Tag Archives: Old Norse

Lay all your loan words on me … English borrowings from Swedish

13 Jan

A while ago, I heard someone pronounce on TV that there were only five words in English that we’d borrowed from Swedish.  Fact.  Five words only.

And, as with all good random facts, we store them away in our heads, desperately waiting for that moment when we can dust them off and insert them seamlessly into a conversation to surprise and delight our companions.

Such an occasion recently arose with me when I happened to meet a young man of Swedish origin at some drinks after work.  The excitement in me bubbled up – and I could hardly wait to reveal this most exciting of information.

The nice young chap thankfully didn’t turn and run and this point, but started to opine on what the words were.  The most famous word, according to Bjorn (not his real name, but I think we can all safely agree that Abba references only make the world a better place), was ‘ombudsman’ – an independent government investigator or arbitrator.

Accordingly to Wikipedia, the origins of ombudsman go back to Old Norse (umboðsmaðr), which meant representative. The roots words umbud / ombud mean a proxy or attorney, and forms of the word still exist in Swedish, Danish, Icelandic and Faroese.

So what of the other four?  Bjorn and I couldn’t agree.

Well, it turns out there are a lot more than five Swedish words in English.  According to the OED, there are 132 in total.

A number of the words are for specifically Swedish things, many of which we only recognise from a trip to the Ikea café: lingonberry, smorgasbord, and gravlax.

There are also dozens of words relating to obscure chemicals and minerals, which I assume are the result of a strong Swedish scientific heritage.

But more interesting are the words that have slipped into English so quietly, we’re completely unaware of a Scandinavian connection.

So, after months of deliberation by a highly valued jury, here then are the nominations for the top ten Swedish loan words in English:

  1. Aga – ok, a proper noun (who knew?), but has come to mean all generic range cookers
  2. Cringle – an eyelet through which a rope gets passed
  3. Glug – to pour or drink in a way that generates a noise
  4. Mandarin – the fruit – the ultimate origins of the word aren’t understood, but we definitely borrowed the name from Swedish
  5. Moped – a coinage by a Swedish journalist from ‘motor‘ and ‘pedal‘
  6. Nickel – discovered and named by a Swedish mineralogist, Axel Fredrik Cronstedt, although his naming borrows from German.  He named it Kupfernickel – ‘copper sprite’ as nickel tempted miners to believe it was copper
  7. Ombudsman – as above
  8. Rune – ok, this one does have a Scandinavian connection
  9. Skip – as in hop
  10. Tungsten – as with nickel, named by Axel Fredrik Cronstedt, although this one is Swedish and means ‘heavy stone’

So every time my tongue twists over the name of an Ikea range, I shall remember just how at home I already am with Swedish!

On going berserk and bears

5 Aug

So I had to write a headline in work, and it had to be about a bear (don’t ask).  I was desperately trying to think up a suitable bear-related pun (bear necessities? Grin and bear it?) – and, in part, wondering how I manage to get paid for thinking up this kind of stuff.

Whenever I get stuck with a headline, I turn to http://www.phrases.org.uk, and type in my key word to see what sort of proverbs, clichés and aphorisms turn up.

Flicking through the list, there were a few possibilities: bear with a sore head; bull market and bear market; does a bear sh*t in the woods?; and my particular favourite, when the bear got in the buckwheat (Russian, apparently).

But what caught my attention was the phrase ‘to go berserk’.  What did that have to do with bears?

My limited knowledge of the Vikings suggested there was a type of warrior known as a ‘berserker’ – best known for quaffing down large amounts of hallucinogenic drugs before battle.  But where’s the bear connection?

The OED does suggest that ‘to go berserk’ derives directly from ‘berserker’.  Berserkr is the Old Norse name for this warrior, and it was the great romantic novelist Sir Walter Scott who first brought the word into English in the early 19th century.

It must have been absolutely terrifying to face a warrior who was, to all extents and purposes, off their face on drugs – so it’s perhaps not surprising that the behaviour of the berserker has passed into everyday usage.

