the realism of Smith’s approach (see Figure 9.1): With unheard of conditions in the trenches, sights and sounds inconceivable before August, 1914, . . . ourselves with unfamiliar weapons and accoutrements in our hands, in dress and undress which made us feel more at home with our comrades than with ourselves, these expressions were inevitable, involuntary. That many of them are humorous is only the natural rebound from frightfulness in the mind of the Anglo-Saxon, whether he hail from the British Isles, from Canada, or from the United States.38
The glossary contains 345 entries for 328 headwords. It concentrates on war & weapons (28 per cent); defensive measures (including terms 36 Similar terms were reported from German: ‘The German soldier has picturesque names of his own for most of the paraphernalia of war. His rifle he always calls his “betrothed.” . . . Weapons, small or large, usually go by feminine names. The biggest of the German guns is the “Fat Bertha;” the Austrian 305 centimetre gun is “Grosse Marie”’ (‘Correspondence of the Associated Press’, 8). Partridge cited Josephine and Rosalie as French soldiers’ names for the bayonet, and Oscar as their name for the rifle (‘Slang of the Poilu’, 304). 37 This quotation and most of the biographical information are from Lorenzo N. Smith, Lingo of No Man’s Land; or, War Time Lexicon (Chicago: Jamieson Pub. Co., 1918), 4 (the biography is signed ‘E. W.’). A little additional information is from his attestation papers, accessible at the Library and Archives of Canada at . 38 Smith, Lingo, 3.
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Figure 9.1. Smith’s Lingo of No Man’s Land (1918)
for parts and types of trenches) (11 per cent); geography & travel; and ranks & divisions (both 10 per cent). Fifty per cent of entries are for official army terms rather than the slang and colloquialisms of
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the soldier. The entries for slang terms concentrate significantly more on human aspects of the wartime experience: body & health; food; leisure & pleasure (including sleep); allies & enemies; regulations, infractions & penalties; fools, failure & insults; and emotion, behaviour & temperament. There are significantly fewer slang terms for defensive measures (all p = 0.01). Thirty-three per cent of entries include technical or other encyclopaedic information, for example: PIP SQUEAK The British shell corresponding to the German’s “Hissing Jennie.” It is smaller than the German shell and makes a sound like its name, followed by a swich-kr-rump. It is usual to respond to a bombardment with shells in kind, so that duels of the front are sometimes staged between Hissing Jennies and Pip Squeaks. The velocity of the English shell is about two thousand two hundred feet per second. WHIZZ BANG The name given Fritz’ three inch field battery shell; all you hear is a whizz and then a bang. This is a high explosive shrapnel shell and is responsible for the largest percentage of the casualties. It is said to be the only shell one can’t get away from. It travels so fast it beats its own sound.
Seventeen per cent of entries include etymologies: BLIGHTY The Briton’s word for home, England. Also used for a wound which he hopes is serious enough to invalid him back to England. The base hospital is sometimes called “Blighty Junction”, as it is from there that the seriously wounded are sent back to England to recover. The word is said by some “authorities” to be derived from the Hindustani word, Belaiti, which means “something foreign” or “over-the-sea.” Others affirm that “Blighty” is the East Indian’s pronunciation of Brighton, England, at which place is located a large hospital with which many of them are acquainted. When Tommy receives a “soft one” (a slight wound) he not infrequently shouts “Hooray, I’m off for Blighty.”39 GRAVEL CRUSHER An infantry man, always walking, so named, it is explained, from his big feet. Another expression for doughboy. 39
The OED confirms the Hindi etymology for blighty.
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Eleven per cent of entries include usage labels. These most commonly indicate that the term is used by soldiers in the trenches (30 per cent of entries) or that it is widely used (26 per cent). SHIV Trench slang for “shave.” British army officers consider the discipline that requires every soldier to shave each morning, if at all possible, is one of the strongest factors in keeping up the morale of the troops. VRILLE Usual term for the “spinning nose dive;” one of the feats which every aeroplane pilot must be able to perform.
An unusual feature of this dictionary is its repeated reference to groups of combatants, as if almost to create them as characters: FLARE A cartridge filled with Fourth of July stuff, to be fired from a pistol when you think you see something moving out in No Man’s Land at night. Leaving the pistol, the flare shoots up into the air towards Fritzie’s line, and as it begins to descend, bursts into a dazzling light, illuminating the surrounding ground for five hundred yards or so. If Tommy is out there when a flare goes up, he imagines every Boche machine gun for miles on either side is trained on him ready to fire, but if he keeps perfectly still he will, nine times out of ten, be taken for some old post by the over-trained, wooden-headed Hun.
Hun tends to be used to emphasize inhumanity and stupidity, the Boche are an effective killing machine, whereas Fritz(ie) is regarded almost with affection (see also whizz bang, above). Tommy is the salt of the earth, a happy-go-lucky fellow (see also blighty, above). Few entries mention Sammies or Yanks, but in general they are presented as less knowledgeable, for obvious reasons, than more experienced troops: JAM TINS Jams tins are exactly what the name implies. In the early days all empty jam tins were, by order, collected, filled with high explosive and old pieces of iron, etc., and used as a hand grenade. Sammy will learn soon enough what a jam tin is in the present day fighting, and he will welcome any fresh fruit which comes his way.
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JAWBONE A new verb meaning to obtain credit, as, “I have jawboned Yank out of five dollars.”
The dictionary is not terribly well proofread and there are a number of careless errors: SNEEZE GAS To force the removal of the protecting gas masks, the Germans have used what the soldiers call “Sneeze Gas,” because its action is to cause violent desire to sneezze [sic] . . . STAG HEAP [presumably for slag heap] At the mouth of coal mines large mounds are formed and when a shell strikes these heaps the coal dust flies and portions slide down. If you happen to be at the bottom you immediately look like one of the Gold Dust Twins.40
Like Empey’s Over the Top, Smith’s is a very human depiction of the war. He is more explicit in detailing the effects of combat, however, and less overtly humorous.
Robert Derby Holmes’s A Yankee in the Trenches (1918) Holmes, like Empey, was an American who served in the British army, feeling that ‘with so much history in the making, any unattached young man would be missing it if he did not take a part in the big game.’41 A native of Boston, he signed up first with a Highland regiment, but was successful in gaining a transfer within ten days of discovering that he was expected to wear a kilt. As Empey had, Holmes sought to inspire his compatriots to action: It is my sincere wish that after reading this book the reader may have a clearer conception of what this great world war means and what our soldiers are contending with, and that it may awaken the American people 40 ‘Gold dust’ was a brand of soap powder marketed between the 1880s and the 1930s with an image of two small Black children and the slogan ‘let the twins do your work’. See Judith Williamson ‘The Rise of the White King’, New Statesman (13 Aug. 2001), . 41 The quotation and biographical information are from Robert Derby Holmes, A Yankee in the Trenches (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1918), 2, 14.
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to the danger of Prussianism so that when in the future there is a call for funds for Liberty Loans, Red Cross work, or Y. M. C. A, there will be no slacking, for they form the real triangular sign to a successful termination of this terrible conflict.42
Holmes is particularly interested in the speech of ordinary British soldiers, though he represents everyone with a tinge of cockney regardless of their place of origin: “Gawd lumme!” says the big fellow . . . “Wot a life. Squattin’ ’ere in the bloody mud like a blinkin’ frog. Fightin’ fer wot? Wot, I arsks yer? Gawd lumme! I’d give me bloomin’ napper to stroll down the Strand agyne wif me swagger stick an’ drop in a private bar an’ ’ave me go of ’Aig an’ ’Aig.” “Garn,” cuts in another Tommy. “Yer blinkin’ ’igh wif yer wants, ayen’t ye? An’ yer ’Aig an’ ’Aig. Drop me down in Great Lime Street (Liverpool) an’ it’s me fer the Golden Sheaf, and a pint of bitter, an’ me a ’oldin’ ‘Arriet’s ’and over th’ bar. I’m a courtin’ ’er when,” etc. etc. And then a fresh-faced lad chirps us: “T’ell wif yer Lonnon an’ yer whiskey. Gimme a jug o’ cider on the sunny side of a ’ay rick in old Surrey. Gimme a happle tart to go wif it. Gawd, I’m fed up on bully beef.”43
Holmes’s comrades were equally interested in his speech and national peculiarities, and particularly enjoyed a heated argument about the Civil War that he and a Virginian staged for the benefit of their British audience. The glossary, with ninety-six entries for ninety-two headwords, is fairly short, and Holmes acknowledges Empey as an inspiration but not a source: I will confess that the idea and necessity of having such a list sprang from reading Sergeant Empey’s “Over the Top.” It would be impossible to write a book that the people would understand without the aid of such a glossary.44
The glossary concentrates on war & weapons (23 per cent); body & health; and geography & travel (both 11 per cent). Forty-nine entries (51 per cent) are for standard or official terms, and the only statistically significant difference between these and the slang terms is that there are more non-slang terms for food ( p = 0.01). Holmes 42
Holmes, Yankee, viii.
43
Ibid., 24.
44
Ibid., viii.
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comments on the quality of the food and equipment, and acknowledges that the soldiers were not always paragons of stoic heroism: Maconochie—A scientifically compounded and well-balanced ration, so the authorities say. It looks, smells, and tastes like rancid lard. M.O.—Medical Officer. A foxy cove who can’t be fooled with faked symptoms. Wind up or windy—Nervous. Jumpy. Temporary involuntary fear.
In keeping with the text, Holmes’s glossary demonstrates an interest in national differences in speech, particularly in swearing: Bloody—The universal Cockney adjective. It is vaguely supposed to be highly obscene, though just why nobody seems to know. Blooming—A meaningless and greatly used adjective. Applied to anything and everything. Ruddy—Same as bloody, but not quite so bad.
Like Empey and Smith, Holmes wrote his book with the war effort in mind. He emphasizes the humanity of the British infantry, but also their vulnerability.
J. Lemberger’s ‘War Notes’ (1918) and responses Joseph Lemberger (b.1894) was born in Chorlton in Manchester, the son of a naturalized Austrian cap-maker. He appears to have survived the war to be demobilized in 1920. This is the first British glossary to attempt to document the slang of the trenches for the outside world. It was published in a journal issued by the library of Oxford University, The Bodleian Quarterly Record, which usually concentrated on manuscript studies and bibliography. In defence of this uncharacteristic article, the editor argued that: There is no reason why Documents admitted to these columns should be old . . . Accordingly we print our very latest manuscript acquisition, a glossary of war terms which obtained the prize at an open competition at—(the name shall be revealed when peace is declared!) on the Western Front. It has the distinction of being approved by the judges, and therefore represents a general opinion in the district, and not merely individual judgement. We have to thank a private of the R.F.A. for forming the
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collection, and H. B. Clayton, Esq., I.C.A., M.A., of Wadham College, for kindly forwarding it.45
That this list won a prize is another demonstration that war slang was officially tolerated, if not actively promoted, by those in authority. The list contains fifty-seven entries for forty-six headwords, and Lemberger added a further sixty-six entries for sixty-two headwords in the next edition of the journal. Further comments on the list were published in the edition after that. The first list is divided into five sections: 1. Corruptions of Hindustani (still prevalent among the transports of the various Line Battalions); 2. Corruptions of French and German; 3. Rhymed Slang (very popular in the Old Army); 4. Ordinary Slang Phrases and 5. Ordinary Slang Words. The four ‘Rhymed Slang’ terms have standard English headwords. For instance: German = ‘Phil Hermann’ or ‘Phil’. Candle = ‘Harry Randle’.
The second list, published in the following volume, is divided into ‘Old Army Slang. Hindustani’, ‘Other Slang’, and ‘Phrases’. Taken together, the lists concentrate on emotion, behaviour & temperament (24 per cent); knowledge & communication (13 per cent); and regulations, infractions & punishments (10 per cent). Emotion, behaviour & temperament is the largest semantic area in both lists, but even so the second list has significantly more terms in this area than the first (p = 0.01). Seventeen per cent of entries across the two lists offer examples of use or frequently used compounds or phrases: Char, tea. ‘Char-Wallah’, the tea boy. Gildi, quick. ‘Do a gildi move’.
The second list provides fewer of these examples of use (p = 0.05) and has a greater tendency to define semantically related terms together (p = 0.01): He puts years on me He puts whiskers on me
}
he irritates me.
45 ‘War Notes’, 123–4. The compiler is identified as ‘Pte. J[oseph] Lemberger, 61927, 91st Field Ambulance, R.A.M.C., B.E.F., France’ in a later edition of the same journal (‘War Notes’, Bodleian Quarterly Record 2 (1918), 152–4: 152). Additional biographical information from the National Archives, .
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An old sweat A swaddie
}
an old soldier
Later correspondents in the journal46 refined definitions: Lemberger (list B) Pukkero, borrow; then steal.
Cushie, easy. ‘A cushie job’. ‘A cushie man’, i.e. An easy-going man.
Additional notes Pukkero, borrow; then steal. Lieutenant-Colonel Leslie says that ‘catch hold of ’ would be a more correct meaning. ‘You can catch hold of a thing without having the slightest intention of stealing it, or of even keeping it.’ He adds: Cushie, easy. ‘ “Pleasant” is better. Cush (pronounced Coosh) means pleased, contented, satisfied.’
—and queried etymologies. Lemberger had included bergou “porridge” among the Hindustani words, but ‘Mr. Dring doubts whether this is Hindustani’.47 Mr Dring was right, the term is from Arabic,48 but the note is of uncertain value as it stands. This glossary is presented alongside ‘Impressions of the Chinese on the Western Front’. The troops on the Western Front were supported by non-combatant units of non-English speakers: nearly a third of a million Chinese, African, and Egyptian labourers by 1918.49 This was a continuation of large-scale international movement of labour following the abolition of slavery, but these workers were subject to military law: First and foremost among the characteristics of the Chinese coolie . . . is that weird combination of a bland childlikeness and keen grown intelligence. Adaptability is their strong point . . . They are practically indifferent to pain and physical rigours unless these are of a severe nature, and their calm, undisturbed attitude on receiving punishment is more in the nature of an object lesson to us of the West than a matter for surprise.50 46
47 48 ‘War Notes’, 159. Ibid., 159. See OED: burgoo. James, Rise and Fall, 353. James notes that although there were some non-white soldiers, there were concerns about their abilities and qualities. At the same time, there was considerable reluctance to arm Black soldiers and train them to fight white men. 50 ‘War Notes’, 125–6. 49
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Linking these otherwise unconnected lists in this way suggests that one officer’s experience of Chinese labourers is equivalent to another’s experience of working class soldiers.
Archibald Sparke’s ‘War Slang’ (1918) and responses Archibald Sparke (born c.1871) was a librarian who published widely, particularly on local records. He was a prolific contributor to Notes and Queries until 1937, sometimes offering four disparate comments in a single issue. In November 1918, as the war drew to a close, he initiated a discussion of war slang, observing that: Quite a large number of new words have come into common use during the War, and also a considerable number of corruptions which may easily be traced to mispronunciation or to having been indistinctly heard, while phrases half-English and half from some other language are brought to England by the soldiers. . . . the following . . . should be placed on permanent record . . . and I give as far as I can their meaning51
He listed forty-five slang terms, in no particular order, and seventeen ‘popular names for regiments’ in a separate list. Respondents to Sparke’s list disagreed that these terms were new: Many so-called “new” words are the individual slang of some particular schools, and, being often most expressive, have been eagerly snapped up and adopted by the Tommies who have heard them used.52
They also provide information about etymology. For instance: Sparke (1918) Wallah.—Fellow. A dandy is a “pukka wallah,” a thief a “loose-wallah.”
51
Temple53 Wallah.—Wala, properly agent, one who does or possesses, a person commonly used in composition like the English suffix “er,” e.g., doer.
Archibald Sparke, ‘War Slang: Regimental Nicknames’, Notes and Queries 86 (1918), 306–7. W. Courthope Forman, ‘War Slang’, Notes and Queries 87 (1918), 333. Contributors on the same page of this issue were R. C. Temple, Lieut. W. H. and W. A. Hirst. H. Tapley-Soper, J. R. Thorne, Robert Pierpoint, and Sparke all published comments under the title ‘War Slang: Regimental Nicknames’ in Notes and Queries 88 (1919), 18–19. A. J. C. Aitken, J. R. H., C. G., E. W. G., and Cecil Clarke published their contributions in N&Q 90 (1919), 79. Further contributions by Sparke and A. S. E. Ackermann appeared in N&Q 93 (1919), 159. M. D. added to these in N&Q 94 (1919), 195. 53 Temple, ‘War Slang’, 333. 52
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Buckshee.—Extra, surplus; a “buckshee helping” is an extra large plateful. From baksheesh.
Buckshee.—Bakhshi. There is a mistake here. Bakhsh is a gift, a tip. All these ideas seem to have had a hand in making “buckshee” to mean something extra.
Not deterred, Sparke presented a further list the following year. He defined twenty-eight terms in twenty-six entries, and explained three more in the text. There is some overlap between this and his earlier list, and these may be deliberate corrections or amplifications of the earlier definitions: Sparke (1918) No bonne.—Useless. Sweating.—Getting warm.
Diggers.—N.Z. soldiers.
Sparke (1919)54 No bonne.—No good; useless. Sweating.—Getting warm, probably from the game of hide-and-seek. Getting excited. Diggers.—Australians.
Responses to Sparke’s list appeared in a desultory fashion until July 1919. He then continued his varied contributions on other subjects and did not revisit the question of war slang. All of the remaining First World War glossaries were written after the end of the war. Their contents are inevitably influenced by events that had taken place since, and they tend to become increasingly bitter as life conspicuously failed to improve. The war was followed by industrial disputes and Depression. Instead of being hailed as heroes, many ex-soldiers found themselves unemployed: Nor were feelings of disillusion and resentment confined to industrial workers. Many others who had served in the ranks appeared to have lost their faith in the governing class because of their conviction that lives had been uselessly sacrificed on the Western Front by the bungling incompetence of the Generals.55
There seems to have been a general reluctance to discuss wartime experiences until the late 1920s, when a flood of literary and autobiographical accounts appeared. Glossaries from immediately after the war tend
54
Sparke, ‘War Slang’, N&Q 88 (1919), 19.
55
Seaman, Life in Britain, 16–17.
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to be from Australian and New Zealand soldiers, who were demobilized slowly enough to create considerable resentment much sooner.
‘The Digger’s Dictionary’ (1919) This list of twenty-six slang terms used by New Zealand troops is included in a ‘souvenir record of the triumphs, tribulations, and maritime musings of returning draft no. 217’.56 There is no introduction or additional comment, and much of the slang listed is found in other glossaries, but a few more restricted terms include: POSSIE....A position or place of abode. WOODBINES....English Tommy Atkins. EN-ZEDDA....A wound that will take a Digger home.
Woodbine appears to have been restricted to ANZAC soldiers in this sense. En-zedda is an equivalent to the English blighty and possie is an example of the word-formation type that has produced barbie for “barbecue” and tinny for “a tin (or can) of beer”.57
W. H. Downing’s Digger Dialects (1919) Walter Hubert Downing (1893–1965) was born in Victoria, Australia. His mother, a political activist and temperance worker, was a pacifist at the outbreak of war, but Walter’s determination to enlist may have played a part in her later ‘unqualified support of the war effort’.58 When war broke out, Downing was studying law at the University of Melbourne: Family tradition has it that, after several times trying to enlist and being rejected as not meeting the minimum height, he stretched himself by hanging weights on his feet and passed the medical. His size was also to work against him just prior to the Armistice when, gaunt and strained, he appeared before a medical panel but was refused leave on the ground that ‘He was always a skinny little runt’!59 56
‘The Digger’s Dictionary’, The Parting of the Ways (Auckland: no publisher details, 1919), 16. This is now characteristic of Australian and New Zealand English, but see page 78. 58 ADB, which is also the source of some of the biographical information. 59 This quotation and most of the biographical information from W. H. Downing’s Digger Dialects, eds. J. M. Arthur and W. S. Ramson (Melbourne/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), xii. 57
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Downing served with the Australian Imperial Force in Egypt and France after his enlistment in September 1915. In February 1919 he returned to Australia and resumed his legal studies, going on to practise as a solicitor. He also served as a legal officer in the Militia, and rose to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. In addition to Digger Dialects, he published a collection of depictions of life in the trenches and behind the line. The dictionary contains approximately 1020 entries for 890 headwords. In a sample of 764 entries for 665 headwords, 20 per cent of entries include an indication of part of speech, but this is not consistent through the alphabet: 25 per cent of entries in the letters ‘A’ to ‘M’ include grammatical information, but only 12 per cent from ‘N’ to ‘Z’ (p = 0.01). Entries also become shorter towards the end of the alphabet, suggesting that Downing lost interest in the work before he finished it. The largest areas of semantic coverage are body & health; fools, failure & insults; and ranks, regiments & terms of service (all 8 per cent). The unusual size of body & health is due, in part, to Downing’s unflinching treatment of terms describing death and injury: BLOW-TO-FOOK—Shatter to fragments. KNOCK (vb. or n.)—Wound. “To be knocked”—To become a casualty. “Knocked rotten”—killed or stunned. “Knocked out” — killed or stunned. SMUDGED (adj.)—Killed by being blown to pieces by a shell.60
Downing also covers some aspects of the soldiers’ sexual lives and social interactions rarely touched upon by other First World War glossaries, often using euphemistic definitions and spellings (compare carksuccer with blow-to-fook, above) to obscure the meaning for the uninitiated: CARKSUCCER—An American soldier. KNOCKING-SHOP—An untidy or squalid place. MIDDLESEX OFFICER (n.)—A foppish officer (i.e., A member of the middle sex). SHORT-ARM—Medical examination. 60
W. H. Downing, Digger Dialects (Melbourne: Lothian, 1919).
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A knocking-shop is “a brothel” and short-arm examinations were humiliating public inspections for signs of venereal disease. Except through the wording of the definitions, Downing provides no editorial comment on the terms. Other wartime lexicographers ignored prostitution and homosexuality; Downing not only admitted that they existed, but also chose not to condemn them. A group treated with more conspicuous disapproval are those who avoided or delayed military service: DEEP-THINKER—A reinforcement who arrived in a fighting unit late in the course of the war. WOULD-TO-GODDER—A civilian who “would to God that he could go to the war.”
Fourteen per cent of entries include etymologies, for instance: ETNEEN (Arab.)—Two. FRAY BENTOS—Very good. (Arises by confusion between Fr. Tres bien and Fray Bentos, the name of a brand of Argentine bully beef ). KAPUT (adv. or vb.), (German)—Killed; to kill.
There are only ten usage labels, all indicating the use of ironic humour: ANY ’OPES?—Do you think we will have any luck? (A Cockney phrase, used satirically or humorously by Australians.) IT’S A NICE DAY FOR IT!—A sardonic phrase applied to anything unpleasant; e.g., an attack which is likely to be costly.
As any ’opes and carksuccer demonstrate, Downing did not restrict himself to slang originating in Australia, and several Australian commentators have expressed disappointment at this.61 Without reference to an exhaustive and authoritative dictionary of the slang used by the soldiers of other nations, it would have been impossible to exclude these terms, however, and to have done so would have provided a partial and misleading picture of the Australian soldiers’ language. The main word-list is followed by ‘Part Two’, a collection of miscellaneous glossaries of terms that Australian soldiers might have encountered during their service in various part of the world. In these 61
E.g. Baker, Australian Language, 161; Ramson, Australian English, 22–3.
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examples, selected to provide an indication of their scope and contents, the title of each list is in square brackets: BELLY BELONG ME HE THINK . . .—I am of the opinion that . . . but can give no solid reasons. [Papua (Pidgin English): 16 headwords] FERANGI—European. [Persia: 16 headwords] IJI SOOJAH—Come here. [Russia: 15 headwords] BOLO—Speak, say. “Bolo the Bat”—speak the language. [ MESOPOTAMIA: Hindustani, as spoken by Australian troops in Mesopotamia: 55 headwords]
The Hindi glossary, in particular, repeats terms found in Downing’s main list, largely because of the British army’s long association with India. Acknowledgements at the front of the book indicate that Mr G. F. Carmichael submitted the lists of Hindustani, Persian, and Russian expressions, and that Captain E. T. Brown submitted the Papuan Pidgin English. There is also a list of forty-four Italian terms, which is, by implication, Downing’s own work. It takes the form more of a phrase book than a slang glossary, and includes relatively few military terms, presenting a picture of a soldier on leave rather than in combat: CAPISCO—Understand. NON CAPISCO—Don’t understand. IN LICENZA—On leave. SCUSI!—Excuse me!
Downing completed Digger Dialects while he was a student, but did not list it in his entry in Who’s Who. He told his son ‘that he had compiled it in a weekend and sold the rights for seven and sixpence.’62 Although in some respects a hurried production, this is one of very few First World War slang dictionaries to have been republished, undoubtedly because of the importance of the war in the development of Australia’s national identity.
Maximilian Mügge’s The War Diary of a Square Peg (1920) Maximilian August Mügge was born in 1878. He was already a well-published author before the outbreak of war, having written 62
W. H. Downing’s Digger Dialects (1990), xiii.
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on Nietzsche, expressionism, eugenics, and early Greek philosophy. During the early years of the war, he published on Serbian folklore, Heinrich von Treitschke (a fervently nationalistic Prussian historian, politician, and political writer), and on international arbitration.63 Mügge’s War Diary takes the form of a journal, with much quotation from newspapers and reflection on the progress and likely outcome of the war. After failing to become an officer, largely because of his German name and heritage, Mügge joined the infantry as a private and ended up working as an interpreter in France. Writing in March 1916, he commented that: The “slanguage” of the boys is very forcible and stands in a peculiar contrast to [their] undoubtedly kind and gentle nature . . . “Bloody old buggars [sic]!” is no worse than merely “isti miseri” and “you was here” leaves their grammatical conscience undisturbed. Home environment and educational shortcomings are the criminals, I suppose. The men hardly ever use abstract nouns, which is quite a relief, and their vocabulary appears to range from eight hundred to fifteen hundred words.64
The ‘Dictionary of War Words’ contains 259 headwords, many for terms that Mügge might not have encountered before, but which were nevertheless widely used before the war: AFTERS.–The dessert. GEEZIR.–In the phrase “that old geezer” = that old fellow. SOD.–Dirty, mean, ugly fellow.
Mügge was, like Holmes, particularly struck by his comrades’ impressive range of swear words, commenting that they ‘might create the impression of semi-savages to a superficial observer’:65 BALLY. Dynamic adverb meaning “very” e.g. “bally well.” BLIMY.–God Blimy!=God help me! CRIKY.–By criky!–by Jove! Heavens! 63
His first book on Nietzsche was published by the Haldeman-Julius Company. See page 169. Maximilian August Mügge, The War Diary of a Square Peg. With a Dictionary of War Words (London: Routledge, 1920), 17. 65 Ibid., 57. 64
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Mügge’s euphemistic definition of kip-shop, “brothel”, is an interesting indication of the taboos that still remained: KIP-SHOP.–Lustra, lupanar.
Unlike Downing’s treatment of the synonymous knocking-shop, Mügge’s definition would have been accessible only to the classically educated. This list emphasizes the unprecedented contact between social classes that occurred in the trenches. Mügge fought alongside individuals he would hardly have acknowledged before the war, and found them to be ‘really a good-natured lot, and with not a few I have become quite chummy’.66
A. Forbes Sieveking’s ‘English Army Slang as Used in the Great War’ (1921) and responses Albert Forbes Sieveking (born c.1858) attended Eton and Cambridge and became a solicitor thereafter. He was too old to serve in the war himself, but in October 1921 he published an article on war slang in Notes and Queries without reference to Sparke’s earlier contributions in that journal. Sieveking included a lengthy justification for the study of such ephemeral and uneducated speech: The main point is that readers should be stimulated to take an interest in the question of the collection and classification of the slang produced by the war and its historical and philological relations to that of previous periods, and to the literary language. In my next article I shall hope to show that the best method in this, as in most things, is the comparative; giving side by side the French and German equivalents for our slang, and our equivalents for theirs.67
He lists the contributors (all employed by the Times newspaper) who had drawn ‘on their personal knowledge of the soldiers’ speech’.68
66
Ibid., 58. A. Forbes Sieveking, ‘English Army Slang as Used in the Great War’, Notes and Queries 185 (1921), 341–8 (List I): 343. This acceptance of linguistic innovation is in interesting contrast to a letter he wrote to The Times in 1907, complaining about the use of the ‘bad name’ foilist for “one who fences with foils” (The Times (2 Apr. 1907); 10C, ‘Letters to the Editor’: ‘Foil and Épée). 68 Sieveking, ‘English Army Slang’, 343. 67
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Sieveking issued four further glossaries, and responses to his articles were published in Notes and Queries for the next six months.69 Taken together, Sieveking’s five glossaries contain 832 entries for 806 headwords. The first four lists are divided into three sections: A. Nicknames and Personal Appellations (151 headwords), B. Military Terms (114 headwords), and C. Miscellaneous (477 headwords). The last list does not contain these divisions, and concentrates on ‘Airmen’s Words’. Sieveking’s lists focus on war & weapons (10 per cent); leisure & pleasure (including sleep, 9 per cent); ranks & divisions; and fools, failure & insults (both 8 per cent). Respondents to Sieveking’s lists provided different kinds of material, some presenting their comments in connected prose, and others in the form of glossaries. Wilberforce-Bell provided etymologies, particularly for terms from Indian languages. Reade commented on the obscenity of the language of the troops and on the unprecedented contact between educated and uneducated speakers: A great amount of slang which had been the almost exclusive possession of the uneducated became common property through the sudden and complete mixture of classes, and attracted the interest of those to whom it was new and strange, as well as useful under the novel circumstances. The amount of really new and original slang was probably very small.70
He goes on to argue that to list only those terms originating in the war would misrepresent wartime usage. Other correspondents, some of whom comment on only one or two words, concentrate largely on refining definitions, suggesting etymologies, ante-dating wartime usage, and providing extra information about where and by whom the terms were used. Most accepted that the meaning and pronunciation 69 All have the same title as Sieveking’s original article, some with extensions noted below. N&Q 186 (1921): H. Wilberforce-Bell, 378–9; ‘Constant Reader’, 379; N&Q 187 (1921): Sieveking’s List II, 383–5; N&Q 188 (1921): Aleyn Lyell Reade, 415–19; Lees Knowles, 419; Frank Penny, 419; D. E. V. Payen-Payne, 419; N&Q 189 (1921): Sieveking’s List III, 423–5; N&Q 190 (1921): Alexander Bell, ‘. . . Impressions and Recollections’, 455–9; J. H. Leslie, ‘. . . Piasser’, 459; A. W. Boyd, 459; B. S., ‘. . . Pork and Beans’, 459; L. W., ‘. . . Bolo’, 459; C. J. Magrath, 459; A. S., ‘. . . Skolkuring’, 459; G. Y. Younger, ‘. . . Duckboard’, 459; N&Q 191 (1921): Sieveking’s List IV (though published anonymously), 465–7; N&Q 192 (1921): E. C., ‘. . . Swing the Lead’, 499; F. J. H., ‘. . . Big Noise’, 499; A. F. S., ‘. . . Rob all my Comrades’, 499; ‘Medinews’, ‘. . . Go West’, 499; F. W. Thomas, ‘. . . Cobber’, 499; F. Williamson, ‘. . . Old Sweat’, 499; N&Q 193 (1921): Sieveking’s List V (though published anonymously), 502–4; N&Q 194 (1921): J. A. G., ‘. . . Shemozzle’, 538; J. J. Hunter Johnston, ‘. . . Gutser’, 538; George Merryweather, 538; N&Q 195 (1922): Anon, 7; N&Q 205 (1922): L. M. Anstey, 201–2; E. B. H., ‘. . . Effect of the War on Indian Languages’, 202. 70 Reade, ‘English Army Slang’, 416.
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of terms might have varied in different places and times, but others were less flexible: Gypo. An Egyptian. Not at all. “Gyppo” meant “gravy.” . . .71
The flurry of correspondence provides a good deal of etymological information about the terms recorded, and was to be useful to later lexicographers in the field. Like Mügge, these commentators were educated men documenting the slang of less-educated troops. In 1925 a version of the Notes and Queries glossaries was added to Basil Hargrave’s Origins and Meanings of Popular Phrases and Names (first published in 1911), probably as the work of a later editor. The main glossary in Origins and Meanings concentrates largely on etymology and encyclopaedic information,72 but the ‘List of Words and Phrases Used in the Great War’ is rather different in form. Although ‘the Author and Publishers’ note their debt to the editor of Notes and Queries ‘for his kindness in permitting them to make use of his lists of terms used in the Great War’,73 their acknowledgement rather underplays the dependence. The Notes and Queries lists account for 87 per cent of Hargrave’s 679 entries: Notes & Queries Ac dum. At once; be quick. Hindustani. Died o’ wounds. Answer for an absent man on his name being called. Sandstorm. A soup consisting of ground maize or analogous grain boiled in water. The ground grain would sink and, with the added resemblance of colour, would 71
Hargraves Ac dum. At once; be quick. Hindustani. Died of wounds. Answer for absent man on his name being called. Sandstorm. A soup consisting of ground maize or analogous grain boiled in water. The ground grain would sink and, with the added resemblance of
Constant Reader, ‘English Army Slang’, 379. E.g. German. In the term “cousins-german” the word “german” is equivalent to “germane,” and means closely allied, being derived from the Latin germanus, akin, having the same ancestors, from the root germen, germinus, a bud, origin. The English word “germ” has the same derivation. U. and V. In the period of Middle English the letters “u” and “v” were used indifferently, and up to a comparatively recent date most English dictionaries combined the words beginning with “u” and “v.” It appears that, according to modern spelling, no English word ends in “u,” owing, says Ellis, in his “Early English Pronunciation,” “to a rule made by no one knows whom, no one knows why, and no one knows when.” 73 Basil Hargrave, ‘List of Words and Phrases Used in the Great War’, Origins and Meanings of Popular Phrases and Names, including Those which came into Use during the Great War, 2nd edn. (London: T. W. Laurie, 1925), iv. 72
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colour, would appear like a patch of sand (and tasted like it!)
As these examples show, the compiler had little of any substance to add to the material from Notes and Queries. The Hargrave list was published with identical content but under a new name in 1939.74
Glossary of Slang and Peculiar Terms in Use in the A.I.F. (1921–4) This glossary was compiled by librarians at the Australian War Memorial library under the direction of the chief librarian, A. G. Pretty. It survives in two manuscripts, from c.1922 and 1924, and is sometimes attributed to A. W. Bazley, one of the compilers. A transcription and annotated version of the later manuscript, my main source for this section, is available on the Australian National Dictionary Centre website.75 The manuscript contains approximately 1040 entries for 933 headwords. In a sample of 736 entries for 662 headwords, a third of entries are verbatim from Downing’s Digger’s Dialect,76 and a further 38 per cent are probably also from that source. The largest areas of semantic coverage are fools, failure & insults; ranks & regiments (both 9 per cent); and body & health (8 per cent). Among the entries adopted from Downing, fools, failure & insults is significantly larger than can be attributed to chance. Among the new entries there are significantly more terms for knowledge & communication; approval & honesty; women & dating; and terms of address, and significantly fewer for fools, failure & insults (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 9.1). The only lexicographic bias in the selection of terms from Downing was that the compilers of this manuscript tended to select in favour of entries containing usage labels (p = 0.01), including: Downing MERRY ANZACS—Casual Australians (used ironically).
Glossary of . . . the A.I.F. MERRY ANZACS—Casual Australians (used ironically)
74 Walter M. Gallichan, The Soldiers’ War Slang Dictionary: a List of Words & Phrases used by British Soldiers in the Great War 1914–1918 (London: T. Werner Laurie, 1939). 75 Amanda Laugesen (ed.), Glossary of Slang and Peculiar Terms in Use in the A.I.F., . I have also adopted the layout from this source, though it may not be an accurate representation of the appearance of the manuscript. 76 Laugeson marks these on the website.
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WE’RE WINNING!—(1) When used satirically, applies to bad conditions. Otherwise applies to good. (2) An ironical consolation for bad luck.
WE’RE WINNING. An ironical expression for bad luck. When used satirically applies to bad conditions. Otherwise applied to good.
Significantly more of the entries in this glossary that are labelled as in any way humorous are from Downing’s dictionary and significantly more of the terms that are restricted in use to a particular division or specialization are new (both p = 0.01). Since Downing based his dictionary on his own experience, it is not surprising that a glossary with a broader remit would include more terms that are technical or limited in use. The manuscript glossary is an unfinished and unpolished work. It is imperfectly alphabetized, inadequately proofread, and contains numerous undefined terms. Seven per cent of entries, including blind spot, Nobby, and Snipe (Sopwith), consist of only a headword. The compilers presumably intended to return to these entries and fill in the gaps. Fifteen per cent of entries include etymological information, a disproportionate number of which are not from Downing (p = 0.01): BILLY HARRIS. Abbreviation of “Bilharzia” a disease common in Palestine. DON ACK PLONK. Divisional Ammunition Column (D.A.C.) “Don Ack” is the Army method of pronouncing D.A. and “plonk” may have originated as a rhyme for “donk” the D.A.C.’s containing many mules. Another possible derivation is the adaption of the sound made by the sinking of the mule’s leg into the mud.
These examples are characteristic in that they show the troops adapting unfamiliar English terms and jargon rather than adopting words from foreign languages.
Edward Fraser and John Gibbons’s Soldier and Sailor Words and Phrases (1925) Edward Fraser (?born c.1859) appears to have been a journalist born in British Guiana. He published numerous books on naval and
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military history between 1904 and 1930.77 John Gibbons (b.1882) is described as ‘of Hornsey in Middlesex’ on the title page of a book describing a pilgrimage to Lourdes in 1928, and on the title page of this dictionary as having been in the 12th Battalion of the London Regiment. This was Gibbons’s first publication, though he was later to write numerous travel books, and is described on the dust-jacket of his Twenty-Four Vagabond Tales (1932) as ‘a joyous vagabond who travels with a magic quill in hand and the mystic light of faith in his eyes’. In 1935, he wrote a book called Roll on, Next War!, and his last publication appeared in 1949. Soldier and Sailor Words was: primarily designed as a Dictionary of War Slang at the instance of the authorities of the Imperial War Museum, using materials contributed by officers and men of all branches of the Service who had served with the British and Dominion forces. . . . It is the only book on the subject published, and if in places the net may seem to have been cast rather widely, it is trusted that the book will be found the more interesting and entertaining on that account.78
The dictionary contains approximately 3300 entries for 3100 headwords, concentrating on ranks & divisions (16 per cent); geography & travel (9 per cent); and war & weapons (8 per cent). Thirty-two per cent of entries include etymologies, many of which trace the origins of army slang terms to languages with which soldiers came into contact. Some of these predated the war or originated from the outskirts of the British Empire: HE KAINA NO KATOA: A Maori word, meaning “The Home to All”. The name given to the New Zealand Hut in the N.Z. camp at Salisbury during the War. MAINGA: Water. A Zulu word used among South African troops. PEECHY: (Hind.—Picche). Presently. Soon, e.g., “Come peechy”.
Others cover the war’s various fronts: QUASH: Good; nice. An Arabic word (Khwush) in use colloquially on Eastern Fronts. 77 Fraser is blamed in a review for delaying a history of the Royal Navy (‘England’s Navy’, New York Times (21 May 1898), BR343). Neither Fraser nor Gibbons is listed in the DNB. 78 Edward Fraser and John Gibbons, Soldier and Sailor Words and Phrases. Including Slang of the Trenches and the Air Force; British and American War-Words and Service Terms and Expressions in Everyday Use; Nicknames, Sobriquets, and Titles of Regiments, with their Origins; The Battle-Honours of the Great War Awarded to the British Army (London: George Routledge & Sons, 1925), v–vi.
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SANG BON: (French—Cinq bon). Very good indeed. Five times good. A “Nap hand”. TAVARISH: Comrade. A Russian word in everyday use in the War among our men serving in North Russia.
Most of the other etymologies represent expansions of acronyms and initializations. For example: A.E.F.: The initials of the American Expeditionary Force, unkindly said in certain quarters to stand for “After England Failed,” i.e., Why America had to come in! C. OF E.: The Service abbreviation for Church of England; in the War stamped on Identity Discs (q.v.), so that in case of death men should be buried with the rites of their Creed. “R.C.” stood for Roman Catholic, and “N.C.” for Nonconformists in general.
As these entries demonstrate, much of what is in this dictionary is official terminology rather than slang. In keeping with this, 12 per cent of entries give additional information about systems, events, conflicts, and battles: IDENTITY DISC: Every officer and soldier was supplied with two identity discs, worn round the neck, one suspended from the other, the upper disc, “No. 1”, green, and the lower, “No. 2”, red. (See Cold Meat Ticket and Corpse Ticket). The green disc was buried with the body; the red disc was removed and retained for record purposes in the dead man’s unit. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND: The signal made by Vice-Admiral Sir Roger Keyes on the eve of the Zeebrugge attack. Replied to by the Vindictive’s Captain with “May he give the Dragon’s tail a dammed good twist”. “Incidentally”, says Captain Carpenter, V.C., of the Vindictive in his story of the attack, “my signalman substituted the word ‘darned’, and when corrected spelled ‘damned’ as ‘dammed,’ as a compromise”.
Unlike many of the dictionaries produced during the war, this one contains relatively little humour, though a few entries are enlivened by anecdotes: ERFS: (French —Oeufs). Eggs. Where pronunciation failed, as it often did, recourse had to be had to pantomime. This is a true story officially recorded in a War Diary. The mess-sergeant of a regular battalion of the Queen’s, out to buy eggs, was unable to make the village shopkeeper understand. No eggs being visible he picked up a
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turnip, put it on the floor, and sat on it, clucking like a hen. He got his eggs!
What jocular entries there are contain a ‘stiff upper-lip’ type of humour perhaps more characteristic of officers than the dour and fatalistic infantry: FIREWORKS: The familiar name for the display of search-lights, star-shells, rockets, etc., over the front-line and No Man’s Land, on the occasion of night bombardments (See Brock’s Benefit). UNHEALTHY: Dangerous. (Used of any locality exposed to enemy fire).
There is correspondingly little stark information about the human experience of war: NO MAN’S LAND: The strip of open ground, strewn with war wreckage, broken wire, dead bodies, fragments of shells, etc., dividing the opposing trenches which extended all along the front and on the Western Front varying in width, in places, from a few yards to a quarter of a mile. (The name was coined apparently by “Eye-witness”, and first appeared in print in his official “Narrative” of September 15th, 1914).
Although this dictionary was based on written material, which would necessarily over-represent the language of more educated individuals, it does include terms used by ordinary soldiers: GNOSCH, TO: To eat (gnash one’s teeth on). UNCLE NED: Bed. (Rhyming slang). YOB, A: Anyone easily made a fool of. East End slang.
Usage labels are given in 31 per cent of entries, and 40 per cent of these indicate that terms were used by particular divisions or specializations: BAGONET: A common Army corruption for Bayonet. Curiously “Bagonet” and “Baggonet” for Bayonet are forms often met with in old 17th-Century documents and letters contemporary with the introduction of the Bayonet. INDIARUBBER MAN, THE: Navy colloquial for the Officer for Physical Instruction R.N. (See Bunjee.) JOY STICK: The airman’s popular name for the control lever working the principal controls and controlling the stabilising mechanism in an
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Twenty-three per cent of usage labels indicate register (see ‘colloquial’ in indiarubber man). Twelve per cent indicate frequency of use (see ‘common’ in bagonet). Ten per cent of entries are empty cross-references. Many of these are to two mini-glossaries found under nicknames (personal) and nicknames, sobriquets, and titles of regiments, where the relevant terms are listed alphabetically: NICKNAMES (PERSONAL): These are among the most widely used adaptations of surnames customary in the Services. Betsy: For a man named Gay. Old Navy, originally from a song with the refrain: “That charming Betsy Gay”. Blanco: ′′ ′′ ′′ ′′ White. Bodger: ′′ ′′ ′′ ′′ Lees Bogey: ′′ ′′ ′′ ′′ Harris . . .
Another mini-glossary is found under regimental journals, but these sub-entries are not listed as empty cross-references in the main alphabetical listing. A further eighty-seven entries (8 per cent) include crossreferences as well as a definition (see C. of E. and identity disc). The glossary is followed by ‘Battle-Honours awarded for the Great War’: the official recognition of a unit’s involvement in a particular engagement. For example: 1st King’s Dragoon Guards. “Somme, 1916,” “Morval,” “France and Flanders,” “1914–17.”
Eugene Stock McCartney’s ‘Additions to a Volume on the Slang and Idioms of the World War’ (1928 and 1929) Eugene Stock McCartney (b.1883) was the son of a Pennsylvania real estate agent. He appears to have been a classicist at the University of Michigan, and published articles in philological journals. In 1928, McCartney wrote an article on the slang of the war for the Papers of
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the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts and Letters, and he reprinted it the following year.79 He notes that Fraser and Gibbons included only a little American slang, and claims to list ‘some eleven hundred words and expressions’80 not found in that source. He comments that ‘since the probability that similar works will be published is growing more remote, it seemed worth while for me to render available the supplementary material in my collection’.81 In a sample of 860 entries for 818 headwords, concentrating on ranks & divisions (18 per cent); war & weapons (15 per cent); and geography & travel (10 per cent), 17 per cent of entries are marked with an asterisk to indicate that they are also listed by Fraser and Gibbons. Thirty-eight per cent of entries include usage labels, 68 per cent of which indicate that the term is (or was) American: chief (Am.), the chief musician of a band. old file (Am.), an old officer. Rig in your booms (Am. N.), put down your elbows; an expression used at mess.
A further 25 per cent of labels indicate that terms were British, usually in use in the navy: Devil-dodger (Br. N.), the chaplain. mick (Br. N.), an abridgement of “face like a scrubbed hammock”. Zeppelins in a cloud (Br. N.), sausage and mashed potatoes; “sausage and smashed”.
Nineteen per cent of entries provide etymologies: conked: “A new word which is taken from the Russian language and which means stopped or killed.”—E. M. Roberts, A Flying Fighter, p. 334. doggo, still; quiet. The word is said to be an East Indian derivation.
McCartney comments on the ‘many pitfalls’ awaiting him. ‘Many absurd guesses have been given as facts. I have included a few of them for what they are worth’.82 The OED lists conk as ‘of obscure origin’ and suggests that doggo is from the usual sense of dog. 79 Eugene Stock McCartney, ‘Additions to a Volume on the Slang and Idioms of the World War’, Papers of the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts and Letters, Vol. X, 1928 and World War Slang and Idioms (No publication details, 1929). 80 81 82 McCartney, World War Slang, 273. Ibid., 274. Ibid, 274.
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Some entries are reminiscent of Holmes’s list, which McCartney frequently cites as a source, but he usually has something to add. For example: Holmes (1918) McCartney 1928 Click—Variously used. To die. click, to die; to be killed; to kill; To be killed. To kill. To draw *to draw some job, agreeable or some disagreeable job, disagreeable. “To click can be either as: I clicked a burial fatigue. advantageous or baneful, according to the circumstances. A soldier asks a superior for a favor, and it is granted. That soldier has clicked. . . . Or if he is given a coveted post, he has clicked. But he has also clicked if he is suddenly seized on to do some menial duty. He has clicked if he is discovered in a misdeed. And he has clicked a packet if he gets into trouble generally.” —Muir, pp. 226–227. Dixie—An oblong iron pot * Dixie: “an iron box or pot, oblong or box fitting into a field in shape, capacity about four or kitchen. Used for cooking five gallons. It fits into the field anything and everything. kitchen and is used for roasts, Nobody seems to know stews, char, or anything else. why it is so called. The cover serves to cook bacon in.” —Holmes, p. 52. Strictly speaking, this is not slang. The cooking-pots issued by the Army Ordnance Corps are officially designated as Dixies, though no one seems to know why.
As click, conked and Dixie demonstrate, McCartney includes supporting information for many entries in his word-list, including citations (13 per cent of entries), examples of use (2 per cent), and reference to authorities (3 per cent). This is clearly a list that owes much to desk-bound research, although McCartney also claims that ‘while the war was still raging I collected all the military slang and expressions that I could find’.83 83
Ibid., 273.
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Encyclopædia Britannica glossary of British War slang (1929) The four glossaries in the fourteenth edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica entry for slang include one of forty-one ‘British War Slang’ terms. A note comments that ‘The slang which became current during the World War was characterized by novelty’.84 Entries cover widely used abbreviations as well as slang, and there is no acknowledged or obvious source: C.B., confined to barracks. Doughboy, an American soldier. Sausage, observation balloon. V.A.D., a nurse of the Voluntary Aid Department.
John Brophy’s The Soldier’s War (1929) John Brophy (1899–1965) was the son of a Liverpool dock-worker and earthernware dealer. He lied about his age to enlist early, and served as an infantryman in France and Belgium for the duration of the war. Afterwards he attended Liverpool and Durham universities, taught in Egypt for two years, and worked in advertising. He reviewed fiction for the Daily Telegraph, wrote for Time and Tide and later edited John O’London’s Weekly. He wrote books about art, particularly the human face, but also bibliographies and literary studies, a biography of Somerset Maugham, a travel book about Hungary, and books about the Home Guard, in which he served during the Second World War. He co-edited a miscellaneous collection of short stories with Hanchant (see page 349), and wrote numerous novels, which were ‘enjoyable, often insightful, well-constructed entertainments, popular in their day. They were translated into sixteen languages and based, in large part, on the personal experience of a sensitive and articulate Englishman of a war-torn century.’85 Two were made into films.86
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‘Slang’, Encyclopædia Britannica, 14th edn., XX, 768. This quotation and most of the biographical information from DNB. Cataloguers sometimes attribute his work to an American labour leader (1883–1963) of the same name. 86 Immortal Sergeant, released in 1943, starred Henry Fonda and Maureen O’Hara. A film called Fixed Bayonets, released in 1951, adapted Immortal Sergeant to a Korean War setting. Brophy’s novel, Waterfront, depicting the return of a drunk to Liverpool, was adapted for film in 1950. 85
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Describing himself as a ‘convinced pacifist’,87 Brophy concedes that, with some qualification, the war was an enjoyable experience for many of those involved: The War gave to the civilian turned soldier health, adventure (intermittently), a sense of a tangible and valuable task, profound emotional experiences, and comradeship. . . . But the deaths of millions, the sufferings of the maimed, bereavements and the anguish of uncertainty, the destruction of property, the loosing of greed, hypocrisy, and selfishness, the shattering of nerves—these are too big a price to pay for a few enjoyments otherwise obtainable.88
Brophy’s selection of prose extracts includes some translations from German, and is followed by a ‘Glossary of Military and Foreign Words and War-Time Slang’. He introduced the glossary by apologizing to those for whom it would be superfluous, but argued that the book would soon be unintelligible without it, and added: If my memory or information has gone astray, I can only apologise again. I really haven’t the glossary-compiling type of mind at all.89
Brophy included a great many terms that are not slang in themselves, perhaps as many as three quarters of the 172 entries for 167 headwords, but his definitions give the soldiers’ point of view and suggest connotations not implied by standard definitions: Kit: all the odds and ends which a private soldier was supposed to carry about with him, ranging from the blunt army razor to that sartorial necessity, the “button-stick.” At inopportune moments this assortment was laid out on the ground and inspected by at least one officer. Missing articles which could not be stolen or passed surreptitiously down the line, had to be replaced at the soldier’s expense. It was believed that this practice preserved morale.
