A mild oath, similar to ‘Oh God!’ It seems likely that the said Gordon Bennett was James Gordon Bennett (1841-1918), the editor-in-chief of the New York Herald, who was responsible for sending Henry Morton Stanley to find Dr. David Livingstone in Africa. Extravagant and extroverted, he gave his name to a motor race held in France in the 1900s, where he resided after a scandal in America. He is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records under 'Greatest Engagement Faux Pas', for having his engagement to Caroline May broken off in 1877, after he arrived late and drunk at the May family's New York mansion, and urinated in the living room fireplace in front of his hosts. Such was his public profile that there is a street in Paris named Avenue Gordon-Bennett. In English, the similarity between 'Gordon' and 'Gawd' must have struck a chord and this expletive, which is still in use today, was born.

The popularity of Gordon as a given name grew as the nineteenth century waned. It has been suggested that this was through the influence of Charles George Gordon, Gordon of Khartoum, the celebrated soldier of the British Empire also known as 'Chinese Gordon', once hugely famous, who died during the siege of Khartoum in 1885. But could it be that the increasing popularity of the name was due in part to the publicity given it by Gordon Bennett only a few years later?

As a matter of fact, the great William McGonagall, reckoned by connoisseurs to be the worst poet in human history, a man completely ignorant of rhythm and scansion, wrote one of his greatest works about Gordon of Khartoum. I am afraid that nothing can stop me from posting it, although, to a person of Saffy's literary and musical sensitivity, the verse will be almost physically painful: 

Ahh...there isn't a Scotchman or Scotchwoman alive who doesn't have a secret love for the mighty, stirring verses of the McGonagall - compared with him, Tennyson is but a waterfly! I apologise to Saffy for that excruciating inclusion. As for the oath, given that the initial letter was 'G', it was quite likely a euphemism for a religious oath, as Saffy implies, much like 'heck' for 'hell', or 'gee' and 'gee whiz' for 'Jesus'.
 
Gone for a Burton

Absent, missing or lost, dead or presumed dead. The expression was common among service personnel in World War II. There are several theories as to its origin. One possibility is that it refers to the training of RAF wireless operators in a Blackpool Burton’s clothing store. Those who failed their test were said to have ‘gone for a Burton’, and it was susequently applied to those who were killed in action. An alternative theory is that the town of Burton is famous for it’s brewing industry and that to have ‘gone for a Burton’ is a euphemism to explain someone’s absence because they have gone for a beer. Extending this usage, the sea is colloquially known as ‘the drink’, so when sailors or airmen were killed at or over the sea, other servicemen referred to them, with certain amount of black humour, as ‘gone for a Burton’.
 
To take forty winks

A colloquial term for a short nap or doze. Quite why shutting one eye forty times has come to mean a quick snooze is unclear, but it could have something to do with the fact that the number forty appears frequently in the Bible, and used to be thought of as a holy number. Moses was on the Mount for forty days and forty nights. Ravens fed Elijah for forty days, the rain of the Flood fell forty days, and another forty days passed before Noah opened the window of the ark. Christ fasted for forty days, and he was seen forty days after his Resurrection. Modern colloquialisms for a quick nap include a ‘zizz’, to 'catch a few zeds’ alluding to the ZZZ's drawn in cartoons indicating that the character is asleep, the letters Z replicating the sound of their breathing. With reference to 'catch a few zeds', our transatlantic cousins should know that the letter in British countries is pronounced 'zed', not 'zee'.

Curfew

Fire was a fearful enemy of the early medieval householder. Cottages were generally made of wood, and were built right next to each other on the edge of a forest or in a small clearing. If fire broke out in the forest or in a cottage, it wouldn’t take long to spread, destroying an entire village. In winter men could not work in a wood or field without a nearby brush fire at which to occasionally warm themselves. So long as every man extinguished his blaze when he quit work for the day, the danger was minimized. Some were too lazy or indifferent, however, so royal proclamations made it mandatory to cover every open fire at dusk. Village church bells, audible for several miles, tolled the signal for couvre feu (‘cover fire’). The English slurred the Norman-French term into 'curfew'. Later the term came to be attached to requirements that persons be in their homes by a particular hour of the day.

Petticoat

It was normal in the Middle Ages for a man to wear a petticoat. When knights wore armour, their bodies needed protection against chafing at the shoulders and the unpleasantness of very cold or hot metal. Therefore, an ingenious tailor conceived the idea of making a short, snug, padded coat to wear under the mail. Because such a garment was smaller than the ordinary coat, it was termed a ‘petty-coat’. Soldiers were loud in their praise of the petty-coat. Civilian men began to wear them under their doublets and women under their dresses. Over a period of centuries the petticoat was restricted to a woman’s underskirt.

Cornish fishermen also wore leather, apron-like garments called petticoats, until the twentieth century.