(The OED definition of berserker is delightful: “A wild Norse warrior of great strength and ferocious courage, who fought on the battle-field with a frenzied fury known as the ‘berserker rage’”.)

And the reason for the bear connection is that one view of the etymology of ‘berserk’ is that it derived from ‘bear sark’ – or bear coat.  It seems like our Viking warrior friends may have gone into battle wearing the hide of a bear – a warm, practical and also suitably terrifying choice.

But the OED also offers the alternative word and derivation: ‘bare-sark’ – to fight without any shirt on at all.  Much like some (male) football fans like to show their hardness and hardiness by watching games bare-chested in all weathers, was a Viking warrior more terrifying if he wore no armour or ceremonial dress at all?

On Wetwang, Souldrop, Piddle and why Ashby-de-la-Zouche is the most fascinating place name in England

29 Apr

I’ve already blogged twice about surnames – once on the history of surnames, the other on how posh your surname is.  I have an equally-fervid love of the history of place names (toponymy), although it’s a little less interactive as, unlike the many curiously-named people I question, I am yet to find a place name sign that answers my questions …

I think I enjoy anything that gives an insight into how people used to live – and place names, like personal names, do just that.   They tell us about the physical environment, including natural and manmade features, they tell us what people did on the land, about ownership and the roots of the people who lived there and sometimes even about the social organisation.

Here are just a few examples of some of the most common, or most interesting, parts of English place names.

Places named after people

Many towns or cities are named after an ancient local leader or warlord – and, in some cases, we only know the person existed as they’ve left a place name behind them, such as Pada, the original ‘owner’ of Paddington.  The Welsh county of Gwynedd is also named after Cunedda, a 5th century leader.

-ING

The suffix –ingas was used in the Anglo-Saxon period to indicate something along the lines of ‘stronghold or settlement of the followers of X’ – so the first part of Paddington means ‘settlement of the followers of Pada’.

Barking and Reading are all well-known examples of the use of noun + ingas.  Where I live, Wellingborough, is thought to be named after a man called Waendal, who is now celebrated each year by a walking festival!

(There is an interesting argument that suggests these –ingas names tended to come in pairs as rival factions wanted to mark out territory.)

-HAM

The Old English for ‘home’ is hām (pronounced with a long a), and it’s thought this was used to mean ‘homestead’ or settlement in place names.

So Nottingham means the ‘homestead of the followers of Snot’.  (The city has conveniently dropped that first ‘S’ … I wonder why!)    Or Birmingham as ‘the homestead of the followers of Beorma’).

-SEX

We do see some counties that famously ended with the suffix -sex – Essex, Sussex, Middlesex and the former county of Wessex.  The –sex ending doesn’t imply anything rude, merely that Saxons had settled there after they invaded. So Essex is kingdom of the East Saxons (Ēastseaxe), Wessex the West, Sussex the South and Middlesex the Middle kingdom.

-TON or –TUN

You see -ton and -tun used both as a prefix (Tunbridge Wells or Tonbridge) and a suffix, Brighton.  Much like –ham, it’s thought to have meant homestead or settlement, and you may recognise the roots of the modern word ‘town’.

WICH, -WICK, -WYCH AND -WYKE

When I was small, we had a book about the Green Witch of Greenwich, the Wool Witch of Woolwich, the Old Witch of Aldwych and so forth.  Given that the ‘w’ is often silent, I often wonder how foreigners manage to travel anywhere in the UK as the pronunciation of our place names is so confusing!

There are a few possible definitions for –wich.  Most commonly, it’s thought to have meant ‘settlement’, ‘abode’ or ‘dwelling place’ from the Old English wíc derived from the Latin vīcus.  By the time of the Doomsday Book in 1986, wíc was also in use to mean ‘farm’, particularly ‘dairy farm’.

For places on the coast or rivers, particularly it’s also thought that -wic meant ‘bay’, derived from the Old Norse vík, and came to be used for busy sea or river ports like York (Jorvik), Ipswich, London (Lundenwic) and Southampton (Hamwic).