Twenty per cent of entries include etymologies: Koylies: concertina name for the K.O.Y.L.I.—the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. Wind-up: fear. Perhaps invented by some father who noticed a similarity between the extreme symptoms and a baby’s hiccoughing efforts to clear its bronchial pipes after feeding. 87 88
John Brophy, The Soldier’s War (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1929), ix. 89 Brophy, Soldier’s War, ix–x. Ibid., 263.
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—and 14 per cent include encyclopaedic information: Bully-beef: military term for tinned corned beef. Every soldier was supposed to keep one tin, together with hard biscuits as “iron” or emergency rations, not to be touched except by permission from a superior officer. But they were heavy items in an already excessive equipment, and not usually difficult to replace. Consequently these straws were frequently abandoned in odd corners, and the camels kept their backs unbroken—but only just!
As is already clear, Brophy’s definitions are characterized by their anti-authoritarian and pacifist sentiments: Casualties: the dead, wounded, and sick; derived from the Latin casu, by chance. If war itself, and the incompetence, obstinacy, or vainglory of generals be grouped under the heading of chance, then for once military phraseology may be precise in its application. Orderly man: one or two selected from a platoon in turn (or out of turn—shall I ever forget Sergeant B—’s little ways!) each day to fetch and “dish out” (serve) meals, and perform other small chores. Snotty: habitually short-tempered. Reprehensible in a private soldier, virtuous in an N.C.O. or officer.
Brophy argued that prose requires greater reflection than poetry, which is why so little was produced during the war. His glossary is also the result of reflection, but it is not clear whether his political convictions were formed during or after the conflict.
John Brophy and Eric Partridge’s Songs and Slang of the British Soldier (1930 and 1931) In the following year, Brophy issued another glossary of military slang, this time in partnership with Eric Partridge. Partridge was later to become the most influential slang lexicographer of the twentieth century, and some of his glossaries have been discussed in preceding chapters, but this was his earliest foray into the documentation of slang. A thousand copies were printed of the first edition, followed by a second edition of another thousand copies within the year. A third edition came out in 1931. The book’s appeal probably lay in its attempt to provide an honest portrayal of the spirit of the troops:
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The songs are presented in three sections: ‘songs predominantly sung on the march’, ‘songs sung on the march, but more often in billets and estaminets’, and ‘chants and songs rarely, if ever, sung on the march’. The introduction divides them into eight categories: 1. ‘Satire on War, and Mock-Heroics’; 2. ‘Satire on the Military System’; 3. ‘Satire on Superior Officers’; 4. ‘Panegyrics of Civilian Bliss, Past and Present’; 5. ‘Celebration of Drink and other Comforts’; 6. ‘Nonsense and Burlesque’; 7. ‘Sex and Ribaldry’; and 8. Sentimental and Pathetic Songs (‘of these there are very few examples’91). The sections containing the songs and the glossary are equivalent in size, each taking up about ninety pages: In the glossary, the editors have aimed to give not a mere dictionarylist, but a record-by-glimpses of the British soldiers’ spirit and life in the years 1914–1918. Some of the comments are far from “official” in tone and in matter, but the editors believe there will be no confusion between what is recorded as fact and what is opinion. They do not claim that these wartime “grouses” and post-war reflections mirror the attitude of everyone who served . . . But they believe that substantially these are the views of the majority of wartime soldiers, and that they have not portrayed their former comrades either as supermen or as whiners, as sots or as saints.92
There are also about twenty pages of notes on the glossary which discuss the origins and nature of war slang: 90 Brophy & Partridge, Songs and Slang, ‘Songs Predominantly Sung on the March’, 26. Sung to the tune of ‘The Church’s One Foundation’. References are to the first edition unless otherwise noted. ‘Fred Karno’s Army’ was used to describe the entertainment companies run by British music-hall impresario Frederick John Westcott. Specializing in slapstick comedy, they became synonymous with chaos. Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel (real name Stanley Jefferson) both began their careers with Karno. 91 Brophy & Partridge, Songs and Slang, 12. 92 Ibid., v.
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An experience so wide-spread and so deep-sunk was bound to modify the language . . . The new recruits reached out eagerly for the traditional vocabulary of the old Army, and rolled it over on appreciative palates. Dodging the Column, Rooti, Swinging the Lead, On the Jildi: these were all quickly adopted . . . just as a new boy at school is all ears for the nicety of its special slang. A new occupation, a new vocabulary. But presently the occupation changed, grew to vast proportions and assumed horrible aspects beyond the knowledge and capacity of the old Army. . . . Physical fear became a commonplace of routine, but a commonplace that had to be conquered by private resolution and outward derision.93
The notes also acknowledge the glossary’s debt to earlier dictionaries, including Grose’s dictionary, on which Partridge was working at the time,94 and Fraser and Gibbons’ ‘excellent compilation, which is wider in scope . . . but written in less detail and from a more or less “official” standpoint.’95 The glossary contains 572 entries for 540 headwords in the first edition. The second edition makes minor modifications to the existing glossary (see Dixie, Barbed Wire, and San Fairy Ann, and others below), and adds 113 entries for 112 headwords in a separate list, as well as a ‘P.P.S. to the glossary’ of four single-sense headwords. It uses <†> as a cross-reference to the first list. The third edition adds a glossary of approximately 1360 entries for 1285 headwords, adding <††> as a cross-reference to the glossary and postscript of the second edition and <†††> as an internal cross-reference. Partridge explained that: The first edition was edited by both of us, but almost wholly written by John Brophy, whereas the Postscript to the second was wholly edited and almost wholly written by Eric Partridge; this edition is for the most part edited and entirely written by the latter.96
The first list concentrates on ranks & divisions (10 per cent); war & weapons (9 per cent); and leisure & pleasure (7 per cent). The second edition lists are in line with this distribution, but the third edition includes significantly more new terms for war & weapons and 93
Ibid., 186–7. Eric Partridge, A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue by Captain Francis Grose (London: Scholartis, 1931). 95 Brophy & Partridge, Songs and Slang, 189. 96 John Brophy, and Eric Partridge, Songs and Slang of the British Soldier, 3rd edn. (London: [Scholartis], 1931), 227–8. 94
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geography & travel, and significantly fewer for emotion, behaviour & temperament and people (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 9.2.1). This glossary inevitably overlaps with Brophy’s earlier list, and although definitions are sometimes similar, they are never identical: Brophy Battle-police: military policemen appointed to patrol the area behind a battle, in order to question stragglers and either force them back into the line or shoot them. See “Mark VII” [in the anthology] for appropriate comments.
Trench-mortar: a shortmuzzled engine for throwing large bombs into the opposing trenches from short range. When a trench-mortar battery had performed this operation a few times with great rapidity, it would retire amid curses, leaving the infantry to endure the resulting strafe.
Brophy & Partridge (1st edn.) *Battle Police.—Military policemen on special duty behind the lines during an attack, armed with revolvers and authority to stop all unwounded stragglers and herd them back (if necessary with the revolvers) to the danger area where military police never appeared. (Cf. Red Caps and A.P.M.) *Trench mortar.—A small gun fired from a front trench into the enemy’s line. There were various forms of trench mortars, all hurling over, and quite slowly and visibly, large bombs which spun uneasily in flight. . . . When a T. M. battery had fired a few shots it departed with speed, and the infantry remained to await the inevitable retaliation from the enemy artillery. (Cf. Minnie.)
An asterisk marks 20 per cent of first edition entries as ‘technical, official, or semi-official’.97 These include: *Barbed Wire.—Entanglements of barbed wire were erected in front of the trenches by both sides. Men were frequently caught in these at night, and during day-time attacks, when they became easy targets for machine guns [2nd edn.: machine-guns]. The dead bodies could not fall to the ground, but hung sagging in limp and often 97 John Brophy, and Eric Partridge, Songs and Slang of the British Soldier, 2nd edn. (London: Scholartis, 1930), 209.
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grotesque attitudes among the wilderness of wire. Hence it became a common euphemism for death, hard and bitter, to say that a man was “hanging on the old barbed wire.” This was an ironic reply often given by survivors at roll-call after an attack, when the name of a man who had been killed was called. (Cf. the song, “The Old Barbed Wire,” page 72, and Concertina Wire [2nd edn. adds:, Trip Wire].)
The entries marked as official in this way tend to be more encyclopaedic and subjective than the slang entries. They are significantly more likely to include comments or anecdotes as well as references to authorities, but significantly less likely to include etymologies. Subsequent editions mark significantly fewer terms as official (all p = 0.01). A further 12 per cent of entries include a usage label, most commonly marking terms as jocular or facetious (23 per cent of labels), as restricted in use to particular ranks (16 per cent) or divisions (14 per cent), or as belonging to a specific date range (also 14 per cent). The third edition adds significantly more labelled terms than the earlier lists (p = 0.01), reflecting Partridge’s wider research into the slang of different military and national groups. Sixteen per cent of the labels in this edition indicate that terms were used in the regular army, 11 per cent are for Canadian terms, and 10 per cent for terms used in the Air Force. There are also a few terms that were used among the German and French troops. Thirty-three per cent of entries in the first edition offered etymologies. For instance: San Fairy Ann.—An extremely popular phrase approximated into English from the French ça ne fait rien—It doesn’t matter, it makes no difference, why worry? As the intelligence of the soldier penetrated year after year the infinite layers of bluff and pretentiousness with which military tradition enwrapped the conduct of the War, so his cynicism increased, became habitual. Men ceased to show initiative, not so much because they were dispirited by war, but because they realised that the stupidity of authority was impregnable. Neither virtue, courage nor skill [2nd edn.: nor any skill] [3rd edn.: nor skill] were demonstrably of any avail to protect a man from the quite impersonal violence of shells or bullets, from the malignance of a biassed [2nd and 3rd edns.: biased] superior or from unnecessary and dangerous duties carried out by order from above. . . .
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The second edition is in line with the first in its provision of etymologies, but the third provides significantly fewer (p = 0.01). Twenty-one per cent of entries in the first edition include encyclopaedic or anecdotal material, such as: Etaples.—A small town between Calais and Boulogne [3rd edn.: A small town just inland from Le Touquet], the site of many infantry base depôts and hospitals. The cemetery with its crosses reached to the horizon, and the tented depôts in bad weather were even more depressing. Conditions at Etaples were so absurdly repressive that in 1917 a mutiny, provoked by the military police, broke out. The only published account of this will be found in the columns of the Manchester Guardian on several dates during February, 1930. For some occult reason, Etaples was always pronounced “Ee-tapps”, with the accent on the first syllable. (Cf. Ypres.)98
Although this proportion falls in each of the two subsequent lists, the decrease is not statistically significant. The third edition includes some lengthy encyclopaedic entries, notably for gas masks, British; unknown warrior; and House. 5 per cent of entries in the first edition cite a source or authority without quoting it (see Etaples), and a further 3 per cent include a referenced citation: *No Man’s Land.—A strangely romantic name for the area between the front line trenches of either army, held by neither but patrolled, at night, by both. Originally used, according to Farmer-and-Henley [3rd edn. deletes hyphens] and Weekley, for waste ground, barren stretches between two provinces or kingdoms. Defoe in Robinson Crusoe uses it to signify “a border”. [3rd edn.: border.”] The N.E.D. [3rd edn.: O.E.D.] notes that an official Roll of a.d.1320 (written of course in Latin) contains nonesmanneslond. Defoe spells it no Man’s Land, T. Hughes in 1881 noman’s land, and Dilke in 1890 no-man’s land.99
There are significantly more referenced citations in new entries in the second edition. Unattributed examples of use appear in 15 per cent of entries in the first edition: 98 99
See below, page 270, for the third edition’s comment on this entry. The references to Defoe, Hughes, and Dilke are all from the OED.
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Old Soldier.—One grown old in sin. A term of mingled admiration and indignation, implying cunning in the art of dodging work and trouble from authority, [2nd edn. deletes the comma; 3rd edn. reinstates it] to the point of malingering. A typical usage: “Is Bill coming on the ration party?” “Not him, the old soldier.”
The second edition is in line with the first in this respect, but significantly fewer new entries in the third edition include this type of unattributed citation (p = 0.01), suggesting that Partridge had by this stage reached the limits of his personal knowledge. Fourteen new entries in the second edition amend existing entries. These are indicated by a dagger <†>: First edition main list Jerry.—German, singular or plural, noun and adjective. A familiar expression almost of affection, obviously derived from German. Used constantly by private soldiers in such phrases “Jerry’s damn quiet, to-night”: “Poor old Jerry, he’s not half getting it from those heavies of ours”; “What should I see but a couple of Jerries.”
Second edition additions †Jerry.—Possibly (even probably [3rd edn.: not probably]), however, the origin of the word lay in the appearance of a group of German tin-hats worn by their lessees: in outline they looked surprisingly like an array of chamber-pots, vulgarly known as “jerries.”
The third edition includes 77 amending entries: Entries in first and second editions *D.C.M.—Most civilians knew that this stood for Distinguished Conduct Medal. To soldiers its first connotation, however, was District Court Martial. Mons Man.—One of the original B.E.F. in France. Popularized by journalists, who, however, got it from the troops.
Additional material in third edition *†D.C.M.—That some soldiers never heard the penal abbreviation illustrates the fact that in soldiers’ slang there were District Court Martial. “dialects”, i.e. local variations. †† Mons Man.—The 1914 Star, unofficially the Mons Medal, was awarded to all who served in France in a B.E.F. unit between August 5 and midnight of November 22–23, 1914.
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The comment in D.C.M. appears to represent Partridge’s response to a criticism of the original entry. The additional information in Mons Man is more characteristic of the amending entries in this edition, in that it merely adds to what is already there. Six per cent of entries in the first edition provide a cross-reference in place of a definition, and a further 41 per cent include cross-references in addition to a definition. For instance: Dixie.—A large iron pot, an oval cylinder (if such a thing can be) with an iron lid and a thin handle devised to bite into the hands [2nd edn.: hand; 3rd edn.: hands] when carrying. Stew, rice, porridge, soup and tea were boiled in the dixie; bacon and biscuit-pudding were cooked in the lid. The most perfunctory cleaning operations, if any, were performed on the dixie by the cooks between these boilings and bakings, and every meal brought ancient memories of its predecessors to the nostrils and the palate. (Cf. Orderly Man, Canteen and Bully-beef.)100
Including the entries marked <†>, <††>, or <†††>, new entries in the second and third editions both contain significantly fewer crossreferences than the first edition. In each case there is also a significant increase in entries including semantically related terms. In the third edition, the increase in semantically related terms does not compensate for the decrease in explicit cross-references, however, which suggests that rather than just changing the manner of presentation, Partridge spent less time editing the additions than had been spent on the original list (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 9.2). The third edition edits existing material as well as adding new terms, as we have seen, and a few entries correct errors. Compare this with the first edition entry for Etaples, above: † Etaples.—Our mistake! The riot had earlier been treated at some length in Memories and Base-Details by Lady Angela Forbes, who during the War ran an officers’ club at Etaples.
Differences between Partridge and Brophy’s political views are evident in some of the changes made: *M.O.—Medical Officer attached to a battalion or battery. They varied considerably in quality; some were brutes, some were weak underlings of the C.O., some were undoubtedly human [3rd edn.: but most 100 Compare Holmes’ and McCartney’s definitions of Dixie above, page 260, which are more neutral in tone.
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were quite human]. In the line all worked like niggers, and many of them heroically. . . . But in their treatment of the sick, almost all [3rd edn.: too many] M.O.’s exhibited neither intelligence nor courtesy. Malingerers could “get away with it” (cf.) again and again, genuinely suffering [3rd edn.: ill] men were [3rd edn. inserts: often] ordered back to duty—sometimes to die. As the war progressed and the influential citizens demanded more and more men from the powerless classes, so the medical profession steadily lowered its standards and hurried the deformed, the epileptic and the aged to the shambles. Worse! In 1914 boys were allowed to enlist under age, and finally the minimum age for conscription was fixed at 18, and drafts of thousands of under-developed lads were hurried out—almost all into the infantry. Surely the modern Moloch is a scientific god!
Note that Partridge’s version retains its condemnation of ignorant civilian authorities, but downplays the generalized malignant intent of the medical officers. In entries new to the third edition Partridge is also more forgiving of the military authorities: I Salute the Brave Dead.—A formula affected (and sometimes ennobled) by important officers. At least once, a British general saluted with these ceremonial, ritualistic words a man laid out by rum, only to see the “brave dead” arise from his drunken stupor. After all, they both meant well.
This anecdote would surely have been put to a more acid purpose by Brophy. The more neutral tone, the careful modification of existing entries, the addition of new words and meanings in separate alphabetical sequences, the research into written sources, and the dialogue with correspondents all foreshadow methods that Partridge was to employ in compiling his DSUE.
Mary Paxton Keeley’s ‘A.E.F. English’ (1930) Keeley’s article is the first list of First World War slang by a woman, though it documents slang used by men, and also the first attempt to document a distinctively American wartime slang. She comments on the limitations this might have caused: I realise that a man should have made this article . . . I have no obscene or unusually profane expressions to record, for I did not hear them. . . . I know
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for this reason that my list, compiled during my ten months as a canteen worker with the A. E. F., in France, is incomplete and one-sided.101
She concedes that American troops coined fewer terms than the British ‘who coined fewer than the French’, but argues that they ‘should be preserved as a matter of historical and etymological interest.’102 The glossary includes 152 headwords, many dealing with soldiers’ social interactions rather than their military occupations: Madamoiselle. Used for any French girl with fairly easy morality, also “madamoizook” and “wild woman.” Ou là là. The French used this so often that the doughboy tried it too, but he was not clever at it. With him it always meant, “See the mademoiselle going down the cow path,” while it meant anything or nothing when used by the French.
Keeley comments in particular on terms used distinctively by the American troops: camouflage. A disguise of artillery, ships, or roads by use of color. For A. E. F. extension, see text.103 feenish. Our army used this instead of the “Napoo,” short for Il n’y a plus, which the British used.104
—but not all of the terms that Keeley lists were restricted to American usage. There was clearly more to say on this subject, and the lexicographic career of the editor of HDAS began with a desire to provide more thorough coverage of American military slang of the First World War.105 Keeley’s glossary provided 42 per cent of entries in the ‘War Slang’ list in Rose’s Thesaurus and 22 per cent of entries in Weseen’s ‘Soldiers’ Slang’ list. For instance: Keeley Benzine board. Board that “busts” an officer.
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Rose Board Which Demotes an Officer (n phr.): the benzine board.
Weseen Benzine board— the officials who demote an officer.
Mary Paxton Keeley, ‘A.E.F. English’, American Speech 5 (1930), 372–86: 372. 103 Ibid., 372–3. ‘Camouflage meant to deceive or to conceal something’ (Ibid., 381). 104 This is probably related to Fraser and Gibbons’ finee “finished”. 105 Jonathan Evan Lighter, ‘The Slang of the American Expeditionary Forces in Europe, 1917–1919: An Historical Glossary’, American Speech 47 (1971), 5–142. 102
Dictionaries of First World War Slang bookoo. Abundance.
Abundance (adj.): bookoo.
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Bokoo—An abundance; very; much. Beaucoup.
Paul Beath’s ‘Aviation Lingo’ (1930), Rose’s Thesaurus, and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (both 1934) Paul Robert Beath (1905–?1982) was primarily a folklorist, but he presented American Speech with an article about the non-technical language of aviation: With every new invention comes a two-fold nomenclature, the official and the unofficial. As soon as the invention becomes widespread, the unofficial words take on a respectable connotation and often displace the official nomenclature.106
He lists only twenty-eight terms, many of which were also used by commercial and stunt flyers between the wars, such as cat-walk, drag, and wind-sock. The importance of the glossary here is that it was the source for 44 per cent of the entries sampled from the ‘Aviation’ glossary in Rose’s Thesaurus and of 29 per cent of entries sampled from Weseen’s ‘Aviators’ Slang’ glossary: Beath ace, n. Originally a pilot who has brought down five enemy planes. Now used for any famous or expert pilot. power, v. To equip a plane with a motor. “He powered his Ryan with an OX5.”
Rose Weseen Pilot Who Has Ace—An aviator Brought Down who has destroyed Five or More five or more Enemy Planes (n): enemy aeroplanes; an ace. a superior aviator. Equip a Plane with Power—To equip a a Motor (v): to plane with a power; ex: The motor. plane is powered with an OX15. [sic]
Paul Dickson was to use Weseen’s glossaries of soldiers’ and aviators’ slang as the source for 29 per cent of the entries in his list of First World War slang.107 106 107
Paul Robert Beath, ‘Aviation Lingo’, American Speech 5 (1930), 289–90: 289. Paul Dickson, War Slang (New York: Pocket Books, 1994).
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Conclusions We have seen that some military slang was carried over from the pre-war period into the First World War. For the British army this often meant terms originally adopted in India; for the American army it was terms learnt in various successful conflicts of the 1890s. Like any slang, it bound men together in comradeship and defiance, but it also demarcated between them. Many of the glossaries comment on differences in slang used in various areas and periods of the war. Some terms survived into wide or restricted usage after the war, but most were no longer required, and it was often this obsolescence that motivated their documentation. The First World War challenged military expectations of warfare, but also challenged many of the preconceptions of the troops. A working-class infantryman, like Brophy, learnt that other nationalities and other races could fight as bravely as his own. He learnt not to respect authority. He learnt that normal language could not express the realities of conflict, and that even normal or official terms used in their normal senses took on new connotations in the context of war. All existing meaning, whether lexical or ethical, was suspended for the duration. The glossaries discussed in this chapter served many different purposes, and cannot be interpreted without reference to their function. These are not impartial objective dictionaries. Some sought to encourage recruitment, both individual and national; others to equip new recruits with terms that would help them make sense of life at the front, and perhaps to survive it. Some reveal the fatalistic discontent of the front-line soldier; others develop a growing sense of nationalism outside the constraints of the British Empire. Fraser and Gibbons’ glossary is an official memorial to the dead; Brophy and Partridge’s a defiant response to attempts to de-individualize and sanctify them. The glossaries reveal details not only of the military experience, but also of personal and social interactions: between veterans and new recruits, between nationalities, ethnic groups, social classes, and, to a lesser extent, between the genders. Many of the terms listed are not war slang at all: they are working class terms never heard before by middle or upper class officers, British colloquialisms unfamiliar to
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Australian or American troops (and vice versa), or official terms that failed to fool the men in the trenches. Another interesting feature of these glossaries is the different times at which they were written. The earliest appeared while the war was still in progress; the latest were published when the inevitability of the next war had become undeniable. Much of the most influential autobiographical and fictional writing of the First World War comes from the late 1920s and early 1930s, and many of the lexicographers also needed this period of separation and reflection before they could record their experiences in their own way. While some forced language into poetic form to express the inexpressible, others ranked it alphabetically to pull it apart. Both approaches emphasize the inadequacy of normal language in this situation: some of the glossaries discussed here, particularly the correspondent glossaries in periodical publications, can perhaps be seen as a form of group therapy by which ex-soldiers could acknowledge their shared experience in a safely dispassionate way. Families and friends left at home must have taken comfort in the regular newspaper articles exploring the humour of military slang. It gave a human face to the conflict and provided an insight into ‘the sunny side of soldier service’.108 For the troops it was a distancing mechanism: it is easier to say that a dear friend had gone West than to speak honestly about one’s losses and fears while still in the midst of them.
108
Christian, Rhymes of the Rookies, subtitle.
Ten: Dictionaries of Homelessness We have already seen some of the linguistic after-effects of the First World War in the hedonism of the flappers (see Chapter 7). The ‘roaring twenties’ came to a crashing end in the stock markets of America and Europe from October 1929 onwards, and the world’s economies did not really recover until the Second World War. In 1932, Fortune magazine estimated that 28 per cent of the population of the United States had no income at all.1 The effects of the Depression were compounded by a drought in 1933, followed by dust storms that forced farming families off their land. Hundreds of thousands of migrants from the Great Plains, known indiscriminately as Okies, moved west seeking work, and many settled in temporary camps in California. The Depression-era migrants were not the first transient American families by any means, but they were unprecedented in number: up to two million by 1932, ‘a mix of hoboes, dispossessed farmers and sharecroppers, unemployed school leavers, and unemployable middleclass executives’.2 Although moving on in search of better things was a routine activity in earlier American history, it was no longer seen as normal behaviour. Wanderlust had become a psychological defect. The new homeless were not just resented by settled citizens. Several major industries, including agriculture, the railroads, and lumberjacking, had always depended on the ability to take on workers only when and where necessary.3 Hoboes met this need, passing on information about temporary employment on their travels. They were suspicious of newcomers and often came into conflict with railway workers and local residents. Representing perhaps 1 per cent of the male population in 1893, hoboes had established systems to govern their work and travels. ‘By 1900 the national tramp and hobo culture was fullblown and their argot was leaking into urban popular speech.’4 The new homeless represented a threat to this way of life as well.
1 3 4
2 Cashman, America in the Twenties and Thirties, 120. Ibid., 122. Tim Cresswell, The Tramp in America (London: Reaktion, 2001), 36. Allen, The City in Slang, 140.
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Settled citizens viewed hoboes with a mixture of fear and fascination, resenting the competition for employment and regarding them as a threat to property and family life. It was feared that wives and daughters might be assaulted and sons lured with tales of hobo adventure. Several of the glossaries included in this chapter describe the partnership between an older man and a boy new to the road. Some depict a mutually beneficial relationship, but for others it was built on sexual abuse and exploitation. A more appealing version of the hobo was Charlie Chaplin’s little tramp, and his success in the role depended on the familiarity of the hobo and of his established place in the comic tradition (see Figure 8.1). Most of the glossaries in this chapter are American, and they begin with descriptions of pre-Depression hobo culture.
Josiah Flynt Willard’s Tramping with Tramps (1899) Josiah Flynt Willard (1869–1907) was born in Appleton, Wisconsin, the son of a newspaper editor and Methodist minister. Willard rejected the religious teachings of his home and ran away repeatedly from an early age. He went to college in Illinois, but did not graduate. He also studied at the University of Berlin. He first published an article on tramps in 1891, and found it to be a source of easy money: Like many critics of social unrest and indigence in late nineteenth-century America, Willard was fascinated with this group of outcasts . . . Personally he was drawn to their lifestyle and clearly reveled in his time on the road. In his published work, however, he proved unsympathetic to his subjects . . .5
Willard travelled through Europe and Russia, working for a time on Tolstoy’s estates, and took a job with the Pennsylvania Railroad police on his return to the United States. He died of pneumonia and alcoholism. Tramping with Tramps is an autobiographical account including a detailed discussion of tramp language. Willard comments that an ability to use this language is necessary for anyone who wishes to associate with tramps, but that it is impossible to learn it from any dictionary because its purpose is secrecy: It came into existence primarily as a means of talking in public without being understood by others than those intimately connected with the life. 5
This quotation and biographical information from ANB.
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It is also true that some of the words have sprung from those necessities of expression which ignorance and lack of education could not supply. In the United States, as a general rule, thanks to reformatories and prison libraries, the majority of tramps are fairly well read, and can speak English with considerable correctness; but it often happens that they have thoughts and feelings which their faulty vocabularies cannot make clear, and they are obliged to invent their own words and phrases.6
Willard comments on the similarities between tramps’ and criminals’ language as a reflection of the overlap and association between the two groups. Many tramps, he writes, are failed criminals, and successful criminals are the aristocrats of their society. He describes also the spread of hobo language, remarking that many who move ‘between civilization and Hoboland’7 pick up a knowledge of it. Willard’s revelation of this language is, from the hoboes’ point of view, theft, but he does so without any apology: I have merely explained the slang used in the text, and added certain other words which I thought might interest the reader.8
The glossary includes 134 entries for 131 headwords, concentrating on money, poverty & begging (18 per cent); crime & punishment (16 per cent); and geography & travel (12 per cent). Seventeen per cent of entries include synonyms or other semantically related terms. These are not distinguished in any useful way: Bloke: a fellow; synonymous with “plug”, “mug”, and “stiff.” Gun: a fellow; more or less synonymous with “bloke,” “stiff,” “mug” and “plug.” Plug: a fellow; synonymous with “bloke” and “stiff.”
Most definitions are similarly brief, but a few give a more expansive account of hobo life: Hoosier: a “farmer”. Everybody who does not know the world as the hobo knows it is to him a “farmer,” “hoosier,” or outsider. Horn, the: a triangular extension of the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad, running from Red Oak, Iowa, southwest some twenty miles, and then northwest to Pacific Junction on the main line.
6 7
Josiah Flynt Willard, Tramping with Tramps (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1899), 383. 8 Ibid., 391. Ibid., 392.
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Reference to the OED suggests that Willard was presenting an accurate picture of current usage. Another of his glossaries is discussed in Chapter 11.
Edgar Young’s ‘Tramp Jargon’ (1916) Edgar Young (b.?1885) wrote short stories informed by his travels in Western and Central America for a variety of magazines until at least 1929.9 This glossary was published in The Editor as an aid to writers attempting to depict scenes of hobo life. Young’s introduction establishes his authority on the subject. ‘Where the meaning is plain’, he offers no definition, which does not make for easy reading: I throwed my feet. Battered back doors. Main stem: Main street. Strongarm: (verb) To beg money on the street. Slammed gates. Jungle: A tramp camp.10
The list contains thirty-five headwords, of which five are not defined, including I throwed my feet, battered back doors, and slammed gates from this extract. Eight terms are labelled as belonging to yeggs, “tramp hold-up men”: Among tramps the Yeggman is the highest caste, then comes the blowedin-the-bottle-stiff, then the bindle-stiff, the ring-tail, the gay- or fuzzy-cat, and last the hobo, who is not a tramp at all but a working man forced to tramp in search of work.11
Classifying and stratifying the homeless in this way is a regular feature of glossaries discussed in this chapter.
Patrick Casey’s ‘Flash’ (1917) and Patrick and Terence Casey’s The Gay Cat (1921) Patrick Casey (1893–1941) is best known for The Gay Cat, published with his brother and discussed below. He also wrote numerous short stories, which appeared in a variety of magazines and largely dealt 9 A list of his short stories is available at William G. Contento’s The FictionMags Index , though it may be incomplete. 10 11 Edgar Young, ‘Tramp Jargon’, The Editor 43 (6 May 1916), 487–8: 487. Ibid., 488.
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with the criminal underworld.12 In this article, published, like Young’s, in The Editor, Casey includes a list of the type of flash language he uses in his own fiction: Herewith . . . is appended a list of some of the up-to-date flash language of America, heard in the “jungles” and “on the road,” the most of which my brother and I have already made use of in our several tramp stories13
With much quotation from Willard’s Tramping with Tramps and from George Borrow, Casey explains the origins and purposes of cant among criminals and tramps. The glossary that follows his rather overblown introduction consists of 145 entries for 132 headwords, 89 of which (61 per cent) appear to be from Willard: Willard (1899) Ghost-story: any statement or report that is not true. When told to young boys it means a “faked” story of tramp life. Prushun: a tramp boy. An “ex-prushun” is one who has served his apprenticeship as a “kid” and is “looking for revenge,” i.e. for a lad that he can “snare” and “jocker,” as he himself was “snared” and “jockered.”
Casey (1917) Ghost-Story—a fake story; a gag; a story of tramp life told to young boys. Prushun—a tramp boy. Once his apprenticeship is served the boy becomes an “ex-prushun” and “jockers and snares” for himself and for revenge.
From among Willard’s terms, Casey selected significantly more concerning crime & punishment ( p = 0.05). Among the new terms, there are significantly more for alcohol and drugs (both p = 0.01) and for knowledge & communication ( p = 0.05). This contributes towards a less sympathetic picture of hobo life: Willard’s picaresque hoboes are repackaged as a menace to society. In 1921, the Casey brothers appended a version of the same glossary to a book-length account of a boy’s experiences on the road: Herewith is appended a glossary of flash language, that peculiar argot or slang of the thief and hobo. It is as old as history and has been used as a means of
12 His life dates and a list of short stories are available at Contento’s The FictionMags Index, where he is described as ‘a California newspaperman’. 13 Patrick Casey, ‘Flash’, The Editor 45 (24 Feb. 1917), 150–5: 152.
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safe communication in public for years. How many words this lingo contains it is impossible to tell absolutely, but it is believed that over three thousand separate and distinct expressions are in use in this country today.14
The glossary is essentially the same as Casey’s ‘Flash’ list in 1917, though small corrections are made: Dicks, or Elbows—detectives. “Dick” is probably a contraction of the word detective. “Elbow” comes from the detective’s way of elbowing through a crowd. A whispered warning that there are “elbows” in the crowd always send [corrected to sends in 1921] a shiver down a crook’s spine.
F. H. Sidney’s ‘Hobo Cant’ (1919) Dialect Notes published a fifty-six-headword list in 1919, noting that ‘The following expressions have for some years been current among hobos infesting transcontinental railroad lines.’15 No other introduction is provided, and most of the definitions are similarly brief (e.g. brakie), but a few, like monacer, give a little more information: brakie, n. A trainman. monacer, n. A road name. The monacer gives the state and a characteristic adjective, as Mass. Blacky, Illinois Slim. It is chalked or carved on water tanks and station buildings with the direction bound and date. Thus, “Curley Monte, Bound South, Sept. 1st, ’95, Detroit Brock [i. e. pock marked], tail on [i. e. follow].”
Sidney refers to The Standard Dictionary for further information, but does not find a great deal:16 mush faker, n. Umbrella mender: limited to “Slang, Eng.” In the Standard. super, n. A watch. [ The Standard Dict. labels it ‘Slang, Eng.’]
Without any indication of his methodology, it is hard to evaluate the contents of Sidney’s glossary. It appears to have been compiled independently, and may therefore be taken as confirmation of terms attested elsewhere. 14 Patrick and Terence Casey, The Gay-Cat. The Story of a Road-Kid and his Dog (New York: The H. K. Fly Company, 1921), 301. 15 F. H. Sidney, ‘Hobo Cant’, Dialect Notes 5 (1919), 41–2: 41. 16 Isaac Funk and Francis Marsh, A Standard Dictionary of the English Language (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1894), though it is not clear whether reference is made to this or to a later edition.
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Randolph Jordan’s ‘Idioms of the Road and Pave’ (1925) This list was published in the Writer’s Monthly magazine, and offered help to aspiring writers wanting to include criminals or hoboes in their stories: How . . . is the writer who has not had the fortune (or misfortune) of associating with these characters going to make his story crook- or hobo-convincing, even if the “crook” or the “hobo” enters the story for only a brief time? . . . The following list is the result of some seven years of observing, listening, conversing. For obvious reasons I have kept purely local terms out of it and used only those that are spoken nationally. It is not complete, of course, because idioms change, and sometimes overnight, especially on the eastern and western coasts. So I have compiled here only those terms that have lived and that, I believe will live for some time to come.17
The list contains 118 headwords, alphabetized only to the first letter, including a mixture of criminal (e.g. frame) and hobo terms (e.g. rush-in): Frame—To arrange evidence in perpetrating a crime so as to throw all the blame on a certain person. Sometimes the person “framed” is innocent of any wrongdoing; at other times he is a member of a gang that, for some reason, “frames” him. Rush-In—A professional beggar’s term. It means that the beggar has asked a stranger for the price of a meal but the stranger, instead of giving the beggar money, takes him to a restaurant and buys him something to eat.
There are also several entries relating to drugs, rendering Jordan’s hoboes more troubling still than those of earlier writers: Laughing-Weed, Mary Ann—A Mexican “dope” rag-weed. Needle-Artist—A drug addict who uses a hypodermic needle with which to take his drug.
Nicholas Klein’s ‘Hobo Lingo’ (1926) Klein was a ‘prosperous Cincinnati lawyer’18 who befriended hoboes. In the first year of its existence, American Speech published a collection 17
Randolph Jordan, ‘Idioms of the Road and Pave’, The Writer’s Monthly 25 (Jun. 1925), 485–7: 485. ‘End of an Idealist’, Time Magazine (4 Aug. 1930), accessed through the Time Magazine online archive, . 18
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of hobo terms based on the knowledge he had acquired during twenty years as an attorney-at-law.19 The list contains 255 headwords for 261 entries, concentrating on crime & punishment (13 per cent); money, poverty & begging (11 per cent); geography & travel; and work (both 10 per cent). Most contain only a headword and definition: Possesh—a hobo’s youthful companion. Shive—a razor.
Many of the terms for work deal with seasonal jobs, and the list displays little respect for individuals taking any more steady form of employment: Cacklers—white collared office workers. Split fingers—white collar office help.
Many of the terms in this list are found in other lists of hobo language, but there is no obvious source, which suggests that Klein’s glossary is an independently compiled list of genuine hobo terms.
Elisha K. Kane’s ‘The Jargon of the Underworld’ (1927) Elisha Kent Kane was registered as an associate professor of Spanish at the University of North Carolina between 1926 and 1929.20 He published a translation of Juan Ruiz’s bawdy Book of Good Love in 1933. Kane begins his paper in Dialect Notes by asserting that criminals, tramps, and prostitutes all use the same terms, but that some branches of crime are so technical that they have their own jargon, while ‘the manual professions of crime’ do not require any.21 This assertion belies the fact that he largely lists hobo language. He provides a brief survey of the underworld and of the history of cant by way of introduction, and warns that the list cannot be considered in any way complete: notwithstanding the attempt to present a universal and homogenous jargon for the underworld, it must be evident that there are certain by-paths in its dark jungles which are unknown to criminals who walk in them.22 19 20 21
Nicholas Klein, ‘Hobo Lingo’, American Speech 1 (1926), 650–3. University of North Carolina website, . 22 Kane, ‘Jargon’, 433. Ibid., 437.
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The glossary contains about 820 headwords ‘in current use at the time of compilation at Chapel Hill, North Carolina, in 1927’.23 Short definitions preceded by the part of speech are the norm: bill of sale, n. A widow’s weeds. lamous, adj. Harmless.
About a fifth of entries are longer, expanding on the meaning of the term or providing additional explanation: mark, n. A person who will give either food or money. v. To inscribe secret symbols. Most tramps stoutly deny the existence of any such secret code. However, certain signs do exist which are both universal and particular. As to the latter, many pushes sometimes have quite complicated codes which are altogether unintelligible to those outside. The former are few and simple. A pair of open eyes means that the police of a town are hostile; closed, that they do not molest tramps. Circles on a gate post indicate that the owner of the house to which it belongs will give money. A grid surmounted by the letters O. K. signifies that the town jail is cleanly and is a good place to pass the night in; the grid with a cross signifies that the jail has an evil reputation. A zig-zag line in front of a house indicates the presence of a vicious dog, while the outline of a cup tells of the existence of a place where bootleg whisky can be obtained. These signs are usually to be found on water tanks along the railway, on highway signs, and on walks and gateposts.
Kane’s etymologies often imply that changes in language are undesirable results of ignorance or bad taste: beagles, n. Sausages; an obvious attempt to invent an original synonym for “dogs.” fink, n. Originally a Pinkerton detective, now extended to mean any detective or a spying person. The change of p to f may be due to confusion with “finger.”24
Some of Kane’s entries appear to be derived from Willard’s Tramping with Tramps list. For instance: Willard (1899) Chi: (pronounced “Shi”): Chicago. 23
Kane (1927) Chi, n. The abbreviation for Chicago, the hobo capital of America. Pronounced ‘shy.’
Ibid., 437. OED lists fink as ‘Origin unknown’. Beagle is not listed with this sense in the OED, though HDAS has a later dictionary citation. 24
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hostile, adj. Hostile to tramps and hoboes. Pronounced horse-tile.
Kane shows a particular interest in terms for homosexual relations, providing many more synonyms in these entries than others: gonif, n. A young boy not yet captured and broken by a tramp. Compare prushun. kid, n. A prushun, the wife of a jocker. He is always known as “so and so’s kid.”
He is also unsympathetic towards any political activity that smacks of communism: brass check, n. A capitalist newspaper, i.e. any decent publication not friendly to the I. W. W., the socialist, or the reds. . . . walk off, n. A general strike by hoboes, not necessarily for higher wages but for better food, because one of their members was “insulted” by being told to work harder, or any one of a thousand imaginary grievances which are always ready to suggest themselves to people with a natural disinclination for work.25
Kane dwells particularly on the dangers of hobo life: dew-drop, v. To heave lumps of coal in the air so as to fall at high angles upon the heads of hoboes riding between cars. This is usually done from the tender and by the fireman. When a hobo is riding the rods or gunnels, pieces of coal are dropped between trucks so that striking the ties they may rebound with sufficient violence to knock the hobo under the wheels. This is called bombing a bum. See also fishing. water cure, n. A penitentiary punishment for refractory prisoners as follows. The prisoner is laid with his back upon a board to which he is securely strapped. A man with a hose stands over his squirting a jet of water into his nose. When the irritation proves too much the prisoner opens his mouth to cough and gasp. The full force of the hose is then turned into his mouth and lungs.
—and is not averse to sensationalism: Ford family, n. A man, woman and any number of children all cruising about in a decrepit Ford. The children help to beg and steal food and gasoline. When too numerous they are abandoned. 25 The Industrial Workers of the World, the International Brotherhood Welfare Association, and Hobos of America were some of the organizations set up to unionize and politicize these transient workers (Daffy Littlejohn, Hopping Freight Trains in America (San Luis Obispo, CA: Zephyr Rhoades, 2001), 256–7).
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Ford marriage, n. A union which has no stronger bonds than good humor and gasoline. When the male tires of his flat tire he abandons her, or if she is pregnant and is on the point of having a blow-out. He picks up a spare at the nearest brothel.26
In keeping with this casual approach towards marriage, Kane presents the tramp as a self-seeking cynic with regard to religion and charity: mission-stiff, n. A tramp who is “saved” every night in order to obtain food and shelter. pie in the sky, n. Reward in the Kingdom of Heaven. As almost all tramps are atheists of the bitterest sort, and yet must “come to Jesus” regularly in order to eat the bread of charity which the missions dole out, they avenge themselves by parodying hymns. “Watch and Pray,” for example, has this refrain: Watch and pray, starve on hay You’ll get pie in the sky when you die.
Not content merely to live off society, Kane’s hoboes seek to undermine it and all of its most sacred institutions.
Howard F. Barker’s ‘More Hobo Lingo’ (1927) Barker’s other contributions to American Speech and The American Historical Review are on surnames and colloquialisms, submitted first from Buffalo, New York, and later from Washington DC. He may be the Howard F. Barker who completed his MA thesis at Syracuse in 1930. In response to Klein’s paper, which he praises as authoritative, Barker published ‘More Hobo Lingo’ in American Speech: Perhaps I can add a few worthwhile items. During my college years I was associated with “stiffs” for a number of seasons both on the railroad and in the woods. Although I do not now refer directly to notes taken at that time, I believe that the following additions to the list of “stiff’s” words and phrases are accurate.27 26 Cresswell, The Tramp, 109–10, writes that unattached homeless women often dressed as men to avoid unwanted attention, but that contemporary observers usually categorized them as prostitutes rather than tramps, regardless of their behaviour. 27 Howard F. Barker, ‘More Hobo Lingo’, American Speech 12 (1927), 506.
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He defines a number of words and phrases within the text, but also adds a glossary of only five headwords, including: Bumpers—the end sills of freight cars. Flunkey—handy-man, menial assistant, dish-washer.
While this glossary adds little to our knowledge of hobo language, it does provide additional evidence of contemporary interest.
Vernon W. Saul’s ‘The Vocabulary of Bums’ (1927) In another article in American Speech, Saul, who also gives the alias ‘K. C. Slim’ notes that his is not an exhaustive list, because that would be impossible. He has used his own knowledge of migrant workers’ language to record the most commonly used terms: The “underdogs” of the classes I have mentioned, the product of our capitalistic industrial system, may be industrial slaves, but they enjoy the utmost freedom in their manner of expressing their thoughts. They hold a serene contempt for lexicographers, grammarians, and the precepts of authority. Their conflict, unconscious or otherwise, with the “powers that be” is carried out against the language too. Let the following list bear mute witness.28
The glossary contains approximately 375 headwords, many of which are familiar from earlier lists, but they are independently defined here. Some of the semantic developments are particularly interesting: Mush fakir—One who sits by another’s fire and gathers no wood.29 Tourist—A hobo whose main concern is to escape the cold winters.
As in Kane’s list, Saul’s homeless include political activists: Hall philosopher—A union man, forever frequenting labor halls, but never going out on the job with the workers.
28
Vernon W. Saul, ‘The Vocabulary of Bums’, American Speech 4 (1929), 337–46: 337. OED lists a mid-nineteenth-century London slang term, mush-faker “itinerant mender of umbrellas’. Saul’s sense probably developed under the influence of OED mush n1 1 “porridge”. The spelling is a separate example of folk etymology (see OED fakir b). 29
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George Milburn’s The Hobo’s Horn Book (1930) George Milburn (1906–66), born in Coweta, Oklahoma, was a prolific novelist, concentrating particularly on small-town life and the human condition. Early in his career he had to live on the road between jobs in journalism, but after he succeeded in impressing Mencken with his naturalistic style, life became somewhat easier.30 This volume is a collection of hobo ballads, and Milburn is dismissive of sociologists and anthropologists who had dabbled in the field before him: not many . . . have attained to enough familiarity with the road to differentiate between genuine hobo ballads and the pseudo ballads offered by co-ed ukulele virtuosos and catarrhal phonograph yodellers.31
He discusses the difficulty of collecting and recording songs in transit and the impossibility of publishing some of the more scatological ones. The hobo lifestyle, he predicts, will come to an end, and this process has already begun: It does not take a particularly astute observer to see the imminent doom of the hoboes . . . As the harvest has become more mechanized the employment of hoboes has decreased . . . At the same time automobiles have made it possible for any college sophomore to bum the breadth of the continent. No especial determination or fortitude is required to qualify as a tramp nowadays, and presently the tramping fraternity, with all its lore, must break up before the influx of gay cats who have neither any respect for trampdom’s traditions nor any desire to make tramping a lifetime vocation.32
One of the ballads included in this collection, called ‘The Bindle Stiff’, tells the story of the death of a tired and hungry hobo who stops to pray on the tracks while he is waiting for a train to pass by: The bo woke up in a nice white gown; Clean, just like he’d had a bath. Instead of the ties that held him down, He’d followed a golden path.33
30 Biographical information from Steven Turner, George Milburn (Austin, TX: Steck-Vaughn, 1970). 31 George Milburn, The Hobo’s Horn Book. A Repertory for a Gutter Jongleur (New York: Ives Washburn, 32 1930), xi. Ibid., xviii. 33 Ibid., 240–1. 47,000 trespassers died on the railroads between 1898 and 1908 (Littlejohn, Hopping Freight Trains, 21).
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This is characteristic of Milburn’s approach, in that he does not ignore the hardship and cruelty, but still manages to present a nostalgic romanticized view of hobo life. The glossary lists 158 entries for 142 headwords used in the book, but does not attempt to present a complete vocabulary of hobo language. It is in keeping with this function that it contains no citations or examples of use. It concentrates on poverty, begging & tramps (20 per cent); geography & travel (16 per cent); and crime & punishment (8 per cent). Most entries are mere headword and definition, but five each (3 per cent) include etymologies (e.g. wob) and compounds or derivatives (e.g. stiff), and four (2 per cent) provide semantically related terms (e.g. dingbat): Dingbat, the lowest type of tramp, as opposed to the aristocracy of the hobo world, the comet and passenger stiff. Also stew-bum, speck-bum, greasetail, ringtail, fuzzytail. Stiff, a man, specifically a hobo. Usually qualified, as in harvest stiff, working stiff, passenger stiff, alkee stiff, rummy stiff. Wob, Wobbly, a member of the International Workers of the World, an organization for migratory workers. The name is said to have originated with a Chinese restaurant-owner’s attempt to pronounce the initials, I. W. W.
As these examples demonstrate, Milburn is interested in the intricacies and practicalities of hobo life. He depicts hoboes not as outcasts from society, but as members of an alternative parallel society with its own social structures and values.
Godfrey Irwin’s American Tramp and Underworld Slang (1930) and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) Irwin’s book, published in Britain by Scholartis Press, contains another collection of hobo songs along, with essays by Irwin and by Partridge.34 Irwin writes that the compilation is the result of twenty years’ experience on the road, and observes that fiction writers’ use of criminal slang bears little resemblance to reality. He comments also on changes in the hobo lifestyle, when ‘the old time 34 I have only been able to examine the 1931 British edition, but the 1930 American edition also bears Partridge’s name and so, presumably, contains the same material.
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American tramp’ was joined by ‘street gamins’ entranced by his exciting tales and by hitch-hiking ‘silk stockinged and bebloomered flappers’: Forced employment during the World War, naval and military service, and the increase in criminal activities since the War have all had their part in lessening the tramp population, while the weaker criminals, who once drifted about the country with the tramp and hobo because cowardice prevented their remaining with a gang of thieves or hold-up men, now dope themselves into a fleeting bravery with some sort of drugs, and so remain to prey on society on the streets of the cities instead of taking to the open road to beg or pilfer their way through life.35
The glossary includes approximately 2440 entries for 1850 headwords, alphabetized largely successfully. A sample of 925 entries for 709 headwords concentrates on crime & punishment (19 per cent); knowledge & communication (10 per cent); and geography & travel (9 per cent). Terms for money, poverty & begging account for only 6 per cent of the semantic coverage of this list. Twenty-eight per cent of entries include etymologies, some more convincing than others: Hay Wire.—Gone wrong; broken down; inefficient. From the West, where the poor rancher mends his broken implements and tools with the iron wire used to bale hay, and which is always to be found about a ranch when proper repair material is lacking. Hep.—Well informed; aware of what impends or what is going on. No doubt from the Army, where the sergeant or drill-master commands, “Step, step, step,” to a squad of recruits until from sheer weariness the command becomes, “Hep, hep, hep,” meaning of course, “Keep in step, be on the alert.” Less probably a contraction of the North of England “hepper,” neat, deft, capable, clever.36
In a few cases Irwin comments on the obviousness of a term’s etymology, but does not provide it explicitly: Openers.—Certain cards in a game of chance which allow the player to open the play. Cathartic pills, and what could be plainer? Reach.—To bribe; to intimidate or buy off a complainant. Not a hard word to understand. 35
Irwin, American Tramp and Underworld Slang, 14–15. OED and HDAS both list hep, which later became hip, as ‘origin unknown’. The etymology for haywire is correct. 36
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A further 1 per cent of entries include an assertion that the etymology is unknown, but Irwin is usually ready to hazard a guess: Phoney.—False; unreal; imitation; valueless. The adjective seems to have been coined when first some clever crook utilized the telephone to lure a victim to a false appointment so that an unguarded house or office might be robbed, and it is in wide use throughout the underworld.37 Yen Shee.—Opium. Despite the declaration of several educated Chinese that they know of no word in their own language anything like the preceding as representing opium, it is easy to see that the underworld has taken the term from some Chinese root word or sentence.38
In his review of Irwin’s dictionary, Kuethe commented that: The most glaring deficiency in the glossary is the editor’s tendency to jump at conclusions as to the possible origins of words . . . he trusted too much to his imagination rather than to older slang dictionaries or even the NED for sources of many terms.39
Evidence that this dictionary involved detailed and careful, though not necessarily accurate, work lies in its provision of cross-references. These are found in 16 per cent of entries. A further two per cent are empty cross-references, and 12 per cent include mention of semantically related terms: Fairy.—An effeminate man or boy. Not as extreme in its meaning as “fag,” this word, nevertheless, denotes an individual whose mannerisms and actions make him an object of suspicion to the more normal members of society. White man.—A good fellow; a trusted individual. A Gentile, or a native, as against a foreigner or undesirable alien, regardless of his colour. An extension of Frontier slang, when many Indians or “Red Men” were dangerous enemies, and when border ruffians sometimes disguised themselves as Indians when attacking a camp or isolated ranch.