Coconut

Portugese parents of the sixteenth century frequently threatened their children with a bogeyman called ‘Coco’ – from a Latin expression for skull. No one had ever seen a coco, but any child could describe his grotesque face. Traders who first penetrated the Pacific islands had a rude shock. On many islands they found a variety of palm trees which bore a large brown nut. Each nut was about the shape of a human head and bore three black marks that resembled two eyes and a mouth. It looked so much like a bogey that they called it the coconut. 

Cecil B. De Mille, the famed producer of biblical epics for the cinema, was directing a battle scene that involved thousands of extras and animals, and that probably ended with the entire destruction of the set. Whatever the case, it would only be possible for one ‘take’. And so C.B. covered himself by having the scene filmed by four cameras. When the action was completed, the destruction wrought, and any chance of repeating the matter had been lost for all time, Mr. De Mille checked with each cameraman that he had filmed the scene successfully. ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said the first, ‘the film jammed in the camera.’ ‘No,’ said the second, ‘There’s a hair in the gate. ‘No,’ said the third, ‘the sun shone into the lens’. In desperation, De Mille turned to the last cameraman, who said brightly, ‘Ready when you are, Mr. De Mille!’

There is a village near Maidstone in Kent called Loose. I do not know if the noticeboard still carries the caption outside their headquarters, but years ago it stated that it housed the ‘Loose Women’s Institute’. Presumably a similar fate has befallen the W.I. at Ugley, near Bishop’s Stortford. As for Idle in West Yorkshire, perhaps there is a notice outside the workingmen’s club there.

Sir Thomas Beecham, generally regarded as England’s greatest conductor, is known not only for the genius of his musicianship, but also for his colouful personality and pithy sayings. I have used one of Sir Thomas’s witticisms before – here are two more examples.

The telephone rang in Sir Thomas’s hotel room in New York and a voice with a strong American accent said, ‘Is that you, Sir Tammas Beech’m?’ ‘Speaking,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘Who is that?’ ‘Ah’m the chairman of the English Speak’n Oonion.’ Beecham said ‘Who-oo?’ The voice repeated the reply. ‘I don’t believe it!’ said Sir Thomas, replacing the receiver.

 Sir Thomas had returned to his hotel after conducting a concert in Manchester. In the foyer he saw a distinguished-looking woman whom he thought he knew, but he could not recollect her name. As he passed, he stopped for a moment’s conversation. Recalling vaguely that she had a brother, and in the hope of thus identifying her, he inquired whether her brother was well and still doing the same job. ‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘He is very well, and is still King.’
 

I am grateful to a reader from America – ‘Baby Janet’, who has sent a contribution to this page. Baby Janet remembers an aspect of every American and Canadian child’s life that existed from the 1920’s to the early 1960’s. Burma Shave was a revolutionary product – the first brushless shaving cream that actually worked – but, before its distinctive signs began appearing along the highways, it was going nowhere. In 1925 one of the company’s travelling salemen suggested that the company should erect signs alongside the highway. The first two signs were erected along two Minnesota highways near the company's headquarters. These first two signs didn’t even have a catchy phrase. However, by the early 1930’s the company began to entertain passing motorists with droll rhyming jingles.

As Baby Janet writes, 'Burma Shave shaving cream jingles broke the monotony of many a long trip with their bright red signs about a meter wide and about four or five inches tall.  Each line of the rhyme was displayed in white block letters, and the signs were spaced usually 50 to 100 meters apart.  The (usually) final sign, 'Burma Shave', was in white gothic script.

'As children, we often competed to see who would be first to spot and read the next sign and complete the jingle'.

Here are a few fond memories from Baby Janet: 

You will get the general idea…Baby Janet mentions that there were dozens of examples, and that the original signs are now treasured collectables. Like many, many others, she misses their gentle humour. Sadly, the last of the signs was removed in 1963, due to cost of maintenance and the virtual disappearance of two lane highways. A golden age had departed... 

Stephen Decatur

Stephen Decatur was an American naval hero who distinguished himself during the War of 1812, and in the expeditions against the Barbary States. A skilled duelist, Decatur accepted a challenge from a disgraced Navy Captain on whose court martial he had sat. Decatur lost.

'I am mortally wounded, I think'.
 
Thomas de Mahay Favras, Marquis de (1744-90)

The Marquis de Favras was caught by the radicals of the French Revolution as he plotted to help Louis XVI escape. Convicted of treason after a two-month trial, he was handed his official death sentence by the court clerk as he was led to the scaffold.

 'I see that you have made three spelling mistakes'.

Now, that's MY kind of French marquis! 

Inscribed to one ‘Owen Moore’ in Battersea, London: 

And a cynical view of a life lived in austerity... 

I don't know how genuine this is, but an austere spinster - who was a post mistress in a small American town -  died, and her epitath read, 'Returned - unopened'. My favourite epitath - apocryphal  I am sure - was for a waiter: 'God caught his eye'. Anybody who has ever eaten in a busy restaurant can empathise with that.
 
Saffron - May 2001