When sailing ships engaged in warfare it was the usual practice that every man’s hammock be brought up on deck and tied to the netting alongside the ships guard rails, where they could offer protection against musket fire and splinters, and also be used as life preservers. In fact a man was much more likely to be injured by wood splinters, than actually receive a direct wound from a musket ball or roundshot (the correct term for ‘cannonball’). To perform both functions properly it was necessary that they should be tightly rolled, and it became the practice every morning for bosun’s mates to check the tightness of each man’s hammock by seeing if it would pass through a regulation-sized hoop. There was trouble for the man whose hammock did not pass ‘through the hoop’, and the expression still suggests trouble today.

To Take French Leave

This means to take leave of absence without permission or without announcing one’s departure, particularly referring to soldiers taking unauthorized leave. Rivalry between the British and the French has lasted for hundreds of years and this phrase alludes to the eighteenth century French custom of leaving without saying goodbye to one’s host, if one had a pressing engagement, in order not to disrupt the party or to inconvenience the host. This was naturally interpreted by the British as extremely bad manners. However, not to be outdone, the French later associated the habit with the English. Hence their equivalent for French leave is s’en aller à l’anglaise. An earlier French insult was the sixteenth century slang for a creditor, which was ‘un Anglais’. Even Shakespeare got in on the act: ‘France is a dog hole’ ('All’s Well That Ends Well').

When syphilis was brought to Europe from the Americas, it was an acute and devastating disease, which the French referred to as the Spanish disease, and the Spanish referred to as the French disease. There are plenty of examples of shifting unpleasant references and blame away from one's own nation. The French translation of 'Animal Farm' named Napoloeon, the villainous pig, 'Caesar'. And, on a lighter note, when 'Fawlty Towers' is screened on Spanish television, the long-suffering Manuel is 'from Mexico City'.

Saffy has also pointed out to me that the familiar Swiss roll is, in Switzerland, referred to as an 'English roll'!

Far Cry

In medieval Scotland, petty kings were accustomed to publicise their edicts by means of criers. These men went from place to place, announcing the terms of royal proclamations. Some announcements were local, applying to a single town or district. A courier entrusted with a message of that sort was said to be given a ‘near cry’.

In time of war or other national emergency, a crier might have to ride for days to complete his tour of duty. Such a ‘far cry’ involved distances greater than the average person’s travels of a lifetime. Hence ‘far cry’ came to be used as a synonym for ‘remote’. 

Liripium

The long tail of a hood in medieval or academic costume.

Nobody seems to know much about the origin of this word, except that it comes from medieval Latin ‘liripipium’, variously explained down the centuries as the tippet of a hood, a cord, a shoe-lace, and the inner sole-leather of shoes. This strongly suggests that nobody has the slightest idea what it really meant. What we do know is that the English word (on occasion appearing as ‘liripoop’, for reasons that are entirely obscure) was used for a dangling extension to the point of a medieval hood.

Hoods like these were at first worn by academics as part of their formal dress; indeed a few universities still use the word ‘liripipe’ for their graduates’ ceremonial sashes. Later on, liripipes became part of everyday wear on a hood called a ‘chaperon’, a word that is closely related to the modern French ‘chapeau’. By the 17th cent., the 'chaperon' had become an exclusive item of female dress. About a century later the word began to be used figuratively for a married or older woman protecting a young woman - a 'chaperone', as we now spell it.

Over time, liripipes became steadily longer, sometimes down to the ankles; this was hardly practical, so the liripipe was often wound around the head to keep it out of the way. As well as growing longer, it also grew more ornamental as time passed. The hoods went out of fashion in the fifteenth century, and ‘liripipe’ became a semi-fossil word, most commonly used today by historians of fashion, and the occasional academic institution.

Burglar

The Middle Ages were a dark and troubled time. People in their homes were defensive, much like inhabitants of cities today. Instead of security alarms, the castles of the Middle Ages were fortified with moats and strong high walls. From the latin word ‘burghus’ (fortified place) came the term ‘burglar’ as a title for a person who broke into a castle or church in order to steal. The importance of this special type of crime is indicated by a document issued in 1268. In it, three of the most common types of lawbreakers are listed as ‘murdritores and robbatores and burglatores’.