Eight per cent of entries include encyclopaedic or anecdotal material (e.g. Australian) and another 8 per cent provide information about usage (e.g. davy): Australian.—The underworld cant and slang from Australia, composed largely of rhythmic and colourful couplets, and often spoken with an 37 38 39
OED traces this to fawney “a ring”. OED traces this to Cantonese ya-n or Mandarin yı-n “opium”. J. Louis Kuethe, [Review of Irwin’s Tramp and Underworld Slang], American Speech 9 (1934), 303–4: 303.
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affected “English” accent. Much of this cant was undoubtedly derived from the Cockney rhyming slang taken to Australia by English emigrants any time after 1850. Largely used and improved upon (?) by the Anzacs in the World War, the slang lost much of its appeal merely because it was so much used that it became wearisome, while a fair amount of it was in poor taste, even for the trenches. It is but little used in America to-day and may be regarded as a schoolboy’s “hog Latin” rather than as a true slang. Davy.—An affidavit, and now seldom heard except among the older tramps.
Partridge contributed an essay comparing English and American criminal language, and his editorial hand (underlined here, but see also the query inserted into Australian, above) seems plain in the historical and comparative material inserted into some entries: Niggle.—To have sexual intercourse. Probably from the proper use of the word as indicating something trifling, or a pottering about, but with scant sense as used in the underworld, unless coined by some rather delicate-minded individual to avoid the use of a coarser word. It may, however, well be the 18th century English cant word; Grose has it. On the Spot.—Marked for assassination; in danger. Originally a railroad term, indicating that a car (anglicé, a truck or a van) had been placed on a side track or alongside a platform for loading or unloading, “spotted” next to a certain desired place, it has been adopted by the underworld. . . . Tumble.—To become aware; to be “wise.” From English slang; Mayhew used it in about 1851; it occurs also in Richard Whiteing’s remarkable novel, John Street, 1899.
Another reviewer in American Speech commented on Irwin’s ‘verbal modesty’.40 For example: Fluter.—A degenerate. The reference is apt enough, but impossible to give here, and the term is universal in America. Gut Reamer.—A vulgarism best undefined.
Kuethe felt that the tendency to avoid obscenity might cause difficulties for future readers who were not able to read between the lines: In years to come . . . the work will lose much of its usefulness because of a lack of frankness in a field where there should be no question of obscenity. 40 Paul Robert Beath, [Review of Irwin’s Tramp and Underworld Slang], American Speech 7 (1932), 442–3: 443.
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Judging from his comments and omissions it would seem that Mr. Irwin is far too naïve or squeamish a person to attempt to edit any complete dictionary of American slang.41
Comments by a British reviewer suggest that this concern was more immediate than Kuethe might have realized: The book is reasonably out-spoken. This is an excellent quality, since prudishness in a slang dictionary is absurd—it tantalizes the reader, who realizes that he is probably missing the most picturesque and amusing expressions.42
Although the criticisms are justified, Irwin was trying to do more than any lexicographer had done before in this field, and he appears to have documented current usage with some thoroughness,43 as was recognized by Weseen, who derived seventy-four of the first hundred entries in his list of tramps’ and hoboes’ slang from Irwin’s dictionary, usually retaining only the bare definition: Irwin Binte.—An overcoat. Possibly a corruption of “benny,” q.v. Goozlum.—Gravy. A long-winded play on the slang word “gooey,” thick or gummy in substance, probably originating from either glue or gumbo, the latter a silty, alkaline soil of the South-Western United States, which becomes very sticky when wet.
Weseen Binte—An overcoat. Goozlum—Gravy.
Semantically, Weseen’s list is in keeping with a random selection from Irwin’s, except that he includes more food terms than can be attributed to chance (p = 0.01).
Nels Anderson’s The Milk and Honey Route (1931) Nels Anderson (1889–1986) was a controversial sociologist whose most important publication was The Hobo, an account of his experiences as 41
Kuethe, [Review of Irwin], 304. C. Sisley, [Review of Irwin’s Tramp and Underworld Slang], The Review of English Studies 10 (1934), 114–16. 42
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a participant observer on skid row. This book was published under the pseudonym ‘Dean Stiff’, though it appears to be Anderson’s own work. In a section called ‘Introducing the Author’, Anderson explains that the book was based on written material commissioned from a tramp known by many pseudonyms: I have never asked Dean Stiff his real name. I understand very well that in the world of which he writes names are of little import . . . I have heard some of his peers call him “Deacon,” and I have heard others call him “Pocaloo,” . . . Of his background I know next to nothing, except certain clues that betray a good Christian upbringing . . . I haven’t seen Nick since he handed me the final chapter. He said he was going somewhere to work in a sugar camp or some such place, and would I be good enough to read the proofs? And would I also collect the royalty checks and if he didn’t return, spend the money as I deemed best. But I am quite sure he will be here in time to collect, if and when that check is issued.44
It seems likely that ‘Dean Stiff’ was the persona Anderson assumed for his fieldwork. Giving a hobo the authorial voice allows the academic to speak to an audience who might not otherwise be interested in the subject, and thus to bridge the gap between the homeless and the rest of society. It may also have been in Anderson’s interest to dissociate himself from a non-academic publication in a controversial area. Like many of his predecessors, Anderson was presenting a picture of a changing world: Where the old timer rarely went to the city, the modern hobo spends most of his time there. . . . He travels light because he travels fast, whereas the old timer lingered by the way. There is still another reason why the modern hobo will not carry a bundle; he does not want to be mistaken for the recent pest of the highways, the knapsack-carrying hitch-hiker.45
Anderson writes in elevated terms of hobo life, which he describes as ‘an important calling’ in ‘the only remaining spot of the original Garden of Eden.’46
43 Daniel R. Barnes, ‘An Early American Collection of Rogues’ Cant’, The Journal of American Folklore 79 (1966), 600–7, suggests that Irwin included material from an anonymous article called ‘The Flash Language’ in The Ladies’ Repository 3 (Oct. 1848), 315–17. There is no compelling evidence that Irwin had access to this glossary. The overlaps in coverage are for widely used terms. 44 Nels Anderson, The Milk and Honey Route (New York: Vanguard, 1931), xi, xiii. 45 46 Ibid., 19. Ibid., v, vii.
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The ‘Glossary of Hobo Terms’ is presented as an appendix, and Anderson insists that it is neither complete nor made up solely of words used by hoboes. He comments disparagingly on the depiction of hoboes in fiction: many contemporary hobo writers . . . think by the use of slang to add a bona fide touch to the fiction they weave. I am including this glossary largely for the information of those of you who may be interested, and for reference if you want to test some of the “authorities” in this field.47
The glossary contains 415 entries for 392 headwords, with an unusual concentration on work (12 per cent). This is followed by some more usual fields: crime & punishment (12 per cent); money, poverty & begging (11 per cent); and geography & travel (11 per cent). Thirty-one per cent of entries include a term synonymous with the headword. Seven per cent provide a second synonym and 0.7 per cent a third. For instance: Pea soup—French Canadian or Canuck. Often a lumber jack. Salve eater—A snuff-chewing Swede. He is also a round-head. Tramps—Migrating non-working vagrants. A grade higher than scenery bums, dingoes.
Unique to this glossary are terms from Hebrew and relating to Jewish tramps: Noch—Hebrew shelter for homeless men. From hochnosis orchim, which means a place to make welcome. They treat you fine if you know how to get by the gate. Trombenick—A Jewish hobo. They are scarce as hen’s teeth.
Another interesting feature of this glossary is its inclusion of terms that were later to surface in lists of homosexual or hash-house slang:48 Adam and Eve on a raft—Two fried eggs on toast. “Wreck ’em” if they’re scrambled. “With their eyes open,” if not. Auntie—Angelina grown older. [Angelina—Punk or road kid acting as a hobo’s companion.] Sea food—A sailor. 47
Ibid., 198. Adam and Eve on a raft is in Bentley’s ‘Linguistic Concoctions’ list. Auntie and sea-food are listed in the Gay Girl’s Guide to the U.S. and the Western World (privately printed, 1955). See Coleman, Cant and Slang IV. 48
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This interchange of vocabulary suggests a fluid movement of people and ideas between various sections and layers of society.
George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London (1933) Eric Arthur Blair (1903–50), better known as George Orwell, was born in India. His father’s family were erstwhile aristocratic slaveowners; his mother’s were merchants in Burma with intellectual leanings. Despite winning a scholarship to Eton, where ‘he cultivated a mocking, sardonic attitude towards authority’,49 he joined the Burmese police in preference to studying at Oxford. In 1927 he resigned from this relatively respectable occupation to become a writer. Down and Out in Paris and London was Orwell’s first published book, relating his experiences of living in poverty among tramps and semi-criminals. His writing was always informed by his political views, and while his socialism is evident in much of his work, he also had a pronounced dislike of intellectuals who admired the Soviet system. He fought in Spain against the fascists but was rejected as unfit by the army during the Second World War and had to settle for service in the Home Guard and working for the BBC. After the war, Animal Farm brought him fame and a wide readership, further enhanced by the appearance of Nineteen Eighty-Four. The Depression was less severe in Britain, and came later, but ‘unemployment became for certain individuals . . . [and] whole communities, a permanent way of life throughout the thirties’.50 Unemployment in Britain rose to just over 20 per cent in the early 1930s, and did not fall below 11 per cent until the beginning of World War II.51 Orwell lists the language used by British tramps, whom he depicts as more akin to the hopeless bums than the self-reliant hoboes of the American glossaries. He describes the ‘long queue of ragged men’ waiting for a bed on a casual ward: They were of all kinds and ages, the youngest a fresh-faced boy of sixteen, the oldest a doubled-up toothless mummy of seventy-five. Some were hardened tramps, recognisable by their sticks and billies and dust49 50 51
This quotation and all biographical information from DNB. Seaman, Life in Britain, 43. James, Rise and Fall, 455–6.
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darkened faces; some were factory hands out of work, some agricultural labourers, one a clerk in collar and tie, two certainly imbeciles. Seen in the mass, lounging there, they were a disgusting sight; nothing villainous or dangerous, but a graceless, mangy crew, nearly all ragged and palpably underfed.52
The glossary of 37 terms is incorporated in the text of chapter 32 and is set out as shown: I want to put in some notes, as short as possible, on London slang and swearing. These (omitting the ones that everyone knows) are some of the cant words now used in London. A gagger—a beggar or street performer of any kind. A moocher— one who begs outright, without pretence of doing a trade. A nobber— one who collects pennies for a beggar. A chanter—a street singer. A clodhopper—a street dancer. A mugfaker—a street photographer. A glimmer—one who watches vacant motor-cars.53
There is some semantic organization, with terms for beggars and street-performers followed by words for the police, and terms for money grouped later in the list.
Matt Marshall’s Tramp-Royal on the Toby (1933) This book is part of a series of accounts of the life of ‘Tramp-Royal’, many previously published in the Glasgow Evening Times. This volume concentrates on his travels in the United Kingdom, and Marshall challenges his readers to examine the reasons for their interest in tramps: When you pass me on the road a strange curiosity prompts you to turn round and look back at me. For, say what you will, I am a fascinating creature. I compel your scrutiny. . . . But, being somewhat afraid and wholly unsure of me, it is seldom, if ever, you accost me. I might tap you for something. . . . Is it my daisies that draw your gaze? Or my sun-green cadie? Or my peter? Or my drum? Or is it my gait you admire, with the rhythm in it? Or is it me, just me, and all I stand for, that appeals so strangely to your fancy?54
52 54
53 Orwell, Down and Out, 194. Ibid., 236–7. Matt Marshall, Tramp-Royal on the Toby (Edinburgh/London: W. Blackwood & Sons, 1933), 4.
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The glossary explains words and phrases from the text, mixing terms from Scottish (the noo) and northern dialects (clarty) with Romany (Rokra Romanes?) and Spanish (gracias): clarty, dirty. Gracias, Thanks. noo, the, just now. Rokkra Romanes? Can’t you, Can’t you speak Romany?
There are also rhyming slang terms (half-inched) and some slang previously listed in military slang glossaries (doolally). These are joined by ancient cant (beak), Americanisms (yegg), and terms from Australia (tucker): beak, magistrate. doolally, daft. half-inched, rhyming slang for pinched: stolen. tucker, food. yegg, burglar generally, safe-blower particularly.
In short, this disparate list makes little sense except as a glossary to an account of an extremely varied life.
Thomas Minehan’s Boy and Girl Tramps of America (1934) Thomas Minehan (1903–48) received his BA and MA from the University of Minnesota, and worked as a schoolteacher and freelance journalist before becoming a research assistant and later an instructor in sociology at his old university. After three years of collecting case histories of the new poor, Minehan disguised himself as a tramp so that he could live among them and ascertain the truth behind their stories. Dissatisfied with the bare use of statistics, he decided to present his subjects’ histories in their own words, and was to publish another book about hobo life in 1941.55 The glossary, which has no separate introduction, contains 182 entries for 159 headwords, concentrating on geography & travel (21 per cent); crime & punishment (13 per cent); and knowledge & communication 55 Biographical information from Donald H. Whisenhunt, ‘Introduction to the American Library Edition’ of Boy and Girl Tramps of America (Seattle/London: University of Washington Press, 1976), xvi–xvii.
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(7 per cent). The glossary is a bald alphabetical list of definitions for terms found in the text: Jennie, a dumpy Hungarian girl from Pennsylvania, is talking one morning as we tidy up the jungle before flipping a freight. . . . “Mother worked nights, cleaning an office building. . . . They took her to the hospital one morning, and three days later she died. Father said they gave her the Black Bottle because she was poor . . .”56
The glossary explains the following terms: black bottle—a bottle commonly believed to contain a poison which is given to charity patients in a crowded hospital flip—jump on freight—freight train jungle—hobo camp
A few entries represent non-standard spellings, presumably used to suggest non-standard pronunciation: alwaies—always oke—from O.K.
—while others define fairly widely used slang and colloquialisms: get a girl in trouble—make a girl pregnant swill—food fed to transients and hogs
Many entries list terms long since recorded by other glossaries discussed in this chapter. What is interesting about Minehan’s approach is that his homeless travellers are not deviant in any way: they are unfortunate victims of economic forces beyond their control.
Howard N. Rose’s A Thesaurus of Slang: the hobo glossary (1934) Among the other glossaries in his Thesaurus (see Chapter 7), Rose includes a short list of hobo slang, consisting of twenty-one definitions for thirty-five terms and three symbols, including: Insignia Designating that a House is Good for a Table Meal: a circle with a cross in it. Insignia Which Marks a House for Other Hoboes: a bisected circle. 56
Thomas Minehan, Boy and Girl Tramps of America (New York: Farrar and Rinehart, 1934), 24.
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Eighty-six per cent of entries, including all three symbols, are from an American Speech article by Robert T. Oliver:57 Oliver Rose Criminally-Inclined Hobo (n): A class which borders close upon the a crip-faker; throw-out; (these underworld . . . is composed of the “crip-fakers,” or “throw-outs.” These are hoboes play upon public professional beggars, who are skilled at sympathy). faking an injury of some sort, to win the sympathy of the passers-by. . . . In New England, such a bum is a “plainer.” Begging Hobo (n): a plainer; In the west, he is a “moocher,” and in moocher; boodler; (phr.): stew the mid-west, he is said to be “working bum; home guard. the stem.” In some limited regions he is known as “the home guard,” and in others as a “stew-bum.”58
Thus, although Rose’s glossary demonstrates the continued interest in hobo language, he adds nothing to our understanding of it.
Hippo Neville’s Sneak Thief on the Road (1935) This British volume begins with an intriguing publisher’s note telling the story of the delivery of a parcel with no return address, containing an account of the author’s life as a tramp. Having read it, the publisher was keen to take it on, but had no way to contact the author. When he did eventually return, Hippo Neville (not his given name) had been engaged as a door-to-door salesman of electric washing machines, and was able to supervise the publication of his work. Neville’s prose style is unusual, to say the least. This passage establishes the mental health problems that led him into a life on the road: I was being daft. Hands in pockets, face lozzulous, tongue la-laing against my lips, eyes oh yeah, I slid my right shoulder against the banisters and went clop-clop down the stairs. First my right shoulder dipped round, then my left. . . . Though it was scalding, pepperclose June, I wore my
57 58
Robert T. Oliver, ‘Junglese’, American Speech 7 (1932), 339–41. Both Oliver, ‘Junglese’, 340.
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blue greatcoat, Nancy. As she plopped behind, threads and zip-ladders hung from her; ten inches up her tail were bushy with dust.59
At the end of the book, Neville is released from prison. After only a little hesitation, he returns to the life of a tramp. The glossary is contained in an appendix: Here are one or two tramp words. If you do not need them for this book, you had better have them, as the chief literature of the next twenty years will be written by sane men whose sanity has put them on the British road60
The glossary lists sixty single-sense entries. It is set out in paragraphs, non-alphabetically, and begins: Tommy—food. Shellshock—workhouse cocoa. Shackle-up—a great cooking of food in a pot. Boil-up—the same with tea-leaves. Peter.—pack. Drum—tea-can, the best models made from 2 lb. snuff tins, becoming scarce.
Three entries (5 per cent) eccentrically repeat the headword as their definition: Chew.—chew. . . . A real goodhearted woman—a real goodhearted woman. . . . A Durham Geordie—a Durham Geordie.
The main areas of semantic concentration are money, poverty & begging (18 per cent); food (16 per cent); law & punishment (despite the sneak thief of the title, there are no terms for crime); and people (both 11 per cent).
Conclusions Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath appeared in 1939 as the culmination of a tradition of literary depictions of contemporary and recent misery. Less talented authors were content to fake their gritty insights, and several glossaries discussed in this chapter offered them a chance to do so convincingly. Sociologists and folklorists were interested in the established culture of the hoboes, particularly in their songs, and 59 60
Hippo Neville, Sneak Thief on the Road (London: Jonathan Cape, 1935), 15–16. Ibid., 347.
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some of the glossaries were afterthoughts to these studies. Here quantity makes up for quality: there is sufficient overlap between unrelated American glossaries to suggest that the railroads really did link hoboes in a national network of terms. These glossaries provide a compelling demonstration of the appeal of an itinerant lifestyle to those neither timid enough to abandon a settled life nor unfortunate enough to be denied one. This is comparable with the fascination with Gypsies found in eighteenth-century British texts.61 There is a general tendency to idealize the life of the pre-Depression hobo, but later itinerants are presented as more wretched, more criminal, more communist, or less committed to the lifestyle. Wecter comments that the American system for dealing with poverty dated back to Elizabethan Poor Laws and shared their assumption that charity encouraged laziness and dependency.62 This tendency to stigmatize victims of the Depression makes the American glossaries directly comparable with the earliest British canting lists, which also played a part in criminalizing poverty.63 British glossaries of this period are more sympathetic, and all written from an insider perspective, but they are markedly fewer in number.
61 62 63
See Coleman, Cant and Slang I, ch. 5. Dixon Wecter, The Age of the Great Depression 1929–1941 (New York: Macmillan, 1948), 45. See Coleman, Cant and Slang I, 20–2.
Eleven: Dictionaries of Crime At the beginning of this period there were only a few city police departments in the United States, with little cooperation between them. Leaving town was the easiest way to avoid punishment, explaining the association between criminal and hobo language seen in Chapter 10. British criminals were still being transported to Australia until 1868, and early Australian and American glossaries emphasize the internationality of crime.1 This mobility is partly explained by a series of gold-rushes in California, Australia, and Canada, with the possibility of rich pickings infinitely preferable to the uncertainties of agriculture or employment. The settlements that sprang up in the goldfields were characterized by drunkenness, violence, and defiance of authority, and they spawned a parasitic community of petty criminals and fraudsters at every level. In the ‘Wild West’ justice took an impromptu and personal form, and outlaws became contemporary legends. There had always been considerable scope for political and police corruption in the United States. Prohibition made the professionalization of the police more necessary than ever, and by the end of the 1920s, crime was a staple of fiction and film. Cashman sees the gangsters as the urban equivalents of the western outlaws, as modern Robin Hoods fighting against the real criminals: politicians and public officials. Although their sympathies may have lain with the gangsters, audiences still expected ‘rough justice’ to prevail.2 There are very few British glossaries of criminal language from this period, reflecting the reduction in crime levels following nineteenthcentury reforms in policing. British crime-writers of this period, like Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers, largely depicted the intrusion of uncontrolled passion into the safety of middle-class life.
1 Matsell’s Vocabulum is derived from earlier British glossaries and discussed in Coleman, Slang and Cant II, 90–102, along with Herbert Asbury’s The Gangs of New York. An Informal History of the Underworld (1927) (New York: Garden City Publishing, 1928). 2 Cashman, America in the Twenties and Thirties, 358–9.
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James Greenwood’s The Seven Curses of London (1869) James Greenwood was born in about 1837 in Lambeth, London, to a father described as ‘idle’ in the 1841 census and as a ‘carman’ or cart-driver in 1851. By 1861, Greenwood junior was a ‘literary contributor’ living in Islington. Later he was a ‘journalist’ (1881 and 1901) and ‘town clerk’ (1891). His last book, an account of life as a reporter in the police courts, was published by Chatto and Windus in 1902. Greenwood wrote for the Pall Mall Gazette and exposed ‘deadly life-buoys’ in the Daily Telegraph. He was perhaps the first investigative journalist: disguised as a tramp, he explored London’s underworld and described it from the inside, as ‘the amateur casual’.3 Partridge considered that Greenwood ‘knew the real London underworld and the poorest of London’s poor a good deal better than did even [Mayhew]’.4 His ‘seven curses’ were neglected children, professional thieves and beggars, prostitution, drunkenness, betting, and misguided charity. Greenwood suggests solutions to each, and discusses the failures and corruptions of the existing systems for dealing with them. The glossary, concentrating mainly on crime & punishment (54 per cent), is in the section on professional thieves: the prime essential of “thieves’ latin” is brevity. By its use, much more may in one or two words be conveyed to a comrade while rapidly passing him in the street, or, should opportunity serve, during a visit to him while in prison.5
He goes on to propose the publication of ‘special religious tracts’ in this language ‘as an almost certain method of securing their attention.’6 The glossary includes only thirty-nine entries, with the definition generally preceding the cant term (half stretch is an exception), but with no apparent ordering principle. They include: One who steals from the shopkeeper while pretending to effect an honest purchase—a bouncer . . . 3 Frank Dawes, A Cry from the Streets. The Boys’ Club Movement in Britain from the 1850s to the Present Day (Hove, Sussex: Wayland, 1975), 19. A ‘casual’ was an occupant of the casual wards: the last 4 stop before the workhouse. Partridge, Slang, 96. 5 James Greenwood, The Seven Curses of London (London: Stanley Rivers and Co., 1869), 86–7. 6 Ibid., 89.
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The treadmill—shin scraper (arising, it may be assumed, on account of the operator’s liability, if he is not careful, to get his shins scraped by the ever-revolving wheel)
Greenwood writes that he knows of no dictionary listing thieves’ language, and he probably did document it independently. Although many of the terms he lists had appeared in earlier slang dictionaries, none of these can be put forward as a definite source.
Alfred Trumble’s Slang Dictionary of New York, London and Paris (1880)7 Alfred Trumble was a prolific author, publishing on crime, actresses, art, suicide, Mormonism, the Chinese in America, and a range of other sensational subjects, between 1877 and 1900. He is described in the by-line of one of his books as ‘a celebrated detective’, and the introduction to the Slang Dictionary confirms this. On the basis of his police experience, Trumble asserted that: The rogue fraternity have a language peculiarly their own, which is understood and spoken by them, no matter what their mother tongue or their nationality . . . The man who understands it is as much at home in the tapis franc of Paris, the bandits’ fonda of Madrid, or the thieves’ schenke of Berlin, as he is in a flash ken in New York. He may not, and very generally does not, understand a dozen words of the language of the country he is in, but he can find a corner of every city he strikes where the professional slang with which he is conversant is spoken as fluently as it is in New York or London.8
Trumble traced the origins of this international criminal language to the English Gypsies, and asserted that it had changed little since the time of James I (1603–25). He claimed, moreover, that he spoke the language fluently ‘better, perhaps, than any man in my line in the world’,9 and promised that his glossary would preserve ordinary citizens from nefarious plots and also aid police in their pursuit of criminals.
7 This dictionary is also sometimes referred to by the name of the copyright holder, Richard 8 9 K. Fox, editor of the National Police Gazette. Trumble, Slang Dictionary, 5. Ibid., 6.
Figure 11.1. Trumble’s Slang Dictionary of New York, London and Paris (1881)
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The glossary includes approximately 2600 entries for 2060 headwords. There is an additional list of thirty-six terms used in billiards. Matsell’s Vocabulum (1859), also published by the Police Gazette, provides all but two of the billiards’ terms and 92 per cent of a sample of 1040 entries for 831 headwords from the main list, which concentrates on crime & punishment (22 per cent); leisure & pleasure (8 per cent); and body & health (8 per cent). Trumble’s selection from Matsell, appears to be entirely random with regard to meaning and lexicographic features. Most of the entries from Matsell are adopted verbatim, even where they appear to have little or no reference to contemporary life in the United States: Matsell FLYING JIGGERS Turnpike-gates. RAINBOW A footman; so called from the fact that he wears livery, or garments of different colors.
Trumble Flying-jiggers. Turnpike gates. Rainbow. A footman; so called from the fact that he wears livery, or garments of different colors.
However, despite Burke’s description of the dictionary as ‘almost a verbatim reprint of Matsell’s Vocabulum’,10 Trumble did make changes. He often deleted or inserted definite and indefinite articles, but 26 per cent of the entries from Matsell are edited more significantly than this, generally by the deletion of examples or the sometimes excessive abridgement of definitions (p = 0.01): Matsell ANODYNE Death; to anodyne, to kill. “Ahr say, Bill, vy don’t yer hopen that jug and draw the cole?” “Vy, my cove, aren’t you avare as how a bloke snoses hin it?” “Vell, vot hof it, aren’t yer habel to put him to hanodyne?” GANDER. A married man not living at home with his wife.
Trumble Anodyne. Death; to anodyne; to kill.
Gander. A married man.
10 Burke, Literature of Slang, 83. I’m grateful to Jesse Sheidlower for drawing my attention to this reference.
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Misreading or careless proofreading results in some mangling of entries: Matsell BENS Fools. VENUS’ CURSE. Venereal disease.
Although Trumble generally trims Matsell’s entries, he does occasionally find something to add: Matsell GALENA Salt pork. ON A STRING To send a person to look for something that you are sure is in some other place, is putting him on a string, or humbugging, fooling him.
Trumble adds . . . Galena, Ill., is a famous pork market. . . . When a girl flirts with a sucker she has him on the string.
He also economizes Matsell’s presentation: Matsell LIB Sleep. “The coves lib together,” the fellows sleep together. LIBBEGE A bed. LIBBEN A private house. LIBKEN A lodging-house.
Trumble Lib. Sleep. Libbege. A bed. Libben. A private house. Libken. A lodging-house.
There are no significant lexicographic differences between the new and the adopted entries, but the new entries contain significantly more terms for fools, failure & insults; politics, bureaucracy & commerce; and sex & prostitution (all p = 0.01). The word-list is illustrated with various plates, some previously used in other publications. They generally depict scenes of criminal activity, usually involving women being manhandled by ruffians or in various states of undress. Some do not illustrate the term printed beneath them: ‘Garrotting’, for instance, shows a woman being chloroformed. Following the dictionary is an account of ‘a Night in a Flash Ken’, complete with a villainous dialogue that would have been more convincing in an eighteenth-century English setting:
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“What was the job?” “A pinch for an emperor’s slang. He was in his altitudes, and we pinched his thimble, slang and onions. We touched his leather, too, but it was very lathy.” “What was the altemal?” “It only raised fifteen cases. The dummy raked a case and a half, and the thimble was a foist, but the slang and onions were bene.” “Where did you plant ’em?” “Tim’s miss shoved them at Tipsy Pig’s dolly shop.”11
Trumble includes a miscellany of essays and extracts, the most current of which discusses the effects of the ‘late unpleasantness’12 (the Civil War) on American speech.
Sydney Slang Dictionary (c.1881) This anonymous dictionary is called Sydney Slang Dictionary on the title page, and ‘The Australian Slang Dictionary’ at the head of the wordlist. It is also sometimes referred to by its subtitle: ‘The Detectives’ Handbook’. It contains 623 entries for 560 headwords, and although there is no introductory material or information about the author, the subtitle provides an account of its contents: Comprising All the Slang Words and Phrases in use in Sydney and in the Shadows of Life. Sporting, Stage, and Gambling Slang, Low Life and Flash Slang, &c. Together with Examples of SLANG PHRASEOLOGY, showing how Hidden Conversation is carried on. By far the most Curious Work ever Published. New Edition—Several Thousand New Words Added
The ‘Specimens of Slang Talk’ following the word-list confirm that this is intended to be a list of canting terms. An imperfect translation into standard English is also provided: Jim cracked a case last night and fenced the swag for ten cooter. He told me as Nel Starlight had flimped a thimble from a lushy bloak who had been to the ball, and fenced it at Mother S——’s drinking-house and rendezvous. 11
Trumble, Slang Dictionary, 41.
12
Ibid., 51.
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Jim committed a burglary last night and sold the property for ten pounds. He told me that Nell Starlight had hustled a tipsy man who had been to the ball and stolen his watch, and sold it at Mother——’s for a five-pound note.13
Following the ‘Specimens’ are thirty-eight ‘Addenda’ for thirty-seven headwords, and a further list of ‘Examples in Back Slang’, containing forty-six single-sense headwords. The back slang list closes with the words ‘And so on to any extent’.14 The first glossary of Australian criminal language was appended to James Hardy Vaux’s Memoirs.15 It had provided independent confirmation of many of the terms used among English criminals, but little evidence of developments in Australia. All commentators agree that the Sydney Slang Glossary is another unreliable guide to contemporary Australian cant. Many of its terms were not restricted to Australia and some might never have been used there at all.16 The main source for the word-lists is the 1874 edition of Hotten’s dictionary, which accounts for 73 per cent of its entries. All of the back slang is from Hotten, 95 per cent of the entries in the addenda, and 69 per cent of the entries in the main list.17 The compiler of the Sydney Slang Glossary selected in favour of terms for crime & punishment and sex & prostitution, but against emotion, behaviour & temperament; work and home life (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 1.2.1). Some minor editing occurs: Hotten (1874) Honest shilling, a shilling earned by a process actually immoral, but not positively illegal. The money earned by a prostitute is said to be honest, as distinguished from that obtained by a thief. Probably from the story of the converted burglar, who determined to sin no more 13
Sydney Slang Dictionary (main list) Honest Shilling—The money earned by a prostitute is said to be “honest,” as distinguished from that earned by a thief. Probably from the story of the converted burglar, who determined to sin no more himself, and who lectured against dishonesty, but sent his wife out every evening with
14 Sydney Slang Dictionary (Sydney: H. J. Franklin, c.1881), 10. Ibid., 11. James Hardy Vaux, Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux. Written by Himself . . . (London: W. Clowes, 1819). See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, ch. 4. 16 See Baker, Australian Language, 14–15; Ramson, Australian English, 12–13; Robertson, Australian Lexicography, 2. 17 See also Robertson’s analysis (Australian Lexicography, 27–30). 15
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instructions to earn an honest shilling. “Easy Shilling” is synonymous in the foregoing sense.
The Sydney Slang Dictionary has significantly fewer citations, examples of use, cited authorities, etymologies, cross-references, and anecdotes than its main source (all p = 0.01). 136 entries in the main list are also found in Ducange Anglicus’s The Vulgar Tongue, published in London in 1857 and 1859.18 There is some overlap between The Vulgar Tongue and Hotten’s list, but if we consider Hotten to be the main source, we can attribute seventy-one entries in the main list (11 per cent of that list) to The Vulgar Tongue, with the 1857 edition the more likely source. For example: 1857 † Bounetter—one who entices another to play. Finnips 5l. notes
1859 * Bonnetter—one who entices another to play. Gp. * Finnuffs—five pound notes
Sydney Slang Dictionary Bounnetter—One who entices another to play. Finnips—£5 notes. Double Finnips, £10.19
Robertson attributes thirty-four entries to Matsell or Trumble,20 but although there is some overlap in coverage, there is no compelling evidence of direct debt. The most interesting entries in the list for the purposes of identifying genuine Australian slang are the 123 (17 per cent) that may be original. Some list slang and standard senses also used in Britain at the time, including: Bilker—One who takes money and vanishes with a feigned excuse. Generally one inured in the ways of prostitution. Nick (The)—Gaol. Screevers—Begging by written document setting forth case of distress. 18 Ducange Anglicus, Vulgar Tongue (1857) and Ducange Anglicus, The Vulgar Tongue: A Glossary of Slang, Cant, and Flash Words and Phrases, Used in London, from 1839 to 1859, 2nd edn. (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1859). 19 The double ~ form is found under ‘D’ in the two Vulgar Tongue lists, each maintaining consistency in spelling. Hotten has finnuff. 20 Robertson, Australian Lexicography, 27–8.
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Robertson identifies fifty-one Australian terms, twenty-seven of which had no dictionary source.21 These include: Johnny Warder—An idle drunkard who hangs about public-house corners looking for a drink (called after a publican named John Ward who formerly kept a low house in Sydney noted for that species). Lambing Down—Keeping a bushman drunk till his cheque or his money are supposed to be spent. Yacker—talk.
It is hard to explain the existence of the addenda, which have the same primary source as the main list. Entries in the ‘Addenda’ provide significantly more etymologies than those in the main list (p = 0.01), all from Hotten’s dictionary. There are also significantly more entries marked as ‘London phrase’ in the addenda. Three addenda entries begin with ‘N’ and one with ‘P’, but the rest are from the letter ‘S’ onwards. They are largely alphabetical, but white prop and woolbird occur between nit and stone jug; Psalm-smiter, sublime rascal and stingo come after Yorkshire Reckoning. Since the dictionary ends very neatly at the bottom of page 11, it seems likely that the additional terms are afterthoughts intended to fill up the empty space. The addenda may have been new to this edition.
Cornelius Crowe’s, Australian Slang Dictionary (1895) Cornelius Crowe (1853–1928), a voluntary emigrant from Ireland, worked as a Melbourne policeman. After his retirement he became a ‘somewhat obsessive’ campaigner, and published ten other pamphlets and booklets between 1896 and 1921.22 All aimed to eradicate corruption in the police force, the judicial system, and the governments of the Commonwealth and Victoria. Crowe explained that criminal language was imported into Australia from around the world, and that an understanding of it was vital to the crime-fighter: My aim in compiling this small Dictionary is to place in the hands of the police and the public a work through which they may become conver21
Ibid., 32. The quotation and biographical information are from Judith Smyth Robertson, ‘Cornelius Crowe. ‘Half Daft Sort of Fellow’ or Social Reformer?’, National Library of Australia News, forthcoming, and from Robertson, Australian Lexicography, 41. 22
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sant with the slang terms used by the rogue fraternity as a medium of communication with each other. . . I trust the circulation of this work will have the desired effect of preventing criminals, rogues and gamblers from conversing with impunity in the presence of the police and public.23
Morris estimated that ‘not one word in fifty in [Crowe’s] little book has an Australian origin, or even a specially Australian use’.24 The Sydney Bulletin was rather more scathing: The Australian Slang Dictionary is an amazingly ignorant production. The author has mixed up an olla podrida of linguistic scraps picked up everywhere—most of which are either not Australian or not slang—and enriched it with little bits of his own. The spelling is atrocious and the definitions are worse.25
Crowe presents a comprehensive list of the dictionary’s coverage, which bears little relationship to its actual contents, including Auctioneers’ Slang, Bootmakers’ Slang, Burglars’ Slang, Bushrangers’ Slang, Clergymen’s Slang, Cricketers’ Slang, Impostors’ Slang, Lovers’ Slang, Military Slang, Police Slang, Prize Ring Slang, Thieves’ Slang, Undertakers’ Slang, and Vagrants’ Slang. Robertson estimates that the dictionary includes 2688 headwords. In a sample of 590 entries for 550 headwords, the main areas of coverage are crime & punishment (19 per cent) and leisure & pleasure (14 per cent). The last edition of Hotten’s dictionary, published in 1874, is Crowe’s main source, accounting for 50 per cent of entries. For example: Hotten Noli-me-tangere, the Scotch fiddle, or other contagious disease [1865 edition onwards] Tooley Street tailor, a self-conceited, vainglorious man. The “three tailors of Tooley Street” are said to have immortalized themselves by preparing a petition for Parliament—and some
Crowe Noli-me-Tangere, a contagious disease Tooley Street Tailor, a self-inflated person, conceited, etc
23 Cornelius Crowe, Australian Slang Dictionary. Containing the Words and Phrases of the Thieving Fraternity. Together with the Unauthorised, though Popular Expressions Now in Vogue with All Classes in Australia. Compiled by Cornelius Crowe Author of the Manual on the Duties of a Police Constable (Fitzroy: Robert Barr, 1895), Preface. 24 25 Morris, Austral English, xii. Quoted in Baker, Australian Language, 16.
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The entries derived from Hotten are significantly more likely than Crowe’s other entries to include illustrative citations, compounds and derivatives, and usage labels (all p = 0.01). A further 24 per cent of entries are from Trumble’s Slang Dictionary of New York. Entries from Matsell are also shown here to demonstrate that Crowe did not use the Vocabulum, though, as Trumble’s main source, it does include much of the same material: Matsell BALL Prison allowance
CAB-MOLL A woman that keeps a bad house
Trumble Ball. Prison allowance; a drink Cab. A house of ill fame. Cab-Moll. A madam.
Crowe Ball, prison allowance; a drink Cab, a house of ill-fame
A further 11 per cent of entries could be from either Hotten or Trumble. Sixteen per cent appear to be Crowe’s own work.26 Robertson write that he also used Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang and Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues,27 but although there are terms in common, I have found no compelling evidence of direct debt. The new entries include several long-established terms from printing: Galley, a contrivance which holds a column of type. Par, contraction for paragraph. Quad, a small piece of metal used by compositors for spacing.
Some entries are for terms that originated in America, but may also have been in use in Australia: Ball-Dozed, muddled or drunk. Euchered, deceived. Old Soldiers, cigar ends. 26 Robertson, Australian Lexicography, 46, 49, assesses the whole word-list, and attributes 47.9 per cent of Crowe’s entries to Hotten and 33.1 per cent to Trumble. 27 Robertson, Australian Lexicography, 6, 52.
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—and some are genuine Australianisms: Back Blocks, sparsely inhabited parts of the country. Jackaroo, a station hand who musters sheep; a drover. Yarra Bankers, vagrants living on the banks of the Yarra.
Following the dictionary, Crowe offers a flash letter and its translation into standard English, an account of back slang, and a variety of verses. He ends by addressing the reader: I wish to inform my readers that some of the words in this Dictionary were taken from examples of prison slang given by Mr. Michael Davitt. He had ample scope for observation during his political retirement at Newgate, Millbank, Dartmoor and Portsmouth, and his prison diary gives numerous specimens of the slang which he found was used by the thieving fraternity. I have also to acknowledge assistance from many other persons and sources, and more especially to express my indebtedness to Detective D. G. O’Donnell and J. O’Sullivan, of Fitzroy. Yet, with all the sources at my command, I confess the present work is not as perfect as I would like it to be.28
Crowe’s unapologetic dependence on British and American sources suggests that, despite his assertion that ‘the slang language is ever changing’,29 he did not feel that Australian criminal language was distinctive enough to require separate investigation.
Josiah Flynt Willard’s The World of Graft (1901) Willard’s second glossary is appended to The World of Graft, an account of criminal life in American cities, particularly New York, Chicago, and Boston, again emphasizing the contact between criminals and tramps. It is shorter than his Tramping with Tramps glossary, containing only fifty-four entries for fifty headwords. Twelve terms are defined in both lists. In line with the provision of synonyms in the first list, this one provides synonyms and other semantically related terms in ten entries:
28 Crowe, Australian Slang Dictionary, 105. Davitt was an Irish nationalist who was sentenced to fifteen years penal servitude for arms smuggling. O’Donnell was a Melbourne detective famed for 29 his integrity and dedication to duty (ADB). Crowe, Australian Slang Dictionary, 105.
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Dead, out of touch with current events in the world of graft; the antithesis of “wise.” Tool, the man in a “mob” of pickpockets who does the real “nicking,” i.e., gets the pocketbook or roll of money.
Where the two lists differ is in their semantic coverage. The World of Graft list includes significantly more terms for crime & punishment (56 per cent) and knowledge & communication (12 per cent, both p = 0.01). The glossary is presented in addition to numerous footnotes to the text. For instance: The remaining third of Chicago’s professional thieves are good, bad, and indifferent “sneaks,”* “porch-climbers,”† “slough-workers,”‡ “peter-men,”§ “prop-getters,” || “shovers of the queer,” ¶ and representatives of all the other specialities in criminal work. * Sneak thieves. † Second-story thieves. ‡ Country-house burglars. § Safe-blowers, bank robbers. || Scarf-pin thieves. ¶ Utterers of counterfeit money.30
Most of the entries in the glossary are similarly short, containing nothing more than a headword and definition. A few that are fuller give an indication of the development of organized crime and police corruption: Mob, a collection of guns who work together. Five men generally make up a good-sized mob. Percentage coppers, Policemen and detectives who protect thieves in exchange for a percentage of their plunder.
No. 1500, Life in Sing Sing (1904), Joseph Sullivan’s Criminal Slang (1908), James J. Finerty’s Criminalese (1926), and Film Daily’s Fast Life glossary (1929) Life in Sing Sing is an autobiographical account of prison life. ‘No. 1500’ served a ten-year sentence in the notorious maximum security prison, but does not reveal his own offence. Rather than 30
Josiah Flynt Willard, The World of Graft (London/New York: McClure, Phillips & Co., 1901), 27.
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describing day-to-day experience of prison life, he concentrates on escapes and executions, and describes his foundation of a prison newspaper, The Star of Hope, which circulated throughout New York State. He dismisses the commonly expressed view that criminals use cant for concealment: The use of slang by convicts is very general and is usually for decorative effect rather than for the purpose of concealing from those who may overhear it the meaning of their conversation. It would in fact be valueless for them to use it for that purpose as the guards are as apt with it as the convicts themselves. The possession and management of a large vocabulary of slang is, however, an acquirement of which its possessor is very proud. It is his one literary accomplishment, and he never fails to display and cultivate it at all times.31
The ‘Dictionary of Thieves’ and Convicts’ Slang’ was compiled by ‘One prisoner . . . a reader of all sorts of books, a student of politics, an owner of real estate’.32 It contains two alphabetical sequences. The first, of 424 entries for 329 headwords, deals mainly with single words, and the second, of 116 entries for 105 headwords, lists mainly compounds and phrases. For instance: First sequence Flogger. An overcoat. Peter. A safe; a drug known as knockout drops.
Second sequence Flogger Stiff. Overcoat thief. Peter Man. Safe burglar; person who administers a drug for the purpose of robbery.
Taken together, the two lists concentrate on crime & punishment (25 per cent); knowledge & communication (10 per cent); and money & poverty (8 per cent). The glossaries are followed by ‘sentences and translations’, also alphabetized to the first letter and including: Getting the rags from a greaser. Buying counterfeit paper money from an Italian. His Tommy has a hoop of stones. His girl has a diamond ring. He pigged with the darb. He absconded with the money.
There are also some longer passages, each of which is self-contained: I don’t squeal. I had a good run in ’Frisco and I’ve breathed easy ever since. I can sleep on rocks. I can fall, but no bull could throw me. What! I expand my chest easily? I’m well 31
No. 1500, Life in Sing-Sing (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merill, 1904), 244.
32
Ibid., 264–5.
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covered and strong as can be. Oh, yes, I’ve heard guns shoot, but how were they loaded? You missed the number. They hadn’t the shot. Well, we had better unload. translation. I don’t complain. I was successful while in San Francisco; as a result I have been in comfortable circumstances ever since. I have plenty of money. I can be arrested, but no officer can send me to prison. What, I have unlimited confidence in myself? Why not? I have got enough money and influence to help me out of trouble. Oh, yes, I have heard thieves use the same argument. But you missed the essential point—they lacked the means. Well, we had better alight.
The volume ends with a chapter called ‘Retrospection’, in which the author considers his crime and its punishment: I can only at this moment say that my feeling is that a great and deliberate wrong has been done me. I did commit a crime, a serious one in the eyes of the law, to whose ministers it was exaggerated by the vindictiveness of an influential prosecution. But for it, howsoever deeply and earnestly I might have repented, there was no quality of mercy. In an instant I was herded with criminals and classed as one of their number for ever—branded with an indelible infamy and made an irredeemable outcast from society.33
He concludes by arguing that the only benefit he derived from prison was that ‘I have read a great deal, and I have learned the valuable lessons of seriousness and how to think’.34 Conclusions to similar works discussed below all pay more lip service to repentance. In 1908 Joseph Sullivan, ‘LL.B., (Bail Commissioner Suffolk County) of the Boston (Mass.) Bar’, published a dictionary called Criminal Slang. In addition to this volume, he published two articles in the Journal of the American Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology, which consider the arrangements for training police recruits in America and for policing Ireland, as well as an article based on his dictionary in the American Law Review.35 The dictionary was published separately in Chicago and Boston in 1908.36 33
34 Ibid., 270–1. Ibid., 276. Joseph Sullivan, ‘Police Gleanings’, Journal of the American Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology 3 (1912), 393–9; and ‘Irish Police Gleanings’, Journal of the American Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology 4 (1914), 876–87; and ‘Criminal Slang’, American Law Review (1918), 885–94. 36 Joseph Sullivan, Criminal Slang: a Dictionary of the Vernacular of the Under World (Chicago: Detective Publishing, 1908); Criminal Slang: a Dictionary of the Vernacular of the “Underworld”, revised edn. (Boston: Underworld Publishing, 1908). I have only seen the Boston ‘revised’ edition. 35
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There is no explanation or introduction to the list, which contains approximately 943 entries for 807 headwords, most of which include only short definitions. Although Sullivan’s professional life might have provided him with first-hand experience of criminals and their language, he clearly used a number of written sources. In a sample of 693 entries for 593 headwords, Sullivan’s greatest debt by far is to the Life in Sing Sing list, which accounts for 49 per cent of entries. Life in Sing Sing (1904) Barker. An auctioneer; a person who solicits attendance in a loud voice. Wise. Having an intelligent idea of what is going on in your immediate vicinity.
Sullivan (1908) Barker—An auctioneer; one who solicits attendance in a loud voice. Wise—Having an intelligent idea of what is going on in your immediate vicinity.
Josiah Flynt Willard’s Tramping with Tramps list provides 5 per cent of Sullivan’s entries, including: Willard (1899) Cop: a policeman. To be “copped” is to get arrested. A “fly-cop” is a detective. Flagged: when a man is said by criminals or tramps to be “flagged,” it means that he is permitted to go unmolested.
Sullivan (1908) Cop—A policeman; to be “copped” is to get arrested; a “fly cop” is a detective; to steal. Flagged—When a man is said by criminals to be “flagged” it means that he is allowed to go his way unmolested.
A further 3 per cent of entries are from James Greenwood’s The Seven Curses of London: Greenwood (1869) To take the works from one watch, and case them in another—churching Jack37 The prison chaplain—Lady Green
Sullivan (1908) Churching Jack—To take the works from one watch and case them in another. Lady Green—English prison chaplain.
37 Although this is found in several slang dictionaries, Greenwood is distinctive in having Jack instead of yack.
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Whipping while in prison— scroby or claws for breakfast
Scroby or claws for breakfast—Whipping in prison.
Four per cent of entries are in more than one of these three sources. Sullivan’s use of these lists is in line with a random selection, so it may be that he only picked up the entries for terms that he knew to be current, but since he rarely altered the definitions in any significant way, it seems unlikely that much independent thought was involved in the compilation. Some of the entries that cannot be traced to Sullivan’s sources suggest that he was documenting spoken language or using a less reliable written source. For instance, he includes some rhyming slang, but does not appear to recognize it as such: Flowery—A cell (English). Raspberry—Heart (English).
Another version of the Life in Sing Sing list appeared in James J. Finerty’s Criminalese (1926). Finerty is described on the front cover as an ‘Ex-Chief of Police’, but a list of his best-known cases does not reflect well on him. It includes the Mary Phagan murder trial, a notorious anti-Semitic miscarriage of justice in Atlanta, Georgia, and the arrest of the Ashley-Mobley gang in Florida. This followed a bungled raid and was the result of a tip-off rather than high-quality detective work. Finerty is also described as a ‘top-notcher’ in athletics, the protégé of ‘Prof.’ John Donaldson, a boxer who died in 1897. He is ‘the mystery man’ as a police chief, a soubriquet borne out by the absence of any reference to his various talents on even the most dubious web resources. The section on ‘The Author’ explains that: His purpose in publishing this little book is to place before every police official and peace officer throughout the English speaking population the proper meaning of all general words used by the underworld fraternity.38
The back cover includes a plea to citizens to help the police and provides apparently fictional information about earlier versions of the list: 38 James J. Finerty, Criminalese: A Dictionary of the Slang Talk of the Criminal (Washington, DC: The author, 1926), ‘The Author’. The pages in this section are not numbered.
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When this little book was first placed in the hands of peace officers, it was a six page doubled up, so that it spread out like a newspaper page. Four pages carried 180 slang words. Two pages carried sport news of boxers and wrestlers. It was first printed in Muncie, Indiana, 1896.39
The 1926 edition of the dictionary, which has no separate title, includes approximately 3500 entries for 3050 headwords. Entries are grouped by the first letter, but not fully alphabetized. Several terms appear twice, including African golf “craps”, bloke “a man; a workman”, chuck “food”, and ducat “ticket”. Some terms preceded by the indefinite article are listed under the letter ‘A’, including a swell mouthpiece, a good fellow, and a cheap thief. Amick “One who is ignorant” appears to be a misdivision of A mick, and arisk “a true friend” may be a misdivision of a risk. Entries under ‘T’ include the wind, the hole, and to cut up. In a sample of 939 entries for 826 headwords, the largest semantic fields are crime & punishment (31 per cent); knowledge & communication (9 per cent); and geography & travel (7 per cent). Forty-eight per cent of Finerty’s entries are from Sullivan’s dictionary, including some that were original to Sullivan: Sullivan (1908) Caunfort ladran—Master thief (Irish) same as head of mob. Willie-boy—An effeminate man, submerged manhood.
Finerty (1926) Caunfort ladran—Master thief (Irish); same as head of a mob. A Willie boy—An effeminate man, submerged manhood. [under ‘A’]
Finerty was not influenced by meaning in his selection from Sullivan’s list. His new entries are also in line with the semantic make-up of entries from Sullivan, though some are distinctively of their time: Chicago’d—Murdered by machine gun or bomb. Doughboy—An American soldier in the World War.
There is a further list of legal abbreviations, such as dmgs for ‘damages’, followed by a miscellaneous selection of anecdotes, jokes, and occasional definitions:
39
Ibid., back cover.
