Not a Latin lover

Mrs Bacciarelli had an imposing presence: robust in physique with leathery skin and hair still black in spite of her advancing years, she spoke with an Eastern European accent and rarely smiled. My French teacher was young and benign in comparison, but Mrs Bacciarelli's subject was Latin. It seemed appropriate that she should be as formidable as the language she taught.

Latin seemed to be all about endings. What little I can remember about it now was that just about every word had to change its ending according to its place in a sentence. As far as I can recall these were known as declensions – all dependent on gender and 'nominative' and 'subjective' cases and god knows what else; I no longer know what any of them mean. In the first year of learning it I was a studious little goody-two-shoes who rose to the challenge and Mrs Bacciarelli's firm teaching methods kept me in my place. One or two little things have stuck, so for instance I can confirm that the plural of 'succubus' would be 'succubi'. Always a useful thing to know.

Here's a picture of one just to grab your attention.

Lilith by John Collier (1892)

When Mrs B retired in the third year a mild-mannered, softly spoken Northern man who wore tweed jackets and bicycle clips took her place - and I lost mine. To be honest, I'd had enough of translating sentences that had so little relevance to contemporary life. At least in French lessons we wrote about Philippe and Michelle going to the shop to buy Johnny Halliday records. In Latin, the most stimulating sentences involved centurions, slaves, temples and the occasional dog. That's not as interesting as it suggests, either. I think the only time I laughed in a Latin class was when there was a text which referenced the island of Lesbos. Cue much predictable but surreptitious sniggering.

Anyway, Mr Bicycle Clips couldn't keep my attention and after being caught for copying my friend's homework more than once I was relieved to be able to give up such a difficult language and take up German instead. Before I did, though, my mum did her best to help keep me interested in this ancient subject. She bought me a copy of 'The Tale of Peter Rabbit'!

(I don't think she could find any books in Latin about succubi.)

2 B or not 2 B

'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever' wrote John Keats, and so did my dear old Nan, in neat fountain pen handwriting across the page in my little autograph book.  It was a pocket sized volume with embossed lettering on its cover and each page was a different colour.   Although mostly scrawled in by my eight-year-old school chums it did boast a salutation from a proper famous person - well, he was in my eyes - H E Todd, author of the 'Bobby Brewster' books. He'd visited my school and read us some of his stories, many of which I already knew from featuring on 'Jackanory' in around 1970.   I adored Bobby Brewster and his ability to telephone his tummy when he was hungry (or something like that - I seem to remember he could translate its gurgles and rumbles into requests for sardine sandwiches, but I might be wrong).

Another signature which seemed important at the time was that of the woman from the Puffin Club who had been at the one and only members' event I ever went to, a Summer fancy dress party in Hatfield Broad Oak to which I wore a rather hot home-made caterpillar costume. I mean 'hot' in the temperature sense, of course...  All I gathered about her was that she was called Jane, so if she ever went on to scale great literary heights, or to feature on a special Puffin Club edition of 'Family Fortunes' (unlikely, I know) I'd be none the wiser.

'Sniffup Spotera'

My favourite autograph, however, was from someone closer to home. With a twinkle in her eye my Mum wrote this on a pastel blue page above her name:

YY U R

YY U B
I C U R

YY 4 Me

She'd learned it when she was a schoolgirl, back in the 1930s or '40s, and when she carefully scribed it in my little book I loved it so much I never forgot it.   Our familiarity with text-speak makes it quicker to decipher now than when I first saw it, but back then it looked like a curiously puzzling riddle.  Once solved, it seemed a perfect mix of ingenious and yet simultaneously simple humour.  Too wise, indeed.

In an era when it's commonplace to bemoan the increasing use of economical spellings and linguistic short-cuts it'd be easy to assume that they're a recent thing and a threat to our language, but I don't think so.  In 1867 a poem by Charles C Bombaugh was published (labelled as 'emblematic poetry' and thought of as very clever); here's one of its verses:

He says he loves U 2 X S

U R virtuous and Y's

In X L N C U X L

All others in his i's

Then, of course, there was Slade...

Mama Weer All Crazee Now

... and did somebody mention Prince?

I love the way language can be so many things: playful, pliable and adaptable, as well as beautiful.  And a thing of beauty is a joy for ever, innit.

Something beginning with C

The other day I had the biggest laugh that I’ve had since, oh, I don’t know when  (well, actually I do: since reading your comments on Chas’n’ a multitude of Daves, if you refer to the previous post…)  Anyway, I laughed aloud - a rare thing - when I read an email from a friend whom I respect and admire, in which they called me something beginning with C.  And I don’t mean my name.  Nor do I mean Chipmunk, Cherry-pie, Coo Ca Choo or anything else similarly Cute or Cheeky.  No. You know which word I mean.

It made me laugh because it was so out there and unexpected, and at the same time I was actually strangely honoured that someone felt so relaxed with me that they knew I wouldn’t take offence; in fact, quite the opposite.  I found it so funny and so outrageously perfect in the context (i.e. playful) that it had the best impact it could have had.  And it’s just one word.  What power!

It’s still a kind of last resort word, isn’t it? Still the one we rarely hear on TV and then only with a salutary caution beforehand about the “VERY strong language”.  It’s that ‘VERY’ which is the clue now, and we can take it from that emphasis that they don’t mean shit or piss or even fuck; the days of being pissed off at some fucking shit on TV are no longer worthy of warnings.

Thing is, I don’t mind the word, although I fully understand why it makes a lot of people uncomfortable.  I’ve thought for a long while that it’s a shame in many ways that slang for female genitalia is considered one of the most derogatory and pejorative in the English language, but then I suppose you could apply the same logic to a number of swear words.  I mean:  I’m quite partial to 'fucking', 'cock' and 'bollocks' in the right context (and you can take that any way you like ;-) )   I suppose the key is not to take any of it too seriously.  But the friend who used it to describe me, with the greatest respect, affection and (I imagine) a wicked gleam in their eye, also suggested that the word we're discussing here could be reclaimed in a totally different light.   How about if it replaced expressions for good things?  They proposed that it could be (and I quote) “… installed in urban slang as the new "legend!",  "dog's bollocks" "awesome!" or "sha-mazing!".  A brilliant night out at Kailee's sleepover would become "Mum, it was a right good ----" as would "A full English breakfast - that's just the ----!"

I’d join the campaign for its reinvention, although I do occasionally like to use it in its insulting role purely because of its current place in language - when you need something which goes that bit further than ‘wanker’ or ‘shitbag’ or ‘dickhead’.  I think the fact that it's only one syllable gives it clout too.  Phonetically it’s such a hard word:  blunt and consonanty.  When I use it in that way I am a million miles from thinking about its true definition.  But yes,  I do like the idea of changing its usage into something far more positive.  I think we could possibly slowly alter its application insidiously and virally over time, in the way that language constantly evolves and words like 'sick' and 'gay' have developed into different things over recent decades.  Every now and then, in emails, texts, blogs and conversations, we could just drop it in, casually, but positively, as if it's nothing unusual.  And I give you my blessing if you wish to use it in a comment here, as long as you mean it nicely, of course.

My only problem with that idea is that I still think we need one striking, extra-strong profanity that we can resort to when we want something powerful and extreme if we’re angry, an expression to shock when we crave some extra weight.  If it isn’t going to be that word, then what could it be?

And next week, I'll be discussing wholesome, cute, fluffy kittens. 

Maybe.