And in places like Droitwich , Middlewich, Nantwich, and Northwich, the –wich is thought to signify a place connected with salt – either a spring or a saltwork.

-BOROUGH, -BURY, -BROUGH AND –BURGH

This suffix, derived from the Old English burg, indicated that there was a fort in the location, or the settlement had some sort of fortification, such as walls.  With Edinburgh, it’s easy to see the fortification (it still stands!) but with other locations, such as Aylesbury or again, where I live in Wellingborough, the fort has long been long.  You can also see the same suffix appear in other European place names – Hamburg, Luxembourg or Strasbourg are three obvious examples.

-BY

The suffix –by is fascinating as it derives from Old Norse, rather than Old English – and its usage largely coincides with the areas that were settled by the Viking raiders, particularly in the North and the East of England.  It meant ‘farmstead’, so we see place names like Whitby, Appleby or Grimsby.  Here’s a chart above, showing the distribution of Old Norse (Viking) place names in the UK.  You can see by the purple that the names co-incide with the parts of the country settled by the Vikings.

-HOLM

I’ve always been interested in –holm, which is the Old Norse word for ‘island’ as there are islands in the Severn Estuary, Flat Holm and Steep Holm, visible from my home town of Cardiff.  The majority of place names that use –holm are in Scotland, particularly in the Orkneys and Shetland Islands.  So how did it end up in use in South Wales, a long way from the areas the Vikings settled in Britain?  The Vikings did raid along the coast lines of Wales and the West, and the evidence suggests that a Viking raiding party ended up taking refuge on these islands following a failed attack on a settlement in Somerset, hence the name.

Other Old Norse endings, indicative of Viking settlement are: -thorpe (farm), –thwaite (clearing), -ey (island) and –ford (fjord).

-CHESTER, -CASTER, CESTER

This suffix, one of the most common in English place names, derives from the Old English ceaster, which in turn comes from the Latin castra, or camp.  It’s thought to have been used to indicate a place of Roman military settlement – although there is an argument that says the Anglo-Saxons then used it to just mean ‘settlement’, regardless of whether the Romans had ever been there or not!  But the majority of usages of this suffix do appear in England where the Romans were well established, and not, by comparison, in Scotland, where they scarcely made it over the border.

We can see this suffix in places like Chester, Lancaster, Gloucester, Bicester, Manchester, Doncaster, Leicester and Worcester.  The Celts also adopted this word – and you can see in place names like Cardiff (Fort on the River Taff) or Caerleon (Fort of the Legion).

 REGIS

I’ve included Regis not because it’s necessarily common, but because it’s another curio of language.  Regis was used to indicate royal patronage.  The monarch may have owned the lands, given a Royal Charter to the area (as happened to Lyme Regis in 1284) or have spent considerable time in the location, such as Bognor, which received a ‘Regis’ title as late as 1929 after George V spent months recuperating there.

You also see places called ‘King’s’ (as in King’s Lynn) or Royal (Royal Berkshire), both of which also indicate royal favour.

-SHIRE

We see –SHIRE in our county names – Northamptonshire, Bedfordshire, Worcestershire, Oxfordshire, Lancashire and so forth.  Its etymology is particularly interesting as it didn’t mean anything to do with geography; its original Old English form scír meant something along the lines of ‘official duty’ or ‘office’ (in the sense of a formal position).  So an alderman, bishop or lord may have had a scír – and the word came to mean not just the duty itself, but the area and its people who were part of that duty.  We can see this usage clearly in 1338:

The bisshop of Canterbire þerof payed was he, For him and alle his schire

We’ve then adopted the word as a suffix to mean an administrative area – and most of our English county names (and many Welsh) have had –shire attached to them at some point in their history, even if they don’t use it now (Devon and Rutland being two examples who have dropped the ‘shire’).  The exceptions to the ‘shire’ suffix tend to be in the south-west (Cornwall), South-East (Kent, Sussex, Essex etc.) and the north (Northumberland, Cumbria).