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The stockingless fad was started by the taxi-dancers in a black and tan dance hall. The two most popular words spoken are, FIRE and HELP. A Turkey Buzzard is a husband having more than one wife. First Crook—What is influence? Second Crook—Something you have until you try to use it.40
Lists of warnings, of state prisons and penal institutions, and a glossary of horse-racing terms complete the miscellaneous contents of Finerty’s work. Three years after Finerty’s book, an early ‘talkie’ called Fast Life was released. Douglas Fairbanks Junior played a victim of wrongful arrest: sentenced to death, he was released dramatically from the electric chair. The film was controversial without being successful, and no complete English-language version survives. Film Daily presented a glossary prepared for use in marketing the film, containing fifty-four entries for forty-seven headwords, largely alphabetized to the first letter.41 It is carelessly compiled from the Life in Sing Sing list: Life in Sing Sing Bundle. Package from home; a woman. Tout. One who gives knowledge in advance.
Film Daily glossary Bundle—A package from home, a woman. Trout [sic]—One who give [sic] knowledge in advance.
The Film Daily glossary selects in favour of terms for crime & punishment from Life in Sing Sing (p = 0.01).
F. H. Tillotson’s How to be a Detective (1909) This book was written by a private detective42 for the benefit of those wishing to follow the same profession: The facts contained have been gathered from practical experience, from conversations, and from newspaper comments. . . . The facts shown in this book will be a help, but practical experience is required to make a man a successful detective. . . . During [more than a quarter of a century] it has been my good fortune to meet most of the able detectives of the age. It 40
41 Ibid., 64. ‘Use This Dictionary of Slang in Exploitation’, Film Daily 49 (22 Aug. 1929), 15. A private detective ‘H. F. Tillotson’ [sic] is mentioned in the court records of ‘Oklahoma v. Brown’ in 1912; . 42
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has also been my misfortune to be obliged to come in contact with some of the meanest, most unscrupulous, and most despicable class of men who were pleased to style themselves detectives.43
As well as emphasizing the importance of practical experience, Tillotson warns the aspiring detective that ‘When coming into contact with criminals, he must realize that he is dealing with people smarter than he.’44 The volume contains photographs of blown bank-safes and mug-shots of criminals, including some still on the loose. These are largely bankrobbers, though one is described as an outlaw. All are white. There is also an illustrated account of the Bertillion system, by which criminals are described scientifically to aid in their identification, and a linedrawing of Sophie Lyons ‘The Queen of American Criminals’. There is a detailed discussion of criminal language in the text, covering about seventy terms: For instance, the expression that is probably the most common in this new language is “hept” or “joseph” or “jo help,” as the user may deem best to use it. Being “hept” to anything is knowing about it before or at the time it is transpiring. One thief may say to his pal, “Are you help?” or “Are you joseph?” or “Are you joe hept?” His pall will say, “I’m wise.” The expression was given its name from the characteristic of an old circus man who was famous in his time many years ago. He would always, when being told a story or given orders, say that he knew just what to do or what was being said simultaneously with what was being told him to do or what was being said. Finally when anyone contemplated an act or expression around the show grounds, the gang would say, “Yes, you the same as Jo Hept.” It was in time contracted to its present use. It is known far and wide now and is not confined to the criminal class or “profesh.”45
The glossary lists a further 186 entries for 178 headwords, alphabetized to the first letter and concentrating on crime & punishment (29 per cent); clothes, jewellery & other artefacts (14 per cent); knowledge & communication (9 per cent); and money & poverty (8 per cent). There is some duplication: Gat—A gun. Rads, Gats or Smoke-wagon—A revolver. 43 44
F. H. Tillotson, How to be a Detective (no publication details, 1909), 3, 5. 45 Ibid., 6. Ibid., 86–7.
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Rod—A gun. Smoke-wagon—A gun.
These are typical of the concise definitions that Tillotson provides, a few of which are potentially ambiguous out of context: Leather—A pocketbook. Lobster—A dead one. Tongs—Outsider.
Lobster appears to mean ‘an empty pocketbook’ and a reader checking the meaning of outsider would find that is listed in its own right as ‘a pair of nippers to turn keys from the outside’.
Lewis E. Jackson and C. R. Hellyer’s A Vocabulary of Criminal Slang (c.1914) This volume, issued in Portland, Oregon in about 1914 and reprinted in 1915, is the only publication by Hellyer, apparently a serving police officer, or by Jackson. The introduction explains their motivations for producing the work: It is not with a view to sensationalism that this little work is undertaken, but with a sense of helpfulness, of social obligation. It is submitted for the perusal and study of all those public officers and professional servants whose responsibilities are such as to bring them into casual or constant contact with the confirmed criminal class. . . . When bench and bar, the press, custodians of law and order and private agencies . . . are made familiar with the wiles and modes of communication of criminals, the latter are rendered less powerful insofar as the evolved system of guile and wrongdoing are concerned.46
In detailing the different types of crime, Jackson and Hellyer couch many of their observations in terms of criminal psychology and economics, referring to criminals as ‘chronic defectives’47 and calculating the annual cost of crime to the nation. The Introduction ends with an appeal from the publisher for information about other terms that should be included in the list, suggesting that a second edition 46 Lewis E. Jackson and C. R. Hellyer, A Vocabulary of Criminal Slang, with Some Examples of Common 47 Usages (Portland, OR: Modern Printing, c.1914), 7. Jackson and Hellyer, Vocabulary, 12.
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was anticipated. The glossary is headed ‘A Vocabulary of Criminal Slang Alphabetically Arranged with Practical Examples of Common Usages’, and contains approximately 610 entries for 490 headwords.48 In a sample of 519 entries for 415 headwords, the largest semantic areas are crime & punishment (24 per cent); knowledge & communication (11 per cent); and fools, failure & insults (8 per cent). Eighty-eight per cent of entries include an indication of part of speech (99.5 per cent of first or only entries under a headword). Eighty per cent include a usage label (95 per cent of first or only entries). These are extremely detailed and various. For example: CROSSLOTS, Adverb In use amongst yeggs, hobos and the meandering unemployed. Cross-country; away from frequented routes of traffic; by star route. Example: “In the get-away they hammed twenty miles cross lots.” SLOUGHER, Noun Current among plunderbunders. A fence; a pawnbroker; a middle man in the disposition of contraband.
Forty-five per cent of labels describe terms as being in general criminal currency. A further 42 per cent label terms as belonging to various specific criminal groups, notably yeggs (7 per cent), pickpockets (6 per cent), and drug-users of various kinds (4 per cent). Four per cent of labels indicate geographical restrictions in a term’s use. Forty-four per cent of entries include examples to illustrate use. These appear to be created for the purpose rather than quoted from elsewhere. A few entries suggest that the dictionary is recording spoken usage: BUZZARD, Noun Current amongst pickpockets. A timid or amateur or low life “gun” who operates on “molls,” women. Example: “The moll buzzards tore into the jam at the market house on Saturday night and glommed a batch of pokes.” MEIG, Noun General currency among cosmopolitans. A nickel; a five-cent piece. See “JITNEY.” Sometimes used to indicate the minimum basis of exchange medium, the cent, as a hundred meigs, fifty meigs, etc. Example: “What’s the tax for the scoffin’s? Twenty-five meigs.” 48 This is considerably more than the ‘four hundred and thirty terms’ claimed in the introduction no matter how they are counted (Ibid., 8).
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(Moll-)buzzards appears to be a folk-etymologized version of (moll-) buzzer, recorded by Matsell in 1859. Meig represents meg ‘a halfpenny’, first recorded in Britain in the mid-eighteenth century. This is the first American citation in the OED. The glossary is followed by ‘Suggestions for the Reduction of Preventable Crime’: It must be apparent, to all [that the police] . . . can do little more than apprehend criminals after they have committed crimes . . . property holders are depending entirely too much upon the police for protection and too little upon themselves.49
The solution, they conclude, lies in vigilance, personal responsibility, and full cooperation with the police. The current system hides criminals from sight or moves them on to another community rather than attempting to ‘lift up the delinquent’.50 This glossary, which dates from the same year as the Harrison Narcotic Act, is the first criminal list to include more than a few entries referring to drugs: GONGER, Noun Current amongst opium smokers and drug fiends. An opium pipe. Also used in the diminutive form of “GONGERINE.” REDUCTION, Noun Current amongst dope fiends. The reduction cure for a “HABIT.” Example: “The only sensible way of getting off is on the reduction.”
The Harrison Act controlled the sale of opiates and cocaine in the United States for the first time, thus creating new crimes for lawenforcers to police. The addict came to be seen as a defective personality type who, once addicted, was ‘essentially beyond the reach of civilized or humane efforts’.51 Until this point, many substances which are now illegal were freely available and used for pain relief as well as recreationally by all kinds of people, including respectable ones. Soldiers’ first-aid kits, widely available from all good department
49
50 Ibid., 91. Ibid., 103. Caroline Jean Acker, ‘From all Purpose Anodyne to Marker of Deviance: Physicians’ Attitudes towards Opiates in the US from 1890 to 1940’, 114–32 in Roy Porter and Miculáš Teich (eds.), Drugs and Narcotics in History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 123. 51
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stores, typically contained cocaine and opiates, and it was under the DORA regulations of 1916 that opium, cocaine, heroin, and morphine became controlled substances in Britain. The Dangerous Drugs Acts of 1920 and 1923 made these controls permanent.52 The demonization of each substance often associated it with attempts by a particular racial group to subvert public order and morality, and particularly with attempts to corrupt decent white women: opium with the Chinese, cannabis with Indians in Britain and Mexicans in the United States, and cocaine with African-Americans. In Britain, drugs remained ‘a small and largely middle-class problem’ until the 1960s, and thus they feature less in glossaries of British criminal slang of this period.53 Narcotics were not the only new concern for law-enforcers in this period. Prohibition (1920–33) created a range of new criminal offences and an array of illegal opportunities in the United States. Although it is now generally considered to have been a mistake, Prohibition was a popular response to the evident damage to productivity and health caused by excessive alcohol consumption. In Britain as well as the United States, temperance campaigners were helped by the needs of the war effort: under DORA regulations, it became illegal to buy a drink for anyone else, and in a gesture that undoubtedly pained him more than it inspired others, George V abstained from intoxicating beverages for the duration.54 Canada, Australia, and all of the Scandinavian countries also introduced controls on the sale and consumption of alcohol at around this time. Widespread nonobservance of Prohibition in the United States made alcohol glamorous and transformed its consumption into an easy and relatively safe gesture of defiance against authority in all forms. Surviving such an allegedly dangerous experience would undermine all other admonitions from the same quarter. It quickly became much more acceptable for respectable men and even women to frequent bars and nightclubs, and Prohibition also created financial opportunities for international
52 Although hemp and its derivatives were causing concern in India, they were not a problem in Britain, so their availability was not curtailed. ( James H. Mills, Cannabis Britannica. Empire, Trade, and Prohibition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 188–9.) 53 Ann Dally, ‘Anomalies and Mysteries in the ‘War on Drugs’ ’, 199–215 in Porter and Teich, 54 Drugs, 204. Turner, Dear Old Blighty, 86–9.
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networks of criminals engaged in smuggling, bootlegging, and protection. Prohibition thus contributed to the development of youth culture and to the internationalization of criminal gangs. Gun crime becomes a standard topic for American cant glossaries during this period.
W. H. Wells’s ‘Words Used in the Drug Traffic’ (1922) and ‘Drug Addicts Cant’ (1923) The account of ‘Words Used in the Drug Traffic’, published in Dialect Notes, has only a brief introduction, which gives no indication of the methodology used in compiling the list: The illicit peddling of drugs—opium, cocaine, morphine—is a trade that has developed its own jargon. The following words, culled from San Francisco’s underworld, are used to designate the common “commodities” that pass between drug addict and peddler55
Entries are grouped by drug, although there is considerable crossreference between the lists. For example: White Cross—As differentiated from Red Cross, or morphine, below. Note the quality of whiteness peculiar to the more common terms for this drug—snow, etc. [‘Terms for Cocaine’] Joy Powder—Obviously so-named because of the narcotic effect of the drug. Cf. Wings, above. The terms are never confused. [‘Terms for Morphine’]
The ‘Drug Addicts Cant’ list, also published by Dialect Notes, is the same glossary presented in alphabetical order with a request for additions and a promise of ‘an extended list’ to come.56
George Henderson’s Keys to Crookdom (1924) George Cochran Henderson (b.1891) published seven novels, the last in 1939, mostly with western themes. Keys to Crookdom was his first book and his only work of non-fiction. August Vollmer, an innovative law-enforcer, the first Chief of Police of Berkeley, California, and also 55 56
W. H. Wells, ‘Words Used in the Drug Traffic’, Dialect Notes 5 (1922), 180–2: 180. W. H. Wells, ‘Drug Addicts Cant’, Dialect Notes 5 (1923), 246.
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the President of the International Association of Police Chiefs, recommended Henderson’s work: A marked departure from the conventional method of treating criminological matters distinguishes this book and places the work of the author in a category by itself . . . Lawlessness is robbed of its glamor; criminality becomes sordid under the realistic pen strokes of this author . . .57
Henderson reminds his readers that ‘criminals most frequently are lazy, diseased, uneducated, drug-ridden, mental defectives’: The student of criminology, of course, is vitally interested in the criminal mind as well as in criminal methods . . . More than half of the vast outlaw army are subnormals, abnormals, morons, monsters, perverts . . . It is at once evident . . . that the outlaw possesses certain outstanding physical, mental and moral characteristics . . . He presents a study in abnormality. There is nothing glamorous about him.58
The text is followed by two appendices. Appendix A gives ‘General Definitions’ and explains the meaning of terms such as bootlegger, burglar, murderer, and perjurer. Appendix B is ‘Criminal Slang’ and contains approximately 750 entries for 650 headwords. In a sample of 603 entries for 521 headwords, the largest semantic areas are crime & punishment (38 per cent) and knowledge & communication (7 per cent). Although this is presented as a dictionary of criminal language, it covers every aspect of criminals’ lives, and not just their illicit activities. Seventeen per cent of entries include semantically related terms, usually synonyms. Entries containing large numbers of semantically related terms are significantly more likely to have a standard English than a slang headword (p = 0.01), and thus the list functions as a normal and reverse dictionary simultaneously: Assault. Attack, sap up on, slough, mug, bust, nick, soak, clout, garrote [sic], slug.
All but one (bust) of the terms listed under assault are also defined in their own right. A further twenty-three entries (4 per cent) contain a total of ninety-eight explicit cross-references. The letters N-Z contain significantly fewer synonyms and considerably more cross-references than do 57 58
George Cochran Henderson, Keys to Crookdom (New York/London: D. Appleton, 1924), xv–xvi. Ibid., 7–9.
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the letters A-M (p = 0.01), although this does not correspond with any change in the distribution of entries with standard English headwords. Only eleven entries (2 per cent) include usage labels. For instance: Mudder. Turf slang. Horse that runs well on muddy track. Pinch. Arrest. Pinched—arrested. Pinch out—an oil swindler’s term. To cut down natural flow of oil by pinching out a well.
There is no clear source for this work, and the spelling of a few entries suggests oral transmission: Binny. Overcoat. Especially one with big pockets for concealing loot. Pound the air. To sleep. Prussian. Vagabond accompanied by a punk (boy).
These terms are more usually spelt , <pound the ear>, and <prushun>. If Henderson did collect his word-list through first-hand contact with the underworld, his experience was extensive and various, covering some otherwise under-represented criminal types: Clairvoyant. One who pretends to see spirit manifestations. Lyncher. One who executes another illegally. Torch. Professional arsonist.
Henry Leverage’s ‘Flynn’s Dictionary of the Underworld’ (1925) Carl Henry Leverage (1885–1931) wrote detective novels and short stories. One of his seven novels, Whispering Wires, was adapted for stage and later screen, and he also wrote the screenplay for The Twinkler, based on one of his short stories. His earliest stories and the first film appeared while he was an inmate in Sing Sing, which undoubtedly helped his credibility as a crime-writer.59 Published in instalments in Flynn’s magazine (later called Detective Fiction Weekly), Henry Leverage’s ‘Dictionary of the Underworld’ is headed ‘Full list and authoritative definitions of words used by crooks and hoboes, grafters and grifters’.60 The introduction is well designed 59
Biographical information from Contento, FictionMags. Henry Leverage, ‘Flynn’s Dictionary of the Underworld’, Flynn’s, 3 Jan. 1925–2 May 1925: Vol. 3, 690–3: 690. Other instalments are in Vol. 3: 874–7, 1056–7; Vol. 4: 118–19, 488–9, 664–5, 868–9, 1150–1; Vol. 5: 191–2, 280–1, 511–12, 660–1, 818–19, 968–9; Vol. 6: 116–17, 211–12, 426–7. 60
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to whet the readers’ interest in the ‘fluid, ever-changing tongue’ represented in the magazine’s stories: There are dives in New York’s underworld where a language is spoken that the ordinary citizen, listening in, would find impossible to understand. It isn’t English, French, German, or Yiddish; it is a language by itself. In various hobo “jungles” throughout the country the same tongue, with minor variations, is being spoken . . . This dictionary has been compiled by an authority. It is the fruit of a decade of intensive study. No such book has been offered for many years. All existing dictionaries of the sort are long since obsolete. Glance through this—61
The glossary was divided into fifteen instalments, most of two pages. In all, approximately 3150 entries for 2850 headwords are presented alphabetically. In a sample of 976 entries for 883 headwords, the largest semantic fields are crime & punishment (30 per cent); knowledge & communication (11 per cent); and money & poverty (10 per cent). Twenty-two per cent of entries duplicate an existing headword: MOAT, v., To throw away; to ditch a thing. MOAT, v., To throw down; to play false on a pal. MOAT, n., Rejection; casting away. MOAT, n., A throw-down; a betrayal. MOAT, n., A traitor. MOATER, n., One who throws spoils away. MOATER, n., A treacherous pal.
As these examples show, additional senses tend to be presented as separate headwords, which are not always clearly distinct from one another. This type of repetition is often characteristic of lists carelessly compiled from a number of sources, and a small number of entries are found in earlier dictionaries: Source qua a jail62 [Tufts (1807)] Jury Leg, a wooden leg . . . [Lexicon Balatronicum (1811)] Muslin, a woman or girl; “he picked up a bit of MUSLIN”. [Hotten (1874)] 61 62
Leverage (1925) QUA, n., A prison; a jail. JURY-LEG, n., A wooden leg. MUSLIN, n., A young girl.
Leverage, ‘Flynn’s Dictionary’, Flynn’s 3 (3 Jan. 1925), 690. Other dictionaries spell this quod or quad.
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However, given Leverage’s situation, it is more likely that he documented terms in use than that he was able to undertake extensive bibliographic research.
Herbert Yenne’s ‘Prison Lingo’ (1927) Herbert Austin Yenne (c.1899–?1993) completed his MA thesis on English plays of 1795–1825 at the University of Nebraska in 1927. He was a member of the university drama society, and is probably the Herbert Yenne who became director at the Long Beach Playhouse in 1941. Published in the recently founded periodical American Speech, Yenne’s list purports to represent language used within prison, introduced in suitably dramatic fashion: Behind the dim walls and strong bars of the prisons and reformatories of our country, there has developed, almost unnoticed, a new and interesting lingo. . . . From another cell we might catch the voices of two inmates in deep conversation: “Where did you fall from?” one inmate asks. “I got in a jam out in the sticks,” comes the answer; “Oh, I’m the fall guy all right,” the voice continues, “but it’s a bum rap . . .”63
The glossary explains words in the text more or less in order of appearance. Glosses to this extract include: Fall from—The place where he gets in trouble. Jam—To get into trouble, arrest, etc. Sticks—A small town or rural district (rustics). Fall guy—An innocent man that serves another’s sentence. Often one man will plead guilty to a charge or crime committed by several and “do the term” for them. Bum rap—Sentence imposed upon one who claims to be innocent.
A further eighty-four headwords, most of which are not in the text, include: Sand—Sugar. The line—Manner in which inmates go to meals, chapel, etc. (single file). 63
Herbert Yenne, ‘Prison Lingo’, American Speech 2 (Mar. 1927), 280–2: 280–1.
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Sacks—Tobacco. Used as a medium of exchange among the inmates, since they are not permitted to carry money. A sack has a value of about ten cents.
At the end of the glossary is a ‘poem composed recently by an inmate of the Nebraska Reformatory’64 that deals with judicial corruption. . . . you tell your friends as you leave the court How they framed you and left you flat; Now doesn’t it make you sore as hell When they tell you, “They can’t do that.”65
Charles L. Clark and E. E. Eubank’s Lockstep and Corridor (1927) Earle Edward Eubank (1887–1945) of the University of Cincinnati wrote numerous academic studies concentrating on unemployment, loan-sharks, family break-up, population movement, and the history and development of sociology.66 His co-author, Charles L. Clark (b.1866), was ‘Convict No. 5126, Illinois State Penitentiary’. Clark’s account of prison life provides much of the text of Lockstep and Corridor. Clark served thirty-five years in prison for ten different sentences, largely for burglary, robbery, and receiving stolen goods: I don’t believe there is any such person as a successful criminal. We all have the deluded idea that we can steal and not get caught, but I have never yet heard of a man who could realy do so. . . . When you figure the time spent in prison, the mental torture suffered (which no amount of money can pay for), you will find that the same effort spent in honest labor will pay more in every way than that gained by crime. . . . When I leave this place . . . I shall try to live such a life as will gain the respect of all those I may come in contact with. Prehaps it will be my pleasure to hear them say, “Well, Clark was a bad guy in his time, but he is realy a good guy now.”67
64
65 Ibid., 282. Ibid., 282. Biographical information from the University of Chicago library website, . 67 Charles L. Clark and E. E. Eubank, Lockstep and Corridor. Thirty-five Years of Prison Life (Cincinnati: University of Cincinnati Press, 1927), 134–6. Spelling is as in the original. 66
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Eubank appended a sociological analysis of Clark’s account. Appendix B is ‘A GLOSSARY OF CRIMINAL JARGON: Terms used by Criminals, as found in this narrative’. It contains seventy-four headwords, apparently defined without reference to other glossaries. Written in a more educated style than Clark’s, it is probably Eubank’s work, although attempts to distinguish between near-synonyms suggest that Clark provided guidance: Prowl (prowler)—rob a house by stealth, usually meaning while the inmates are at home. Slow work—daylight house robbery during absence of the family (as distinguished from prowling). Sneak work—house robbery while the inmates are at a meal (similar to prowling).
—as does some of the additional information provided: Take a rap—serve a sentence; particularly to do so for protection of another guilty person. Where more than one person is suspected, the one against whom the evidence is strongest accepts sentence without involving the others, in order that they may go free. Thimble-getter—a pickpocket who specializes in watches. (Looked down upon by those who specialize in purse-robbing.)
This, the first glossary appended to a sociological work on crime, belongs to the same era as Anderson’s work on hobo language.
Maurice Smith’s ‘Crook Argot’ (1928) Smith’s article, published in the ‘Contributors’ Column’ in American Speech, was based upon one by Norman Fuller in the Denver Rocky Mountain News. Smith notes that ‘The terms and definitions were compiled by Bert Clark, night captain of the Denver detective force’,68 and he quotes some of Clark’s definitions in the text, but provides others in a short non-alphabetical glossary. Smith groups synonymous
68
Maurice Smith, ‘Crook Argot’, American Speech 3 (1928), 254–5: 254.
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terms together, so although there are only thirty-five entries, fortyfour words are defined in total. These include: Rod, Smoke wagon, Roscoe—Gun. Goulash—False information. Noise—Heroin.
The glossary is predominantly concerned with crime & punishment (44 per cent); knowledge & communication; and weapons & violence (both 9 per cent).
Fred Witman’s ‘Jewelry Auction Jargon’ (1928) Witman’s brief glossary of twenty-nine terms used at jewellery auctions also appeared in the ‘Contributors’ Column’ of American Speech. He offered no explanation of his methodology, but insisted that this business is ‘never on the square’.69 Some entries are well defined: Come-on—A “come-on” has confidence in the auctioneer, and buys nearly everything put up, thinking that he is getting bargains. A “sucker.” Peter Funk—The imaginary purchaser of goods that fail to bring anticipated prices.
—but other terms remain obscure: Prat-the-shill—A verb phrase, giving an order to “shillabers” to step to the rear of the “come-ons.” Its meaning is different from its connotation. Yinceth—To trim a sucker. It also has another meaning, but because of postal regulations I shall omit it.
If we discount Wells’s glossary, as dealing with the language of drug addicts rather than dealers, this is the first glossary concentrating on the language of a specialized branch of criminal activity. Earlier lists tended to assume that all criminals held their vocabulary in common.
69
Fred Witman, ‘Jewelry Auction Jargon’, American Speech 3 (1928), 375–6: 375.
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A. J. Barr’s Let Tomorrow Come (1929) Let Tomorrow Come is catalogued as fiction, but reads as autobiography. It appears to be Barr’s only publication,70 and is divided into two sections: ‘Jailhouse’ and ‘Bighouse’. ‘Jailhouse’ describes the reception of new prisoners: In we go. We strip in an odor of excrement from under the great rotary cage, two decks high, and shove our clothes into a tub. After soaping them we turn live steam into the tub through a hose. The tub jumps on the steel floor, making a rumbling clatter. If the heat did not kill him, the hardiest louse would die of despair at the noise.71
The glossary, containing sixty-seven headwords, is presented as an appendix to the text. It explores all aspects of prison and criminal life: Blow (snow)—To use cocaine by inhaling it as powder through the nose. Gunsel—A passive male homosexual, usually a boy or youth. Rotary—A few jails in the United States still have a cell-block in the form of a drum containing two tiers of cells. The cells are shaped like the cuts of a pie. The drum revolves inside a circle of flat steel bars. Because the drum is built away from the outer walls of a jail and because it perpetually revolves, the cells in it are more than usually dark. In at least one jail of the few containing a rotary block the rotary does not revolve excepting when it is revolved manually to bring the mouth of a cell opposite the door to permit a prisoner to go through it into or out of his cell.
Barr distinguishes carefully between terms of related meaning, and makes one unsuccessful foray into etymology: Cannon—A pickpocket. It is presumed by some searchers into slang origins that the word evolved from the Yiddish gonov, meaning thief, which later became gon, and then gun. In the argot, cannon, rod, gun, gat, heater and torch are all used to designate a revolver or pistol. Cannon, however, is the only word of the group that is used synonymously with gun as a derivative from gonov.
OED and HDAS both treat gun and cannon as figurative uses of the standard English terms. 70 71
A copyright renewal notice of 1957 reveals his first name to be Albert. A. J. Barr, Let Tomorrow Come (New York: W. W. Norton, 1929), 4.
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William G. Shepherd’s ‘I Wonder Who’s Driving Her Now?’ (1929) and Atcheson Laughlin Hench’s ‘From the Vocabulary of Automobile Thieves’ (1930) Shepherd’s article tells the story of Bill James, a car thief who tricks an unwary dealer into fencing stolen vehicles. Shepherd gives advice to car-owners and buyers on how to safeguard themselves and their property, and provides a glossary headed ‘Motor Thieves Have a Jargon of their Own’.72 It was republished in American Speech by Atcheson Laughlin Hench (1891–1974), professor of English at the University of Virginia,73 with some additional material drawn from the text: Shepherd’s glossary Dog House—a small garage rented from a householder in a residence district.
Shepherd’s text “This afternoon I want you to turn over one thousand smackers to me for these two cars.” (7)
Hench dog-house—a small garage rented from a householder in a residential district, used for the safe storing of a stolen car for a few days till it can be disposed of. smacker—a dollar.
Hench thus adds five headwords to Shepherd’s twenty-four.
George Ingram’s Hell’s Kitchen (1930) In a British criminal autobiography, told to DeWitt Mackenzie ‘the head of a large London Newspaper syndicate’,74 we are told that George Ingram (a pseudonym) was an unlikely burglar, a Scotsman of good family: Ingram never drank or smoked. He rarely used slang. He never robbed a poor man, nor anyone from whom he had accepted hospitality. He did,
72 William G. Shepherd, ‘I Wonder Who’s Driving Her Now?’, Journal of American Insurance (Feb. 1929), 5–8. 73 Atcheson Laughlin Hench, ‘From the Vocabulary of Automobile Thieves’, American Speech 5 (1930), 236–7. He was later to publish a thesaurus of American slang. (See Coleman, Cant and Slang IV.) 74 George Ingram, Hell’s Kitchen. The Story of London’s Underworld as Related by the Notorious Ex-Burglar George Ingram to DeWitt Mackenzie (London: Jenkins, 1930), 2.
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too, a certain amount of welfare work amongst the slum-dwellers. He was, indeed, something of a twentieth-century Robin Hood.75
Ingram insists that the purpose of his narrative is to prove ‘that crime does not pay.’76 The glossary is included in Chapter XII ‘The Underworld Language’, and contains 127 entries for 115 headwords, though more terms are discussed in the text. Twenty-four per cent of entries are for rhyming slang terms, including: Burnt cinder Tomfoolery
The glossary concentrates on crime & punishment (22 per cent); clothes & jewellery77 (14 per cent); and knowledge & communication (12 per cent). The only overlaps with contemporary American lists are monack for monicker “a name” and rattler “a train”, which undermines the idea of an international underworld. Like No. 1500, Ingram ends his account by describing the difficulties involved in attempting to lead an honest life after imprisonment, and recommends that the authorities and society at large should do something to assist ex-convicts.’78
Jack Lait’s Gangster Girl (1930) Jacquin Leonard Lait (1882–1954) was a journalist and columnist. He wrote short stories and plays, but achieved particular success through a series of books co-written with Lee Mortimer: Washington Confidential, Chicago Confidential, USA Confidential, and New York Confidential. The last of these was adapted for film in 1955 and for television thereafter.79 Gangster Girl tells the story of Polack Annie, who flees the scene of her lover’s death in Chicago and comes under the wing of Silk Freeman, the criminal boss of New York. She falls in love with Tommy 75
76 Ibid., 2. Ibid., 21. Elsewhere in this chapter clothes and jewellery are grouped with other artefacts. In this glossary there are no terms for other artefacts. 78 Ingram, Hell’s Kitchen, 310. 79 The 1997 film LA Confidential is based on a 1990 novel of the same name by James Ellroy. 77
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Gillespie, the son of a contractor whose business Silk is targeting, but Silk’s murder by a rival gang frees the lovers to pursue their romance without fear of mysterious accidents. The ‘Underworld Glossary’ is presented as an appendix and lists ‘words and phrases used in my three latest books, “Gangster Girl,” “Put on the Spot” and “The Big House,” taking in the current argot of thieves, gangsters, racketeers, and convicts.’80 It contains 430 entries for 402 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (28 per cent) and knowledge & communication (9 per cent). Seventy-seven entries (23 per cent) include a total of 151 synonymous terms. A few entries include up to eleven synonyms, but most provide only one or two: Heavy-worker (n.) Safe-blower. (Var.: O’Sullivan, Muzzler). Sand (exc.) “Pull up” or “Go easy.” (Its significance is “Put sand on the tracks.”)
Etymologies, provided in 11 per cent of entries, are frequently of the unreliably anecdotal type: Racket (n.) Any method of “muscling in” on a legitimate or illegal business, by force, threats, attack at the buying or selling end, connivance with authorities or with unions. (Origin: “Big Tim” Murphy, originator of the system and the phrase, stood at the Briggs House bar in Chicago. He was king of his field. “Umbrella Jim” Boyle, a small-fry emulator came in. Boyle had just organized a minor union for purposes of a “shake.” He pointed to a front-page article and boasted: “This is the Big Noise today!” Murphy glanced at it contemptuously and answered, “Big Noise, Hell—that’s just a racket!”)
Racket had been in use with this sense for well over a century by the time of Murphy’s witticism, but its repeated appearance in the next few pages demonstrates that the term gained a new lease of life in this context. 80 Jack Lait, Gangster Girl (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1930), 213. Noel Ersine (Underworld and Prison Slang (Upland Indiana: A. D. Freese & Son, 1933), 5) makes reference to glossaries by Lait in his syndicated column ‘Highlights of Broadway’, but because he gives no indication of where the column was published, I have not been able to trace it. Presumably it contains some of the same material as these glossaries.
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Roy Chadwick’s Liberty glossaries (1930) Although subtitled ‘A Weekly for Everybody’, the contents and advertisements suggest that Liberty magazine was written primarily for housewives. In July 1930, it began publishing a series of crime exposés by Roy Chadwick, ‘as told to Eugene Segal’, a freelance journalist:81 “Roy Chadwick” is an alias of an all-round racketeer who is notorious in southern Ohio. It was under this name that he took his first “rap,” a term in a state reformatory.82
The testimony of Charles P. Taft, prosecuting attorney of Hamilton County, provides further authentication: ‘I know the man and I know that this is his story’.83 The articles are written in a similarly sparse and emotionless style: We load a car with soup, tools and caps, and set out on a tour. Whenever we see a mark that looks good we note it in a book. Then we back-track a few days later and take off everything we have listed. That’s a flyer. We made all of Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. We rarely went below the Mason-Dixon line, unless some heavy dough was promised, as they’re used to trying black men down there and burn you up with long time.84
In each article a short boxed glossary defines cant terms used in the text. In this piece it is headed ‘ “Mob Talk” in This Story, and What It Means’. Definitions tend to be brief and rarely include any additional information. In all, the eight glossaries contain 125 entries for 120 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (38 per cent); knowledge & communication (24 per cent); and money (12 per cent). In fact, only ninety-two senses are provided, because thirty-three of the entries define terms already listed in one of the other glossaries, including: 81 Roy Chadwick, ‘Heist Guy’, Liberty (5 Jul. 1930), 18–20, 23–5; ‘My Racket is Autos’ (19 Jul. 1930), 22–9; ‘I Crack Some Petes’ (2 Aug. 1930), 36–42; ‘Cleaning the Jugs’ (23 Aug. 1930), 30–4; ‘Grabbing the Lush’ (6 Sep. 1930), 30–5; ‘Thieves’ Honor’ (11 Oct. 1930), 27–30, 32; ‘I Get Some Steers’ (15 Nov. 1930), 74–8; ‘With Thanks to the Fences’ (29 Nov. 1930), 70–4. Burke, Literature of Slang, 91, also lists ‘Meet the Moll’ (5 Nov. 1930), 36–8, 43–4, which does not include a glossary, and ‘In My Parlor’, Liberty (20 Nov. 1930), 74–8, which is not to be found in that issue or any from that or the previous year. 82 83 Chadwick, ‘I Crack Some Petes’, 36. Chadwick, ‘Heist Guy’, 18. 84 Chadwick, ‘I Crack Some Petes’, 40. The illustrations to Chadwick’s stories depict only white criminals.
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C—One hundred dollars [‘I Crack Some Petes’] C—100 dollars [‘Thieves’ Honor’] C—Century note; $100 [‘I Get Some Steers’] C—Century note; $100 [‘With Thanks to the Fences’]
There is no statistically significant semantic bias in the duplication of terms.
Paul Robert Beath’s ‘More Crook Words’ (1930) Beath presented American Speech with this glossary based on an article by Colonel Charles G. Givens in the Saturday Evening Post of the previous year: Colonel Givens is (in his own words) “a rough and tumble newspaper man” who has “worked in a dozen cities as a crime reporter.” The terms listed may be understood to be current in the underworlds of the larger American cities.85
Fifteen of Beath’s entries make reference to Kane’s ‘Jargon of the Underworld’ list (see Chapter 10). For instance: bang, n. A charge of dope. (K: to kill by shooting). flash, n. Suit of clothes. (K: to turn state’s evidence). heat, n. Pistol. (K).
Only one entry provides more than a brief definition: Spot, the, n. A piece of carpet eight inches square on which an offending prisoner must stand for two days. In some prisons the Spot is a painted mark on the wall against which the prison [sic] must hold his nose.
James P. Burke’s ‘The Argot of the Racketeers’ (1930) This glossary was published in Mencken’s American Mercury. The Mercury’s contents were extremely diverse, with articles in this issue including ‘Why I do not become an American’, ‘Sex and the Bishops’, ‘Oklahoma Note Book’, and ‘Tom Paine’. The list of authors notes that ‘James P. Burke lives in Detroit. He was in the liquor racket 85
Paul Robert Beath, ‘More Crook Words’, American Speech 6 (1930), 131–4: 131.
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there until 1929.’ The glossary has no introduction other than Burke’s brief comment that he is concentrating on words used only by racketeers. He notes that ‘A few very pungent ones have had to be omitted on grounds of decorum’.86 Most of the entries include examples of use: Catholic, n.: A pickpocket. “Work? Hell no, me broad’s a catholic.” Kosher, adj.: Not guilty of; above reproach; clean. “Listen shamus, you got me wrong. I’m strictly kosher.” Shamus, n.: A police officer; a stool pigeon. “Ewscray, sitay shamus.”
The inclusion of other slang terms (e.g. broad in catholic and shamus in kosher) and other non-standard forms (e.g. me for my in catholic and you for you’ve in kosher), along with the use of pig Latin in shamus, gives these examples an air of authenticity that they probably do not merit.
John Wilstach’s ‘New Words’ (1931) John Hudnall Wilstach (b.1891) was a short-story writer and novelist specializing in circus and carnival life, crime, and science fiction. This article, in the Saturday Review of Literature comments that Funk and Wagnalls’ dictionary is not up to date in its treatment of slang, and includes a plug for Wilstach’s novel: In fiction, of course, I don’t believe in using any words that will not be readily understood through context. My police thriller, “Under Cover Man,” which came out recently doesn’t, I think, contain any argot not readily caught by the quick reader.87
He lists twenty-four terms ‘common among racketeers, not yet in general use’, including: Creep-Joint—Gambling joint that moves nightly. Jug—Jail, also hoosegow, cannery, poogie, stone mansion, college. Stiff racket—Death. 86 87
James P. Burke, ‘The Argot of the Racketeers’, The American Mercury 21 (Dec. 1930), 454–8: 454. John Wilstach, ‘New Words’, Saturday Review of Literature 7 (18 Jul. 1931), 978.
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William Leavitt Stoddard’s Financial Racketeering and How to Stop it (1931) Shrewd investors had been able to amass huge fortunes through speculation in America’s developing economy. ‘Thousands of Americans emulated them . . . Often it seemed only sensible to get into debt to get in on a sure thing.’88 This willingness to take financial risks made the unwary investor a popular target for confidence men. William Leavitt Stoddard (1884–1954) was a Harvard graduate with various roles in government, charity, and business. He published books on industrial relations, golf, motoring, and Shakespeare.89 This one reveals the various scams used on the stock exchange.90 The glossary, which contains only twenty-three headwords, is near the beginning: Boiler Room—A telephone room from which a battery of salesmen work a telephone “razz.” Clean Deal—A cash sale. Up and up—An honest transaction or a legitimate deal is said to be “on the up and up.”
George Milburn’s ‘Convicts’ Jargon’ (1931) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Milburn introduces his list by explaining that it was compiled by Daniel Conway, an inmate of Auburn Prison in New York State who had been helping Milburn to collect tramp and underworld ballads: The present compilation appears here essentially as Mr. Conway sent it out to me in a series of letters. The definitions stand as he wrote them. I have taken the liberty to illustrate certain words with specimen sentences culled from his letters; I have added a few words that he has used in his letters, but omitted in his list; and I have eliminated several words that seemed to me too obvious, or too well-known, to be included.91 88
Handlin, American People, 267. Biographical information unconfirmed from genealogy pages on rootsweb.com: . 90 William Leavitt Stoddard, Financial Racketeering and How to Stop it (New York/London: Harper & Brothers, 1931). 91 George Milburn, ‘Convicts’ Jargon’, American Speech 6 (1931), 436–42: 436. 89
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Milburn’s further research, by correspondence, had demonstrated that the terms were widely used. Conway remarked that ‘There are no words beginning with A so naturally I didn’t try to include any’.92 The list contains 173 entries for 167 headwords. Twenty-nine include examples of use, as noted in Milburn’s introduction. For instance: boffo, n. A year. “He was handed ten boffos.” McCoy, the, adj. Genuine. “That ballad is the McCoy.” pea soup, adj. No good. “This gee is pea soup.”
The list appears to have been independently compiled, and could be used to confirm the currency of terms listed elsewhere. Rose took seventeen of the first fifty entries in the ‘prison’ glossary in his Thesaurus from Milburn’s list: Milburn (1931) Coney Island, n. A room used by police for the third degree. jackin’, n. A beating with a blackjack by the police.
Rose (1934) Room Used for the Third Degree (n. phr.): Coney Island. Beating with a Blackjack (n.): a jackin’.
Rose’s use of Milburn’s list is in line with a random selection. He combined the material from Milburn with terms from Hi Simons’s list, discussed below.
Early lists by David W. Maurer: ‘The Argot of the Underworld’ and ‘The Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’ (both 1931), and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) David Warren Maurer (1905–81) was professor of English at the University of Louisville, and a pioneer in applying sociological techniques to the study of language. In the late 1920s, Maurer began his research career with ‘Schoonerisms: Some Speech-Peculiarities of the North Atlantic Fishermen’,93 with whom he was working on behalf of 92
Ibid., 437. American Speech 5 (1930), 387–95. Maurer’s ‘The Argot of the Underworld Narcotic Addict’ (American Speech 11 (1936), 116–27) will be discussed in Coleman Cant and Slang IV, along with a later paper of the same name (American Speech 13 (1938), 179–92). They were republished in Maurer’s The Language of the Underworld (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1981) as ‘Part I’ and ‘Part II’ of the same glossary. His ‘Junker Lingo’, American Speech 10 (1935), 27–8, does not include a glossary. 93
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Clarence Birdseye. From them he learnt some of the cant of the rumrunners, and he went on to document many forms of non-standard language, changing the nature of the field beyond recognition: when Maurer began his pioneering work, observation of our non-standard language was limited almost solely to members of the American Dialect Society. Regional dialects were still often discussed as “quaint” . . . and social dialects were practically untouched. . . . Descriptive lexicography (defining words in terms of behaviour patterns) was a theory rather than a practice . . . Though some anthropologists and linguists had studied the language and culture of primitive tribes far removed in time or place from twentieth-century America, no respected scholar wanted to devote his life to studying the “illiterate” occupational, social, or other speechways of modern culture.94
There is no doubt that Maurer was an influential and well-known expert in his field, but his many articles provide relatively little information about his fieldwork techniques. Fortunately Flexner, one of Maurer’s students, offered more information, noting that Maurer never relied upon a single informant, but used ‘up to several hundred on some projects’,95 documenting only information collected in the field. Futrell explored Maurer’s methodology further and noted that he selected his informants carefully with reference to their ‘intelligence [and] professional standing’ and supplemented interviews lasting two to six hours with written material contributed by informants he had found to be reliable.96 In the early stages of his research, Maurer was not able to tape his informants, and had to rely on memory and notes. The practical application of his scholarly articles is demonstrated by the training that Maurer provided to professionals in rehabilitation and law-enforcement.97 Maurer tended to talk of ‘subcultures’ rather than ‘the underworld’, emphasizing the fluidity of relationships between individuals and groups,98 and his articles typically concentrate on a single subculture. He rejected the commonly asserted view that cant is used for
94
Maurer, Language of the Underworld, Foreword by Stuart Berg Flexner, vii–viii. Ibid., viii–ix. 96 Maurer, Language of the Underworld, Introduction by Allan W. Futrell, 6. 97 Much of the biographical information is from Raven I. McDavid, Jr., ‘David Maurer (1905– 1981): A Memoir’, American Speech 57 (1982), 277–87: 282. 98 See Maurer, Language of the Underworld, Introduction by Futrell, 1–3. 95
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concealment, arguing rather that it functions as a marker of group identity only to be used when there are no outsiders to overhear it. Maurer worked towards a dictionary of criminal argot, but did not bring the project to completion.99 ‘The Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’ lists 122 entries for 108 headwords, as used in the late 1920s and early 1930s by professional safe-crackers.100 Forty-eight per cent of entries provide examples of use, twelve of which include personal names. Joe appears four times and Bill twice.101 The list concentrates on crime & punishment (20 per cent); leisure & pleasure (10 per cent); and war, violence & weapons (9 per cent). ‘The Argot of the Underworld’, published later although it appears to be the earlier list, contains 446 entries for 427 headwords.102 These concentrate on crime & punishment (36 per cent); money & poverty (10 per cent); and war, violence & weapons (7 per cent). Forty-three per cent of entries provide examples of use, 38 of which include personal names, some more than one. Six names account for about 41 per cent of these entries: Bill (7 times), Joe (5), Red (4), and John(ny), Sam and Bull three times each. Ten per cent of entries include synonyms or other semantically related terms. All but twelve of the entries in the ‘Jug-Heavy’ list are also found in ‘Argot’, with minor changes in only a few of them: duster, n. A sheet iron door between the outer door of a safe and the inner compartments. “That [‘Jug-Heavy’: The] shot cracked the duster.” bug, n. A burglar alarm. “Douse [‘Jug-Heavy’: Ding] that bug if you can find the connection.”
The ‘Jug-Heavy’ list contains significantly more entries providing grammatical information and significantly fewer including crossreferences or semantically related terms (all p = 0.01; See Appendix, Table 11.1). Rose used Maurer’s ‘Argot’ list for the ‘underworld’ glossary in his Thesaurus (see Chapter 7). Of the first fifty-one entries, twenty-three
99
McDavid, ‘David Maurer’, 283. David W. Maurer, ‘The Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’, Writer’s Digest 11 (Oct. 1931), 27–9. 101 Bill had already featured in Ducange Anglicus’s Vulgar Tongue and thence in Matsell’s Vocabulum. See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 97, 230. 102 David W. Maurer, ‘The Argot of the Underworld’, American Speech 7 (1931), 99–118. 100
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(45 per cent) are from Maurer’s glossary, though Rose modified them in various ways: Maurer (1931) after the beef, adv. phr. After the report goes in to the police. “It’s your funeral after the beef.” rung up, adj. phr. To have the appearance altered.
Rose (1934) After the Report Has Reached the Police (prep. phr.): after the beef. Alter the Appearance of (v. phr.): to ring up; ex. Joe wants you to ring up this hot short.
Rose selects in favour of terms for success & approval (p = 0.01) from Maurer’s list, perhaps to emphasize the underworld’s deviant value system.
Variety’s ‘English Underworld Slang’, Critchell Rimington’s Bon Voyage Book, John H. Birss’s ‘English Underworld Slang’ (all 1931), and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Perhaps in response to the detailed coverage of American underworld slang, Variety magazine provided ‘a fairly comprehensive list of the slanguage of the English underworld’, conflating it with ‘The Cockney idiom, dead except in the English lower classes, [which] usually confuses Americans when up against it for the first time.’103 The glossary includes 109 entries for 108 headwords, arranged in no apparent order, though there is some semantic grouping. The list had not been proofread with any care and contains some duplications: Twirl—Key or warder. Twirl—Warder. Twirls—Keys.
The glossary concentrates on crime & punishment (24 per cent); money & poverty; and clothes, jewellery & other artefacts (each 19 per cent). It was republished in full in Critchell Rimington’s Bon Voyage Book, among other practical advice ‘for the Modern Ocean Traveller’, and by John W. Birss as a ‘list of expressions interesting to 103
the student of speech’.104 Although the title within Rimington’s text is ‘English Underworld Slang’, the table of contents lists it as ‘cockney slang’, and Rimington remarks that: ‘If you are going to London you might as well get used to [the following cockney idioms], for they are the common lingo of the English lower class’.105 The list was also picked up by Rose, presumably through American Speech, and he derived forty-three of the first fifty-one entries (84 per cent) of his ‘English Underworld’ glossary from it: Birss (1931) Oliver or tumble—Being wise to what’s happening.
Kettle—Watch. Thimble or gerry—Watch.
Rose (1934) Aware of a happening (adj.): oliver; tumble; ex: Don’t worry, I’ll be oliver of everything that goes on. Watch (n.): a kettle; thimble; gerry.
Many of the terms in this list had been included in eighteenth-century glossaries of canting language. It is not clear how Variety compiled it.
Eruera Tooné, Yankee Slang (1932) In the volume, already discussed in Chapter 7, Tooné also included a glossary of criminal terms, concentrating on crime & punishment (46 per cent); weapons & violence (12 per cent); and knowledge & communication (12 per cent). Only seven entries (2 per cent) include examples of use, a significant fall from the 10 per cent of the main list. The provision of alternative forms of the headword falls from 3 per cent to zero (both p = 0.01). Although is it possible that Tooné used an earlier list, either Matsell’s or Trumble’s: Trumble (1881) Black-Spy. The devil. Zucke. A dilapidated prostitute.
104
Tooné (1932) Black spy: Old Nick. Zucke: An old prostitute.
John W. Birss, ‘English Underworld Slang’, American Speech 6 (1931), 391–3: 391. Critchell Rimington, Bon Voyage Book. An Intimate Guide for the Modern Ocean Traveler by ‘Old Salt’ (New York: John Day, 1931), 88. 105
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—there are also entries that bear the stamp of personal experience: Sucker: A softy, flat, fool, easy mark—prey to crooks. I asked a manufacturer how he managed to sell the poor quality machines he was showing me, and he answered: “Wall, I guess there’s a sucker born every minute, and sometimes he’s twins.” Witness stand: In American courts a witness, when testifying, usually remains seated in a chair. Neither judges nor counsel wear wigs and robes . . . It is not an uncommon practice for judges to chew a quid of tobacco when on the bench; in one instance the judge tongued the quid into his cheek from time to time while he remarked: “Objection overruled,” or “Objection sustained.” His shots of tobacco juice at a distant cuspidor were marked by considerable precision.
Like the other list in this volume, Tooné’s glossary of criminal terms concentrates on differences between British and American usage. As witness stand demonstrates, not all of the terms are slang.
W. L. Hanchant’s Newgate Garland (1932) Wilfred Lewis Hanchant (1901–78) was the curator of a museum in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire. He edited a book on antiques and published collections of poetry by Thomas Haynes Bayly, speeches by British Prime Ministers, and short stories by various writers. His own short stories appeared in a magazine called Lilliput between 1944 and 1951. This book is an anthology of criminal and canting verse, along with ‘an Anonymous but Authentic Autobiography of a Thief, written during the ‘seventies in thieves’ and prison slang’106 that was originally published in Macmillan’s Magazine. Hanchant’s introduction tells of a manuscript delivered to an Edinburgh hangman by Jack Fireblood in 1841. Some of the verses are included in Hanchant’s book, along with ‘such other later nineteenthcentury canting and slang songs as, with his original intention, I feel sure he would have approved.’107 The authors include Bulwer Lytton, Ainsworth, Egan, Matsell, Ducange Anglicus, and Henley, all
106 W. L. Hanchant, The Newgate Garland or, Flowers of Hemp (London: Desmond Harmsworth, 107 1932), title page. Ibid., 21.
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of whom either contributed to or based their work upon slang or cant dictionaries. The note to the glossary reads: The entries are not to be regarded as complete, and fuller information should be looked for in John Camden Hotten’s “Slang Dictionary,” in the seven volumes of Farmer and Henley’s “Slang and its Analogues,” or in Heinrich Baumann’s “Londinismen [sic] (Slang and Cant),” works which, with others of minor importance, I have laid under contribution for the purpose of this glossary.108
The glossary contains 607 entries for 505 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (25 per cent); clothes, jewellery & other artefacts; and money & poverty (both 12 per cent). It is rarely possible to determine Hanchant’s source for individual entries, because some terms had appeared in numerous earlier dictionaries (see Appendix, Table 11.2), but he appears to have used at least two of the sources he claimed: Hotten (1874) Best, to get the better or best of a man in any way—not necessarily to cheat—to have the best of a bargain. bested, taken in, or defrauded, in reality worsted . . .
Hanchant Best, v. To get the better of any one, but not necessarily by cheating, though bested, taken in, or defrauded, means worsted in reality.