Below Saffy mentions political heckling and the often brilliant replies it provoked. I can't help mentioning a meeting in the 1950s addressed by R.A. Butler, who was then Chancellor of the Exchequer. Rab Butler was about as quick-witted as Harold MacMillan, so this time the heckler had the best of it. He yelled out, 'Why don't you #@%^& do some work for a change?'

'Now listen to me my good man', answered Rab stuffily, 'I will have you know that I am hard at work whilst you are in your bed asleep'.

'That's right Butler', shouted back the interjecter, 'You're a burglar as well!'

Nancy Astor knew all about combating the male preserve in establishing her own parliamentary career, which climaxed when she became the first woman in the UK to take a seat in the House of Commons. During an election meeting in her first campaign in Plymouth, a man shouted from the audience, ‘Your husband’s a millionaire, ain’t he?’
‘I should certainly hope so, ‘ his future MP shouted back, ‘that’s why I married him'.

Clashes on the hustings help politicians hone their debating techniques. ‘Vote for you! I’d rather vote for the devil', a heckler yelled at Disraeli in his early days. ‘Quite so,’ replied the politician, allowing himself a momentary pause before continuing, ‘and if your friend is not standing?’

Disraeli, the famous Tory prime minister, had a considerable wit. He once attended a dinner hosted by the opposition Whigs, at which he was to be the after dinner speaker. After a grand meal of several courses, the sweet was served, and Disraeli rose to his feet, as a waiter poured some excellent French champagne into his glass.

Disraeli tasted it with evident satisfaction, and then, turning to the assembled gathering, commented, 'Ahh...at last we have something that is warm'.

One of the most quick-witted politicians on the hustings was Robert Menzies, the Australian prime minister. As Barry (the author of the excellent 'Petticoating in Australia' series) is aware, I spent several months in the mid 1960s living with relatives in Melbourne. At that time Menzies was still prime minister. He was very proud of his Scots ancestry, and a knight of the Order of the Thistle. Consequently, I took some interest in him.

He possessed a certain arrogance, and was an unabashed monarchist as well, so he infuriated Labour supporters. However, he was so brilliant on the hustings that they very rarely put him off his stride, indeed Menzies used hecklers to his own advantage, a particular genius once possessed in abundance by members of parliament, but of which today's pygmy politicians would be hopelessly incapable.

Once a heckler yelled out, 'What are you going to do about 'ousing?'

'Put an 'h' in front of it', answered Menzies with his characteristic insouciance.

At another meeting, a woman (who sounds like an Australian equivilant to Miss Gribble, I must admit) leapt to her feet and shouted at Menzies, 'I wouldn't vote for you if you were the Archangel Gabriel ! '

There was a slight pause, and then Menzies replied with comfortable relish, 'Madam, if I were the Archangel Gabriel, you would not be in my constituency'.

I have taken these two examples - there are hundreds more - from a book of Menzies' witticisms which my relatives sent over after I had returned to these shores.

From the Sunday Times: in 1974, during the course of routine house-to-house inquiries in Belgravia, a highly placed old lady was told of the murder of Sandra Rivett, the nanny it is alleged Lord Lucan mistakenly killed instead of his wife. ‘Oh, dear, what a pity', the old lady said, ‘Nannies are so hard to come by these days’.

Stories about the aristocratic and wealthy being out of touch with ordinary life are legion, hilarious, and very British. My favourite took place during the trial of 'Lady Chatterley' in 1960. The prosecuting barrister, in his summing up to the jury of perfectly ordinary working class and middle class Britishers, stated, 'What you must ask is this: is it a book which you would wish your servants to read?'

And from my own university: some years ago it was announced that the son of the Mikado of Japan was to enter Magdalen College, Oxford. An official from the Japanese embassy paid a visit to make the necessary arrangements for the Crown Prince’s arrival. The President, who was a stickler for protocol, asked how the new undergraduate should be addressed.
‘At home it is customary to refer to him as the Son of God,’ he was told hesitantly.
‘That will present no problems', replied the President, ' we are used to having the sons of distinguished men at Magdalen’. 

James W. Rodgers (1911-1960).

When this Utah murderer was brought before the firing squad he was asked if he had any last requests and answered: ‘Yes – a bulletproof vest’.

Adam Smith (1723-1845).

The political economist looked at the crowd of friends gathered around his bedside to catch his last words of wisdom: ‘I believe we must adjourn the meeting to some other place….’ 

If readers have any contributions of interesting word origins, or memorable paradoxes and witticisms, then please write in: they may find a place in 'Saffy's Corner'.