Finally, in my title, I mentioned a few of my favourite English place names:

Wetwang, which the Oxford English Dictionary of Place Names suggested may have meant ‘field for the trial of a legal action’, from the Old Norse vætt-vangr.

Souldrop – no, not a place to commit suicide, but the same book suggests it means ‘outlying farmstead near a gully’ from the Old English sulh + throp.

Piddle – a source of much amusement, but probably just means a marsh or a fen.

And Ashby-de-la-Zouch is interesting as it contains three different languages in one title.  The ‘ash’ bit is Old English, the –by an Old Norse ending, and the ‘de la Zouch’ derives from the name of the Norman family that once owned it!

A quirk of language – how ‘nice’ once meant the same as a swear word!

6 Dec
Extent of indo-european languages

Image via Wikipedia

(Warning – contains a swear word)

I remembered one of the classic wording pairings over the weekend …

Left long enough, any language evolves in very strange ways – and perhaps none more than the pairing of ‘nice’ and (*ahem*) the word ‘shit’, both of which originate from the same source.

The guilty parent is thought to be a proto-Indo-European word ‘*skei’, which is believed to have meant split, cut, slice or cleave.

Now, to be clear, there’s no written or spoken record of any proto Indo-European.  It is a purely hypothesized language, believed to be the common ancestor of the wide group of languages that belong in the Indo-European family.  This family spans most (but not all) languages spoken in Europe and the Indian sub-continent; see here for Wikipedia’s list.

The theory runs that as early people travelled out of Africa, and then slowly split up, moving to different regions, the original language they once shared also evolved, resulting in a whole group of related languages.

It was as early as the 1500s, European travellers noted similarity between some of the languages they heard in India with the languages they heard, or had learned, back home.  But the heyday of this field of study was in the 1800s; even the character Edward Casaubon in George Eliot’s Middlemarch (published 1871-2) is trying to work on a ‘key to all mythologies’, pointing to this sudden growth of understanding in common roots.

So, if we take the word *skei, we can see that, over time, it has evolved into a number of words, many of which have kept closely to the sense of ‘split, cut, splice or cleave’.

Tools for cutting:

  • Scissors
  • Scythe
  • Shears

The result of cutting:

Schism – a major division, such as a ‘schism in the Church’

Schedule – to separate out one’s time

Scar – the side effect of a cut

Schist – a type of mineral that can be easily split

Ship – some people also argue ‘ship’ comes from this root, as a ship would have originally been carved out of a tree trunk.

Schizophrenia – a mental illness resulting in ‘separate’ personalities.

Ski – ski comes from an Old Norse word meaning to separate one piece of wood from another

And, as mentioned:

Shit – the word makes some sense in this context as the act of defecation involves separating one matter from another.

Interestingly, there are a whole group of words relating to knowledge that derive from this root, arguably because knowledge is, in part, the ability to distinguish and categorise things.

  • Skill
  • Science
  • Omniscience
  • Conscience

The latter three words all derive from the Latin verb ‘scire’, which meant ‘to know’.

The opposite of ‘scire’ was ‘nescire’ – not knowing, and it is from here that the word ‘nice’ was originally thought to derive.  The verb turned into an adjective, nescius, with the meaning of ‘ignorant’.   After the Norman conquest, the word came into English from French as ‘nice’, and while the spelling has remained largely constant, over time, the meaning changed to ‘foolish’ or ‘shy’, and then into ‘moderate’, ‘reserved’ and by the time of Jane Austen in the early 1800s, ‘nice’ meant ‘exacting’ or ‘precise’.

Nice has then evolved to the modern meaning of ‘pleasant’ or ‘agreeable’ – but, interestingly, is almost coming full circle as an insult as we increasingly use it to mean something is banal or bland.

So, take one hypothesized word, *skei, add 6,000 years, and you end up with an interesting muddle!