Farmer & Henley [citations omitted] DEAD-’UN, subs. (thieves’). —1. An uninhabited house. . . . 2. (common).—A halfquartern loaf. . . . 3. (turf).—A horse destined to be scratched or not intended to win, and against which odds may be safely laid. . . .
Dead ’un, n. An untenanted house. Also, in common slang, a half-quartern-loaf, and in turf slang, a horse intended to be scratched.
Works ‘of minor importance’ appear to include Grose’s dictionary and Barrère and Leland’s. It is probable that Hanchant also used Horsley’s Jottings from Jail: Jottings from Jail One day there was a fête at Clapton, and I was coming home with my 108
Hanchant Kipsey, or kipsey [sic], n. A wicker basket.
Ibid., 133.
Dictionaries of Crime kipsy (basket); . . . I just stopped to pipe (see) what was going on when a reeler came up to me and rapped (said), “Now,——, you had better guy, or else I shall give you a drag (three months in prison).”109
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Pipe, v. To see, spy, watch, notice. Reeler, n. A policeman, or detective. Rap, v. To talk rapidly and violently. Guy, v. To run away . . . Drag, n. Three months’ imprisonment. . . .
—although both Farmer and Henley and Barrère and Leland made good use of Horsley’s book. Given the reliability with which Hanchant includes these terms, however, it is more likely that Horsley was a direct source than that the entries were weeded out of a larger dictionary. Several of the entries not found in Hanchant’s sources employ the same type of word formation, perhaps reflecting a linguistic fad of the time: Bruisery, n. Pugilism. Fudgery, n. Nonsense, humbug. Sloshery, n. Drink.
Hanchant does not claim that his word-list is either original or contemporary. It does not add anything to our knowledge of British criminal language of the 1930s, but it does demonstrate the continued appeal of the criminals of an earlier era.
Associated Press ‘Dispatch from Chicago’ and ‘The American “Ganguage” ’ (both 1932) A short list of criminal cant appeared in the ‘Notes and Queries’ section in American Speech in 1933, with only a brief preamble: Associated Press. Dispatch from Chicago date March 26, 1932. The following novelties prevailing among Chicago gunmen are listed and defined: mr. whiskers—a general term for the Federal government, especially its law-enforcement officers, as opposed to city police. 109
Rev. J. W. Horsley, Jottings from Jail. Note and Papers on Prison Matters (London: Unwin, 1887), 7.
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troops—a substitute for mob, or gang. whacks—general term for any form of force, most often used in the phrase, to put the whacks on some one.110
A further eight entries are omitted here, but these illustrate the style of the list, particularly its concentration on providing the latest synonyms for well-known terms and its non-alphabetical presentation. The same list appeared in Literary Digest under the heading ‘The American ‘Ganguage’ ’ with a fuller introduction: The busy brains of the underworld may not be raking in the profits so lavishly these days, what with Mr. Capone out of circulation, but they go right on making language . . . “Changing conditions with new demands on vocabularies, new symbolisms grasped by the gangster mind, or a mere need for terminological novelty have brought forth a number of so far unrecorded phrases in recent months.” Here are some of them:111
The two lists are identical except in minor details of typography and in a slight rewording of the final entry: to go out in the country—to be taken [‘American Ganguage’ omits: to be] for a ride, most ride victims being found in an unpopulated spot.
The OED cites the same list from the Charlottesville Daily Progress (at troop). Like the newspaper flapper glossaries discussed in Chapter 7, this list appears to have provided journalists with an easy way to cater to contemporary public interest.
Robert M. Hyatt’s ‘Correct Underworld “Lingo” ’ (1932) This glossary of about 100 words appeared in The Editor, a publication offering guidance to the aspiring writer. Hyatt notes that: To the writer of underworld, gangster and racketeer stories, a typical vocabulary is just as important as that of the writer of sea, air, and 110 111
‘Associated Press. Dispatch from Chicago’, American Speech 8 (1933), 55. ‘The American ‘Ganguage’ ’, Literary Digest 113.2 (9 Apr. 1932), 36.
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baseball stories. . . . in order to make your story ring true you must flavor [your gangster’s] dialogue with such descriptive expressions as appear herein.112
Hyatt makes no claim to inside knowledge and does not describe how he collected his list, but it appears to have some debt to Finerty’s Criminalese, though he usually adds examples of use and often rephrases the definitions: Finerty (1926) Airedale—A special guard.
Lug—Stupid fellow, a hanger on. Pat poke—Wallet in hip pocket.
Hyatt (1932) Airedale: A special guard. “If you get past the airedale that job is easy.” Lug: A stupid fellow; a hanger-on. Pat Poke: A wallet carried in the hip pocket. “He had the geetus in a pat poke.”
The examples of use often provide further slang and cant terms, not all of which are listed in their own right.
Goat Laven’s Rough Stuff (1933) In his criminal autobiography, dictated to unnamed editors, Laven tells of his travels in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, of working as a bootlegger and drug-pusher, and of his experiences in prison. It is not clear why the book was published in Britain rather than America, but Laven is critical of police and political corruption: I have met many thieves and grifters in my time . . . and all have impressed on me that money was power, and that any policeman could be bought. . . . The system in America is so corrupt that it gives the thieves and gangsters a hold over the whole country; if that system were changed they could be eliminated in five years.113
112 113
Robert M. Hyatt, ‘Correct Underworld ‘Lingo’ ’, The Editor 96 (6 Feb. 1932), 110–14: 110. Goat Laven, Rough Stuff. The Life Story of a Gangster (London: Falcon, 1933), 166, 214.
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The following passage, an example of one dense with slang, occurs when Laven realizes that he cannot fool a police officer who is questioning him: So after inferring that he’d use the sap on my melon (head) he gave it up as a bad job. I didn’t try to pull any sob-stuff on this dick, if I had he would have torn my can (head) off, and well I knew it.114
The glossary defines the following terms from the extract: Can Dick, a Melon Sap, a
Head. Also jail or cell A detective Head A cosh or blackjack
The glossary, added by the editors, precedes the text, suggesting that a British audience could not be expected to follow the narrative without it. It contains 116 entries for 115 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (36 per cent, including eight terms relating to drug use); knowledge & communication (12 per cent); and geography & travel (9 per cent).
Charles E. Leach’s On Top of the Underworld (1933) Charles E. Leach (b.1881) was a third generation London police officer who rose to the rank of detective inspector. This book describes Leach’s own police experience as well as his childhood involvement in his father’s investigations. He arranges significant cases by type, but there is also a general chronology running through the book. Given his long perspective on crime and policing, Leach likes to comment on changes through time: When I was a young man, judges were accustomed to mete out severe sentences, even to first offenders . . . Such a practice can, in my opinion, only result in swelling the ranks of the vicious and embittered type of miscreant . . . the First Offenders and other Acts have resulted in more humane treatment for the first offender and, indeed, all round; this is an immense step forward, but we still have a long way to go.115 114
Ibid., 92. Charles E. Leach, On Top of the Underworld. The Personal Reminiscences of Ex-Divisional Detective-Inspector Charles E. Leach Late of New Scotland Yard (London: Sampson Low, Marston & Co, 1933), 1, 4, 5. 115
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Chapter X (‘Crooks’ “Argot”. . .’), includes a glossary of 146 entries for 144 headwords: but a fraction of the better-known locutions from that unexpectedly rich vocabulary of argot, with which every crook is familiar, and every detective has to familiarize himself, if he is to do good “business.”116
It concentrates on crime & punishment (40 per cent); knowledge & communication; clothes, jewellery, & other artefacts (both 13 per cent); and money & poverty (11 per cent). The entries typically provide little information beyond a headword and definition. Where a single term has more than one sense, separate headwords tend to be provided: Drag Drag Snout Snout
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
Three months’ hard labour. A van. Tobacco. Informer.
The definitions are not always successful accounts of the meaning or grammatical function of the headwords: Clouting . . or silk between Raking . . Showing up .
. her . .
. . A woman shop thief carrying rolls of cloth legs. . . Term used by letter-box thieves. . . Convict making monthly report to the police.
Noel Ersine’s Underworld and Prison Slang (1933) In his acknowledgements, Ersine notes that he had three informants who were still inside prison and also that he made use of Jack Lait’s glossaries, with Lait’s permission. In his introduction, Ersine tries to maintain both that American underworld slang is known only to the initiated, but also that it is widely used on the fringes of the underworld by individuals with ‘a romantic desire to appear knowing’:117 The criminal gets seventy-five per cent of his knowledge from the papers; he is a newspaper addict, and crime is his favorite subject. Any new crimeword which a reporter uses at once becomes the criminal’s. . . . What [some
116
Ibid., 137.
117
Ersine, Underworld and Prison Slang, 8.
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authors] apparently fail to comprehend is that a great number of their readers are people who understand and use the underworld jargon.118
Ersine’s estimate of 1500 terms and more than 1700 definitions is realistic. A sample of 854 entries for 719 headwords concentrates on crime & punishment (33 per cent), with money & poverty, the next largest field, representing only 7 per cent of the list’s semantic coverage. He claims to have listed only current terms, and to have excluded those restricted to aged criminals or individual gangs. Ersine includes other slang terms in approximately a third of his definitions. Where he does not provide enough information for the non-initiate, the slang synonyms function as implicit cross-references: choke, n. A Gilligan hitch. gilligan, gilligan hitch. (From Mr. Gilligan, an old-time strong-arm actor.) A strangle-hold used by robbers. The strangler, attacking from the rear, slips the crook of his elbow under the victim’s chin and throttles him. white mule. Moonshine. moon, moonshine, n. Illegal booze.
Twenty-seven per cent of entries include examples of use. These are usually quite brief, but generally serve admirably to illustrate meaning and usage: boost, v. To shoplift. “Jenny boosted in every store in town.” ice, v. To imprison. “The judge iced the whole mob.” rap, v. To sentence to any jail. “The judge rapped a fin on Hank.”
Hi Simons’s ‘A Prison Dictionary (expurgated)’ (1933) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) H. A. (Hi) Simons (1886–1945) was a journalist, art critic, poet, and publisher. This paper in American Speech begins with the pre- and postwar history of Fort Leavenworth, a military prison at which he had spent eighteen months as a political prisoner. He comments particularly on prison slang: Except for a few terms from the I.W.W. vocabulary, we added nothing to it; but we compiled it. Fourteen-three-o-six wrote down the words as 118
Ibid., 9, 12.
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we reported them to him. Eleven-seven-forty-seven, who had a job as stenographer in the Executive Office, typed out the list. . . . Of course I have drastically expurgated the list we made at Fort Leavenworth for presentation here. A complete prison dictionary would be, among other things, an encyclopedia of all imaginable sexual deviations. Every one of them is dwelt upon and yearned for by prisoners.119
Despite Simons’s censorship of the list, it is still rather more explicit than the norm, and ten entries (3 per cent) deal with sex, sexuality & prostitution (see climb a tier and wolf). The list contains 273 entries for 246 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (25 per cent); geography & travel (8 per cent); and knowledge & communication (6 per cent). Eighteen per cent of entries provide additional material, often etymological speculation or encyclopaedic information, within square brackets: CLIMB A TIER. Hunt, or run down, a boy. [The sodomites did climb from tier to tier in the open-cell wings at night; if they attempted to walk up the stairs they might be seen by the guards.] SHIV. Knife, dagger. [Hard guys’ talk, probably related to shove and associated with the idea of shoving the weapon into someone.]120
Seventeen per cent of entries include semantically related terms (e.g. ridge runner), 15 per cent offer examples of use (e.g. mess up), and 13 per cent suggest etymologies (e.g. keeno). More unusual is the inclusion of anecdotes based on personal experience in 13 per cent of entries (e.g. wolf ): KEENO. Preferred form of keen, meaning fine, excellent, beautiful, all right, etc. [Cf. clemo, lemo, pruno.] MESS UP. Get into a scrape. Boy, I ain’t a-goin’ t’ mess up no more from now on. I on’y got eighty-one more days ‘n’ a get-up. RIDGE RUNNER. Originally an Arkansas, rather than a Kentucky, hill billy. Any uncouth stupid fellow. [Brought in by the Southerners.] WOLF. Boy-seducer. The first time I heard the word in this reference was when a lad 16 years old, who had been sent up for false enlistment— in this case, falsely swearing that he was of legal age to enlist—came to the Sickey Ackey office and asked to be transferred back from an open-cell wing to a closed cell because the wolves got after him every night. 119
Hi Simons, ‘A Prison Dictionary (expurgated)’, American Speech 8 (1933), 22–33: 23. Shiv is derived from chive, a cant term for ‘knife’ dating back to the seventeenth century. It has already been cited, in various forms, from glossaries of First World War slang and hoboes’ language. 120
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Of the first fifty entries in the ‘prison’ glossary in Rose’s Thesaurus (see Chapter 7), seventeen (34 per cent) are from Simons: Simons (1933) EX-VIC. Ex-convict. NUX. Tea. TOOL. To stall or loaf.
Rose (1934) Ex-Convict (n.): an ex-vic. Tea (n.): nux. Loaf (v): to tool.
Rose selected in favour of terms for leisure & pleasure (p = 0.01). He combined the material from Simons with terms from Milburn’s convict list, discussed above.
H. T. Webster’s ‘They Don’t Speak Our Language’ (1933) Harold Tucker Webster (1885–1953) was a syndicated cartoonist, whose work appeared daily in the Chicago Tribune.121 ‘They Don’t Speak Our Language’ was a series exploring the difficulty that various social subgroups, such as psychiatrists and the military, have in communicating with the rest of the world. This article, in Forum magazine, links discussions of several of these groups and presents a short glossary of criminal language. Webster remarks that ‘anybody who tries to issue a one-volume lexicon of American slang will have something the size of a cow barn’,122 and attempts to contribute to this undertaking by presenting, among other material, a New York plainclothes policeman’s monologue, allegedly overheard: “This Peterman,” quoth he, “has a keister full of power. “He cases the joint and skeletons in. He just gets the jug souped when the dark horse makes him. Well, this gun is a bangster, all snowed up, so he gives the dark horse the heat and lams.”123
The monologue is followed immediately by a glossary: I’ll give you the glossary and you can roll your own story. Peterman— safe-blower; keister—suit case; power—explosive; cases the joint—looks over the place; skeletons in—uses skeleton keys; soup—another word 121 Biographical information from John Steele Gordon, Webster’s Unalloyed’, American Heritage 42.5 (Sep. 1991). Page numbers unavailable online at . 122 H. T. Webster, ‘They Don’t Speak Our Language’, Forum 90 (Dec. 1933), 367–72: 368. 123 Ibid., 369.
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for nitroglycerin; jug—safe; dark horse—night watchman; gun—crook; bangster—drug addict; snowed up—full of dope; gives the heat—shoots; lam—you know that one . . .
Webster concludes that although cant is supposed to allow criminals to avoid detection, many policemen know it better than criminals do.
Maurice Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang: ‘Crooks’ and Criminals’ Slang’ list (1934) Among Weseen’s various glossaries (see Chapter 7) is one of criminals’ slang, in which the largest fields are crime & punishment (39 per cent) and knowledge and communication (7 per cent). Of the first 100 entries, twenty-one are in Matsell’s Vocabulum and fourteen in Maurer’s ‘Argot’ or ‘Jug-Heavy’ lists of 1931: Source ALAMORT. Confounded; struck dumb; unable to say or do anything. [Matsell (or Trumble)] black V., n. phr. Fire-proof iron vault, always painted black. [Maurer ‘Argot of the Underworld’]
Weseen’s criminal glossary Alamort—Dumbfounded.
Black V—An iron vault.
Together these sources account for 35 per cent of Weseen’s terms, and it is likely that he collected the rest from non-dictionary sources.
J. Louis Kuethe’s ‘Prison Parlance’ (1934)124 In this article, Kuethe notes that he had been able to gather material for his glossary while working as an instructor in a local prison, and his comments do not attempt to conceal his limited knowledge of Black American English: Two obliging inmates did the greater part of the collecting. One of these men, an intelligent Negro, brought to light several very interesting terms which seem to be peculiar to the Negro element. 124 Burke, Literature of Slang, 93, mentions an unnamed article by Kuethe in the Baltimore Evening Sun (9 Dec. 1932), in which ‘Materials for this study first appeared’. I have not been able to trace the article.
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It is practically impossible to say that certain slang words are confined to the prison or the so-called underworld. From the nature of some of the Negro terms it would seem that they were not confined to prison use, but are of a much more general nature.125
The list contains 168 entries for 162 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (31 per cent); knowledge & communication (11 per cent); and geography & travel (9 per cent). Nineteen per cent of entries are marked with an asterisk to indicate that they ‘may be peculiar to the Negro’. For instance: GIEVE.* n. Conversation; misleading talk. v. To mislead with words; to take into one’s confidence. HEAD LIGHT.* A light-skinned Negro. PECK.* A white person.
Six per cent of entries include cross-references, which do not always lead to additional information: BROOM. To flee from danger; to leave. Get your broom, i.e., Get out. Cf. sweep. SWEEP. See broom.
Although this article is one of very few from the period to consider the slang used by African-Americans, and ought to be commended for that alone, its lack of knowledge on the subject demonstrates how much work remained to be done.
Robert Arnold’s ‘Criminal Slang’ (1934) Using the pseudonym, ‘Convict 12627’, Robert Arnold published several short stories and other features in Detective Fiction Weekly (formerly Flynn’s magazine) during the 1930s. He was later to publish a dictionary called Underground Slang (discussed below). Arnold’s article begins: “The broad and me was both on the whiz. We had left our keisters at the depot, having just blowed into the burg, and as we only had a fin between us we decided to work the shorts.”126 125
J. Louis Kuethe, ‘Prison Parlance’, American Speech 9 (1934), 24–8: 25. [Robert Arnold] Convict 12627, ‘Criminal Slang’, Detective Fiction Weekly (21 Apr. 1934), 107–23: 106. 126
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There follows a detailed discussion of criminal language, used to impress other criminals rather than to fox the police and honest citizens. Arnold writes that criminals around the country could understand one another, but that he had never known a police officer speak it fluently enough to be convincing. There is no glossary of American cant in this article, though many terms are defined in the text, for instance: The charge filed against him is called a beef or rap, but if he claims to be innocent he says it is a bum beef or bum rap. If they have a warrant for him he calls it a reader or plaster. And if he was identified on the street some time after the commission of the crime with which he is charged he says he was made or pegged.127
Arnold does, however, provide a list of thirteen drugs terms and a list of ‘Australian slang terms . . . used extensively on the Pacific coast. It will be noted that the most of these terms rhyme with the words they represent.’128 What follows is a glossary of forty-one terms, most of which, as Arnold observed, are rhyming slang: Arm—chalk farm. Drink—tiddly wink. Hair—barney fair.129
Arnold concludes: And now, having reached the end of my space, I’ll crawl into the roses red, lay the lump of lead on the weeping willow, and plow the deep.130
The article ends with a picture of a glum looking convict sitting on what appears to be a prison bed, wearing a ball and chain.
J. Glover’s ‘Thieves Slang’ (1935) The Garda Review, the magazine of Ireland’s police association, was founded in 1923, shortly after the establishment of the Irish Free State. It contains text in Irish and English, international police news,
127 129 130
128 Ibid., 110. Ibid., 114. Chalk Farm and Barnet (the earlier form is Barnet Fair) are London place-names. [Arnold], ‘Criminal Slang’, 114.
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lessons in shorthand, accounts of various cases, and advertisements for, among other things, handcuffs, insurance, and sturdy shoes. This article is attributed to ‘Sergt. J. Glover, Nottingham’, and appears to have been republished from the Ulster Constabulary Gazette. Glover begins by explaining that: There are hundreds of slang words and phrases made use of by crooks which, to the uninitiated, are absolutely unintelligible. And often valuable information is transmitted under a policeman’s very nose by this means.131
The glossary lists 100 entries for 99 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (31 per cent); money & poverty (13 per cent); and clothes, jewellery & other artefacts (12 per cent). Entries are non-alphabetical, though there is some semantic grouping. Definitions are brief: Busy—Detective. Tealeaf—Petty thief. Sprazer—Sixpenny piece.
Glover explains the origins of many of these terms in back-slang, Romany, and pig Latin, although none of these are represented in the list;132 he also reveals that prisoners communicate by tapping on pipes in prison.
James Hargan’s ‘The Psychology of Prison Language’ (1935) This article spends more time than most in considering why criminals use cant terms—for secret communication, to rebel, to impress—but concludes that: Most important of all, however, through the formation, with its appropriate shibboleths and pass words, of this linguistic fraternity, he quiets his herd impulses, neutralizes his feelings of inferiority and perhaps guilt, and evades recognition of the fact that he is essentially a lone wolf hunted down by society. Through cryptic conversations he may acquire a sense of class solidarity; henceforth he may be comfortable in his membership 131 132
J. Glover, ‘Thieves Slang’, The Garda Review 10 (May 1935), 646–7: 646. Sprazer appears to be from Shelta, which Glover may have mistaken for Romany.
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in a “mob” who share his speech and presumably his problems and destiny.133
Hargan offers an example of a conversation which ‘might have been overheard in the visiting room of a prison’:134 “As soon as I got out of the bird cage (cell) this morning, I went to the mess hall and tanked up on mud (coffee) and bread. Then at noon we had rubber heels (slices of meat loaf) with some fish-eyes (tapioca) after. . . .”
His glossary of approximately 160 headwords is presented as a supplement to Kuethe’s ‘Prison Parlance’ list, and Hargan offers to supply ‘A list of more unprintable expressions . . . to those who are especially interested in this subject.’135 Hargan includes some general slang in his list: dope—a stupid person. mud—coffee. skirt—a girl.
Other entries are more convincing as examples of slang restricted to prison, and Hargan has no obvious written source: elephant ears—apricots. ticket—a report to warden’s court for infraction of institutional rules. whistling weed—tobacco given to inmates by the state.
Albin Jay Pollock’s The Underworld Speaks (1935) Albin Jacob Pollock, Pollak, or Pollok (1875–1967) was an oilman, and apparently served in the Spanish-American war.136 His is the first glossary to present drug abuse not merely as something that criminals do in their spare time, but also as a major cause of crime: The reader should bear in mind that the addicted, glutton type opium smoker is responsible for the major crime activities, as the majority of kidnapers [sic], bank robbers, confidence men and ruthless racketeers hatch 133 James Hargan, ‘The Psychology of Prison Language’, The Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 30 (Oct./Dec. 1935), 359–65: 359. 134 135 Ibid., 360. Ibid., 361. 136 Biographical information from , checked against the Spanish American War Centennial Website, .
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the idea and lay out the plan when under the influence of this mysterious poison. . . . habit-forming, poisonous drugs are the cause of at least 75% of controlled, premeditated crimes.137
Pollock used his foreword to authenticate the word-list and to convince the reader of its practical application. It has ‘come out of the mouths of the underworld’, and: contains expressions gathered from convicts and ex-convicts—from murderers to embezzlers, dope-fiends, narcotic traffickers, racketeers, politicians, bosses, bootleggers, law enforcement officers, 100% coppers, as well as from other classes of men and women who possess worldly experience.138
Pollock provides a list of ‘subjects’ before the dictionary starts. These include ‘Amusement places’, ‘Attorneys’, ‘Bail’, ‘Blackmail’, and ‘Bootlegging’, and are clearly intended to whet the reader’s appetite. They do not in any way facilitate access to the dictionary’s alphabetically arranged headwords, of which there are approximately 3500. The most striking feature of Pollock’s dictionary is his occasional inclusion of pig Latin equivalents: Daisy roots, boots (aisyday ootsray). Mushroom, a hat (ushmay-oomray). Punk, a youthful marital companion of a sodomist jocker (unkpay).
Following the alphabetical list is a section called ‘Subjects Amplified’. Here Pollock presents the same headings as in the list of subjects. Headwords are now provided, but not definitions. For example, under ‘Booze, bootlegging, smuggling’ are: Subjects Amplified ace in alcohol athlete American tragedy
Definitions (from the alphabetical listing) to but-in, to interfere a rum runner the 18th amendment. (The underworld bosses and politicians wound up with all the money.)
Although these terms could conceivably have been restricted in use to those involved in circumventing Prohibition, it is more likely that Pollock selected them on semantic grounds. 137 Albin Jay Pollock, The Underworld Speaks. An Insight to Vices Crimes Corruption (San Francisco: 138 Prevent Crime Bureau, 1935), Foreword (pages not numbered). Ibid., Foreword.
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Irving Crump and John W. Newton’s Our Police (1935) Irving Crump (1887–1979) edited Boy’s Life magazine and produced dozens of adventure books for boys, including four novels about a caveman called Og, later adapted for radio and complemented by action figures. Crump’s Our . . . series, including Our Marines, Our United States Coast Guard Academy, and Our Army Engineers, appears to be addressed to a slightly more advanced audience. John Walter Newton (b.1891) collaborated with Crump on three titles in the period 1935–7. The last chapter of Our Police is entitled ‘The Bi-lingual Police’ and describes the linguistic inventiveness of criminals: One alert police officer on the force of a large city on the eastern seaboard recently compiled hundreds of these strange terms which form the basis of criminal vernacular. In their range and meaning they afford a valuable insight into the varied field of crime activity and, conversely, the work of the police. Here are a few score such words with their definitions, chosen at random from the crook’s slang book139
The glossary contains 143 entries for 139 headwords, largely alphabetized to the first letter, and concentrating on crime & punishment (40 per cent); money & poverty (13 per cent); and knowledge & communication. The list is followed by examples of the words in use: “The booster was caught with the swag in her keister through a squawk to the bulls by some stool pigeon moll. Now she’s out to take hunk and then take it on the lam.”140
Although there are similarities with Finerty’s Criminalese, they are not sufficient to prove that that is the source. Entries for terms in this passage are: Finerty Booster—Shoplifter. Keister—A grip or bag; a pocket. Stool-pigeon—One employed by the police to give information.
139 140
Crump & Newton Booster: A shoplifter. Keister: Grip or hand-bag. Stool pigeon: Informant of police.
Irving Crump and John W. Newton, Our Police (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1935), 257. Ibid., 262.
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Many of the terms in this list had become widely known by this time, and the authors insist that: The reader may feel assured that such terms are more than figments of imagination of Hollywood scenario writers, and that they are not confined to certain large cities or sections of the country. Any underworld character abroad in London, New Zealand, Australia, Oshkosh or Tallahassee, or wherever else English is the prevailing language, will find, as a rule, such slang perfectly understood when conversing with resident lawbreakers.141
Despite the references to ‘the crook’s slang book’, there is no compelling evidence that Crump and Newton used a written source. It is more likely that they based their short list on their own knowledge of widely used terms than that they worked through Finerty’s substantial glossary picking them out.
Thomas Courtney’s ‘Hot Shorts’ (1935) Thomas J. Courtney (1892–1971) was a Democratic member of the Illinois State Senate. He tried, unsuccessfully, to become both mayor of Chicago and governor of Illinois, but was more successful in his legal career, becoming a circuit judge in 1949.142 This article, in the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post, concentrates on the methods of car-thieves and begins, without explanation, with a glossary of fifteen entries for seventeen headwords, including: Legit. or puppy —a stolen car after being disguised; also known as a baby. Jiggler —a tool for opening car doors. Graveyard —a quarry, lake or stream where cars in insurance frauds are drowned.
Courtney argues that the direct cost of car theft in 1934 was $29 million, and that it could easily be made more difficult if only there were sufficient political will to do so. Fortunately, a suitable candidate was to hand. There is no clear source for this glossary, but it does appear to list current canting terms.
141
Ibid., 263. Biographical information from Lawrence Kestenbaum and Paul Hass, The Political Graveyard, . 142
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David W. Maurer’s ‘The Lingo of the Good People’ (1935) This article, originally published in American Speech, looks at criminal language from the end of the nineteenth century. Maurer acknowledges his debt to Milburn’s ‘Convicts’ Jargon’ article, and also to his own earlier lists, but these only account for twenty-seven entries between them. This list contains 477 entries for 406 headwords, and has a rather dispersed semantic make-up. The largest fields are crime & punishment (20 per cent) and leisure & pleasure (10 per cent). In comparison with both the ‘Jug-Heavy’ and ‘Argot’ lists discussed above, this contains significantly more usage labels and variant forms of the headword, and significantly fewer examples of use and indications of parts of speech (all p = 0.01; see Appendix, Table 11.1). Its inclusion of semantically related terms and of compounds and derivatives is in line with the ‘Jug-Heavy’ list, but in each case significantly higher than ‘Argot’ (both p = 0.01): GRAVEL TRAIN [sic]. A political fixer or agent who mediates between the law and the underworld. Modern polly or right polly. STEERER. An inside man or tipster who locates prospects for robbers or safeblowers. Now restricted to gambling, in the sense of a lure for suckers. . .
These high figures are the result of Maurer’s comparisons between different periods. Forty-four per cent of entries include the modern equivalent of an old term (e.g. gravel train) and 13 per cent comment on the term’s modern use (e.g. steerer).
Robert Arnold’s Underworld Slang (1936) Following his articles in Detective Fiction Weekly (see above), the introduction to Arnold’s cant dictionary explains that: The writer has been engaged in criminal activities more than twenty years, and during this period has made an intensive study of slang words and phrases used by criminals both in and out of prison. . . . The proceeds from the sale of this book are being used by the writer to help support his family and to accumulate money to aid in his rehabilitation after he has paid his debt to Society.143 143 Robert Arnold, Underworld Slang [by Convict 12627] (Jackson, TN: no publisher’s details, 1936), Introduction, pages not numbered.
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The list contains 539 entries for 467 headwords, concentrating on crime & punishment (32 per cent); knowledge & communication (9 per cent); and body & health (8 per cent). Eight per cent of entries include usage labels, all but one of which are ‘Aus.’, used to label rhyming slang terms: gay and frisky (Aus.)—Whiskey. ripsey rowsers (Aus.)—Trousers. tiddly wink (Aus.)—A drink.
Arnold remarks in his introduction that: Words and phrases marked “Aus.” are Australian slang terms. This slang has been used on the Pacific Coast for many years but has recently become popular in all parts of the United States. In most cases Australian slang terms rhyme with the words they represent and when spoken rapidly are very confusing to the uninformed listener.144
Six per cent of entries include an example of use. These often distinguish between different uses of the same or related terms. For instance: beef—A criminal complaint as: “He has a tough beef against him.” Also used in referring to petty complaints, as: “Don’t beef about the food.” grease—Nitroglycerin; butter. Also used as a verb, meaning to bribe, as: “Grease the bull’s duke and you can spring.” screw—A prison guard; also a key. Sometimes used to mean, “go away,” as: “Screw, the law’s coming.”
Philip Van Cise’s Fighting the Underworld (1936) Philip Sidney Van Cise (1884–1969) was an officer in the National Guard and a lieutenant-colonel in the infantry during the First World War. He had practised law for eleven years when he stood as Republican candidate for District Attorney in Denver. During the 1920s he investigated the activities of the Ku Klux Klan, but he achieved most renown for his successful prosecution of a notorious gang of confidence men led by Lou Blonger, whose connections with local politicians and police had enabled them to evade punishment 144
Ibid., Introduction.
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for more than twenty-five years.145 Fighting the Underworld is an account of that prosecution, and it includes a ‘glossary of terms used by the underworld’, with sixty-six entries for sixty-five headwords: Bunco-game—Con-game. Fixer—Man behind the scenes who handles police and public officials. Lookout—The center of activity of a pay-off game gang, where one man watches out for the steerer’s signal.
The list concentrates on crime & dishonesty (52 per cent); knowledge & communication (16 per cent); and stocks & shares (9 per cent).
Conclusions As we have seen, crime and the language of criminals received relatively little attention in Britain and Australia during the later part of this period. By the mid-nineteenth century, Britain had a welldisciplined professional police force, increasing general prosperity, falling crime rates, and a diminishing fear of crime. Crime fiction began to concentrate on the activities of the mentally superior detective rather than the morally defective criminal. The murders solved by popular fictional detectives, such as Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, and Lord Peter Wimsey, were tamed by their middle-class domestic settings. Many of the glossaries in this chapter emanate from law-enforcers rather than law-breakers, and they assume that the reader will identify with the police in their attempts to control crime rather than with the criminal’s defiance of authority. Different crimes and different aspects of crime come to the fore as the period progresses. The emphasis of some glossaries in this chapter on the international nature of the criminal community is often undermined by their dependence on earlier British lists: the similarities are the results of plagiarism rather than contact between criminals. Later lists, however, which do not place the same emphasis on the internationality of crime and sometimes look no further than a single individual’s experience, do reveal some degree of overlap between British, American, and Australian cant, though it is impossible to determine what part the media played in this. 145 Biographical information from Philip Sidney Van Cise, Fighting the Underworld (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1936), 13.
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From the beginning of the twentieth century, when American cant glossaries were increasingly compiled without reference to British sources, the emphasis is on the national network and national mobility of criminals. There is a tendency to categorize criminals and criminal activities into specific groups and to document and label the language of these specializations separately. Terms for alcohol and drugs figure prominently in these lists, and both illegal trades required a well-developed criminal hierarchy. It is these criminal gangs that caught the attention of the shortstory writers and the cinema. One experienced felon commented that ‘To be frank, some of [the] expressions I have read time and time again in newspapers and articles are made up by the authors’.146 This lack of authenticity was counteracted in the late 1920s by sociological studies of criminals and their language. Maurer was to revolutionize cant lexicography by introducing data collection in the field, and his presentation of separate lists for different criminal communities also emphasized the specialization of crime, although there is considerable overlap between some of his glossaries. The voices of non-fictional American criminals are heard particularly in the late 1920s. They tended to reveal their secret language as part of the process of reformation: their debt to society is paid by the revelation of criminal language and knowledge. Thus, even the wrongdoers who speak for themselves are less appealing than their predecessors.147 Repentant petty thieves hoping for parole and exconvicts attempting to live by honest means have none of the glamour of flamboyant highwaymen on their way to the gallows or of defiant outlaws falling in a hail of bullets. In his introduction to Henderson’s Keys to Crookdom, Vollmer encapsulated the change in attitude, describing the criminal as ‘a sick man, morally sick, perhaps mentally and physically ill’.148 As a result of increasingly effective, though sometimes brutal and corrupt, policing methods, prison populations rose in the United States, and by the 1930s, glossaries tended to concentrate on the language of prisons rather than of criminals on the loose. It is here that we gain a glimpse of distinctively African-American forms, though they are sometimes miscategorized as prison language. 146 John Caldwell and No. 57419, Ohio Penitentiary, ‘Patter of the Prisons: Some Prison Terms and their Meaning to Aid the Writer of Stories with a Prison Background’, Writer’s Monthly (Feb. 147 1930), 25–7: 26. See Coleman, Cant and Slang II, 11–13. 148 Henderson, Keys to Crookdom, xvi.
Twelve: Glossaries of the Entertainment Industries We have already seen that the entertainment industries were beginning to have an effect on the development and dissemination of slang. Theatre audiences in New York and London needed glossaries to help them understand the slang used in plays from the other side of the Atlantic. Radio listeners heard conversations from around the country and music from around the world. Short-story writers loved to create authentic-sounding dialogue for their fictional criminals, detectives, and modern young people. Screenwriters followed suit, and cinema-goers emulated their heroes and heroines by imitating their speech as well as their physical appearance and behaviour. In the United States a marked social change was under way. The sons and daughters of a relatively newly delineated ‘Society’ rejected the European heritage claimed by their elders and looked downtown for amusement instead: to vaudeville and the nightclubs. Like fashionable London slummers of a century before, they used the latest slang to broadcast their rebellion, though here it was as much about race as class. As well as disseminating slang, the entertainment industries developed slang of their own, and this chapter concentrates on glossaries of terms used within show business in its various forms. Represented here are glossaries of the circus and carnival, of vaudeville and repertory theatres, and of musicians and their followers. The exclusion of glossaries dealing largely with technical language means that the new technologies of radio and cinema are not well represented in this chapter, although glossaries of their jargon do exist.1
1 These include, for example, Glendon Allvine’s ‘Studio Lingo’ in Roger Whately, Jack O’Donnell, and H. W. Hanemann (eds.), The Silver Streak (Los Angeles: Haskell-Travers, 1935) and Van H. Cartmell’s A Handbook for the Amateur Actor (New York: Doubleday, Doran & Co, 1936). Walter Winchell’s ‘Primer of Broadway Slang’, Vanity Fair 29 (Nov. 1927), 67, 132, 134, does not include a glossary. John Jesco’s The Movie Dictionary (no publishers’ details, 1916), is a comic dictionary rather than a list of slang terms, including entries such as: GREATNESS–The ability to select a good press-agent.
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Charles Leland’s ‘Circus Slang’ (a1903) Among Leland’s papers in the British Library are a series of notebooks bound together, containing glossaries of a variety of non-standard and low-status language forms, including Romany, pidgin English, ‘German Hebrew’, ‘Indisch Deutsch’, and ‘the cattle-range idiom’. There is also a glossary of circus slang, containing twenty-two single-sense headwords.2 It is on a single sheet of paper, written in two columns in ink, with a pencil line drawn between them, and although it appears not to be in Leland’s hand, it was presumably written before his death in 1903. Other dateable notebooks in this volume are from the 1870s and 1880s. A note at the top of the page reads ‘From one of Hengler’s Men’, apparently a reference to Hengler’s Circus (1867–1924), based in Glasgow, but touring nationally and internationally. The list concentrates on animals; performers & performance (both 21 per cent); clothes & equipment (17 per cent); and geography & travel (14 per cent). A few entries only make sense if understood as a confused or irritated response to the question ‘What do you call that?’: Piebald horse Caravan Trick horse
Stallion (?) Van, or Caravan Simon (?)
Frank Jenners Wilstach’s ‘A Stage Dictionary’ (1923) Frank Jenners Wilstach (1865–1933) worked for Will H. Hays at the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Association of America (now the Motion Picture Association of America), which regulates the film industry and assigns film-ratings. He also published a dictionary of similes and a biography of Wild Bill Hickok. This is the first of several glossaries by Wilstach dealing with the language of the entertainment industry.3 It contains 163 entries for
2 3
Charles Godfrey Leland, ‘Circus Slang’, British Library Additional Manuscript 39561. Frank Jenners Wilstach, ‘A Stage Dictionary’, New York Times (9 Sep. 1923), VII: 2.
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161 headwords, of which twenty-one entries (13 per cent) are empty cross-references: AD LIB. See fake. FAKE. To improvise speeches in place of forgotten ones. FLIM: Same as flop. FLOP: A failure.
The list concentrates on performers & performance (29 per cent); fools, failure & insults (12 per cent); management & organization (10 per cent); and audience & audience reaction (8 per cent). The inclusion of terms found in earlier English cant lists (e.g. castor and oliver) and of entries explicitly labelled as English (e.g. at leisure and resting) is probably a result of the movement of entertainers between Britain and America in the early 1900s: AT LEISURE: One of our English actors out of an engagement. CASTOR: A hat, a kelly. OLIVER: The moon. RESTING: An English actor out of a job.
Terms found in this list were to pass into the vocabulary of circus and carnival workers, including Annie Oakley “a free ticket” and nut “overhead expenses”. Wilstach later produced two glossaries of movie slang,4 but these have no significant overlap with his stage glossary, although there is a clear relationship between the slang of these two branches of the entertainment industry, at least in the early years: ‘Stage Dictionary’ (1923) GAG: To invent a joke or speak impromptu SNOW: See deadheads [DEADHEADS: Free admissions to the theatre, of ancient origin and still persists]
‘Slang of Film Men’ (1928) GAG MAN—Author of “they laughed at it once; they will laugh at it again.” SNOW—Free admissions.
4 Frank Jenners Wilstach, ‘Slang of Film Men’, New York Times (11 Mar. 1928), VIII: 6, and ‘Sound Studio Slang’, New York Times (13 Oct. 1929), IX: 8 and (20 Oct. 1929), IX: 8. The ‘Slang of Film Men’ list appeared later in the same year, slightly edited, under the title ‘A Glossary of Motion Picture Terms’, Congressional Digest 7 (Nov. 1928), 316–17, 321.
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Walter J. Kingsley and Loney Haskell’s ‘A Stageland Dictionary’ (1923) Walter J. Kingsley was a theatrical press-agent and co-author of The Broadway Anthology, a collection of theatrical anecdotes. Loney Haskell (1870–1933) was a performer, writer, and lyricist in vaudeville. He pulled faces in a short silent film called Facial Expressions by Loney Haskell (1897).5 Kingsley and Haskell published their glossary in the New York Times, ‘assisted by a company of two-a-day etymologists’.6 It contains ninety-one single-sense headwords, concentrating on performers & performance (39 per cent); management & organization (18 per cent); fools, failure & insults (11 per cent); and rank, billing & success (9 per cent). Like Wilstach’s ‘Stage Dictionary’, it suggests a transatlantic entertainment industry: THE BOAT SAILS TUESDAY–Stock remark by London music hall managers when an American act flops upon its first performance Monday. TURN–British music hall term for an act.
Even where the two glossaries include the same terms, their definitions are clearly independent of one another: Wilstach ‘Stage Dictionary’ OPEN TIME: Dates not booked or contracted for. SHINE: An actor who is not up to the standard.
Kingsley & Haskell OPEN TIME–Unfilled time in an act’s season. SHINE–A hick who pretends to be a performer.
Wilstach’s list concentrates on the language of the theatre, Kingsley and Haskell present more diverse forms of entertainment: FANNING THE RUBBER–A ball bouncing act. FLYING THE SKIMMER–A hat spinning act. STRAIGHT MAN–The feeder to a comic. 5 Information about Haskell is from the Internet Movie Database, . 6 Walter J. Kingsley and Loney Haskell, ‘A Stageland Dictionary’, New York Times (14 Oct. 1923), VIII: 4.
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Percy W. White’s ‘A Circus List’ and ‘Stage Terms’ (both 1926), ‘More about the Language of the Lot’ (1928), and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) Percy White7 contributed two articles to American Speech during 1926 and one in 1928, providing glossaries of circus and stage terms. In his first, he commented that: The most interesting and varied occupational vernacular in the English language, with the possible exception of that of the Underworld, is the vernacular which has grown up about that greatest amusement enterprise in the world, the American circus.8
In his brief non-alphabetical glossary of fifty-one entries for fifty headwords, he presents a picture of the circus as a place of temporary employment, uncertainty, and casual dishonesty: Blue-bird—the well-known symbol of happiness. When the blue-bird call is first heard in the spring it is said to be high time for the troupers to start forth on their annual pilgrimage. Grifter—The old time gamblers and short-change artists who followed the circus in days gone by. Blow-down—When a high wind levels the circus tents.
Despite these negative themes, White’s list is a nostalgic account of a way of life that was already in decline. In 1928, White added a further list, ‘More About the Language of the Lot’, containing twenty-nine entries for twenty-seven headwords, and noted that interest in the backstage life of the theatre and in the circus and carnival lots had increased as a result of Edna Ferber’s novel Show Boat (1926), its Broadway premiere (1927), and the publicity surrounding the filming of Chaplin’s The Circus (1928).9 White mentions two other Broadway plays: The Barker, dealing with carnival life, and Broadway, dealing with vaudeville.
7 There is no evidence to link him with the minor British novelist of the same name (1852–1938). 8 Percy W. White, ‘A Circus List’, American Speech 1 (1926), 282–3: 282. 9 Percy W. White, ‘More about the Language of the Lot’, American Speech 3 (1928), 413–15.
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White’s stage glossary is illustrated by a dialogue between two vaudeville entertainers: “The act flopped on the try-out, so I’m layin’ off this week and havin’ it rewritten. My routine was all wrong. I’ve cut the old hokum finish and am goin’ into full stage with a surprise ending that will wow ’em off their seats.”10
The glossary in this article contains forty-three single-sense headwords, and provides approximately 5 per cent of Weseen’s ‘Theater Slang’ glossary in the Dictionary of American Slang. Glosses on this passage include: White Weseen Hokum—The most discussed word Hokum—“An old, time-worn in the entire vernacular of the line, gag, or piece of business stage. It has been defined in which has been found by various ways. Every actor has experience to be absolutely his own pet definition. Briefly, sure-fire before any kind of hokum may be defined as any old, audience.”—Percy W. White. time-worn line, gag, or piece of business which has been found by experience to be absolutely sure-fire before any kind of audience. . . Wow—An act is said to “wow ’em Wow—A successful act. Also off their seats” or to be a “riot” a verb, to get much applause. when it is greeted by storms of To “wow ’em off their seats” applause and forced to take encore is to be called for encores. . . after encore.
Each of White’s lists provides synonyms and etymologies for a greater proportion of entries than the last. From the ‘More About’ list: Bloomer—Just the opposite meaning from “red one.” A day on which the gate has been very small. A trouper will say “Utica was a red one, but we sure did play a bloomer at Albany.” Red One—A day when the “gate” (box-office receipts) has been unusually large is spoken of as a “red one.” This may be derived from the old-time expression “a red letter day.”
Of the first 101 entries in the ‘Circus and Carnival Slang’ list in Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang, nineteen appear to be from 10
Percy W. White, ‘Stage Terms’, American Speech 1 (1926), 436–7: 436.
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White’s ‘Circus List’ and seven from his ‘More About’ glossary. A few additional terms were apparently derived from Birss’s ‘Additional Circus Expressions’, discussed below:11 White Plant show—The plantation show, or colored minstrels. An entertainment in which the Old-South-before-the-War type is combined with modern jazz. [‘More About’] Shillaber—An employe [sic] of the circus who rushes up to the kid show ticket box at the psychological moment when the barker concludes his spiel. He and his fellow shillabers purchase tickets and pass inside and the crowd of towners in front of the bally stand are not slow in doing likewise. [‘A Circus List’]
Weseen Plant Show—Colored minstrels. From plantation.
Shillaber—A circus employee who rushes up to buy a ticket when the “spieler” concludes. Several shillabers are on hand to lead the way to the ticket box. Shill for short.
Taken together, White’s lists concentrate on performers & performance (34 per cent) and parts of the circus/theatre (8 per cent). The first circus list has significantly more terms for animals than the stage list. The stage list has significantly more terms for success & approval and fools, failure & insults than the circus lists do. The second circus list contains significantly more terms for food and commerce, as White moved out from terms central to the circus itself to those used at the concession stands surrounding it (all p = 0.01).
‘Circus Glossary Lot Lingo’ (1928) The White Tops, published by the Circus Fans Association of America, provided a list of circus terms in July 1928. The ‘major portion of this list’ was from I. C. Speers, but the editors also incorporated terms from a few other ‘members and circus folks’.12 The list contains 174 entries for 11 12
John H. Birss, ‘Additional Circus Expressions’, American Speech 7 (1932), 316–17. ‘Circus Glossary Lot Lingo’, The White Tops 2 (Jul. 1928), 7–8: 7.
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169 headwords, imperfectly alphabetized to the first letter. The August edition added a further nineteen entries for eighteen headwords.13 Taken together, the lists concentrate on parts of the circus (15 per cent); performers & performance (12 per cent); and physical labour (9 per cent). The July list includes editorial comment in five entries, largely disapproving of illegal activities associated with circuses: GRAFTERS—Gamblers or “short-changers,” who traveled with, or who “trailed” some of the early days and a few of today’s shows, and plied their practices upon gullible, or greedy “towners”—also known as “Slickers” and “Lucky Boys.” They more often trailed along the same route, so as to “work” the big crowds, and had no connection with the show proper. But very few circuses of today allow such. The CFA hopes to see the day when none will permit such.
The August list contains significantly more terms for crime & punishment ( p = 0.01), perhaps because these were deliberately omitted from the first list in an attempt to present a cosier depiction of the circus’s interaction with its audience.
Ellsworth Prouty Conkle’s ‘Carnival Slang’ (1928) Conkle (1899–1994) supplied American Speech with a glossary of the slang terms occurring in John Kenyon Nicholson’s Broadway hit, The Barker, mentioned above.14 He comments that these carnival terms were used alongside the circus and stage terms presented in White’s first two glossaries. There are thirty-two entries for thirty-one headwords, which are not alphabetical. They concentrate on commerce & money (24 per cent); emotion, behaviour & temperament (11 per cent); people, and food (both 8 per cent). None of the entries in this list contains anything other than a headword and definition: Bally—To drum up a crowd. Racket—Any form of concession on a show. Juice Joint—Soft Drink Stand.
There is little overlap between this and White’s ‘More About’ glossary, which was to appear later in 1928. Both aimed to supplement White’s earlier lists. 13 14
‘Circus Glossary Lot Lingo’, The White Tops 2 (Aug. 1928), 4. Ellsworth Prouty Conkle, ‘Carnival Slang’, American Speech 3 (1928), 253–4.
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Wesley Stout’s ‘Algazam’ (1929) Wesley Winans Stout, son of a farm mortgage broker in Kansas, became a reporter and later editor of the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post,15 a weekly magazine concentrating on current events, human interest stories, and popular fiction. This article, whose source is Dr N. T. Oliver of Nevada, explains how travelling peddlers selling a variety of goods, either independently or in association with carnivals and circuses, parted unwary customers from their money: Even though he works in a theater or a tent and carries a full evening’s show, the med doctor is a pitchman, yet not all pitchmen are med men by any means. They may be anything from a sheet writer, subscription solicitor for farm papers—to a street salesman of eyeglasses, glue, or neckties.16
The glossary, with forty-two single-sense non-alphabetical headwords, includes many of the terms found in earlier circus and carnival lists, though some are more specialized: Gimmick: Secret of work. Al-a-ga-zam: Hailing sign of the brotherhood. Gummy: Glue.
C. P. M.’s ‘The Language of the Speakeasy’ (1930) In December 1930, American Speech republished a glossary found in the New York Sunday News in November the previous year. The contributor lists twenty-one headwords, and notes that this language ‘is by no means obsolete. The visitor who plans a tour of the night-club circuit should know the following’:17 chitterlings is a tripe-like food, made from the lining of a pig’s stomach. kelt means a white person. passing is the act of a colored person passing for a white.
One of the unforeseen consequences of Prohibition was the opportunity it offered to African-American musicians to work in illegal 15 ‘Inheritors’ Year’, Time Magazine (10 Jan. 1938). Page numbers not available online at . 16 Wesley Winans Stout, ‘Algazam’, Saturday Evening Post (Philadelphia) 202 (19 Oct. 1929), 26. 17 C. P. M., ‘The Language of the Speakeasy’, American Speech 6 (1930), 158.
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venues. As we shall see, their language was to play an important role in shaping American slang.
David W. Maurer ‘Carnival Cant: A Glossary of Circus and Carnival Slang’ (1931) Maurer introduced this list by enumerating the reasons why circus and carnival workers had developed their own slang: the varied origins and various language contacts of the people concerned, the desire to maintain privacy within cliques and secrecy from customers, and the eccentricities of ‘numerous flashy individuals with a flair for the unusual, the bizarre, in dress and manner and speech’.18 The glossary contains 202 entries for 183 headwords, concentrating on performers & performance (31 per cent) and crime & punishment (8 per cent). Unlike many of the earlier commentators, who tried to distance the circus from dishonest grifters flocking around it, Maurer asserts that the circus took a percentage of their profits.19 This is more carefully composed than the earlier circus slang lists, with care taken to explore relationships between terms. For instance: bloomer, n. A town which fails to respond to the show business, or one in which small profits are made. “Marion, Indiana, is always a bloomer for me.” cold, adj. Used to characterize a town which doesn’t respond readily; one in which small profits are made. Profitable towns are indicated as “red.” See red and bloomer. t.b., n. Total blank. Said of a town which is “cold” or a “bloomer.”
Maurer provides information about the part of speech for 93 per cent of his entries, offers semantically related terms in 30 per cent of entries (e.g. cold and t.b.), and examples of use in 28 per cent (e.g. bloomer). He includes explicit cross-references in 12 per cent of entries (e.g. cold).
18 David W. Maurer, ‘Carnival Cant: A Glossary of Circus and Carnival Slang’, American Speech 6 (1931), 327–37. Quoted here from Maurer, Language of the Underworld, 27. 19 Maurer, Language of the Underworld, 27.
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George Milburn’s ‘Circus Words’ (1931) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) Published in the American Mercury, Milburn’s article emphasizes the use of circus slang as a type of cant, or secret language: it is still possible for circus folks to shout secret advice across crowded lots without fear of being understood by the uninitiated. Added secrecy is sometimes had by distorting the words in a kind of pig Latin. (Illscha the ointjay: Schill the joint.)20
Milburn also comments on how poorly the language of the circus is represented in fiction, and gives as his source one H. L. Johnson ‘a veteran circus man’.21 The glossary contains 185 entries for 153 headwords, concentrating on performers & performance (16 per cent); parts of the circus (11 per cent); and crime & punishment (9 per cent). For instance: Bally, n.: The platform in front of the sideshows; v.: to spiel in front of a show; interj.: an order to appear in front of the sideshow for the opening. From ballet.22 Clem, n.: A local resident; any outsiders; also, a fight with townspeople; v.: to quell rioting villagers; interj.: A battle-cry in such a fight (no longer Hey rube!). Trainer, n.: An animal handler, never tamer.
Phrasal entries do not generally include grammatical information: At liberty: Out of work. Gone Sunday-school: Said of a circus that has abolished the grift. Not with it: Said of an outsider. “He’s not with it.”
Twenty-two of the first fifty entries in Rose’s ‘Circus and Carnival’ slang list are from Milburn. Milburn (1931) Jig, n.: A Negro.—Jig-band, n.: The side-show band.
20
Rose (1934) Negro (n): a jig; Zulu. Side Show (n phr.): a kid show.
George Milburn, ‘Circus Words’, American Mercury 24 (Nov. 1931), 351–4: 351. Ibid., 351. 22 It is more likely to be from ballyhoo ‘A barker’s touting speech; hence, blarney, bombastic nonsense; extravagant advertisement of any kind’ (OED). 21
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Kid show, n.: The sideshow (i.e. the small show.)—Kid top, n.: The sideshow tent.
Side Show Band (n phr.): a jig band. Side Show Tent (n phr.): the kid top.
Francis Beverly Kelley’s ‘The Land of Sawdust and Spangles’ (1931), John H. Birss’s ‘Additional Circus Expressions’ (1932), and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang (1934) Kelley’s lavishly illustrated ‘Land of Sawdust’ article includes a subsection headed ‘The Transient Country has its own Language’. Although not set out as a glossary, it is structured as one. Birss published a twenty-headword glossary derived from this article in American Speech the following year, giving due credit to his source: Kelley’s ‘Land of Sawdust’ Shanty is a nickname for the chief electrician (probably a derivation of chandelier man). Reader is a nickname for the license . . . Kid show is a nickname for the annex, or congress of freaks.23
Birss’s ‘Additional Circus Expressions’ Shanty, n. Nickname for the chief electrician. (Probably a derivative of chandelier man.) Reader, n. Nickname for a license. (Sometimes this term refers to the license money which the show pays to the city authorities for the privilege of exhibiting within the city limits.) Kid-Show, n. The annex or congress of freaks. (Also a job on which the majority of the workers are young and without experience.)
Although Birss presented his list as a supplement to White’s, he does list terms found in the earlier glossaries, including all of these examples.
23 Francis Beverly Kelley, ‘The Land of Sawdust and Spangles—A World in Miniature’, National Geographic Magazine LX: 4 (Oct. 1931), 463–516: 514.
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Approximately 3 per cent of the entries in the ‘Circus and Carnival’ list in Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang are derived from Birss’s list. For instance: Birss Lot Lice, n. Persons who loaf around the show, but do not buy tickets. Pup Opera, n. The dog corral.
Weseen Lot lice—Loafers about a circus or carnival, especially those who do not buy tickets. Pup opera—A dog corral.
John Richie Schultz’s ‘Chautauqua Talk’ (1932) and Rose’s Thesaurus (1934) John Richie Schultz (1884–1947) published a variety of articles on philological subjects, and was later to become the fourteenth president of Allegheny College in Pennsylvania. This contribution to American Speech describes a particularly worthy form of entertainment: The Chautauqua is . . . a summer colony . . . formed with the object of establishing a course of lectures, music, and classes in various subjects, that there might be an opportunity for a combination of education and recreation. Following its model, similar projects were undertaken wherever there was a lake or river or other suitable camping place where people might come for various lengths of time to listen to lectures and music and have a vacation out of doors. From this it was but a step to the circuit Chautauqua with a “circuit” of towns hearing the same series of programs, with a tent instead of pavilion or auditorium.24
Schultz provided a list of about 100 terms used by Chautauqua workers, and this is the source for all of the entries in the ‘Chautauqua’ glossary in Rose’s Thesaurus: Schultz Double stake. In case of unfavorable grounds or windy location a tent must sometimes have extra stakes for the guy ropes, especially at the seams of the canvas. Used commonly as a verb. 24
Rose Extra-Strong Stakes for Ground Which is Unfavorable (n phr.): double stakes.
John Richie Schultz, ‘Chautauqua Talk’, American Speech 7 (1932), 405–11: 405.
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Mother, home, and heaven. A sentimental inspirational lecture is a “mother, home, and heaven” lecture. It plays upon the emotions by the old familiar devices.
Lecture Which is Sentimental (n phr.): a mother, home and heaven lecture.
Bert J. Chipman’s Hey Rube (1933) Bert Jesse Chipman (b.?1868) was a ballyhoo man with the job of drumming up trade for circus sideshows. This volume provides an autobiographical account of life with an American travelling circus: Ladies and Gentlemen . . . No apologies are offered in depicting civic corruption as it was, and still is to a certain degree, a menace to good government. Nor do we seek to excuse the shortcomings of showmen, many of whom we knew as the salt of the earth. Bear in mind the fact of their being products of the times of which we tell, rough and ready to fight for their rights when all other means failed. Who can blame them? Time has brought many changes.25
The text is a collection of reflections and anecdotes connected into a historical narrative. There are extracts from newspapers, advertisements, photographs, collages, accounts of individual performers, of performers’ organizations, and programmes and routes of famous circuses. The volume was edited by Chipman’s brother, Harry, a circus press representative. The glossary, ‘The Language of the Lots’, is presented as an appendix, and although Chipman explains that it is undoubtedly incomplete and out of date, he insists that ‘the pitchmen . . . all understand these slang expressions to a certain degree’.26 The glossary contains 410 entries for 358 headwords, concentrating on performers & performance (14 per cent); crime & punishment; and knowledge & communication (both 9 per cent). It does include many of the same terms as the other circus glossaries, but there is no obvious source, so we can assume that Chipman recorded
25 26
Bert J. Chipman, Hey Rube (Hollywood, CA: Hollywood Print Shop, 1933), 1. Ibid., 193.
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the language that he had heard in use around him. Some of these are terms that would have been of little use outside the circus: BIG TOM. A stuffed cat in a ball throwing game. IN CENTER. Playing middle ring. WHISTLE TOOTER. Equestrian director; Ringmaster.
—while others appear to be more general slang also in use in the circus: BEAT IT. Depart hastily. See, Scram. SOCKS. Strikes; Punches.
Edward Seago’s Circus Company (1933) and Sons of Sawdust (1934) Edward Brian Seago (1910–74) was a British landscape painter and writer. Ill-health deprived him of a normal education, and he pursued his artistic studies with little support from his parents. ‘He toured England, Ireland, and France with a travelling circus, carried out pre-war espionage in Europe, and formed a deep relationship with a young performer whose tragic death was a precursor of the deaths of two other young men he loved.’27 He was later to collaborate on three books with John Masefield, the poet laureate, and to benefit from royal patronage. He was a popular artist, but received little critical acclaim. Circus Company and Sons of Sawdust are illustrated accounts of Seago’s time with Bevin’s Travelling Circus. The Circus Company glossary contains sixty-eight entries for sixty-seven headwords, concentrating on performers & performance and people (both 15 per cent). The same list appears in Sons of Sawdust with twentynine new entries.28 In comparison with the original list, there are significantly more new entries for body & health and knowledge & communication (both p = 0.01), suggesting that Seago was adding terms concerning daily life rather than focusing on the central activities of the circus. 27
This quotation and the biographical information from DNB. Edward Seago, Circus Company (London: Putnam, 1933); Sons of Sawdust (London: Putnam, 1934). A later volume, Caravan (London: Collins, 1937), included a further glossary of twenty-six single-sense terms. Because these are predominately Romany, they are not discussed here. 28
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Twenty-six of the entries adopted from the Circus Company glossary (39 per cent) are edited, sometimes by the addition of an example of use ( p = 0.01) or of other information to explain the usage further: Circus Company (1933) Balloon, a paper hoop. Josser, outsider. Screw, see, look.
Sons of Sawdust (1934) Balloon, a paper hoop as used by the lady riders. Josser, an outsider, only more so than a “gajo.” Screw, look at, see; i.e. “Screw his nibs.”
Seago also tends to insert articles into definitions that had previously lacked them, but other changes are less easy to catagorize: Circus Company (1933) Feeliers, children (same as chavies) Menjarie, monjarie, food.
Sons of Sawdust (1934) Feeliers, children. Monjarie, menjarie, food.
New entries are also more expansive than those found in the original list, with significantly more examples of use and information about usage (p = 0.01): Crackers, mad, daft, loco, crazy; i.e. “That guy is crackers.” Spieler, in effect is the same as a “barker,” but is a shifty sort of cove and uses it as a means to an end. Tod, to be by oneself; i.e. “on your tod.”
About 78 per cent of Seago’s entries are not found in the glossaries of American circus slang. Terms found in lists from both Britain and the United States generally attest to a wider interest in circus life rather than to transatlantic contact between performers. They include lot “the area of ground occupied by a circus”, joey “a clown”, cat “lions, tigers, etc.”, and barker “a noisy tout”.
Philip Allingham’s Cheapjack (1934) Cheapjack, ‘being the true history of a young man’s adventures as a fortune-teller, grafter, knocker-worker and mounted pitcher on the market-places and fair-grounds of a modern but still romantic England’,29 was Allingham’s only book. It was published in Britain and America,
29
Philip Allingham, Cheapjack (London: Heinemann, 1934), title page.
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translated into Danish, and republished in Britain in 1973. Its narrator is a failed Oxford student of good family who turns his hand to any trade that offers easy money: Cross-Eyed Charlie was rather sceptical about the whole thing, and I, though keen, was a novice. “The cough slum has been tanned round this monkery,” Joe explained, “but they ’aven’t ’ad the cockernens for years.” The word “cockernen,” I found, meant a tenner or a pen, according to context.30
The ‘Glossary of Grafters’ Slang’ is found at the end of the book, and lists 123 terms ‘which I had not heard before I joined the fair-people and the market-folk’.31 From the extract above they include: Cockernen (RS) Monkery Slum (cough)
Ten pounds sterling. A pen. A district Cough lozenges
There is no obvious source for this list, and it provides independent evidence of the use of some ancient canting terms (e.g. moll), of the development of palare (e.g. letty) and rhyming slang (see cockernen, above), and of the influence of Yiddish (e.g. goy) and Romany (e.g. vardo): Goy (Y) Letty Moll Vardo (Rom)
One who is not a Jew Lodgings A woman A wagon. A caravan
Allingham’s is a colourful and picaresque depiction of itinerant traders and entertainers in early twentieth-century Britain. His glossary appears to be a reliable account of their language.
Howard N. Rose’s A Thesaurus of Slang: the entertainment industry glossaries (1934) Section XII of Rose’s Thesaurus, ‘Theater’, includes four separate glossaries. Those of circus and Chautauqua terms have been discussed above. I have not found the source of the ‘Cinema’ glossary. The
30
Philip Allingham, Cheapjack (Maidstone: Mann, 1973), 191.
31
Ibid., 317.
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‘Broadway and the Stage’ list includes some terms derived from an article in American Speech by Paul Beath:32 Beath (1931) Some Winchellisms for marriage are middle-aisle it, Altar it, handcuffed, Mendelssohn March, Lohengrin it, and merged.
Rose (1934) Be Married (v): to be handcuffed; merged; (phr.): to middle-aisle it; altar it; Lohengrin it.
Although Walter Winchell’s gossip columns frequently discussed the private lives of entertainers, these are journalistic rather than theatre terms.
Charles Wolverton’s ‘Mysteries of the Carnival Language’ (1935) Wolverton’s article in the American Mercury begins without any preamble: So this mark walks up to the joint and I screw the sticks. I keep on grinding. He wants to play and he’s plenty lush. He stirs the skillo and I let him win a cuter. Then I jackpot him. Is he in a heat! I’m working the gaff, and splitting the nails, I’m that good. I keep on fairbanking the chump until he is between a poop and a sweat.33
Wolverton goes on to explain the content of this monologue, and to emphasize that this type of slang has developed for the purpose of deception. He asserts that it is only ever used in the presence of potential victims: The use of pig Latin and carnese is considered bad taste, however, unless occasion demands it. Carnies seldom employ either one unless persons outside their profession are within earshot. Even then it must be used with discretion, although not because carnese is likely to be understood; rather, the status of carnival people is suspicious enough without making an already insecure position worse.34
The glossary contains 109 entries for 98 headwords, concentrating on money & commerce (23 per cent); crime & punishment (17 per
32
Paul Robert Beath, ‘Winchellese’, American Speech 7 (1931), 44–6. Charles Wolverton, ‘Mysteries of the Carnival Language’, American Mercury 35 (Jun. 1935), 34 227–31: 227. Ibid., 228. 33
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cent); and performers & performance (10 per cent). There is some overlap with the circus lists, but fifty-nine of Wolverton’s entries (60 per cent) are not found in them, including: Nudie: nude show. Slug: one dollar. Weed: marihuana.
Wolverton’s list offers etymologies for eleven of its entries (10 per cent). These are often speculative: Fairbank: a technical gambling term. Chumps are persuaded to increase their stakes successively with each play. My guess is that the word originated from the name of some forgotten grifter who used the method. Jig: Negro; source: probably because of their ability to dance.
Shepard Traube’s So You Want to go into the Theater? (1936) Shepard Traube (1907–83) was a Broadway producer and writer. In this manual for those seeking a career in the theatre, he takes pains to ensure that the faint-hearted are discouraged: If you want to go into the theatre, you should be told that the odds are against you. You have one chance in a thousand—ask anyone who knows . . . The chances are that you’re wasting your time35
Separate sections discuss entry into various aspects of the theatre, all bearing similar titles: ‘So you want to be an actor?’, ‘So you want to be a playwright?’, and so on. Traube’s approach is entirely practical. He provides a list of producers in New York and even plots a route around their offices. In the RKO Building on 6th Avenue is: Al Woods, veteran producer, who is always willing to see a new actor, since he claims all the stars have gone to Hollywood and he must help find new ones. He asks disconcerting questions and warms up quickly when he believes you have talent. His secretary, Miss Levy, arranges his appointments.36 35 Shepard Traube, So You Want to go into the Theater? A Manual (Boston: Little, Brown, & Co., 36 1936), vii. Ibid., v.
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The glossary, of sixty-nine single-sense headwords, is presented as an appendix. It concentrates on performers & performance (27 per cent); management & organization (12 per cent); and fools, failure & insults (11 per cent). It lists a few technical terms used in the theatre, but most of its entries are slang, including some that have since achieved wider use: “Upstaging”......................forcing an actor to turn his back on the audience by moving upstage from him. “Wing it” ..........................going on to play a part without knowing the lines and being prompted from the wings.
Alongside traditional entertainments in the theatre, new forms were developing. Jazz, which combined American, African, and European influences, was the popular music of the Prohibition period, and its emphasis on improvisation made the development of diverse styles inevitable. One of these was swing, also known as jive, or big-band jazz, which reached a wider audience through live radio broadcasts. By the mid-1930s, when the first glossaries appeared, swing music and swing dancing were at their peak. Many radio stations would only play ‘white music’, so musicians like Bix Beiderbecke and Benny Goodman were the main beneficiaries of this popular interest at first, although they brought some of their Black influences and associates to public attention. For African-Americans the First World War had been just one in a sequence of disappointed hopes.37 Slavery had been followed not by liberation but by repressive labour conditions that effectively reconstructed the experience of servitude. Enfranchisement led not to fair representation, but to obstruction and intimidation. Education appeared to offer a route to knowledge and prosperity, but schools were segregated and differentially funded.38 Appearing or sounding educated was tantamount to provocation in any case, and material success, hard as it was to achieve, merited resentment and suspicion rather than the admiration of White America. Training this under-
37 Jeremiah Wilson Moses, The Golden Age of Black Nationalism, 1850–1925 (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 251–3. 38 Mary Ellison, The Black Experience. American Blacks Since 1865 (London: Batsford, 1974), 145, notes that some States forced Black schools to use textbooks rewritten to exclude the concept of democracy.
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class to bear arms was too frightening to contemplate, and in the First World War segregated Black troops generally played a supporting role. A few were sent into battle, but only where prospects were bleak and better equipped soldiers could not be spared. The Ku Klux Klan flourished between 1915 and 1924, and in the first twenty-seven years of the twentieth century, almost 1500 lynchings were recorded. Even so, an anti-lynching bill was defeated in Senate in 1922.39 Even in the North, legal prejudice, hostile trade unions, segregation, and riots all reaffirmed the message that justice, equality, and respect would not be given freely,40 and attempts at self-defence in the face of mob violence were severely punished.41 The Depression hit hardest those who must have thought before that they had little to lose. In Atlanta in the 1930s, ‘half the black infants died before reaching one month of age.’42 Some African-Americans sought escape in the back-to-Africa movement, while others found new hope in the status of emerging African nations. Scientists justified national and international conditions by arguing that poverty was the inevitable result of genetic inferiority,43 and the fear of racial mixing, although it had always been an integral part of slavery, now contributed to the general sense that white America was under threat. Booker T. Washington, the most prominent Black spokesman of the post-slavery period, had tried to appease this fear: In all things that are purely social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual progress.44
It was this separation that was to lead to the development of a distinctively African-American form of English, although some features undoubtedly pre-date the twentieth century.45 Slang glossaries from this period provide only glimpses of its development: like Black musical forms, it was of little interest until it began to influence society at large. 39
Cashman, America in the Twenties and Thirties, 271–2. Noel Ignatiev, How the Irish became White (New York/London: Routledge, 1995), 114–21. 41 Arthur Waskow, ‘Public and Private Violence: 1919’, 158–67 in Thomas Rose (ed.), Violence in America. A Historical and Contemporary Reader (New York: Random House, 1969), 165, notes that Black Americans began to fight back after the First World War. 42 43 Ellison, Black Experience, 120. Ibid., 59. 44 Booker T. Washington, Up From Slavery in Three Negro Classics, introduced by John Hope Franklin (New York: HarperCollins, 1965), 148. 45 Gunnel Tottie, An Introduction to American English (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002), 227; Walt Wolfram and Natalie Schilling-Estes, American English, 2nd edn. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), 222. 40
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John Chapman on jazz orchestra slang (1935) John Chapman was a drama critic on the New York Daily News, and it was there that he published his account of jazz orchestra slang, attributing it to Lou Frankel, apparently the radio reviewer for Nation magazine, and explaining that: Hot Men began developing their slang before Irving Berlin thought of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” and it is still developing—faster, probably, than any other slang.46
The glossary is arranged in semantically themed paragraphs and defines about fifty terms. For instance: The instruments—Iron horn: cornet. Grunt horn: tuba. Black stick: clarinet. Rock crusher, squeeze box: accordion. The box, moth bag: piano. Glitter, Guinea’s harp: guitar. Woodpile: xylophone. Dog house: bass fiddle. Pretzel: French horn. . . .
Carl Cons’s ‘The “Slanguage” of Swing-Terms the “Cats” Use’ (1936)47 Carl Cons ‘co-editor of Down Beat and a saxophonist’48 provided this list of ‘the jargon of jazz’ in the Chicago-based magazine in November, 1935. An expanded version appeared in a later Down Beat publication.49 There are 103 headwords in the Down Beat list, divided into three sections, each arranged alphabetically: ‘Swing Phrases’, ‘Musicians, etc.’, and ‘Musical Instruments’. It lists some of the same terms as Chapman’s glossary of the previous month: Guinea’s Harp—guitar. Grunt-Horn—tuba. Gitter—see Guinea’s Harp.
— but entries are not always identical (see gitter). Each list also includes terms not found in the other, suggesting that they were com46 47
John Chapman, [untitled piece on jazz orchestra slang], New York Daily News (21 Oct. 1935), 32. Carl Cons, ‘The “Slanguage” of Swing-Terms the “Cats” Use”’, Down Beat 2:11 (Nov. 1935),
1, 8. 48 Rick McRae, ‘“What is Hip?” And other Inquiries in Jazz Slang Lexicography”, Notes 2:57 (2001), 574-84. 49 Paul Eduard Miller, Down Beat’s Yearbook of Swing (Chicago: Down Beat, 1939), 171-6 (from McRae, 577).
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piled independently. Definitions in the ‘Swing Phrases’ section tend to be more discursive: Freak lip—a pair of kissers that can wear like leather; one who can hit high C’s all night and play a concert the next day. Muggles—a weed that musicians smoke occasionally.
Louis Armstrong’s Swing that Music and Holman Harvey’s ‘It’s Swing’ (both 1936) Louis Armstrong (1901–71) was among the first jazz musicians to attain national and international renown. He developed his musical talents in the New Orleans Colored Waifs’ Home for Boys in his early teens, but pursued his career in Chicago and New York. He was a popular live performer throughout the world, and when this autobiography appeared was at the peak of his career. The autobiography is followed by the ‘Music Section’ edited by Horace Gerlach, which has subsections including ‘Rhythmic Counterpoint’ and ‘Melodic Obbligato’, many of which are less than a page long. The swing glossary is in the ‘Music Section’, and is more in keeping with Gerlach’s written style than Armstrong’s. There are thirty-one single-sense headwords, all but three of which concentrate on musical terms rather than translating the more general slang found in the text: Commercial: Appealing to the uninitiated public, compromise swing. Jam Session: An informal meeting of musicians playing for their amusement, swinging without leadership or score, experimental session.
A version of the Armstrong glossary appeared in The Delineator, a women’s magazine usually concentrating on fashion and fine art. This article contains all but one of Armstrong’s entries, editing nine of them in some significant way, usually to abridge them. Without these changes, the glossary would not have fitted into the space available: Armstrong Screw-ball: Crazy, extremely unbridled swing. Collegiate: Extremely slow style swing music.
Sender: A word or phrase that sends a band into swing playing as the phrase: “Swing It, Boys!” or “In the Groove!” or “Let’s Mug One for the Folks!” etc.
SENDER: A word or phrase that sends a band into swing playing as the phrase: “Swing It, Boys!” or “In the Groove!” etc. etc.
Harvey clearly felt the need to justify swing music to his readers: Its earnest devotees tell you it will go far—that in time it will bring forth a deeper and finer American music. They point with pride to the indisputable fact that its ranks now include many of our finest musicians. They see no reason, they tell you, why the principle of free playing should not be extended to fields beyond jazz, even (the blasphemy is theirs) to the classics!50
Conclusions This disparate collection of glossaries documents the decline of travelling entertainers in the United States, displaced by the gramophone, radio, and film. The American circus and carnival glossaries look back on a tradition past its heyday: the Depression and the development of talking pictures meant that punters had become more careful with their money and less easily impressed. In bringing jazz and swing music to a wider (and whiter) audience, the new technologies also laid the foundations for the rapid changes in musical trends and teenage fashions that were to characterize the post-war period. The British glossaries in this chapter present a romanticized view of travelling entertainers and their hangers-on. Without the influence of businessmen like Barnam, the British circus had remained a handto-mouth industry, and thus its heritage was more apparent and its decline less dramatic.
Thirteen: Conclusion Many of the British dictionaries covered in this volume are historical. Some detail changes through time, while others document terms no longer in use. Both types of dictionary are backward-looking, and this tendency indicates a general sense of regret: a feeling that the future will not and cannot live up to the glories of the past, either for individuals or for the nation as a whole. Some authors were attempting to preserve ephemeral language before it was lost altogether. Others were trying to document a time that was better than the present: looking back from the later years of the nineteenth century, some considered the past more lively, more adventurous, and in many ways less conformist than the present. Non-standard language encapsulated this non-conformity, and Britain’s amateur scholars were busy during this period documenting the slang of their youth or of previous generations. Contemporary urban working-class life had little intrinsic appeal, and only rhyming slang, an expression of solidarity artificially sustained by the music-hall, was of interest in the inter-war period. Social structures in Britain, the United States, and Australia were different, and in each system non-standard speech carried different meaning. Although social and educational distinctions in language were carefully maintained in the United States, and the poor were largely left to sink or swim, contemporary slang and dialect were of interest for their own sake. Despite the hierarchies that dominated society, the symbolic importance of freedom and democracy is reflected in the application of new scholarly techniques to the study of non-standard language. In Australia, attempts to recreate Britain’s social hierarchy had been foiled by nature, geology, and demographics. Although still considered inferior by the stubbornly Anglocentric, Australian slang and Australian English had become for their speakers powerful symbols of fairness, national pride, and self-respect. Slang dictionaries inevitably lie along the fault-lines of change. Not only do they document new terms, but they also embody their writers’ feelings about the changes underlying them. The dictionaries discussed here fulfilled a variety of functions for their writers and users.
396
Conclusion
Some created and nurtured a sense of loyalty to school, university, or nation, and emphasized the importance of tradition. Some encouraged rebellion against Empire, capitalism, or patriarchy. Others sought to resist change by stirring up moral panic in response to it. First World War glossaries inspired reluctant soldiers and nations to action, helped the survivors to come to terms with their experiences, and memorialized the millions who did not survive. Having sacrificed so much to the war, some individuals gained a sense of group pride that they had not previously enjoyed. They had anticipated being treated with greater respect at the end of the war, and when this did not happen young people, African-Americans, and Britain’s colonies all began to reject the ideals and figures of authority they had previously sought to emulate and serve. Non-standard speech is a clear symbol of such disobedience. Political agitators tried unsuccessfully to extend the rebellion to the workers,1 and fear of communism is expressed in a number of the glossaries discussed in this volume. Other objects of horrified fascination during this period were gangsters, hoboes, and modern women. Audiences throughout the world adored Chaplin’s tramp,2 a figure building on decades of comic tradition, but gangster films and books of the Twenties and Thirties, linked crime, glamour, and jazz together in an irresistible mixture of danger and excitement. Television broadcasting was in its infancy, but the film and music industries provided the conduit by which social and cultural trends in the United States were to influence language internationally. They exposed Middle America to the language of the racially mixed inner cities, and exported American slang to the rest of the English-speaking world. Aspiring writers and bemused audiences needed help with these unfamiliar terms, and many of the slang glossaries in Chapters 10 and 11 refer to the use of underworld slang in fiction. As susceptible to glamour as everyone else, aspiring criminals undoubtedly modelled their speech on its cinematic representation. Like the rhyming slang of the music-halls, criminal slang was both the raw material and the product of the media.
1 2
James, Rise and Fall, 372–3. Cresswell, The Tramp, 131.
Conclusion
397
It would be dangerous to generalize about the reliability of these glossaries as witnesses of non-standard speech, but it is certain that the areas of slang they chose to document are expressions of contemporary interest. No one was making glossaries of the slang of factory workers or schoolgirls or insurance men (or if they were, they were calling it something different), because these groups did not have the romantic appeal of college boys, gangsters, hoboes, or soldiers in the trenches. Even for those groups whose slang is documented, a single individual’s knowledge, no matter how carefully transcribed, could not represent the speech of every other member of the group in every situation. Conversely, it takes a disciplined lexicographer to omit material once collected, and many of the dictionaries discussed here are by no means disciplined. Real language does not present itself in ordered lists—it is produced in complex social contexts—and very few of the dictionaries make any attempt to account for this. Scholars who wish to do so tend not to become lexicographers. This period did see the beginnings of sociological slang lexicography, sometimes scholarly and sometimes journalistic. This approach insists that slang cannot be recorded in a study or a library. To understand it properly, one must observe or even live the life of its users. This new emphasis on the importance of insider knowledge was to undermine the status of the gentleman slang lexicographer. Moreover, the influence of structuralism on linguistics effectively disqualified vocabulary as an area for serious scholarly interest. As the twentieth century progressed, being a slang-user was to become a far more credible qualification for the task of documenting slang than being a competent lexicographer. Another strand running through this volume is the development of psychology, which tended to pathologize non-conformity. Eugenics also lurks in the background as a solution to social problems. Tramps, criminals, drug-users, and homosexuals were all held to suffer from genetic traits that the world would be better without. Their use of deviant language was symbolic of their inability to conform. None of the threats to security that had alarmed Britain’s imperialists at the beginning of this period had been resolved, and many now threatened America too. Women, homosexuals, the working classes, foreigners, and outsiders of all kinds had failed to accept their places in the pre-ordained social order. No matter what concessions were
398
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made, they were never satisfied. In 1909, in an address to the AGM of the English Association, a speaker commented that: The old standards have decayed, the aristocracy no longer take the intellectual lead; men of Letters and booksellers are left face to face with a multitude of readers whose intellectual appetites and tastes are emancipated from all direct influence and control. If we look at the state of our imaginative literature, we must observe in it a grossness, even an indecency, of conception, and an inflowing tide of slang and vulgarity and other forms of ugliness which tend to corrupt imagination and barbarize language.3
Although we have seen much evidence to the contrary, the idea that slang was particularly characteristic of the uneducated was still firmly entrenched in Britain and America at the end of the period covered by this book. Several glossaries in this volume provide a hint of the changes to come. In the period following the Second World War, slang came to be associated more particularly with American teenagers, and ultimately with the African-American musical forms that defined their years of youthful rebellion. We have seen that early lexicographers of American and Australian slang turned to British sources rather than first-hand knowledge, but the centrality of British slang and of British slang dictionaries was an inevitable casualty of political change. Urbanization and the increasing influence of the media were to remain central to the development and dissemination of slang during and after the Second World War. Increasing prosperity and leisure created new markets, particularly among the young. The music, film, and fashion industries created and responded to changes in attitude and language. They also harnessed teenage slang as a marketing tool, and the period from 1937 onwards sees the increasing commercialization of slang and its lexicography. Partridge’s DSUE was modelled on the nineteenth-century historical dictionaries that were his main sources, but he found it necessary to exclude American slang in order to make his task at all manageable. This decision, anticipated by the presentation of so many separate lists in Rose’s Thesaurus and Weseen’s Dictionary of American Slang, is a foretaste of the fragmentation of slang lexicography that will be seen in the next volume in this series. 3 Quoted in Brian Doyle, ‘The Invention of English’, in Colls and Dodd (eds.), Englishness, 89–115: 104.
Appendix of Tabular Matter In volumes I and II of this series, my analysis of the dictionaries’ contents was based on all the entries contained within them. In the face of such vast works as Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues, this approach was clearly impractical,1 and in this volume, I have based my analyses on the first fifty entries for each letter of the alphabet. This ought to result in nice round samples of 1300 entries, but the numbers are usually somewhat more ragged because some letters contain fewer than fifty entries. In addition, in order to avoid distorting the sample by over-representing earlier entries under a headword, which tend to contain grammatical information and usage labels disproportionately often, I have continued sampling past fifty entries if the fiftieth entry is not the last under the headword. The samples were entered into databases with separate fields for different aspects of their contents. Into the field ‘etymology’, for example, a (for ‘yes’) would be inserted if one were present. These databases could then be asked questions like ‘Of the entries that are new to this edition, how many include an etymology?’ or ‘How many of the entries derived from Hotten’s dictionary are labelled as “English”?’. Types of entries could also be isolated for further analysis. Where the answers were interesting they are included in the discussion of the dictionary. For each entry in the database, there are two fields to cover meaning. Sometimes only one is necessary. Grease “butter” belongs to food, for example, and typewriter “machine-gun” to weapon. Other entries belong to more than one field: dud “a bomb that fails to explode” belongs to weapon, but also to failure; M.O. “medical officer” is both a doctor and an officer, and thus belongs in both health and rank. Thus the totals for semantic coverage exceed the total number of entries in a dictionary. Because the dictionaries cover such a wide range of subjects, it was not possible to adopt a uniform method for analysing and describing their semantic coverage. For example, a dictionary of general slang may include a few terms pertaining the circus, perhaps joey for “a clown” and big top for “the main tent”. In this context, it would be sufficient to group these together under leisure & pleasure, but in a dictionary of circus slang those terms would belong to clearly defined areas: joey to performers & performance and big top to parts of the circus. It also seemed appropriate to group semantic fields together in different ways depending on the context. Students’ interest in clothes tends to revolve around their function as fashion statements and date-attractants, so they belong in the wider field of clothes & looks. For soldiers in the trenches, on the other hand, clothes were functional rather
1 The contents of the five editions of Hotten’s dictionary and of some other minor lists are analysed in full because the analysis was already completed before this change in methodology.
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Appendix of Tabular Matter
than decorative, and they thus belong in the field of clothes & other equipment. Without this variety of treatment for different types of dictionary, it would be impossible to say much more than that glossaries of circus slang include lots of words to do with leisure & pleasure. Percentages are given to one decimal place in the tables, but for ease of reading they are rounded to the nearest whole number in the text.
Table 1.1 Sources of the main word-list in the various editions of Hotten’s dictionary 1859 from previous edition Egana 278 Ducange 194 Bee 49 Mayhew 5 Kent 33 25 Household Words other sources/ 712 sources indistinguishable no clear 908 source total 2204
a 79 of these entries are also found in Vaux’s dictionary, and 173 in Grose’s. There are, however, 23 found only in Egan, and none that could only be from Vaux or Grose.
Table 1.2 An outline of the subject matter of new entries in Hotten’s dictionary 1859 crime & punishment money & poverty emotion, behaviour & temperament clothes & other artefacts
1860
1865
1872
1874
497 (17.1%) 160 (11.4%) 206 (11.6%)
4 (17.4%)
147 (10.5%)
337 (11.6%) 109 (7.8%) 128 (7.2%)
1 (4.3%)
100 (7.1%)
305 (10.5%) 164 (11.7%) 151 (8.5%)
2 (8.7%)
155 (11.0%)
216 (7.4%) 101 (7.2%) 126 (7.1%)
1 (4.3%)
75 (5.3%)
Appendix of Tabular Matter
401
Table 1.2 (Continued) 1859 food & drink work leisure & pleasure body & health knowledge & communication geography & travel war & violence people home life animals & nature fools & victims looks sex & prostitution other total
205 (7.0%)
1860
1865
121 (8.6%) 149 (8.4%)
1872
1874
1 (4.3%)
126 (9.0%)
0 (0.0%) 4 (17.4%)
86 (6.1%) 156 (11.1%)
179 6.2%) 167 (5.7%)
85 (6.1%) 89 (6.3%)
150 (8.4%) 167 (9.4%)
150 (5.2%)
94 (6.7%)
93 (5.2%)
2
(8.7%)
72
(5.1%)
118 (4.1%)
65 (4.6%)
53 (3.0%)
1
(4.3%)
48
(3.4%)
116 4.0%)
44 (3.1%)
79 (4.4%)
0
(0.0%)
44
(3.1%)
100 (3.4%)
43 (3.1%)
92 (5.2%)
1
(4.3%)
56
(4.0%)
99 (3.4%) 93 (3.2%) 73 (2.5%)
62 (4.4%) 71 (5.1%) 56 (4.0%)
73 (4.1%) 66 (3.7%) 98 (5.5%)
0 2 1
(0.0%) (8.7%) (4.3%)
50 70 56
(3.6%) (5.0%) (4.0%)
61 (2.1%)
44 (3.1%)
33 (1.9%)
0
(0.0%)
40
(2.9%)
44 (1.5%) 21 (0.7%)
24 (1.7%) 14 (1.0%)
32 (1.8%) 12 (0.7%)
0 0
(0.0%) (0.0%)
28 21
(2.0%) (1.5%)
127 (4.4%) 58 (4.1%) 71 (4.0%) 2908 1404 1779
3 (13.0%) 23
73 (5.2%) 1403
Table 1.2.1 An outline of the subject matter of later dictionaries’ entries from Hotten (1874)
Hotten leisure & pleasure clothes & other artefacts work body & health home life animals & nature people knowledge & communication war & violence geography & travel fools, failure & insults looks sex & prostitution other total
Table 1.3 Lexicographic features of new entries in Hotten’s dictionary (including additional lists and footnotes) entries including 1859 citations authorities named but not quoted unattributed examples of use etymologies crossreferences anecdotes
a Note that Hotten edits and deletes existing entries, as well as adding new ones. Only the usage labels in new entries are listed here. Some entries contain more than one label.
Table 2.1 Lexicographic features of Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang and Lentzner’s Colonial English glossaries Barrère & Leland
entries including citations authorities named but not quoted unattributed examples of use etymologies cross-references semantically related terms usage labels pronunciation guidance total entries in sample
440 (36.2%) 51 (4.2%) 20 327 57 141 1042 2 1214
(1.6%) (26.9%) (4.7%) (11.6%) (85.8%) (0.2%)
Lentzner from B&L
Lentzner’s other entries
304 (46.6%) 32 (4.9%)
48 (58.5%) 6 (7.3%)
35 259 18 93 209 1 653
3 14 10 18 45 1 82
(5.4%) (39.7%) (2.8%) (14.2%) (32.0%) (0.2%)
(3.7%) (17.1%) (12.2%) (22.0%) (54.9%) (1.2%)
Table 2.1.1 Usage labels in Barrère and Leland’s Dictionary of Slang type of label register geographical occupational frequency other groups institutional
most frequent examples (% of type of label) 412 279 218 206 79 59
Table 3.1 An outline of the subject matter of Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues and of Ware’s Passing English (1909) Vols. I–VII crime & punishment leisure & pleasure body & health sex & prostitution knowledge & communication money & poverty emotion, behaviour & temperament fools, failure & insults clothes & other artefacts people work other total
Table 3.2 Lexicographic features in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues and Ware’s Passing English (1909)
citations authorities named but not quoted unattributed examples of use etymologies cross-references anecdotal or encyclopaedic material semantically related terms synonyms from other languages usage labels pronunciation guidance grammatical information total entries in sample
Table 3.2.1 Usage labels in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues
Vols. I–VII labels indicating wide usage labels indicating falling usage American cant other occupational/ professional slang school & university dialects of the British Isles naval, nautical, or military venery sporting slang theatrical & showmen slang vulgar Australian & Colonial terms other totala
These are not the same as the figures in Table 3.2 for usage labels, because some entries include more than one label.
Table 3.2.2 Selected Authorities in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and its Analogues
Grose’s Classical Dictionary B. E.’s Dictionary Ancient and Modern Shakespeare Matsell’s Vocabulum Jonson Lexicon Balatronicum Dickens Mayhew New Canting Dictionary Scott Swift Thackeray Dekker Fletcher
Table 4.2 Lexicographic features in Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) entries including citations authorities named but not quoted unattributed examples of use datesa etymologies cross-references empty cross-references anecdotal or encyclopaedic material semantically related terms synonyms from other languages usage labels pronunciation guidance grammatical information total entries in sample a
These figures include the dates provided with citations.
20 137 36 333 140 416 1 23
Appendix of Tabular Matter
409
Table 4.2.1 An outline of the subject matter of Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933)a Dawson crime & punishment leisure & pleasure body & health sex & prostitution knowledge & communication commerce, money & poverty emotion, behaviour & temperament fools, failure & insults people work clothes, jewellery & looks other total a
To facilitate comparison with Table 3.1, the semantic fields are presented in the same order.
Table 4.2.2 Usage labels in Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) Dawson labels indicating wide usage labels indicating falling usage American cant other occupational/ professional slang school & university dialects of the British Isles naval, nautical, or military venery sporting slang theatrical & showmen slang vulgar Australian & Colonial terms other totala a
These are not the same as the figures in Table 4.2 for usage labels, because some entries include more than one label.
410
Appendix of Tabular Matter
Table 4.2.3 Selected Authorities in Dawson’s English Slang (1913), A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English (1921), and Partridge’s English slang list (1933) Dawson Grose’s Classical Dictionary B. E.’s Dictionary Ancient and Modern Shakespeare Matsell’s Vocabulum Jonson Lexicon Balatronicum Dickens Mayhew New Canting Dictionary Scott Swift Thackeray Dekker Fletcher Halliwell Punch other total
Table 4.3 Lexicographic features in Phillips’s Rhyming Slang (1931/2) and in the new entries in the anonymous Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945)
entries including
Phillips A Engl-Rsl
Phillips A Rsl-Engl
Anon Engl-Rsl
Anon Rsl-Engl
disambiguation abbreviated form total entries in sample
7 (5.2%) 27 (20.0%) 135
5 (3.7%) 0 (0.0%) 136
13 (9.6%) 24 (17.6%) 136
27 (19.9%) 35 (25.7%) 136
Table 4.3.1 An outline of the subject matter of Phillips’s Rhyming Slang (1931/2) and of the new entries in the anonymous Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945)
body & health leisure & pleasure
Phillips A Engl-Rsl
Phillips A Rsl-Engl
Anon Engl-Rsl
Anon Rsl-Engl
26 (17.7%) 19 (12.9%)
24 (16.2%) 23 (15.5%)
5 (4.6%) 16 (14.8%)
13 (8.6%) 14 (9.2%)
Appendix of Tabular Matter
411
Table 4.3.1 (Continued) Phillips A Engl-Rsl clothes & other artefacts money & poverty home life food crime & punishment emotion, behaviour & temperament knowledge & communication animals & nature fools, failure & insults geography & travel number & time other total
work (11.5%) other artefacts (20.0%) war, weapons & violence (15.0%) success & approval (18.3%) measurement terms (12.5%) [no other field >2] success & approval (20.0%) home life (16.7%) success & approval (12.7%) animals & nature (14.9%) other artefacts (18.2%) other artefacts (11.4%) war, weapons & violence (16.1%) geography & travel (8.7%)
Table 7.1.1 Lexicographic features in Rose’s Thesaurus of Slang
aviation college underworld
variant spellings
etymologies
examples of use
usage labels total
0 (0.0%) 0 (0.0%) 0 (0.0%)
0 (0.0%) 0 (0.0%) 0 (0.0%)
3 (6.0%) 1 (2.0%) 4 (7.8%)
5 (10.0%) 0 (0.0%) 4 (7.8%)
50 50 51
Appendix of Tabular Matter
413
Table 7.1.1 (Continued)
prison English underworld hobo lumberjack New England newspaper oilfield railroad sea-fishing baseball boxing football golf polo turf Broadway cinema circus and carnival chautauqua western war total
money & poverty (17.2%) geography & travel (51.2%) work (30.7%) work (45.2%) animals & nature (32.8%)
soldiers:
people (22.4%)
knowledge & communication (7.4%) crime & punishment (13.3%) work (25.3%) other artefacts (12.4%) other artefacts (40.5%) other artefacts + geography & travel (both 10.0%) body & health (12.1%)
Table 9.1 An outline of the subject matter of Downing’s Digger’s Dialect (1919) and of terms from it in the Glossary of Slang and Peculiar Terms in Use in the A.I.F. (1921–4)
body & health fools, failure & insults ranks, regiments & terms of service leisure & pleasure war & weapons geography & travel knowledge & communication measurement terms regulations, infractions & penalties food emotion, behaviour & temperament other total
Table 9.2 Lexicographic features of the glossaries in Brophy and Partridge’s Soldiers’ Songs and Slang (1930 and 1931) 1st edn. citations authorities named but not quoted unattributed examples of use etymologies cross-references empty cross-references semantically related terms compounds, derivatives, or phrases anecdotal or encyclopaedic information marked as ‘official, technical, or semitechnical’ other usage labels total new entries
Table 9.2.1 Semantic coverage of the glossaries in Brophy and Partridge’s Soldiers’ Songs and Slang (1930 and 1931) 1st edn. ranks, regiments & terms of service war & weapons leisure & pleasure body & health clothes & other equipment emotion, behaviour & temperament people regulations, infractions & penalties geography & travel other total
2nd edn. (incl p.p.s)
3rd edn.
68 (10.1%)
10 (8.3%)
146 (12.4%)
59 50 47 41
19 5 17 10
136 65 80 88
(8.8%) (7.4%) (7.0%) (6.1%)
(15.7%) (4.1%) (14.0%) (8.3%)
(11.5%) (5.5%) (6.8%) (7.5%)
40 (6.0%)
4 (3.3%)
38 (3.2%)
37 (5.5%) 36 (5.4%)
2 (1.7%) 3 (2.5%)
40 (3.4%) 56 (4.7%)
36 (5.4%) 258 (38.4%) 672
3 (2.5%) 48 (39.7%) 121
117 (9.9%) 414 (35.1%) 1180
Appendix of Tabular Matter
417
Table 11.1 Lexicographic features of Maurer’s ‘Argot of the Underworld’, ‘Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’ (both 1931), and ‘Lingo of the Good People’ (1935) lists
part of speech example of use cited authority semantically related terms cross-reference empty cross-reference variant headwords compounds, derivatives or phrases etymology usage labels total
Table 11.2 Sources of entries in Hanchant’s Newgate Garland (1932) Farmer & Henley Hotten Barrère & Leland other sources/sources indistinguishable no clear source total
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Subject Index
abbreviation see acronyms, clippings, initializations Acland, L. G. D. 3 n.5 acronyms 82, 96–7, 262 Adams, Henry 112–4, 115 n.32, 123 Adams, Ramon F. 3 n.4 African Americans 169, 232 n.32, 327, 340, 376, 379–80, 390–1, 396 African-American English xv, 7, 50, 213–14, 359–60, 370, 391 Ainsworth, W. Harrison 349 Allen, Jules Verne 3 n.4 Allingham, Philip, Cheapjack 386–7 Allvine, Glendon, ‘Studio Lingo’ 371 n.1 alphabet fatigue 67 alphabetization 96–7 American Civil War 155, 240, 309 American English and American slang xv, 2–3, 6, 13, 14, 29, 31, 42, 45–6, 50, 51, 54, 90, 96, 148, 149, 152, 153–94, 258–60, 271–3, 276–398 passim American Expeditionary Force (AEF) 256, 271–3 ‘The American Ganguage’ 352 Anderson, Nels, Milk and Honey Route 293–6 Anglo-Chinese terms 29, 31, 49, 51
Anglo-Indian terms 23–4, 29, 31, 33, 45, 49, 50, 158 in British army slang 226, 231, 232, 236, 241–2, 248, 251, 252, 259, 274 Annapolis 207–8 archaic terms 23, 29, 31, 67 Armstrong, Louis, Swing that Music 392–3 Arnold, Robert, ‘Criminal Slang’ 360–1 Underworld Slang 367–8 Arnold, Thomas 102 Arts and Crafts movement 41 Asbury, Herbert, Gangs of New York 303 n. 1 Associated Press, ‘Dispatch from Chicago’ 351–2 Auburn University 210 Australian English and Australian slang xv, 2, 5–6, 13, 14, 44, 45–6, 49, 51, 96, 139–52, 181, 232–4, 245 n.57, 253–4, 291–2, 309–315, 361, 366, 368, 369, 395–8 passim Australian Imperial Force (AIF) 233, 253 B., R. G., ‘College Slang, Harvard’ 196 Babbitt, Eugene, ‘College Words and Phrases’ 198–200, 201 back slang 18, 21, 91, 310, 362
442
Subject Index
Baillie, James 115–16 Baker, Sidney 151 Banks, J. R. McReynolds, ‘Unabridged Collegiate Dictionary’ 204–6 Barentz, M. E., Woordenboek der Engelsche Spreektaal 4 n.7 Barker, Howard F., ‘More Hobo Lingo’ 286–7 Barr, A. J., Let Tomorrow Come 336 Barrère, Albert 38, 70 Argot and Slang 4, 38–40 Dictionary of Slang, Jargon and Cant 42–9, 50–1, 83, 98, 144, 145, 158, 314, 350–1, 404–6, 417 Bartlett, John Russell, Dictionary of Americanisms 45, 156, 159 n.13 Bastian, George C. 3 n.5 Baumann, Heinrich 35 Londonismen 4, 35–8, 350 Bazley, A. W. 253 BBC see British Broadcasting Corporation Beath, Paul, 292 n.40 ‘Aviation Lingo’ 273 ‘More Crook Words’ 341 ‘Winchellese’ 288 Bee, John 70, 400, 408 beggars see hoboes Bell, Ralcy Husted, The Worth of Words 154 n.5 Bentley, Harold 182, 190–1, 295 n.48 Bible 66, 69, 71, 85, 86 Bierce, Ambrose 15 n.2, 20 n.10 Devil’s Dictionary 4–5 Birss, John, ‘English Underworld Slang’ 347–8 ‘Additional Circus Expressions’ 377, 382–3
Blanch, William 109–10, 130, 136 Blue coat boys/blue coats see Christ’s Hospital School Blunden, Edmund 129–30, 136 Boer War 14, 83 Bolwell, Robert, ‘College Slang Words and Phrases’ 201–2 Bootham School 131–2, 137 Borrow, George 280 Bowen, Frank, Sea Slang 221 n.11 Brackbill, Hervey, ‘Midshipman Jargon’ 207–8 Brewer, E. C., Dictionary of Phrase and Fable 60, 68, 74 n.1 British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) 126–7, 131, 296 British Empire 7–8, 13, 14, 15, 53, 74, 82, 83, 100–1, 103, 111, 135, 139, 160, 218, 274, 396 British English and British slang xv, 74–101, 148, 149, 152, 154, 167–8, 181, 193–4, 272, 274–5, 295, 303, 337–8, 349–51, 372, 374, 385–7, 395–8 passim British(-Canadian) Recruiting Mission 231, 234 Brophy, John 261, 274 The Soldier’s War 261–3, 266 with Eric Partridge, Songs and Slang 96 n.32, 99, 100, 218 n.2, 263–71, 274, 416 Bryn Mawr 202 The Bulletin 142, 146, 313 Bulwer-Lytton, Edward 22, 349 Burke, James P., ‘Argot of the Racketeers’ 341–2 Burke, W. J., Literature of Slang 3, 13 n.25, 20 n.10, 195 n.4, 221 n.8, 307, 340 n.81, 359 n.124
Subject Index C., S. C. 3 n.4 cadgers see hoboes Cambridge, University of 28, 103, 111, 119, 133–5, 250 Canadian English 14, 267 cant 1, 2, 16, 18, 20, 21, 23, 31, 99, 150 Carew, Bampfylde-Moore (and variously titled editions of his autobiography) 5, 39 carnivals and carnival slang 6–7, 371, 375, 378, 379, 380, 388–9, 393–4 Carter, Virginia, ‘University of Missouri Slang’ 210–11, 213 Cartmell, Van H., Handbook for the Amateur Actor 371 n.1 Cary, Henry, The Slang of Venery 4, 69–72, 73 Casey, Patrick, ‘Flash’ 280–1 with Terence Casey, The Gay Cat 279–81 censorship see obscenity Chadwick, Roy 340–1 Chaplin, Charlie 264 n.90, 277, 375, 396 Chapman, John 392 Charterhouse School 103 n.5, 114, 115, 137 n.76 Chipman, Bert J., Hey Rube 384–5 Christian, W. E., Rhymes of the Rookies 224–6, 275 n.108 Christie, Agatha 303, 369 Christ’s Hospital School 109–10, 114, 120, 121, 128–30, 135–6 cinema 6, 7, 154 n.4, 155, 161, 165, 177, 193, 218, 261 n.86, 322, 366, 370, 371, 372, 393, 396, 398
443
circuses and circus slang 7, 371, 372, 375–8, 379, 380, 381, 384–5, 393–4 Clapin, Sylva, New Dictionary of Americanisms 153 n.3 Clark, Charles L., and E. E. Eubank, Lockstep and Corridor 333–4 clippings 198, 201, 203 cocaine 326–8 passim, 336 Colgate University 208 college slang see school slang, university slang colloquial language 1–3, 13, 31, 45, 58, 60, 61, 71, 72, 87, 89, 90, 98, 141, 146, 151, 153, 155, 176, 177, 189, 224, 235, 255, 257, 258, 274, 286, 299 Columbia University 204, 209 comic dictionaries 4–5 communism 296, 396 see also International Workers of the World Conkle, Ellsworth Prouty, ‘Carnival Slang’ 378 Cook, Dorothy, ‘More Yellowstone Lingo’ 190 costermongers 18, 21 see also rhyming slang Courtney, Thomas, ‘Hot Shorts’ 366 Cowan, Frank Contributions 221 n.11 Craigie, William 192 with James Hulbert, Dictionary of American English 192 n.88 Crickmore, H. G., Dictionary of Racing Terms 153 n.2 crime and criminals xv, 290, 303–70 passim, 397 criminal slang 278, 282, 289, 303–70
444
Subject Index
Cripps, Alfred Henry Seddon 123 Crowe, Cornelius, Australian Slang Dictionary 312–15 Crump, Irving, and John W. Newton, Our Police 365–6 Cutlack, F. M., ‘Glossary’ 221 n.9 Daughrity, Kenneth L., ‘Handed-Down Campus Expressions’ 209–10 Dawson, Arthur, Dictionary of English Slang 84–8, 98, 101, 408–10 ‘Definitions in the RNAS’ 224 The Degenerates 77–8 Dekker, Thomas 60, 407, 410 Dennis, Clarence 145–6 Depression 155, 161, 180, 244, 276, 296, 302, 391, 393 dialect 1, 2, 3, 13, 20, 29, 31, 67, 72, 139, 146, 153 n.2 Dickens, Charles 15, 22, 38, 101, 114, 157–8, 407, 410 Dictionary of Rhyming Slang (1945) 94–6 A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English 88–90, 408–10 Doone, Jice, Timely Tips for New Australians 148–9 Downing, W. H., Digger Dialects 245–8, 253–4, 415 drugs and drug control 6, 282, 325, 326–7, 335, 353, 363–4, 370, 397 see also heroin, marijuana, etc. Ducange Anglicus, The Vulgar Tongue 19, 311, 346 n.101, 349, 400 Dulwich College 109 Durham Grammar School 119 Durham, University of 119
E., B., A New Dictionary 60, 69, 70, 89, 90, 407, 410 Egan, Pierce, Grose’s Classical Dictionary 18, 19, 61, 70, 156, 349, 400, 408 Life in London 75–7 Eliot, George 85 Empey, Arthur Guy 226–9, 238, 239 Encyclopædia Britannica 89–90, 148–9, 176, 261 Ersine, Noel, Underworld and Prison Slang 355–6 Eton College 103 n.5, 104–6, 111–2, 114, 122, 126–8, 130–1, 137 n.76, 250, 296 etymology 19, 20 n.10, 22, 23, 25, 33, 44, 47–8, 52, 63, 69, 72, 75, 80, 87, 89, 97, 110, 113, 117, 121, 131, 132, 134, 141, 142, 145, 158, 159, 173, 178–9, 184, 197–8, 206, 209, 226, 228, 232, 236, 242, 243, 247, 251, 252, 254, 255, 256, 259, 262, 267, 268, 272, 284, 287 n.29, 289, 290–1, 311, 312, 326, 336, 339, 357, 374, 376, 389 eugenics 173–4, 249, 397 Evans, Edward, ‘College Slang (Princeton)’ 196 Faber, A. Dilworth 192 Fall, De Witt Clinton, Army and Navy Information 229–31 Farmer, John 53–4, 56–7 Public School Word-Book 118–22 with W. E. Henley, Slang and its Analogues 43, 50, 53–73, 79, 83, 84–5, 86–8, 88–90, 97–8, 100, 118, 268, 314, 350–1, 399, 406–8, 417
Subject Index Fast Life 322 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) 168, 169, 351 film see cinema Finerty, James J., Criminalese 320–2, 353 flappers 162–7, 202, 276, 290, 352, 396 see also youth culture ‘Flash Language’ 294 n.43 Fletcher, John 60, 407, 410 Flexner, Stuart Berg 345 Francis, Augustus, Christ’s Hospital 128–9, 136 Fraser, Edward, and John Gibbons, Soldier and Sailor Words 254–8, 259, 265, 274 Furlong, Charles Wellington 3 n.4 Futrell, Allan W. 345 Gay Girl’s Guide 295 n.48 Giles, Slang Dictionary and Vulgar Phrases 154 n.5 Gilkyson, Walter, Spoken in Jest 167–8 Gladstone, William 42, 83 Gleason, James, and Richard Taber, Is Zat So? 175 Glover, J., ‘Thieves’ Slang’ 361–2 Gore, Willard Clark, ‘Student Slang’ 197–8 Gradus ad Cantabrigiam 134–5 Greenwood, James, Seven Curses 304–5, 319–20 Grose, Francis, Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue 18, 20, 34, 38, 44, 60–1, 69, 70, 89, 99, 156, 158 n.12, 265, 292, 350, 407, 410 see also Lexicon Balatronicum Gypsies 18, 41, 46, 302, 305 see also Romany
445
Hal, ‘Soldier Slang’ 221 n.8 Haldeman-Julius, Emanuel 169, 249 n.63 Hall, Benjamin H., Collection of College Words 199 Halliwell, James, Dictionary of Archaic and Provincial Words 70, 89, 117, 120 n.43, 408, 410 Hallock, Charles, Hallock’s American Club List 3 n.5 Hampden-Sydney College 197 Hanchant, W. L., Newgate Garland 261, 349–51, 417 Hargan, James, ‘The Psychology of Prison Language’ 362–3 Hargraves, Basil, Origins and Meanings 252–3 Harman, Thomas 18, 70 Harper, Robert S., ‘Lingo of Locale’ 3 n.5 Harrow School 103 n.5, 114, 115, 119, 137 n.76 Harvard College 196 Harvey, Holman, ‘Swing that Music’ 392–3 hash-house slang 190–1, 295 Hench, Atcheson Laughlin, ‘From the Vocabulary of Automobile Thieves’ 337 Henderson, George, Keys to Crookdom 328–30, 370 Henley, William Ernest 54–6, 57, 63–4, 349 see also Farmer, John Heriot’s Hospital School 115–16 heroin 327, 335 Hindley, Charles, The True History of Tom and Jerry 74–8, 408 Hitchin, Charles, The Regulator 90 n.23 hoboes 276–302, 396, 397
446
Subject Index
hobo language 6, 276–302 passim, 358 n.120 hobo songs 288, 289, 301 hobo symbols 16, 17, 284, 299–300 Hodgkin, George Lloyd, Jacaranda Dictionary 141–2 Holmes, Robert Derby, A Yankee in the Trenches 238–40, 260 homosexuality 14, 81–2, 83–4, 101, 173–4, 277, 285, 295, 397 Hope, John Frederic Roundell 122–3, 124 Hope, William George Ingham 124 Horsley, J. W., Jottings from Jail 350–1 Hotten, John William/Camden 15, 41, 107, 160 (variously titled editions of his dictionary) xv, 15–34, 35, 38, 39, 43–4, 46, 47, 50, 60, 72, 88, 91, 94 n.31, 119, 156–8, 176, 310–11, 312, 313–14, 331, 350, 399, 400–4, 408, 417 Hughes, Thomas, Tom Brown’s Schooldays 102 Hyatt, Robert M., ‘Correct Underworld Lingo’ 352–3
Irwin, Godfrey, American Tramp and Underworld Slang 96 n.32, 181, 289–93
Iddy-Umpty ‘Trench Terms’ 222–4 Indian English 14 Indian nationalism 14 Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) 285, 289, 356 Ingram, George, Hell’s Kitchen 337–8 initialisms 82, 96–7, 228 n.25 Irish English and Irish slang 43, 321, 361–2 Irish nationalism 14
Kane, Elisha K., ‘Jargon of the Underworld’ 283–6, 341 Kansas University 207 Keeley, Mary Paxton, ‘AEF English’ 271–3 Kelly, Francis Beverly, ‘Land of Sawdust’ 382–3 Kent, George, Modern Flash Dictionary 76 n.6, 400, 408 Kieran, John, ‘Sportsman’s Lexicon’ 3 n.5
Jackson, Lewis E., and C. R. Hellyer, Vocabulary of Criminal Slang 324–6 jargon 1–3, 20, 23, 29–30, 31, 35, 50, 92, 110, 139 n.2, 153 n.2, 171, 187, 189, 207–8, 212, 221 n.10, 231, 254, 279, 283, 328, 334, 335, 337, 341, 343, 356, 367, 371 jazz 162, 390, 392–4, 396 Jesco, John, Movie Dictionary 371 n.1 Johns Hopkins University 212 Johnson, Samuel 18, 20, 22 Johnstone, Murray, ‘Aussie Dictionary’ 232–3 Jones, Claude E., ‘A Note on Sailor Slang’ 221 n.11 Jones, Grover, ‘Railroad Lingo’ 153 n.2 Jones, Joe J., ‘More Slang’ 209 Jonson, Ben 60, 407, 410 Jordan, Randolph, ‘Idioms of the Road’ 282 Juniper, William, True Drunkard’s Delight 4 n.6
Subject Index Kingsley, Walter J., and Loney Haskell, ‘Stageland Dictionary’ 374 Klein, Nicholas, ‘Hobo Lingo’ 282–3 Knoblauch, W. (or K.) von, Dictionary of Argot 4 n.7, 52 Kuethe, James Louis 191–2, 291, 292–3 ‘John Hopkins’ Jargon’ 191, 212–13 ‘Modern Slang’ 192, 210 ‘Prison Parlance’ 359–60 Lait, Jack, Gangster Girl 338–9 Lake, Joshua 140 Langtry, Lillie 77, 80 Larkin, Margaret, Singing Cowboy 3 n.4 La Touche, Thomas Henry Digues and William Martin Digues La Touche, Christ’s Hospital 135–6 Laven, Goat, Rough Stuff 353–4 Lawson, Gilbert, Dictionary of Australian Words and Terms 147–8 Lawson, William Hamilton, Winchester College Notions 122–3 Leach, Charles F., On Top of the Underworld 354–5 Leland, Charles 38, 40–1 Hans Breitmann Ballads 41 ‘Circus Slang’ 372 see also Barrère, Albert Lemberger, J., ‘War Notes’ 241–3 Lentzner, Karl, Colonial English (and variously titled editions) 49–52, 139 n.2, 404–6 Leverage, Henry, ‘Flynn’s Dictionary of the Underworld’ 330–2
447
Lexicon Balatronicum 38, 70, 331, 407, 410 Life in Sing Sing 316–22 Lighter, Jonathan, Historical Dictionary of American Slang (HDAS) 156 n.11, 196, 197, 211, 272, 284 n.24, 290 n.36, 336 Lincoln College/University 213 Linton, Edwin, Diary of an Expedition Through Yellowstone National Park 153 n.2 literacy 10–11, 278 London English 35, 297, 312, 347–8 see also rhyming slang London, University of 103 Mackenzie, Compton 126 Maines, George H., and Bruce Grant, Wise-crack Dictionary 171–2 Maitland, James 155 The American Slang Dictionary 155–60, 176, 193 Manchester, University of 103 Manchon, J., Le slang 4 n.7 Mansfield, Robert Blachford 28 n.21, 65, 66, 106–9, 114, 119 Marchard, Charles, Modern Parisian Slang 220 marijuana 282, 327 n.52, 388, 393 Marlborough School 120 Marshall, Matt, Tramp-Royal on the Toby 297–8 Mason, William Lesley, ‘Principal New Words’ 221 n.9 Matsell, George, Vocabulum 5, 60, 70, 158 n.12, 303 n. 1, 307–8, 311, 314, 326, 346 n.101, 348, 349, 359, 410
448
Subject Index
Maurer, David 185, 344–5 ‘Argot of the Underworld’ 346–7, 359, 367, 417 ‘Lingo of the Jug-Heavy’ 346, 359, 367, 417 ‘Lingo of the Good People’ 367, 417 ‘Carnival Cant’ 380 Mayhew, Henry 16, 19, 20, 23, 70, 292, 304, 400, 407 McCartney, Eugene Stock, ‘Additions’ 258–60 McTee, A. R., ‘Oil Field Dictionary’ 3 n.5 Mencken, H. L. 153, 181, 182, 189, 192 n.88, 288, 341 Merchant Taylors’ School 103 n.5, 114 Meredith, Mamie, ‘The Human Head in Slang’ 4 n.6 Merryweather, L. W., ‘Argot of the Orphan’s Home’ 180–1 Michigan, University of 172, 197, 258 Milburn, George 185 Hobo’s Horn Book 288–9 ‘Convicts’ Jargon’ 343–4, 367 ‘Circus Words’ 381–2 military slang 4, 6, 99, 148, 191, 217–75 French military slang 220, 228 n.26, 234 n.56, 250, 267, 272 German military slang 220 n.5, 228 n.25, 234 n.56, 250, 267 Minehan, Thomas, Boy and Girl Tramps 298–9 Minnesota, University of 298 missionaries 8, 13 Missouri, University of 210–11
Moncrieff, William, Tom and Jerry 75 Morgan, John Ainsworth 132–3 morphine 327–8 passim Morris, Edward Ellis, Austral English 140, 145, 150, 313 Morse, William R., ‘Stanford Expressions’ 203–4 Moss, James Alfred, Supplement 221–2, 225–6, 229, 230 Mügge, Maximilian, The War Diary of a Square Peg 248–50 Murray, James 56, 61 music hall 10, 81 n.11, 91, 395, 396 N., T., ‘School Slang at Rossall’ 128 naval slang 221, 259 neologisms 5 Neville, Hippo, Sneak Thief 300–1 New Canting Dictionary 44, 60, 407, 410 New English Dictionary see Oxford English Dictionary New Zealand English 14, 140, 151, 245 n.57 Nordhoff, Charles, ‘Thieves’ Jargon’ 29 North Carolina, University of 210, 283 Notions see Winchester Notions Nugent-Bankes, George, A Day of My Life 111–2 O’Brien, S. E. see Stephens, Alfred George obscenity and censorship 27, 32, 52, 56–7, 61, 67, 72, 212, 249, 251, 271–2, 292–3, 342, 357, 363
Subject Index Oklahoma, University of 210 O’Lingo, Turner, Australian Comic Dictionary 5 n.8 Oliver, Robert, ‘Junglese’ 300 opium 291, 326–8 passim, 363 Orwell, George 91, 296–7 outlaws 303, 370 Oxford English Dictionary (OED) 14, 18, 30 n.25, 43, 45, 47 n.29, 47 n.30, 53, 56, 61, 73, 100, 113 n.28, 118, 128, 133, 147, 177 n.54, 179 n.57, 196, 197, 198, 236 n.39, 242 n.48, 259, 268, 279, 284 n.24, 287 n.29, 290 n.36, 291 n.37, 291 n.38, 326, 336, 352, 381 n.22 Oxford, University of 103, 107, 108, 112, 119, 126, 129, 130, 132–3, 250, 296 palare 387 Parker, Dan 5 n.8 Parker, Frederick 130–1 Partridge, Eric 35, 38, 42, 48, 56, 85, 96, 156, 159, 289, 292, 304 A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue 100 Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English (DSUE) 73, 94, 96, 100, 182, 271, 398 Slang Today and Yesterday 79 n.10, 96–100, 101, 149–51, 181–2, 408–10 see also Brophy, John Pascoe, Charles Eyre, Everyday Life 114–15 Pavia, Leo, ‘Die männliche Homosexualität’ 83–4
449
Pennsylvania College 200 Petersen, Sarah Christine, ‘Yellowstone Park Language’ 176–7, 190 ‘Phillips’ Rhyming Slang 91–6, 410–11 Pidgin English 139, 247–8, 372 see also Anglo-Chinese terms pig Latin 292, 342, 362, 364, 381, 388 Pingry, Carl see Randolph, Vance police 9, 12, 277, 284, 296, 297, 303, 305, 312–13, 316, 318, 319, 320, 324, 326, 328–9, 334, 342, 344, 347, 351, 353, 354, 355, 358, 359, 361, 362, 365, 368–9 Pollock, Albin Jay, The Underworld Speaks 363–4 Postgate, Raymond, Murder, Piracy and Treason 90 Pound, Robert T., ‘Western Terminology’ 3 n.4 Pratt, Sereno Stansbury, The Work of Wall Street 3 n.5 Prenner, Manuel, ‘Slang Terms for Money’ 4 n.6 Pretty, A. G. 253 Princeton College 196 prison 12, 304, 314, 315–23 passim, 331, 332–4, 336, 338, 341, 343–4, 349, 351, 353, 355–8, 359–60, 361, 362–3, 367, 368, 370 Prohibition and the temperance movement 6, 10, 155, 202, 303, 327–8, 364, 379–80 pronunciation guidance 19–20, 25, 35, 36–8, 146, 180, 251–2, 256, 299
450
Subject Index
psychiatry 173–4 psychology 12, 276, 324, 362–3, 397 public schools 10, 102–38 see also school slang radio 127, 155, 371, 390, 392 see also British Broadcasting Corporation Ramson, W. S. 151 Randolph, Vance, and Carl Pingry, ‘Kansas University Slang’ 207, 213 records and recorded music 127, 193, 396 ‘Recruits’ Primer of Trench Idiom’ 231–2 Reeves, Frank, ‘What the Cowboys Say’ 3 n.4 rhyming slang 18, 19, 21, 37, 91–6, 101, 148, 241, 291–2, 320, 338, 361, 368, 387, 396 Riggs, Lynn, Green Grow the Lilacs 3 n.4 Rimington, Critchell, Bon Voyage Book 347–8 Romany 46–7, 362, 363 n.132, 372, 385 n.28, 387 Roosevelt, Theodore 225 Rose, Howard N., A Thesaurus of Slang 182–6, 189–90, 212–13, 272–3, 299–300, 344, 346–7, 348, 358, 381–2, 383–4, 387–8, 398, 411–13 Rossall School 128 Royal High School, Edinburgh 119 Rugby School 102, 103 n.5, 114, 120, 137 n.76 Russell, Jason Almus, ‘Colgate University Slang’ 208, 209, 213
Sala, George 20 n.10, 30 n.25, 33 Sampson, Henry 30 n.25 Sandilands, John, Western Canadian Dictionary 139 n.2 Saul, Vernon W., ‘Vocabulary of Bums’ 287 Savage, Howard James, ‘College Slang Words’ 202–3 Sayers, Dorothy 303, 369 school slang 10, 23, 29, 31, 54, 60, 88, 99, 101, 102–38, 210, 215–16 see also the names of individual institutions Scott, Fred Newton, Contributions 172–3, 176 Scott, Walter 407, 410 Scottish National Dictionary 116 Schultz, John Richie, ‘Chautauqua Talk’ 383–4 Seago, Edward 385–6 Sebastian, Hugh, ‘Negro Slang in Lincoln University’ 213–14 ‘Agricultural Slang in South Dakota’ 214–15 Shakespeare, William 20, 22, 23, 32, 60, 66, 69, 100, 110, 155, 157–8, 343, 407, 410 Shelta 46–7, 363 n.132 Shepherd, William G., ‘I Wonder’ 337 Shidler, John, and R. M. Clarke, Jr., ‘Stanfordiana’ 211–12 Shorter Oxford English Dictionary 97–8, 100 Shrewsbury School 103 n.5, 114 Sidney, F. H., ‘Hobo Cant’ 281 Sieveking, A. Forbes, ‘English Army Slang’ 250–3 Simeon, Algernon 107
Subject Index Simons, Hi, ‘A Prison Dictionary’ 344, 356–8 Sinks of London 76 n.6 slang 1–3, 13, 24, 30, 50, 67, 85, 142, 150 and passim see also African-American slang, American slang, Australian slang, British slang, military slang, school slang, etc. slavery and the slave trade 8, 41, 155, 390 Smith, C. Alphonso, New Words Self-Defined 5 n.9 Smith, Lorenzo Napoleon, Lingo of No Man’s Land 234–8 Smith, Maurice, ‘Crook Argot’ 334–5 Snypp, Walter Wyatt, ‘The Airplane Story’ 221 n.10 sociology 16, 193, 288, 293–4, 298, 301–2, 334, 344–5, 370, 397 soda-jerkers see hash-house slang South African slang 49 South Dakota State University 214–15 Sparke, Archibald, ‘War Slang’ 243–5, 250 spelling 20, 23, 26, 30, 32, 93, 110, 117, 125–6, 143, 146, 180, 228, 246, 252 n.72, 256, 268, 299, 311 n.19, 313, 330, 331 n.62, 333 sport 9, 10, 74, 103, 184 sport slang 3, 23, 99, 307 Standard Dictionary 281 standard English 2, 10, 14, 71, 142, 152 Stanford University 203–4, 211–12 Steele, A. N., 3 n.5
451
Steinbeck, John, Grapes of Wrath 301 Stephens, Alfred George 142 Dictionary of New Zealand and Australian Slang 142–5 Stevenson, Robert Lewis 55 Stoddard, William Leavitt, Financial Racketeering 343 Stone, Christopher, Eton Glossary 126–8 Stonyhurst School 119, 121 Stork, Willis, ‘Varying the Football Jargon’ 3 n.5 Stout, Wesley, ‘Algazam’ 379 St Paul’s School 103 n.5, 114 Sullivan, Joseph, Criminal Slang 318–22 Swift, Jonathan 31, 407, 410 swing music 390, 392–4 Sydney Slang Dictionary 309–12 technical language see jargon Teichman, Oskar, Cambridge Undergraduate 133–5 television 155, 396 temperance movement see Prohibition Thackeray, William Makepeace 15, 65, 66, 407, 410 theatre 6, 7, 18, 155, 160–1, 167, 175, 371, 375–6, 378 theatrical slang 29, 372–3, 376, 388, 389–90 Thornton, Richard H., An American Glossary 181 Tillotson, F. H., How to be a Detective 322–4 tinkers’ language see Shelta Tolstoy, Leo 186 Tooné, Euruera 177–80, 348–9
452
Subject Index
tramps see hoboes transportation 12, 14, 39, 86, 152, 303 Traube, Shepard, So You Want to go into the Theater? 389–90 Trumble, Alfred, Slang Dictionary of New York 44, 304–9, 311, 314, 348, 359 Tufts, Henry, Narrative of the Life 331 Tulane University 200 university slang 23, 29, 31, 99, 155, 191, 193, 195–216 see also the names of individual institutions usage labels 18, 19, 20, 22, 23–4, 25, 27, 32, 33, 39, 44–6, 50, 51, 60, 67, 80, 87, 88, 89, 99, 118–19, 132, 144, 150, 151, 159, 171, 176, 181, 183, 232, 237, 247, 253, 257, 258, 259, 267, 291–2, 314, 325, 330, 367, 368 Van Cise, Philip, Fighting the Underworld 368–9 Variety magazine 347–8 Vaux, James Hardy, Memoirs 310 Viles, Edward 24 n.15 Virginia, University of 209, 210 vocabulary estimates 18, 137, 153, 249 Wallace, A., Popular Sayings Dissected 74 n.1 Ware, James Redding, Passing English of the Victorian Era 78–83, 84–5, 87–8, 97, 98, 406 War-words 221 n.9
Watkins, A. 3 n.5 Webster, H. T., ‘They Don’t Speak our Language’ 358–9 Webster, Noah, 154 Weekley, Ernest, Concise Etymological Dictionary 97, 100, 268 Wells, Gerald, Naval Customs 221 n.11 Wells, W. H. 328, 335 Weseen, Maurice 186 ‘College Slang Glossary’ 206 Crowell’s Dictionary of English Grammar 186, 206 Dictionary of American Slang 186–90, 192, 206, 213, 272–3, 293, 359, 376–7, 383, 398, 413–15 Western Reserve University 201 West Indian slang 49, 50–1 Westminster School 103 n.5, 112, 114 West Point 57, 64, 221 Whibley, Charles 56 White, Percy, ‘Circus List’ 375, 377, 379, 382 ‘Stage Terms’ 376, 378 ‘More about the Language of the Lot’ 375–7, 378 Wilde, Oscar 82, 83 Willard, Josiah Flynt, Tramping with Tramps 277–9, 280, 284–5, 315–16, 319 World of Graft 315–16 Wilson, Alexander Johnstone 3 n.5 Wilstach, Frank Jenners 372–4 Wilstach, John 185, 342 Winchell, Walter 371 n.1, 388 Winchester College 28 n.21, 103 n.5, 106–9, 112–4, 115, 116–18, 120, 121, 122–6 Winchester Notions 107, 124
Subject Index Witman, Fred, ‘Jewelry Auction Jargon’ 335 Wood, Clement and Gloria Goddard, A Dictionary of American Slang 168–70 Wrench, Robert, Winchester Word-Book 116–18 Wright, Joseph, The English Dialect Dictionary 45, 53, 74 n.1, 117, 125 Wyeth, John, This Man’s Army 221 n.10
Yenne, Herbert, ‘Prison Lingo’ 332–3 Yiddish 47, 144, 331, 387 Young, Edgar, ‘Tramps Jargon’ 279, 280 youth culture xv, 195, 215, 327, 394, 398 see also flappers Yule, Henry, and A. C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson 139 n.2
453
Word Index
This index lists only the senses of slang words and phrases found in the text and illustrations in this volume. Many of them have been used in other collocations and with different spellings or shades of meaning. The indentation is intended to aid reference rather than to indicate relationships between terms. Explanations in square brackets are indications of meaning rather than definitions: further explication is generally available in the text. A few non slang acronyms are also listed.
abandanad “a pickpocket; a petty thief” 68 abber “schoolwork set as a punishment” 118; “an absence through ill-health” 118 abbey: to bring an abbey to a grange vb “to squander” 86 abear vb “to suffer; to tolerate” 67 about gone “drunk” 188 absentee “an absent landowner” 145 absit “an absence through ill-health” 118 absquatulate vb “to run away” 22 a-buzz “drunk” 188 ac-dum “at once” 252 ace “an expert pilot, a pilot who has brought down five enemy craft” 186, 273; “any expert” 186 vb “to travel at speed” 186 ace in vb “to interfere” 364 aces “perfect; perfection” 175
ack “no” 130 acting lady “an actress” 80 Adam: Adam’s ale “water” 145, 192 Adam and Eve (on a raft) “two eggs (on toast)” 188, 295 Adam’s apple “the larynx” 192 adam tyler “a pickpocket’s accomplice” 90 added to the list “gelded” 157 ad lib vb “to make impromptu departures from a script” 373 Admiral of the Red “a red-faced man” 27 AEF “American Expeditionary Force” 256 afloat “drunk” 188 a-fly “knowledgeable” 43 African golf “craps” 321 afters “dessert” 249 air: to give the air vb “to end a relationship with” 90, 162 airedale “a guard” 353
Word Index aisyday ootsray “boots” 364 al-a-ga-zam [an expression of recognition among pitchmen] 379 alamort “dumbfounded” 359 alcohol: alcohol athlete “a rum-runner” 364 alcoholiday “a day of drinking” 188 Alexandra limp “an affected posture” 79 alkee stiff “an alcoholic tramp” 289 all: all in “exhausted” 176 all out “the whole of a reckoning” 76 alleyman “a German” 220 almighty dollar “money” 170 altar it vb “to get married” 388 altemal “total amount” 309 altitudes: in one’s altitudes “drunk” 309 amerace see ames ace American Tragedy “Prohibition” 364 ames ace: within ames ace “very close” 44 angelina “a young homosexual male hobo” 295 Annie Oakley “a free ticket” 372 anodyne “death” 307 vb “to kill” 307 another “a coffee” 191 answer like a horse vb “to say no, but mean yes” 171 any ’opes? “do you think we will have any luck?” 247 ANZAC [referring to the Australian and New Zealand forces in WWI] 245, 253, 292 APM “Assistant Provost Marshall” 227, 266
455
appearance forfeit “a forfeit paid for non-appearance” 175 apple “a baseball” 184 apple-dumpling shop “the breasts” 62 apple-pie day “a day on which apple-pies were traditionally served” 113, 115 apple-pie order “disarray” 192 apple-sauce “nonsense” 170, 175 apple-squire “a pimp” 70 ar [an exclamation] 146 archie “an anti-aircraft gun” 233–4 area sneak “a child burglar” 33 argol-bargol vb “to argue” 47 artesian “beer” 145 Artful Dodger “a lodger” 95 auntie “an older male homosexual hobo” 295 Ave Maria “fire” 95 awake “alert” 61 awful “very” 27 Babbitt “an average middle-American” 170 babe “an auction thief” 57–8, 65; [a hooligan] 58, 65; [a Member of Parliament] 57, 64; [a student at West Point] 57, 64; “a pretty girl” 206, 212 babe in the woods “a prisoner in the stocks” 57, 65; “dice” 57, 65 baby “a stolen car whose appearance has been changed” 366 baby’s bottom “the breasts” 62 bachelordliness “the haughty air of a bachelor” 188
456
Word Index
back: back blocks “sparsely inhabited land” 315 back down vb “to give way” 141 backhander “a drink out of turn” 65–6; “a blow to the face” 65–6; “a rebuke; a set-back” 65–6 backsheesh “a bribe” 81, 244 bad: bad egg “a fool; a disreputable person” 90 bad hat “a fool; a disreputable person” 90 bag “an unattractive girl” 207 bags “trousers” 133 Bag’s style “a style on the road to Rugby” 120 bagonet “a bayonet” 257, 258 bait “a rest” 97 ball “an allowance of food in prison” 314 ball-dozed “drunk; muddled” 314 balloon “a paper hoop” 386 bally [an expletive] 249; “the place where a barker stands to draw a crowd” 381 imp “go to the front of the side-shows” 381 vb “to draw a crowd by shouting” 378, 381 ballyhoo “a barker’s pitch to draw a crowd” 381 n.22, 384 bally-stand “the place where the barker stands” 376 balmy “insane” 90 banana oil “nonsense” 175 band: in the band-wagon “superior” 161 b and p [with reference to homosexuality] 81 bandy “a sixpence” 31
bang “a fix (of drugs)” 341 vb “to kill by shooting” 341 bangster “drug-addict” 358–9 barbed: hanging on the old barbed wire [a jocular response to an absent soldier’s name at roll-call] 267 barber’s cat “a sickly looking person” 72 barker “an auctioneer; a fairground tout” 319, 386 barmy “insane” 90 barn: barn-stormer “an itinerant actor” 29 barndook “a rifle” 228 Barnet (Fair) “hair” 95, 361 barney fair see Barnet (Fair) barracking “heckling” 143 barrel vb “to go fast; to cause to go fast” 209 batter vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 batter back doors vb “?to beg door to door” 279 battle police “military police” 266 beagle “a sausage” 284 beak “a magistrate” 298 beanpea [with reference to homosexuality] 81 beat it vb “to leave in a hurry” 90, 385 bectives “trousers for women” 80 bed: in the twinkling of a bed-post “quickly” 48 beef “a report to the police; a charge” 347, 361, 368 vb “to complain” 368 beever “a snack” 108 beever-time “snack time” 108
Word Index BEF “British Expeditionary Force” 241 n.45, 269 beggar boy “bass” 92 beggar boy’s ass “bass” 92 bemuse oneself vb “to become drunk” 33 ben “a fool; (erron.) a tool” 308 benny “an overcoat” 293, 330 bene “good” 309 benzine board “a disciplinary board” 272 bergou “porridge” 242 berkeley “a breast” 62 best vb “to cheat” 350 bested “cheated” 350 to get the best of vb “to cheat” 350 Betsy [a nickname for a man whose surname is Gay] 258 better: to get the better of vb “to cheat” 350 bible vb “to beat” 113, 114 bibler “a beating” 114 biddy “a bath” 117 biff “a blow” 93 vb “to cane” 128 big: big house “jail” 179 big noise “prison warden” 179; “the subject of general discussion” 339 big shot “prison warden” 179 big stick “prison warden” 179 big tom “a stuffed cat” 385 big top “the main tent in a circus” 399 bigging “a coffee-pot” 125 bilker “a thief working as a prostitute” 311 bill of sale “clothes worn by a widow” 284
457
billy “a portable kettle” 141, 296 Billy Harris “bilharzia” 254 bindle-stiff “a hobo carrying a blanket or bundle” 279, 288 binny see ben binte “an overcoat” 293 bird-cage “a cell” 363 bitch “a sexually passive male homosexual; a catamite” 174 bite “a cheat” 31 bivvy “beer” 43 bizzy see busy blaah “unimpressive; unfashionable” 162, 164 blab “a reprimand to the whole school” 132 black “blackmail” 185 black bottle [poison] 299 black spy “the devil” 348 black stick “a clarinet” 392 black V “an iron vault” 359 Blanco [a nickname for a man whose surname is White] 258 blazes “Hell” 32 Blighty “England” 236; “a minor wound that sends a soldier back to England” 236, 245 Blighty Junction “base hospital” 236 blimey [an expletive] 249 blind spot [not defined] 254 blinking [an expletive] 229, 239 block “head” 146 to do/lose one’s block vb “to become excited” 146 to keep one’s block vb “to remain calm” 146 bloke “a man” 90, 278, 309, 321
458
Word Index
blood “a boy prominent at school” 128 blood-tub [a hooligan] 58, 65 bloody [an expletive] 239, 240, 249, 264 bloomer “a flop; a failure” 376; “a location at which a show flops” 380 bloomers “trousers for women” 80 blooming [an expletive] 229, 239, 240 blotto “extremely drunk; unconscious” 211 blow “a wild party” 165 vb “to inhale (cocaine)” 336 blow-down “the flattening of circus tents by the wind” 375 blow into vb “to arrive in” 360 blow to fook vb “to shatter into fragments” 246 blowed in the bottle stiff [a hobo] 279 to have a blow-out vb “to give birth” 286 blubber “the breasts” 62 blue-bird [with reference to the beginning of the circus season] 375 blurb “a publisher’s announcement” 173 bo “a hobo” 288 boat: the boat sails Tuesday [with reference to a theatrical flop] 374 bobby “a policeman” 160 Boche “a German; Germans collectively” 229, 230, 237 Bodger [a nickname for a man whose surname is Lees] 258 boffo “a year” 344
Bogey [a nickname for a man whose surname is Harris] 258 boil: boiler-room “a room used for telephoning potential victims of a con” 343 boil-up “the/an act of making tea” 301 bolo vb “to say; to speak” 248 Bolshevik [used to express disapproval] 170 bomb a bum vb “to throw coal with the intention of hitting a hobo” 285 bone “good” 17; no bonne “no good” 244 vb “to study hard” 196, 198 bonnetter “one who encourages a fool to play betting games” 311 boob “a fool” 161 booby-trap [a practical joke] 106 bookoo “a lot” 273 boost vb “to shoplift” 356 booster “a shoplifter” 365 boot “the storage compartment at the back of a bus” 190 booting “a beating (in the army)” 106 boot-legger “a smuggler of alcohol” 173 bootlick vb “to flatter” 222 booze “alcoholic drink” 356 bosche see boche boss “dessert” 197 boss-day “a day on which dessert is served” 197 bostruchyzer “a moustache-comb” 119 bouncer “a shoplifter” 304 bout “a prize-fight” 175 box “a piano” 392
Word Index brain-box “head; mind” 165 brakie “a railroad brake-operator” 281 brandy pawnee “brandy and water” 158 brass: brass-check “a capitalist newspaper” 285 brass-hat “an officer” 223, 224 bread-basket “the stomach” 86 break: break through vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 breaky-leg “strong drink” 28 breathe easy vb “to live comfortably” 317 brekker “breakfast” 128 brick “an unattractive girl” 208 gold brick “an unattractive girl” 225 bride and groom (on a raft) “two eggs (on toast)” 188 bridge [a term in oil-drilling] 185 bridge-fiend “an enthusiastic bridge-player” 181 brig “a guardhouse” 225 broad “a woman” 175, 342, 360 brock [with reference to pock-marks] 281 broom vb “to run away” 360 to get your broom vb “to run away” 360 Brown’s [a shop near Eton] 127 brown: done brown “defeated” 22 bruisery “boxing” 351 bub “a breast” 62 bubby “a breast” 62 buck vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 buck-face “a cuckold” 70 buckra “a white man” 50–1; “good quality” 50
459
buckshee see backsheesh bug “a burglar alarm” 346 bugger [a term of abuse] 249 bull “a police officer” 317, 365, 368 bull-pup “the early edition of a Sunday newspaper” 184 bully(-beef) “corned beef” 222, 239, 263, 270 bum “a low hobo” 285, 287, 296, 300 vb “to travel without expense or labour” 288 bum beef “an unjust sentence or charge” 361 bum rap “an unjust sentence or charge” 332, 361 bumper [part of a train] 287 bunco-game [a con-trick] 369 bundle “a package” 322; “a woman” 322 bunk “the head” 93 to do a bunk vb “to run away” 146 burg “a town” 90, 360 burke vb “to murder” 27 burn: burnt cinder “a window” 338 burn the candle at both ends vb “to work (and play) too hard” 99 bury: buried “married” 163 bust “a drunken spree” 51 vb “to demote” 272; “to assault” 329 busy “a detective” 362 butter: butter-bag “a breast” 62 butter-box “a breast” 62 Buttinski “an intrusive person” 148 Buxton limp [an affected posture] 79 buy a violin imp “get your hair cut” 171 buzzard “a timid thief” 325–6
460
Word Index
C “$100” 341 cab “a brothel” 314 cabman’s rest “a breast” 62 cab-moll “a female brothel-keeper” 314 cabbage-tree mob “hooligans” 44 cackle “the dialogue of a play” 88–9; “unimportant conversation” 89 vb “to talk; to gossip” 89 cackle-chucker “a prompter” 89 cackle-merchant “an actor” 89 cackler “a hen; a noisy talker; an actor” 89; “an office-worker” 283 cackle-tub “a pulpit” 89 cackling-cheat “a hen” 89 cackling-cove “an actor” 89 cadie “a hat” 297 calaboose “a jail” 179 calf: calf’s head is best hot [an apology for drinking with one’s hat on] 76 calx [a term in the Eton wall-game] 131 camera obscura “a person’s bottom” 82 camouflage vb “to deceive; to conceal” 272 n.103 camp vb “to act effeminately” 84 camp-party “a homosexual party” 84 campaniled “drunk” 215 can “a water-closet” 180; “a jail; a cell” 179, 354; “a head” 354 vb “to dismiss” 168 canned cow “condensed milk” 191 cannery “a jail” 342 candle: candle-keeper “a senior boy at Winchester” 108 see also burn the candle at both ends
canister “a preacher” 80 cannon “a pickpocket” 336; “a revolver” 336 cantaloupe “a baseball” 184 Canuck “a French-Canadian” 295 captain of industry “a capitalist” 170 carksuccer “cock-sucker; an American soldier” 246, 247 carpet: on the carpet “brought before a senior officer to be disciplined” 230 cascade vb “to vomit” 26 case “a dollar” 309 vb “to observe in preparation for robbery” 358 cast: cast up accounts vb “to vomit” 39–40 castor “a hat” 372 casual “an occupant of a casual ward” 304 n.3 cat: “a man; a hobo” 279; “a lion; a tiger” 386 cat-head “a breast” 62 the cat’s pajamas “the best of its kind” 162, 211 cat-walk “the walkway in an aeroplane” 273 catholic “a pickpocket” 342 caunfort ladran “the leader of a criminal gang” 321 CB “confined to barracks” 226, 261 cellar-smeller “an enthusiastic drinker of free alcohol” 162, 182 celt see kelt center “the central ring of a circus” 385 chalk farm “an arm” 361 chance one’s arm vb “to risk a demotion; to take a risk” 226 chanter “a street singer” 297 chap “a man” 90
Word Index char “tea” 241 char-wallah “a boy or man who brings tea” 241 charlies “the breasts” 62 charms “the breasts” 62 cheapjack/cheap john “a fairground salesman” 23 chee-chee “an Anglo-Indian child” 33 cheese your patter vb “speak cautiously” 17 Chi “Chicago” 284 Chicago vb “to kill with a gun or bomb” 321 chief “the lead musician in a band” 259 chin-chin “cheers” 29 chink “money” 186; “a Chinese person” 186 chisel vb “to cheat” 57 to go full chisel vb “to go full speed” 57 chitterlings “a dish made from pig’s intestines” 379 choke “a strangle-hold” 356 chuck “food” 321 chuck over vb “to terminate a relationship with” 90 chump “a sucker” 388, 389 church vb “to place a watch’s machinery in a new case” 319 clarty “dirty” 298 claws for breakfast “a whipping in prison” 320 clean deal “a cash sale” 343 clear out vb “to leave in a hurry” 90 clem “a local resident; not a member of the circus” 381; “a fight with local residents” 381; [a battle-cry] 381
461
vb “to fight with local residents” 381 clew vb “to hit” 128 click (it) vb “to die; to kill” 229, 260; “to be allotted an unpleasant task” 260; “to obtain a favour or a stroke of luck” 260 climb a tier vb “to track down an unwilling sexual partner in prison” 357 clobber “clothes” 147 clodhopper “a street dancer” 297 clout vb “to assault” 329 clouting “stealing cloth from a shop by concealment” 355 cluck see kluck CO “Commanding Officer” 270 coal “a penny; money” 94, 307 coal-heaver “a penny” 94, 95 cob “a bread-roll” 128 cock: cockernen “a pen; ten pounds” 387 cock-sparrow “barrow” 92 cock-sucker “a fellator” 72 cock of the walk “a male leader” 58 co-ed “a female student at a mixed sex college” 198 C of E “Church of England” 256, 258 cold “unresponsive (of a location)” 380 cold coffee “a con-trick; a practical joke” 30, 32 n.30 cold meat ticket “identity disk” 256 cold storage “jail” 179 cole see coal college “jail” 342 college-licking “a beating by fellow pupils” 106
462
Word Index
collegiate “slow (of swing music)” 393 come-on “a fool” 161, 335 comet [a hobo] 289 commercial “appealing to a wide audience” 393 competition-wallah “a civil-servant appointed by examination” 86 compray? “do you understand?” 228 concertina wire [barbed wire] 267 Coney Island “a room used for interrogation” 344 conk vb “to fail (of a motor)” 185, 259 cooler “jail” 179 coop “a shop run on cooperative principles” 201 coopered “spoilt” 17 cooter “a sovereign” 309 see also cuter cop “a policeman” 93, 160, 319 copped “arrested” 319 copper “a policeman” 93 corker “something large or very good” 90 cornered “hemmed in” 33 corpse ticket “identity disk” 256 cossie “costume” 78 cough slum “the sale of cough lozenges” 387 count: take the count vb “to be counted out (in boxing)” 189 country: go out in the country vb “to be taken away and shot” 352 covered “having enough money” 318 cow “milk” 190 cows and kisses “misses” or “missus” 19
canned cow “condensed milk” 191 crack a case/crib vb “to rob a house” 87, 309 crackers “insane” 386 cram vb “to study for an examination hurriedly” 200 crash vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 crazy “insane” 90 cream “seminal fluid” 61 cream-stick “penis” 61 creep-joint “an itinerant gambling establishment” 342 crib “the stomach” 86–7; “a place of abode” 87; “a job” 87; “a translation used for cheating; any material used for cheating” 87, 196; “a bed” 87 vb “to steal” 87; “to cheat by using a translation” 87 crikey [an expletive] 249 crip-faker “a hobo who fakes injury or disability” 300 cripple “a sixpence” 31 crook “a criminal” 282, 330 cross-lots “cross-country” 325 crud “a non-specific illness” 211 crug “crust; crumb; bread” 110, 136 cruggy “hungry” 136 cruise vb “to seek homosexual partners” 174 cunnicle “a vagina” 61 cunnikin “a vagina” 61 cunny “a vagina” 61 cunny-burrow ferret “a promiscuous man” 61 cunny-catcher “a promiscuous man” 61 cunny-hunter “a promiscuous man” 61
Word Index cunt “a vagina” 61 cuntkin “a vagina” 61 cuntlet “a vagina” 61 cushie “easy; easy-going” 242 cut vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 cuter “a quarter; twenty five cents” 388 see also cooter cutie “an attractive young man” 165 dag “dean of a college” 98 dagger “dean of a college” 98 dairy “the breasts” 62 to air the dairy vb “to expose the breasts 62 daisy(-root) “a boot” 297, 364 dame “a woman” 175 damn [an expletive] 269 damned [an expletive] 256 darb “money” 317 the darbs “a person who picks up the bill” 163 dark horse “night watchman” 358–9 darn “damn” 32 vb “damn” 158 darned “damned” 158, 256 date “an appointment with a member of the opposite sex” 179, 211 daverdy “careless” 80 davy “an affidavit” 292 DCM “Distinguished Conduct Medal” 269–70; “District Court Martial” 269–70 dead “very” 117; “out of touch; not knowledgeable” 316 dead head “an audience member allowed in free” 372 dead-line “a date for submitting written work” 204
463
dead ’un “an empty house” 350; “a small loaf” 350; “a horse not intended to win” 350 dead as a doornail “emphatically dead” 157–8 deaner “the dean of a college” 98 deep-thinker “a soldier arriving late in the war” 247 den “a place of abode” 87 devil-dodger “a navy chaplain” 259 dew drop vb “to throw coal with the intention of hitting a hobo” 285 dick “a detective” 90, 281, 354 diddle “gin” 27 diddy “a breast” 62 died of wounds [a jocular response to an absent soldier’s name at roll-call] 252 dig vb “to study hard” 201 digger “a soldier from New Zealand or (more usually) Australia” 244, 245 diggings “a place of abode” 87 dilly “pretty” 146 dimbox “a taxi” 165 ding vb “?to hit; to damage” 346 dingbat “a low tramp” 289 dingo “a low hobo” 295 dished “defeated” 22 dixie “a cooking pot” 260, 265, 270 dmgs “damages” 321 dodge the column vb “to avoid work” 265 dog “a sausage” 284 dog house “a small garage” 337; “a double bass” 392 doggo “still; quiet” 259 dog tent “a small field-tent” 230
464
Word Index
doll: dolled up “dressed in one’s best clothes” 230 dolly-shop “an unlicensed pawn-shop” 309 don ack plonk “a donkey belonging to the Divisional Ammunition Column” 253 donk “a donkey” 254 doolally “insane” 298 Doolally Tap “insanity” 226 dope “a fool” 363 dope-fiend “a drug addict” 364 dorp “a town” 90 dot: on the dot “punctually” 179 double: double finnips “ten pounds” 311 double stake [a precaution used in case of high wind] 383 dough “money” 198, 340 doughboy “an American infantryman” 236, 261, 321 douse vb “to make dark; to make quiet” 346 down: down the drains “brains” 94 down town “in town” 127 dowry “a quantity” 158 drag “air resistance to the flight of an aeroplane” 273; “three months in prison; three months’ hard labour” 351, 355; “a van” 355 drive vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 drown vb “to dump a car in water in an insurance scam” 366 drug-fiend “a drug-addict” 181 drum “a tea-can” 297, 301 ducat “ticket” 321 ducker “a swimming pool” 115
dud “inadequate, poor quality” 90; “a shell or bomb that fails to explode” 229, 399 dude “a well-dressed man” 197 dug “a breast” 62 duke “hand; fist” 368 Duke of Kent “rent” 101 dumb: dumb-bell “a fool” 168 dumb Dora “an unappealing girl” 163 dumb guy “a man who is not talkative; a fool” 179 dumby “a pocketbook” 309 dumpling “a breast” 62 dunderhead “a fool” 179 duster “the inner door of a safe” 346 Dutchman’s Farm [a piece of land near Eton] 127 eagle: eagle-hawking “plucking wool from a dead sheep” 150 Eagle-Takers [a regiment] 63 Earl of Cork “the ace of diamonds” 43 egg “a fool” 90 egg (up) vb “to be unnecessarily zealous” 120 egger “one who is unnecessarily zealous” 120 eggy “unnecessarily zealous” 120 eighteen (pence) “sense” 94 elbow “a detective” 281 elephant: elephant ear “an apricot” 363 elephant’s trunk “drunk” 93 Emma Gee “machine gun; machine gunner” 232 emperor “a drunken man” 309 enemy: how goes the enemy? “what time is it? 86
Word Index enthuse vb “to be enthusiastic” 158 en-zedda “a wound that will take a soldier home to New Zealand” 245 Epsom races “braces” 19 erf “an egg” 256 Espysay “the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” 82–3 E-taps “Etaples” 268 etneen “two” 247 euchered “deceived” 314 ex: ex-prushun “an older tramp who was recruited as a boy” 280 ex-vic “an ex-convict” 358 exam “examination” 198, 206 eye: eye-water “gin” 157 eyes open [eggs fried rather than scrambled] 295 face: face-stretcher “an ageing spinster” 165 face like a scrubbed hammock “a miserable-looking face” 259 fadge vb “to suit” 26, 30 n.24, 32 n.32 fag “a cigarette” 93; “a junior boy who serves an older boy at school” 105; “a male homosexual” 291 vb “to make a fag of” 105 fagging “serving an older boy at school” 105 fairbank vb “to fleece by gradually increasing the stakes in a gambling game” 388, 389 fairy “an effeminate man; a homosexual man” 213, 291 fairy fruit “a male homosexual; a fellator” 174
465
fake “deceptive” 280 vb “to make up lines instead of following the script” 373; “to create a deception” 280 fakement “deception” 43 fall vb “to be arrested” 317, 332 fall for vb “to like; to be impressed by” 177, 188 fall-guy “an innocent man who serves the guilty party’s sentence” 332 fan “an enthusiast” 173 fanning the rubber [a theatrical act] 374 farmer “anyone leading a settled life” 278 fast “flighty; decadent” 26, 30 n.24, 32 n.30 Father Time “a man over thirty” 165 fatty “an obese person” 71 fawney “a ring” 291 n.57 feather: in the feathers “having money” 22 feature vb “to star” 161 feeding-bottle “a breast” 62 feelier “a child” 386 feenish “finished; dead” 272 fellow “a man” 90 female personator “a male entertainer dressed as a woman” 82 fence vb “to sell stolen goods” 309 fess “professor” 210 fess up vb “to confess” 198 fessor “professor” 210 fez “a member of the football team at Harrow” 115 field “the horses or runners in a race” 184 fiend “an enthusiast” 181
466
Word Index
file: old file “an old officer” 259 fin “?a five year sentence” 356; “?a five dollar bill” 360 final drive “the last section of a race” 184 finee “finished” 272 n.104 finjy [an exclamation of disinclination] 108 fink “a Pinkerton detective” 284 finnip “a five pound note” 311 double finnips “ten pounds” 311 finnuff see finnip fire vb “to discharge from a job” 90 fireworks “shells; artillery bombardment” 257 fish “a fool” 163 vb “to attempt to injure a hobo on a train” 285 fish-eyes “tapioca pudding” 363 fiver “a five pound note” 24 fix “a dilemma” 99 vb “to make; to bribe” 168 fix the pumps imp “look at the woman with large breasts” 191 fixer “one who pays off politicians and police officers” 369 flag “dessert” 197 flagged “permitted to pass unmolested” 319 flapper “a liberated female” 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 169, 191 n.85, 195 flash “a suit” 341; “relating to hoboes or thieves” 280 vb “to turn state’s evidence” 341 flash-ken “a house used by thieves” 305, 308 flat “a tourist who does not tip” 177; “a fool; a sucker” 349 flat roker “a flat ruler” 120
flat-tire “a tiresome person” 286 flat-wheeler “an unimpressive individual; a man without a car” 162, 163 flim “a failure” 373 flimp vb “to steal” 309 flip vb “to strike (a blow)” 189; “to hitch a ride on” 299 flipper “a flapper’s male counterpart” 164 flog: flogger “an overcoat” 317 flogger stiff “an overcoat thief” 317 flogging-cully “a male masochist” 72 Flood [Fleetwood, Lancashire] 128 floor-flusher “a keen dancer” 165 flop “a failure” 373 vb “to fail (an examination)” 209; “to reject (as a boyfriend or girlfriend)” 209; “to fail (in a theatre)” 374, 376 flowery(-dell) “a cell” 320 flummoxed “dangerous” 17 flunkey “a menial assistant” 287 fluter “a fellator; a male homosexual” 292 fly “knowing” 17 fly cop “a detective” 319 flyer “itinerant theft” 340 flying jigger “a turnpike gate” 307 flying pig “an aerial torpedo” 232 flying the skimmer [a theatrical act] 374 to be in a flying mess vb “to be obliged to eat where one can” 32 fogey “an old person” 166; “increase of pay for long service” 230
Word Index foist “a cheat; a disappointment” 309 fool’s hand [with reference to a player with too few cards] 179 Ford: Ford family “a homeless family travelling by car” 285 Ford marriage “a temporary marriage among the homeless” 286 forty “a hooligan” 144, 145 forty-guts “an obese person” 71 fotch “a blow” 129 foxy “sly, deceitful, scheming, opportunistic” 200; “good” 200; “bright” 200; “welldressed” 200; “shy” 200 frail “a woman” 175 frame “one’s body” 171 vb “to incriminate with false evidence” 282, 333 framed “incriminated with false evidence” 282 fray bentos “very good” 247 freak lips “lips well suited to a jazz trumpeter’s lifestyle” 393 Fred Karno’s army “an undisciplined gang” 264 freight “a freight train” 299 French leave “unauthorized leave” 222 frillikie “a frill” 78 Fritz “a German soldier” 228, 236 Fritzie “a German soldier” 237 fruit “a male homosexual; a fellator” 174 fruiter “a male homosexual; a fellator” 174 fuck “an act of copulation; seminal fluid” 61 vb “to copulate” 61 fuck-finger “a lesbian” 72
467
fudge [used to request a predetermined question] 110 fudgery “nonsense” 351 funk “fear” 105 vb “to fear” 105 furk vb “to expel” 109; “to punish” 113 furniture: your old man must have been a furniture maker [a compliment] 171 furphy “a wild rumour” 148 fuzzy: fuzzy-cat [a hobo] 279 fuzzy-tail [a hobo] 289 gadget “a small tool or accessory” 98 gaff “the means by which a gambling game can be controlled” 388 gag “a lie; a romantic story” 280 vb “to speak impromptu; to insert a joke that is not in the script” 372 gagger “a beggar or street performer” 297 gagman “a performer who relies on jokes or catchphrases” 372 gags “a school assignment written in Latin” 108 gajo “an outsider; not a member of the circus” 286 galena “salt pork” 308 galley [a printer’s tool] 314 game: it’s a game “it’s absurd” 99 gammy “bad; unfavourable” 17 gander “a married man at liberty” 307 gang “a group of criminals working together” 352 garn interj “go on” 239 garrote [sic] vb “to assault with a garrotte” 329
468
Word Index
gasper “a cigarette” 133 gat “a gun; a revolver” 323, 336 gate “takings” 376 gatherings “a school assignment written in Latin” 108 gawd “a child” 98 gawd forbid “a child” 98 gawdfer “a child” 94 gawd lumme “god love me” 239 see also God gay: gay cat “a hobo who is not committed to the life” 279, 288 gay and frisky “whisky” 368 gee “a man” 344 geetus “wallet” 353 geezer “a man” 249 gent “gentleman” 23, 26 n.18, 32 n.31 gentleman: old gentleman “the devil” 32 gentlemen’s walk “the men’s toilet” 58 George Eddy “a customer who does not tip” 191 gerry see jerry Gerryflapper [a flapper] 164 get: getter [a term in the Eton wall-game] 131 get around vb “to have many dates” 207 get away with vb “to avoid punishment for” 271 get it vb “to suffer a serious bombardment” 269 get up vb [a term in the Eton wall-game] 131 ghost-story “a romantic tale told by tramps; a lie” 280 gieve see jive gildi see jildi Gilligan hitch “a strangle-hold” 356
gimmick “a pitchman’s secret” 379 ginch “a girl” 215 ginney “an Italian” 175 gitter “a guitar” 392 give someone air see air glimmer “one who guards empty cars” 297 glitter “a guitar” 392 glob “a plain sundae” 191 globe “a breast” 62 globule “a baseball” 184 glom vb “to steal” 325 glope vb “to spit” 117 glue-pot “a parson” 71 gnosch see nosh go “a prize-fight” 175 see also country goat: play the giddy goat vb “to act the fool” 141 gob “a sailor” 90 God: god forbid “a child” 94, 98 Goddess Diana “ten pence” 20 See also gawd gold: gold-brick “an unattractive girl” 225 gold-fish “salmon” 225 golf-fiend “an enthusiastic golfer” 181 gomer “a large dish” 121; “a new hat” 121; “clothes worn for going home” 122 gonger “an opium pipe” 326 gonif “a boy tramp travelling alone” 285 goof “a fool” 163 goofy “in love with” 163 goori “a dog” 141–2 goozlum “gravy” 293 goulash “false information” 335 gown and town [a university and the local inhabitants] 134 goy “a gentile” 387
Word Index grafter “a con-man” 330, 378, 386 grain: against the grain “against one’s inclination” 192 grave: graveyard “a pool in which cars are dumped (in insurance scams)” 366 gravel: gravel-crusher “an infantryman” 236 gravel-train “a political fixer” 367 grease “nitro-glycerine” 368; “butter” 368, 399 vb “to bribe” 368 greaser “an apology” 132; “an Italian” 317 grease-tail [a tramp] 289 great “good, fine” 173 the great unwashed “the working classes” 99 Grecian bend [an affected posture] 71, 79 greens “sexual intercourse” 61 grift “dishonesty” 381 grifter “a con-man” 330, 375, 389 grin: get the grins vb “to be embarrassed” 197 grind “one who studies hard; hard studying” 196; “to study hard” 196, 199; “to cause to study hard” 199; “to be distasteful or burdensome” 199; “to ridicule” 199; “to entice a potential victim to gamble” 388 groove: in the groove “playing swing music” 394 grunt horn “a tuba” 392 gubbins “a shell” 224 Guinea’s harp “a guitar” 392 gummy “?good; ?bad” 210; “glue” 379
469
gun “a man” 278; “a thief” 316, 318, 325, 336, 358–9 vb “to misinterpret (accidentally or for humorous effect)” 136 gunner “an artilleryman” 230 gunsel “a passive male homosexual” 336 gut vb “to eat greedily” 128 gut-reamer “the penetrator in anal intercourse” 292 guy “a man” 90 vb “to run away” 351 gypo “an Egyptian” 252 gyppo “gravy” 252 habit “addiction to drugs” 326 hack: under the hack “embarrassed” 197 half: half-inch vb “to steal” 298 half stretch “six months” 304 half-way house [a place halfway between two other locations] 126 handcuffed “married” 388 hang: to get the hang of vb “to become adept at” 176 hard-tack “ship’s biscuits; unappealing or insufficient food” 79 Harry Randle “a candle” 241 harvest stiff “a migratory agricultural worker” 289 have: I’ll have you [a challenge to fight] 129 hawker “an outsider (at Heriot’s Hospital)” 116 haywire “broken down” 290 haze vb “to tease; to play practical jokes on” 90 head-light “a light-skinned African-American” 360
470
Word Index
heat “a gun” 341 heater “a gun” 336 to give the heat vb “to shoot” 358–9 heavy “heavy artillery” 269 heavy dough “a large quantity of money” 340 heavy-worker “a safe-blower” 339 Hebrew enemies “pork sausages” 191 Heinie “a German soldier” 232 he kaina no katoa “?a canteen for New Zealand soldiers” 255 hellacious “very good” 214 hemisphere “a breast” 62 hen of the walk “a female leader” 58 hep “knowledgeable” 290 hept “knowledgeable” 323 hey rube [a battle-cry] 381 hickboo “a general commotion” 224 high: highboy “a young man” 165 highjohn “a young man” 165 high jump “a punishment” 226 high line sky rigger [a cable] 184 hike vb “to walk” 168 hissing-jenny [a type of shell] 236 hit vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 hitch “a period of enlistment” 225 hobo “a homeless person travelling in search of work” 276–302 passim hokum “a joke or routine that is sure to appeal to audiences” 375 holaholy “a young person who will not neck” 164 hollis “an oval pebble” 109
home: home-guard [a tramp] 300 home stretch “the last section of a race” 184 at home “?in London” 76 honest shilling “money obtained other than through theft” 310–11 honey-man [a retort] 196 hook on vb “to link arms with” 117 hoop “a ring” 317 hoosegow “a w.c.” 177; “a jail” 179, 342 hoosier “a farmer; anyone leading a settled life” 278 hopper “a dancer” 165 Horn: the Horn [an area of railroad] 278 horse: horsehide “a baseball” 184 horse’s nightcap “a hangman’s noose” 26 answer like a horse vb “to say no, but mean yes” 171 sick as a horse “very sick” 19 horstile “hostile to tramps” 285 hospital-wallah “a hospital orderly” 86 hot: hot dog [an exclamation of approval] 162 hot man “a talented jazz musician” 392 hot short “a stolen car” 347 hot sketch “an attractive girl” 207 hot stuff “interesting; attractive” 173 hotsy-totsy “an attractive woman” 170 howdy “how do you do” 198 humble: to eat humble pie vb “to grovel” 30 hum-box “a pulpit” 89
Word Index humpy “a makeshift shelter” 145 Hun, the “Germans collectively; the German nation” 232, 237 hunk: to take hunk vb “?to collect a reward” 365 hunky “all right; in good condition” 198 husky “gooseberry fool containing husks” 117 hy-yaw [an interjection of astonishment] 29 ice vb “to imprison” 356 ice-chest “jail” 179 ick “no” 130 illshay vb “to pretend to be a customer in order to trick others into spending money” 381 India: India rubber man “a physical fitness trainer” 257, 258 Indian giver “a giver expecting their gift to be returned” 204 inflationphobia “fear of inflation” 188 inside man “an informant to thieves and safe-blowers” 367 invite “an invitation” 160 Irish: Irish apricot “a potato” 85 Irish beauty “a woman with two black eyes” 85 Irish pennants “loose ends of rope” 85 Irish promotion “a demotion” 85 Irish rifle “a comb” 85 Irish theatre “a military prison” 85 Irish toothache “pregnancy” 82 to get one’s Irish up vb “to become angry” 85 iron: iron cage “jail” 179 iron horn “a cornet” 392
471
iron rations “emergency rations” 263 Isabella “an umbrella” 20 it “sex appeal” 207 ITA “pregnancy” 82 IWW “International Workers of the World” 285, 289 izzum-wizzum “an attractive woman; a hotsy-totsy” 170 jab vb “to strike (a blow)” 189 jack “a watch” 319 vb “to beat with a club” 344 Jack Johnson [an artillery shell] 232 jackpot vb “to allow to win the jackpot” 388 jackaroo “an apprentice farmer” 149, 315 jake “good; pretty; tasty” 232 jam “a crowd” 325; “a difficult situation” 332 jammed “drunk” 162 jam-session “an impromptu rehearsal” 393 jam-tin “a makeshift hand-grenade” 237 jane “a woman; a girlfriend” 162, 175 jawbone “credit” 222 vb “to obtain credit” 238 jazz [music] 203; “spirit, energy” 203 vb “to dance (to jazz music)” 203; “to agitate (e.g. a cup of hot chocolate)” 203 jazz around vb “to enjoy life a little too much” 203 jelly vb “to loiter; to chat idly” 211
472
Word Index
Jenny Linder “window” 19 Jeremiah “fire” 95 Jerry “a German; Germans collectively; the German nation” 269; “a chamber-pot” 269; “a watch” 348 jig “an African-American” 381, 389 jig-band “a circus side-show band” 381–2 jigger-dubber “a prison guard” 26 jiggler “a tool for opening car doors” 366 jildi: on the jildi “quickly” 241, 265 jitney “a nickel” 325 jive “conversation; misleading conversation” 360 vb “to talk to; to deceive” 360 job “a crime” 309, 353 jocker “a sexually aggressive male homosexual; a sodomist” 174; “an older male tramp who travels with a boy” 285, 364 vb “(of an older tramp) to pair up with (a boy)” 280 Joe: Joe Hept “knowledgeable” 323 joey “a clown” 386, 399 John: John Collins [an alcoholic drink] 182 John Ford’s altar “the teacher’s desk” 132 John Ford’s bath “a horse-trough” 132 John Ford’s hat [not defined] 132 John Ford’s leg “roly-poly pudding” 132 John Hop “a policeman” 93 Johnny Rutter “butter” 94 Johnny Warder “an idle drunkard” 312
joint “a house, building, tent, or stall” 358, 361, 388 joke vb “to tease” 90 joker “notes used to cheat in an examination” 196 jolly-up “an informal dance” 211 jonick [an exclamation of approval] 144, 145 Joseph (Hept) “knowledgeable” 323 josser “an outsider; not a member of the circus” 386 joy: joy-powder “morphine” 328 joy-ride “a trip for pleasure” 224 joy-stick “the control-lever in an aeroplane” 224, 257 jug “a bank; a safe” 307, 358–9; “a jail” 342 jug-heavy “a safe-blower” 346 juice: juice-joint “a soft-drink stall” 378 juice-meeting “a reprimand to the whole school” 132 jungle “a camp for hoboes” 279, 283, 299, 331 junk “worthless goods” 161 junket [an exclamation of joy] 125 vb “to exult” 125–6 jury leg “a wooden leg” 331 kangaroo droop [an affected posture] 71 kaput vb “to kill” 247 Kate Carney “the army” 95 keeno “excellent” 357 keister “suitcase; bag; pocket” 358, 360, 365 kelt “a white person” 379 kertever cartzo “venereal disease” 27 kettle “a watch” 348 kick: kick out vb “to discharge from a job” 90
Word Index kickshaw “a trifle” 157–8 kid “a child” 94; “a boy tramp” 280, 285 vb “to tease” 90, 228 kid-show “a circus side-show” 376, 381, 382; “a show involving young performers” 382 kid-top “a sideshow top” 382 Kilkenny “a penny” 95 King Death “breath” 93 kipper “a fellow” 98 vb “to die” 98 kips(e)y “a basket” 350–1 kip-shop “a brothel” 250 kissing-fiend “an enthusiastic kisser” 181 kit “the equipment carried by a soldier” 262 kitchen-wallah “a cook’s assistant” 86 kitten: to get/have kittens vb “to become angry, anxious, or afraid” 199 kluck “a fool” 180 knickerbockers “trousers for women” 80 knife vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 knock “a wound” 246 to be knocked (out/rotten) vb “to be killed or wounded” 246 knock along vb “to idle” 150 knock-down “a rejection” 147 knocker-worker “a door-to-door salesman” 386 knocking-shop “a brothel” 246–7, 250 knock-out “an auction thief” 58, 65
473
knock up vb “to awake in the morning” 178; “to impregnate” 178 KO vb “to knock out” 189 kosher “innocent; clean” 342 Koylies “the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry” 262 KP “kitchen work as a punishment” 230 LAB “Labor Advisory Board” 188 lady: Lady Godiva “a five-pound note” 95 Lady Green “a prison chaplain” 319 ladies’ walk “the women’s toilet” 58 laddle “a lady” 22 lag “a recidivist” 86; “a long sentence” 86; “water” 86 lag-fever “illness faked to avoid transportation” 86 lag-ship “a ship used for transportation” 86 to be lagged vb “to be sentenced to transportation” 86 laker “an actor” 48–9 lam vb “to run away” 358–9 take it on the lam vb “to run away” 365 lamb “a sexually passive male homosexual; a catamite” 174 lamb down vb “to keep someone drunk in order to spend their money” 312 lamous “harmless” 284 lark “a spree” 134 larrikin “a hooligan” 44, 144, 147 lathy “thin” 309 laughing-weed “marijuana” 282 Lavender Meads [a place where laundry is done] 117
474
Word Index
lay off vb “to withdraw from the theatre” 376 leather “pocketbook; wallet” 309, 324 legit “a stolen car whose appearance has been changed” 366 leisure: at leisure “out of work” 372 lesbian “a female homosexual” 72 letty “lodgings” 387 lib “sleep” 308 vb “to sleep” 308 libbege “a bed” 308 libben “a private house” 308 libken “a lodging-house” 308 liberty: at liberty “out of work” 381 light-fingered “given to thieving” 24 lily “a Black person” 76 line “a queue” 332 little man “a footman; a shop assistant” 122, 127 lizzie boy “an effeminate man; a homosexual” 173 lobster “a fool” 161; “an empty wallet” 324 loco “insane” 386 Lohengrin it vb “to get married” 388 long chamber/room “a dormitory at Eton” 106 look: looker “a good-looking man or woman” 172 look-out [a conman] 369 loose wallah “a thief” 243 lord of creation “a man” 169 lose out vb “to lose” 186 lot “the area occupied by a circus” 386 lot-lice “people who hang around a circus but do not buy tickets” 383
lucky boy “a local seen as a potential victim by circus con-men” 378 lug “a fool” 353 lummox “a clumsy fool” 170 lump of lead “head” 361 lush “prosperous” 388 lushy “drunk” 309 lux “a good thing” 130 luxon “attractive; tasty” 129 mace “a con-man” 26, 32 n.31 maconochie “a stew” 240 mad “angry” 126 madamoiselle [sic] “a sexually available French girl” 272 made see make mafeesh “the finish” 148 magazine “six months in jail” 171 mail vb “to post” 159 main: main toby “the high road” 86 to splice the main-brace vb “to drink; to serve drink” 86 mainga “water” 255 make vb “to observe; to recognize” 358 made “identified” 361 male impersonator “a female performer dressed as a man” 82 man “anyone in authority” 214 man-handle vb “to treat roughly” 30 M and D “medicine and duty” 223 mark “a person who will give a tramp food or money” 284; “a person or place suitable to be robbed or cheated” 340, 349, 388 vb “to inscribe secret symbols” 284
Word Index marrowbones and cleavers “rough music” 98 Mary Ann “marijuana” 282 match “a sporting division” 119 may “a water-closet” 180 and I don’t mean maybe [expressing certainty] 171 McCoy, the (real) “the genuine article” 344 meads “fields” 123 see also Lavender Meads mean “stingy” 159 mean baby “an attractive girl” 207 meat-market “the breasts” 62 med-doctor/-man “a quack doctor” 379 meg “a halfpenny” 326 meig “a nickel” 325–6 melon “head” 354 Mendelssohn March vb “to get married” 388 menjarie “food” 386 merged “married” 388 merry Anzacs “casual Australians” 253 mess up vb “to make a mistake” 357 mick [an ugly face] 259; “a petty thief” 321 middle aisle it vb “to get married” 388 Middlesex officer “an effeminate man; a homosexual man” 246 milk: milk-walk “the breasts” 62 milk-shop “the breasts” 62 milky way “the breasts” 62 mill “a prize-fight” 175 mission-stiff “a hobo who feigns religion” 286 mit “a hand” 177
475
MO “medical officer” 240, 271–2, 399 moat “a traitor” 331; “rejection; betrayal” 331 vb “to reject (a person or thing)” 331 moater “one who rejects (a person or thing)” 331 mob “a criminal gang” 316, 321, 340, 352, 356, 363 mocker see moniker moll “a woman” 325, 365, 387 moll-buzzard/-buzzer “a thief who steals from women” 325–6 mon “money” 201 monacer, monack see moniker moniker “a name; a signature” 145, 281, 338 monjarie “food” 386 monkery “a district” 387 monosyllable “a vagina” 61 Mons Man “a soldier who fought at the Battle of Mons” 269–70 moocher “a beggar” 297, 300 moon(-shine) “illegally brewed spirits” 356 mort “a woman” 36, 37 mortal “very” 36, 37 mortar-board “a hat worn by academics” 37 moskeneer vb “to swindle a pawnbroker” 36, 37 moss “lead” 37 mossoo “monsieur” 36, 37 most: as good as most people “bad” 37 mot “a woman” 37 mot-cart “an open wagon” 37 moth [a prostitute] 179 moth-bag “a piano” 392
476
Word Index
mother: mother-coddle “a mummy’s boy” 37 mother and daughter “water” 37 mother, home and heaven lecture “a sentimental lecture” 384 mother of the maids “a bawd” 37 catchphrases did you tell your mother? 37; go home to your mother 37; what will your mother say? 37 motion “an act of defecation” 37 mouch vb “to scrounge” 37 moucher “scrounger” 37 mouchey “a Jew” 37 moue “a grimace” 37 mought vb “might” 37 mouldy “decaying” 37 mouldy-grubs “itinerant entertainers” 37 Mounseer Cockoolu “a Frenchman” 37 mount “a perjurer” 36, 37 to have the mount on vb “to be astride” 37 vb “to commit perjury” 37 mounter “a perjurer” 37 mountain: mountain dew “whiskey” 37 mountain-pecker “stew; stew-pot” 37 mourning: to wear half mourning vb “to have a black eye” 37 mouse: to raise a mouse vb “?to dent” 37 to speak like a mouse in cheese vb “to speak indistinctly” 37 every man to his mousetrap “stick with what you know” 37 the parson’s mousetrap “marriage” 37
mouth: mouth almighty “a vociferous talker” 37 mouth vb “to speak” 37 mouthing “speaking needlessly” 36, 37 mouthpiece “a spokesperson” 37; “a man” 321 to be down in the mouth “to be downhearted” 37 to give mouth to vb “?to speak; ?to say” 37 to stand mouth vb “to be fooled” 37 move “a trick” 37 move on imp “get moving” 37 moveables “possessions” 37 movie-fiend “an enthusiastic cinema-goer” 181 Mr Whiskers “the government; the FBI” 351 mu “museum” 128 muchee “very” 51 muck: mucker “a town boy (at Harvard)” 196 muckle chields [the seven oldest boys at Heriot’s Hospital] 116 mud “coffee” 363 mudder “a horse that runs well on mud” 330 muff “a fool” 77 muffer “mother” 101 mufti “civilian clothes” 24 mug “a man” 278 vb “to kiss; to canoodle” 165; “to assault” 329 mug-faker “a street photographer” 297 let’s mug one for the folks “let’s play swing music” 394 muggle “hot chocolate” 203; “marijuana” 393
Word Index murk “coffee” 190 muscle in vb “to become involved in (an enterprise) by force” 339 mush-faker “a mender of umbrellas” 281, 287 n.29; “a sponger” 287 mushroom “a hat” 364 muslin: a bit of muslin “a woman or girl” 331 mutt “a fool” 90, 161 muzzler “a safe-blower” 339 nag “a horse” 177 nail: dead as a doornail “emphatically dead” 157–8 to stand under the nail vb [to be punished] 114 nantee palaver imp “stop talking” 43 napoo “nothing; no good; finished” 230, 272 vb “to kill” 230 napper “head” 239 nark “an unpleasant person” 150 vb “to annoy” 150 nature’s fount “a breast” 62 NC “non-conformist” 256 neat “undiluted” 159 neck vb “to canoodle” 164 needle-artist “an injecting drug-user” 282 neggledigee “a nightgown” 100 nest [a café in South Dakota] 215 nib: his nibs “oneself; a third party” 44, 386 nice day for it [indicating the expectation of unpleasantness] 247 nick “jail” 311 vb “to assault” 329; “to steal” 168 nicking “stealing” 316
477
nifty “an attractive woman; anything attractive” 213 nigger in the woodpile “an unsolved mystery” 181 niggle vb “to have sexual intercourse” 292 nihil ad rem “not to the point” 126 nipper “a small boy” 141 nit “an escape” 312 Noah’s Ark “a park” 148 nobber “one who collects money for a beggar” 297 nobby [not defined] 254 noch “a shelter for Jewish hoboes” 295 noise “heroin” 335 noli-me-tangere “a contagious disease” 313 No Man’s Land “the area between the front-line trenches” 237, 256, 257, 268 non-nant “a boy who does not swim” 131 noo: the noo “just now” 298 nosh vb “to eat” 257 nudie “a nude show” 388 nut: the nut “overheads; outgoings” 372 nuts “insane” 90 nux “tea” 358 oak “an outer door” 28 Oats (and barley) “Charlie” 92, 94 Obadiah “fire” 95 obiquitous “amoral” 59 ochive see oschive OG “the officer of the guard” 225 ogotaspuotas “nonsense” 81 oily rag “a cigarette” 93 ointjay “joint; establishment” 381 OK “good; fine” 284, 299
478
Word Index
Okie “a migrant worker (from Oklahoma)” 276 old: old file “an old officer” 259 old gentleman “the devil” 32 old pot and pan “father; husband” 101 old soldier “a soldier who avoids risk” 219, 269; “a cigar-end” 314 old sweat “an old soldier” 242 oliver “the moon” 372 vb “to be knowledgeable” 348 on: on class “at class” 210 on the carpet see carpet; on the ties see tie onion “a baseball” 184; “a seal” 309 open: opener “a laxative” 290 open time “dates on which an act is not booked” 374 OPH “Old Parliamentary Hand: Gladstone” 83 order: to have one’s name ordered vb “to have one’s name noted for future punishment” 113 orderly-bucker “a soldier who seeks to be made an orderly” 225 Oscar Ashe “cash” 92 oschive “a bone-handled knife” 44 O’Sullivan “a safe-blower” 339 ou la la [an exclamation of surprise or approval] 272 out “unfashionable” 164 outsiders “a tool for turning keys from outside a locked door” 324 OVO [not defined] 82 owl “a blow” 129 P “prisoner” 225 paddle vb “to run away” 23 palaver vb “to speak” 43–4
pane “rain” 158 par “paragraph” 314 Paradise “a small garden” 117 park vb “to neck; to canoodle” 164 parney “rain” 158 parson “a signpost” 157 part that goes over the fence last “a person’s bottom” 82 pass vb “to live as a white person” 379 passenger: passenger-bum “a bum who travels by train” 289 passenger-stiff “a hobo who travels by train” 289 pat poke “hip pocket” 353 patter “speech” 17 pay vb “to beat” 26, 97 PC “poor classes” 83 pea: pea-soup “a French Canadian” 295 pea-soup “no good” 344 peach vb “to tell secrets” 89 peachy “now; quickly; soon” 254 pearl-diver “a dishwasher” 177 peck “a white person” 360 Peckham Rye “a tie” 94 peg vb “to identify” 361 peg-tops [loose trousers] 28 pellet “a baseball” 184 pen “a penitentiary” 179 pen and ink vb “to stink” 93 pep “spirit; energy” 164, 201 percentage copper “a corrupt policeman” 316 perk up vb “to cheer up” 170 peter “a pack” 297, 301; “a safe” 317 Peter Funk “an imaginary bidder at an auction” 335 peter-man “a safe-blower; a bank robber” 316, 317, 358;
Word Index “one who drugs an unwilling victim” 317 petting pantry “a film; a cinema” 165 PG “postgraduate” 200; “pretty girl” 200 Phil (Hermann) “German” 241 phoney “fake” 291 pick: pick off vb “to hit” 124 pick up vb “to make acquaintance with a woman” 147 pickaninny “a child” 32 pickled “drunk” 170 pidgin “business” 29 pie in the sky “reward in heaven” 286 pig “beer” 92 vb “to abscond” 317 pig’s ear “beer” 92, 148 pig fight “a college dance” 208 piggin “a vessel for drinking beer” 120 pill “a baseball” 184 pinch “a theft” 309 vb “to steal” 168, 309; “to arrest” 330 pinched “arrested” 330 pinch out vb “to constrict the flow of an oil well” 330 pip vb “to shoot” 185 pip-squeak [an artillery shell] 236 pipe vb “to see; to look” 351 pitch: pitcher “a circus or carnival salesman” 386 pitchman “a circus or carnival salesman” 379, 381 pitch-up “a group of people” 113 plainer [a tramp] 300 plant vb “to hide; to place; ?to fence” 309 plant show “a performance including African-American musicians” 376
479
plaster “a warrant” 361 pledge you “my turn next” 108 plonk “a donkey” 254 plough vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 plough the deep vb “to sleep” 361 plug “a man” 278 plug-ugly [a hooligan] 58, 65 plunderbunder “a member of a cartel” 325 plunge vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 poke “a purse; a bag” 325 pole: up the pole “distraught; disappeared” 146 poll “the head” 196 vb “to study hard” 196 polly “a political fixer” 367 pony “a translation used for cheating” 87 poof “a homosexual” 84 poogie “a jail” 342 poont “a breast” 62 poor white trash [with reference to a family who never owned slaves] 170 pop the question vb “to propose marriage” 169 porch-climber “a thief who climbs on porches” 316 possesh “a hobo’s boy companion” 283 possie “a position” 245 pot: pot out vb “to confine” 27 old pot and pan “father; husband” 101 potato “a baseball” 184 pouf see poof pound the ear or air vb “to sleep” 330
480
Word Index
powder-puff “a boxer who dodges blows rather than fighting” 189 power “explosives” 358 vb “to equip with or operate by means of a motor; to be equipped with a motor” 273 prad “a horse” 76 pretzel “a French horn” 392 pritt “pretty” 78 prof “professor” 198, 210 profesh “profession” 323 prog vb “to poke; to hit” 115 pronto “at once” 204 prop: prop-getter “a stealer of scarf pins” 316 white prop “a diamond pin” 312 propers “sexual intercourse” 82 prowl vb “to rob by stealth” 334 prowler “one who robs by stealth” 334 prowling “robbery by stealth” 334 prushun “a sexually passive male homosexual; a catamite” 174; “a boy tramp” 280, 285; “an adult tramp accompanied by a boy” 330 psalm-smiter “a non-conformist” 312 psych “psychology” 206 psyche vb “to understand someone’s motivations; to outwit” 214 puke vb “to vomit” 90 pukka wallah “a dandy” 243 pukkero vb “to take hold of” 242 punch vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 punk “inadequate, poor quality” 90; “light bread” 222; “a sexually passive male homosexual; a catamite” 174; “the young
companion of an older male hobo” 295, 364 pup: pup-opera “the location of a circus dog-show” 383 puppy “a stolen car whose appearance has been changed” 366 push “a large-scale military endeavour” 233; “a group of hoboes” 284 QT: on the QT “on the quiet; covertly” 182 qua “a jail” 331 quad [a printer’s tool] 314 quash “good; nice” 255 queen “a sexually passive male homosexual; a catamite” 174 queen(s) weather “sunshine” 87–8 queer “counterfeit money” 316 quid “a pound” 133 qui-hi “an English resident in Calcutta” 24 quitter “someone who gives up” 168 quod “prison” 17 racket “an illegal enterprise” 339, 341, 378 racketeer “an illegal entrepreneur” 339, 340, 341, 342, 352, 363, 364 racketeering “running illegal enterprises” 343 rad see rod radish “a baseball” 184 raff “a vulgar scruffy person” 135 rag “an undergraduate’s gown” 119; “a counterfeit note” 317; “a jollification” 119 vb “to tease; to play practical jokes on” 90, 228
Word Index ragamuffin “a vulgar scruffy person” 135 ragged soph [a type of student] 119, 121 n.44 ragtime [music] 99; “disorganized” 99, 264 rainbow “a footman” 307 rake vb “to fetch (an amount of money)” 309 raking “?attempting to reach something through/in a letter-box” 355 ram vb “to go through the line (in American football)” 184 ramrod(der) “a ball bowled under-arm” 113 randy “rampant; amorous” 27 ranked out of vb “to be deprived of (something) by a higher ranking officer” 222 rap “a halfpenny” 27; “a prison sentence” 332, 340; “a charge filed against a prisoner” 361 vb “to talk rapidly and aggressively” 351; “to sentence” 356 take a rap vb “to serve a sentence (for someone else)” 334 raspberry(-tart) “a heart” 320 rational costume “trousers for women” 80 rattler “a train” 338 raw “unfair” 180 raymonder see ramrod(der) razz “a con” 343 RC “Roman Catholic” 256 reach vb “to bribe” 290 reader “a warrant” 361; “a licence” 382 red “responsive (of a location)” 380 red-cap “a military policeman” 266
481
red-cross “morphine” 328 red-hot “sexually attractive” 170 red one “a theatrical success; a hit” 376 reduction “a programme of gradual withdrawal from drugs” 326 reeler “a policeman” 351 remedy “a school holiday” 113 resting “out of work” 372 ride vb “to copulate” 61; “to cheat” 214 ridge-runner “an Arkansan; a fool” 357 rig in your booms imp “pull in your elbows” 259 right polly “a political fixer” 367 ring: ring up vb “to change the appearance of (a car)” 347 ringtail [a hobo] 279, 289 riot “a great success (in the theatre)” 376 ripsey rowsers “trousers” 368 risk “a friend” 321 River Ouse “booze; drink” 93 road-kid “a boy travelling with an older male hobo” 295 rock vb “to throw stones” 141–2 rock it in vb “to bowl fast (in cricket) 141–2 rock-crusher “an accordion” 392 fire rocks vb “to throw stones” 141–2 I can sleep on rocks “I have plenty of money” 317 rod or rad “a revolver” 323–4, 335, 336 roker “a ruler” 120 Roman fall [an affected posture] 71, 79 roodles, roodlens [not defined] 212 root vb “to kick” 128
482
Word Index
rooti “bread” 232, 265 Rory O’Moore “a door” 93 roscoe “a gun” 335 roses red “bed” 361 rotary “a rotating cell-block” 336 rotten “inadequate, poor quality” 90 rouge [a term in Eton football] 112 round vb “to whisper” 23, 26 n.18, 32 n.32 roundaboutitis “indirectness of speech” 188 round-head “a Swede” 295 round me/the houses “trousers” 19 roux vb “to win all of someone’s marbles” 116 rozzer “a policeman” 47 rub-a-dub-dub “a pub” 93 rubber “an inquisitive person” 178; “a ball” 374 rubber-heel “a slice of meat loaf” 363 ruddy [an expletive] 240 rummy stiff [a hobo] 289 run: to have a good run vb “to be successful” 317 rush-in “a meal purchased for a beggar” 282 SA “sex appeal” SA cowboy “a handsome guide for female tourists” 184 sack “a small portion of tobacco” 333 vb “to dismiss” 90, 168 sacrifice [not defined] 132 salmon trout “a bookmaker” 93 salute: I salute the brave dead [a formula used to express respect for dead soldiers] 271 Salve “a Swede” 295
Sammy “an American soldier” 237 sand “sugar” 332 [an exclamation of warning] 339 sandstorm [a type of soup] 252 sandwich man “a man wearing advertising boards” 88 san fairy ann “it doesn’t matter” 265, 267 sang bon “very nice” 256 sap “school-work” 111; “a fool” 163; “a cosh” 354 sap up on vb “to assault” 329 Saturday-to-Monday “a weekend jaunt; a temporary lover” 98 sausage “an observation balloon” 261 scab “a worthless person” 32 scadger “a ruffian” 109 scald “a worthless person” 32 scanty “a small bread-roll” 128 scenery-bum “a tourist travelling as a hobo” 295 schill see shill scoff “food” 97 vb “to eat” 97 scoffin’s “food” 325 scot “a temper tantrum” 32 screever “a pavement artist” 20; “a writer of begging letters” 311 screw “a prison-guard” 368; “a key” 368 vb “to look at” 386 imp “run away” 368 screw-ball “unbridled swing music” 393 scroby (for breakfast) “a whipping in prison” 320 sea-food “a sailor” 295 sell vb “to con; to play a practical joke upon” 30, 32 n.32
Word Index send: send up vb “to imprison” 357 sender [a signal to initiate swing music] 394 set: set up vb “to prepare” 190 setter “seven pence” 22 settler “a crushing retort” 113 shack “a cabin” 177 vb “to hunt for tennis balls” 196 shacker “one who hunts for tennis balls” 196 shackle-up “making a stew of miscellaneous food” 301 shagging “copulation” 71 shake “a robbery” 339 shamus “a policeman” 342; “an informer” 342 shant “a tankard” 43 shanty “an electrician” 382 shark vb “to steal from smaller boys” 136 sheilah “a girl; a woman” 149 shifter “a flapper” 163 shill vb “to pretend to be a customer in order to trick others into spending money” 381 shillaber “a conman’s confederate planted in the crowd” 376 shin: shin-scraper “the treadmill” 305 shindig “a dance” 177 shine “a poor performer” 374 shine on the dot vb “to arrive punctually” 179 shirk vb [an Eton term] 113 shiv “a knife” 357 ?vb “to shave” 237 shive “a razor” 282 shoful “counterfeit money” 23 shoot vb “to speak; to say” 318
483
short “a car” 347 short arm [with reference to inspection for signs of venereal disease] 246–7 short-change artist “one who deliberately retains coins due in change” 375 short-changer “one who deliberately retains coins due in change” 378 shove vb “to sell (stolen goods)” 309 shover of the queer “one who passes counterfeit money” 316 show: showing up “making regular reports to the police” 355 shower-stick “an umbrella” 212 shrimp: can’t you feel the shrimps? “can’t you smell the sea?” 81 shuffle continent vb “to feign sickness” 113 shy [a term in the Eton wall-game] 131 sicky acky “psychiatry” 357 Sir Garnet “very good” 93 sissy “an effeminate man; a homosexual” 173 sit: sit-down “a meal sitting down” 171 sit-up “notes used for cheating” 196 skein of thread “bed” 92 skeleton vb “to obtain entrance by means of a skeleton key” 358 skibby “Chinese; Japanese” 204 skillo “a concession” 388 skimmer “a hat” 374 skin and blister “sister” 101 skirt “a woman” 175, 363 slag [not defined] 204 slam gates vb “?to beg door to door” 279 slang “a chain” 309
484
Word Index
slicker “a local seen as a potential victim by circus con-men” 378 sloshery “alcoholic drink” 351 slough vb “to assault” 329 slougher “one who sells stolen goods” 325 slough-worker “a thief who robs country-houses” 316 slow: slow-starter “a boxer who warms up slowly” 189 slow work “robbery during daylight” 334 sluff vb “to be lazy” 206 slug “a dollar” 388 vb “to assault” 329 slum “a fraudulent enterprise” 387 smacker “a dollar” 337 smoke-wagon “a revolver” 323–4, 335 smudged “killed by a shell” 246 snare vb “to entice (a boy) into hobo life” 280 sneak “a thief” 316 sneak-work “robbery by stealth” 334 sneeze gas [gas used as a weapon] 238 snipe [an aeroplane] 254 snipes “scissors” 61 snose vb “to sleep” 307 snotty “habitually short-tempered” 263 snout “tobacco” 355; “an informer” 355 snow “cocaine” 328, 336; “audience members allowed in free” 372 snowed up “under the influence of drugs” 358–9 snuggery “a place of abode” 87 snugglepupping “necking; spooning” 163
soak vb “to assault” 329 sob-stuff “a sad story” 354 sock “a blow” 189, 385; “food” 131 vb “to give as a favour” 131 sock-shop “a shop selling food” 131 sod [a term of abuse] 249 soft: soft one “a minor wound” 236 soft tack “food eaten ashore” 80 soft tommy “bread” 80 soldier: old soldier “a soldier who avoids risk” 219, 269; “a cigar end” 314 soph “a student beyond his/her first year” 119 soup “nitro-glycerine; explosives” 340, 358 soup and gravy “navy” 95 soused “drunk” 170 spank vb “to beat (on the bottom)” 147 spare “an unattached woman” 286 speak-easy “an unlicensed bar” 160 speck-bum [a tramp] 289 sphere “a baseball” 184 spiel “a conman’s enticing speech” 376 spieler [a conman] 386 spike-bozzle vb “to destroy completely” 224 splendiferous “splendid” 160 splice vb “to throw” 113 to splice the mainbrace vb “drink; to serve drink” 86 split-finger “an office-worker” 283 sport: bad sport “a bad loser” 168 spot: on the spot “in danger; in trouble” 292, 341 sprazer “a sixpence” 362 spring vb “to escape” 368
Word Index squawk “an act of confessing or informing” 365 squeal vb “to complain” 317 squeeze-box “an accordion” 392 stabido “one who speaks nasally” 116 stall vb “to hang about doing nothing” 358 stay out vb “to be absent from school through illness” 112 steel “a jail” 179 steerer “an inside informant to thieves and safe-blowers” 367; [a conman] 369 stew: stew-bum [a tramp] 289, 300 stewed “drunk” 170 stick “a fool” 168; [a conman’s confederate] 388 the sticks “rural backwaters” 332 stiff “a man; a hobo” 278, 279, 286, 289 stiff racket “death” 342 stingo “strong beer” 312 stink “(fuss resulting from) an unpleasant revelation” 170 stir “jail” 179 vb “to turn a gambling wheel” 388 stir-bug/stir-simple “one rendered insane by imprisonment” 184 stiver “a penny” 94 stone “a diamond” 317 stone jug “a jail” 312 stone mansion “a jail” 342 stool-pigeon “an informer” 365 stop thief “beef” 92 strafe “bombardment” 266 vb “to shell” 228 straight “undiluted (of an alcoholic drink)” 159
485
straight-man “a comic who feeds punch-lines to his partner” 374 strap-hanger “a traveller on public transport” 170 strike-breaker “a substitute girlfriend” 162, 164 string: to have on a string “to lead on; to fool” 308 strong “influential” 318 struggle “a dance” 171 stub vb “to kick” 128 stunt “a small-scale military endeavour” 233 sub “an unintelligent person” 180 sub-chaser “a man who tries to pick up woman on the street” 162–3 submarine “a doughnut” 190 sublime rascal “a lawyer” 312 sucker “a fool” 161, 335, 349, 367 Sunday: to have gone Sunday school vb “to have abolished dishonesty” 381 super “a watch” 281 swaddie “an old soldier” 242 swag “stolen goods” 309, 365 swagman “a travelling labourer” 51 sweat: old sweat “an old soldier” 242 vb “to become warm; to become excited” 244 sweep vb “to run away” 360 sweet: sweetie “an attractive man or woman” 165, 170 sweet-sounding “hard (of a blow)” 189 swell “good” 321
486
Word Index
swill “unappealing food” 299 swing: swing it vb “to play swing music” 394 swing the lead vb “to avoid work” 265 tack “food” 141–2 tail vb “to follow” 281 take the count “to be counted out (in boxing)” 189 tan vb “to over-work” 387 tank up on vb “to drink” 363 tannergram “a sixpenny telegram” 145 tap [a public house near Eton] 122 tar “a sailor” 90 tavarish “comrade” 256 tax “cost” 325 TB “total blank: a complete failure” 380 tea: tealeaf “a thief” 362 teapot lid “a child” 94 tec “a detective” 90 Tecumseh “a carving of a Native American used in ceremonial celebrations of athletic victory” 208 teetotaller “an abstainer from drink” 159 tellie “telegram” 78 tenner “a ten pound note” 387 tenuc “the vagina” 71 thick “stupid” 126 thimble “a watch” 309, 348 thimble-getter “a watch-thief” 334 throw vb “to send to prison” 317 throw-out “a hobo who fakes fits” 300 throw one’s feet vb “?to walk” 279 throw a fit vb “to rage” 172
thrym “threepence” 116 ticket “a prison report for bad behaviour” 363 tiddly-wink “drink” 361, 368 tidy “good” 17; “well” 23 tie: on the ties “derailed” 185 tiffin “breakfast” 24 tin: tin hat “helmet” 224, 269 tin tack “dismissal from employment” 93 tin tank “bank” 92 titch “a beating” 110 vb “to beat” 110 titty “a breast” 62 TM “trench mortar” 266 tod: on one’s tod “alone” 386 tom: big tom “a stuffed cat” 385 tomato “an attractive girl” 162–3, 182; “a baseball” 184 tomfoolery “jewellery” 338 tommy “an English soldier” 227–9 passim, 231, 236, 237, 243; “a girlfriend” 317; “food” 301 soft tommy “bread” 80 toodle vb “to hunt birds and kill them with sticks” 106 toodling-stick “a stick used to kill birds” 106 tool “a pickpocket who works with confederates” 316 vb “to hang about doing nothing” 358 Tooley Street tailor “a conceited person” 313–14 tootfinny “it is all over” 232 tongs “a tool for turning keys from outside a locked door” 324 tongue the velvet vb “to perform oral sex” 72 tootin see you’re damn tootin’ top-light “an eye” 48
Word Index torch “a professional arsonist” 330; “a revolver” 336 tormentor “a large fork” 32 touch vb “to steal” 309 as near as toucher “very near” 26, 32 n.33 tourist “a hobo whose travels are determined by the weather” 287 tout “a bookmaker” 93; “one who provides inside information” 322 town: towner “a local; not a member of the circus” 376, 378 towny “a local; not a member of one’s school” 129 trail vb “to travel with; to follow” 378 trainer “an animal-handler” 381 tramp vb “to walk” 168 trash “schoolboy treasures” 116 trench-mortar “a cannon-like weapon for firing shells” 266 trial-horse “a boxer used to eliminate contenders” 189 trip-wire [barbed wire] 267 trombenick “a Jewish hobo” 295 troop “a criminal gang” 352 trouble: trouble and strife “wife” 93 in trouble “pregnant” 299 try-out “rehearsal; first run” 375 tubbish/tubby “fat” 71 tube “underground train” 90 tucker “food” 141–2, 298 tumble vb “to understand; to know” 20, 292, 348 Tunbridge [a bridge near Winchester] 123 tunk “a fraternity social event involving smoking” 208 turk “a sexually aggressive male homosexual; a sodomist” 174
487
turn “a theatrical act” 374 twee “sweetheart” 78 tweost “sweetest” 78 twirl “a key” 347; “a warder” 347 two upon ten [a shoplifter] 28 typewriter “a machine-gun” 399 udder “a breast” 62 unbounded assortment of gratuitous untruths “systematic lying” 83 uncle: uncle Dudley “me” 212 uncle Ned “head” 93; “bed” 257 uncle Sam [the United States or its government] 159, 178–9 undergraduette “a female undergraduate” 133 unhealthy “dangerous” 257 unkpay “the young companion of an older hobo” 364 unload vb “to alight” 318 up “knowledgeable” 124 up to “under the instruction of” 124 up town “in town” 127 upper-crust “the aristocracy” 170 upstage vb “to force an actor to turn his back on the audience” 390 on the up and up “honest; legal” 343 ushmay-oomray “a hat” 364 VAD “a Voluntary Aid Department nurse” 261 Vagabonds Removed [humorous expansion of the initials VR] 83 vanner “a van-horse” 100 vardo “a wagon; a caravan” 387 varsity “university” 198 vaseline “butter” 118, 121 n.44 Venus’s curse “venereal disease” 308
488
Word Index
vic “a convict” 358 victualling-office “the stomach” 86 vinegar: to take vinegar on one’s oysters vb “to be unrefined” 43 virgin “a woman believed to be a virgin” 169 virtue “cherry Coca-Cola” 191 Virtue Rewarded [humorous expansion of the initials VR] 83 vrille “a spinning nose-dive” 237 walk: walk about imp [a military order] 58 walk alone vb “to be an outcast” 58 walk the hospitals vb “to train as a doctor” 58 walk into vb “to attack; to scold; to defeat; to eat” 58 walk-off “a general strike” 285 walk out [not defined] 204 walk Spanish vb “to act under compulsion” 58 walk the streets vb “to work as a street-prostitute” 58 wallah [used to form agentive compounds] 86, 97, 243 wallie “a fool” 164 wangle vb “to achieve something through cunning” 168 washout “an ageing spinster” 163 water-cure [a prison punishment] 285 weaker sex “women” 71 weed “marijuana” 388 weeping willow “a pillow” 361 weigh off vb “to punish” 226 we’re winning [an ironic response to bad conditions or luck] 254 west: be sent/go west vb “to die” 227, 275
whale [with reference to size, extent, or approval] 172 whisker: to put whiskers on vb “to irritate” 241 whistle: whistle-tooter “the circus ringmaster” 385 whistling-weed “tobacco provided to prisoners” 363 white: white cross “cocaine” 328 white man “a trustworthy man” 291 white mule “illegally brewed whiskey” 356 white prop “a diamond pin” 312 whiz: whiz-bang [an artillery shell] 236 on the whiz “?operating as a pickpocket; ?on drugs” 360 whole-school day “a full day of lessons” 126 wife “a catamite” 285 Willie-boy “an effeminate man; a homosexual man” 321 willy-willy “a storm” 150 wind: wind-sock “a cone of cloth used to determine the direction of the wind” 273 windy “nervous” 240 to have the wind up vb “to be nervous” 240, 262 wing: wing it vb “to improvise” 390 wings [with reference to morphine] 328 Wipers “Ypres” 220 wise “knowledgeable” 292, 316, 319, 323, 348 put wise vb “to provide necessary information to” 148 wisent/wissin see wooston
Word Index with it “knowledgeable” 381 wob(bly) “a member of the IWW” 289 wolf “a sexually aggressive male homosexual; a sodomist” 174, 357 Wolsey’s [underwear] 133 wood: woodbine “an English soldier” 245 woodpile “a xylophone” 392 wooden: wooden mountains “stairs” 101 wooden spoon wedge [an unsuccessful student] 28 woof woof [an exclamation of ridicule or indignation] 164 woofy [not defined] 163 wool-bird “a sheep” 312 wooston “very” 110, 129; “really” 130 wop “an Italian” 175 work: the works “everything; sexual intercourse” 213 vb “to rob; to con” 378 working-stiff “a man in employment” 289 work the shorts vb “to pickpockets on a street-car” 360 would-to-godder “a bellicose civilian” 247 wow ’em off their seats vb “to be a great success with an audience” 375 wreck vb “to scramble (eggs)” 295 wren “a woman” 175 x: to take one (letter) x [to arrest] 63
489
yack “a watch” 319 n.37 yacker “talk” 312 yank “an American from the North; any American” 237, 238 yankee “an American from the North; any American” 179 yankee paradise “Paris” 81 Yarra banker “a vagrant living on the banks of the Yarra” 315 year: to put years on vb “to irritate” 241 yegg “a tramp hold-up man or safe-blower” 279, 325 yeggman “a tramp hold-up man or safe-blower” 279, 298 yellow-leg “a cavalryman” 222 yen-shee “opium” 291 yid “a Jew” 158 yidden “the Jewish people” 158 yinceth vb “to cheat” 335 yit “a Jew” yob “a fool” 257 york vb “to rain” 132 Yorkshire: Yorkshire bite “a cheat” 31 Yorkshire reckoning “an equal sharing of costs” 312 you: you’re another [a retort] 196 you’re damn tootin’ [an exclamation of agreement] 212 Zeppelins in a cloud “sausage and mashed potato” 259 zoom vb “to travel fast” 224 zuche “an old prostitute” 348 zulu “an African-American” 381
