slogan

If you hear the word ‘slogan’, you probably think of advertising and Don Draper (or, if you’re a little bit older, of Samantha’s husband Darren in ‘Bewitched’). And you’d be right – the OED defines a ‘slogan’ as ‘a short and striking or memorable phrase used in advertising’. That might make you assume that ‘slogan’ is a fairly modern word. But you would be wrong. Very wrong, in fact…

‘Slogan’ first appeared in writing in the 16th century, but it’s actually much older even than that. Let’s take a little trip to the beautiful Scottish Highlands. ‘Slogan’ comes from a Gaelic term, ‘sluagh-ghairm’, which means ‘battle-cry’ or ‘war-cry’. Scottish Highland clans cried these cries to rally their troops, signal that they were ready to start kicking some ass and to intimidate enemies during battles. Each clan would personalise their battle cries to reflect their identity, heritage and allegiance. I couldn’t find any specific examples of the exact words they used, but historians seem to agree they’d be something along the lines of ‘Die, you English bastards’.

‘Sluagh-ghairm’ was adopted into English as in the 18th century as ‘slogan’. And, as the need for rallying battle cries diminished, it came to represent a memorable phrase used to convey a message.

If all this talk of Scottish battle cries means you’re now thinking of Mel Gibson yelling ‘they’ll never take our freedom!’, then you’d be right. It’s very likely that Scottish warriors at the Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297 (during the First War of Scottish Independence), led by Mel Gibson, sorry, William Wallace, used sluagh-ghairm battle cries to bolster their spirits and unsettle their English adversaries. They didn’t do it in kilts, however, as these weren’t widely worn until many centuries later. Oh, and there was a bridge at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, even though the creators of ‘Braveheart’ decided not to include it.

sarcophagus

Tis the season for ghosties and ghoulies and long-leggedy beasties, with Halloween (or Hallowe’en if we’re being grammatically correct) just around the corner. So the word of the week is also jumping on the spooky bandwagon with ‘sarcophagus’.

A sarcophagus is a type of stone container or coffin, usually made of limestone, marble or something similar. They were particularly popular in ancient Egypt as people believed that bodies should be preserved, and sarcophagi were good protection for those mummified remains.

The word itself actually has Greek origins. It comes from ‘sarx’ (σάρξ) meaning ‘flesh’, and ‘phagein’ meaning ‘to eat’ or ‘to consume’. So sarcophagus actually translates as ‘flesh eating’. Yum. Why? Well, the term was originally used to refer to a particular type of limestone that was believed to decompose or consume the flesh of the deceased more quickly. And unlike the Egyptians, many religions saw this as a good thing as it would speed up the journey to the afterlife.

The word ‘sarcophagus’ was adopted into Latin as ‘sarcophagus’ (which was very unimaginative). From there it passed into various European languages, including our own, keeping its meaning as a stone coffin or tomb, but losing the whole flesh-eating bit.

One of the most famous sarcophagi in history belonged to Tutankhamun, or King Tut, whose mummy was discovered in 1922 by British archaeologist Howard Carter in the Egyptian Valley of the Kings. Tut was actually entombed in a series of ornate sarcophagi, with the innermost one being made of solid mother-flipping gold.

Tut facts:

• he was only around 18 or 19 years old when he died, so didn’t actually get to do much pharaoh-ing

• no one really knows what killed him – theories include complications after a leg injury or a genetic disorder

• a few people died after the discovery of Tut’s tomb giving rise to the legend of the ‘Curse of the Pharaohs’ (and lots of terrible horror films). One of those was Lord Carnarvon, a financial backer of Carter’s expedition who died from an infected mozzie bite shortly after the tomb was opened. His half brother also died not long afterwards (of blood poisoning) as did his secretary, and two other members of the expedition. Howard Carter didn’t shuffle off for another 17 years or so though, so it wasn’t a very good curse.

tragedy

You know what a tragedy is – a sad or traumatic event. It’s also a genre of literature, art or performance that deals with serious and sad themes, and probably everyone dies at the end.

The word ‘tragedy’ has a bit of a tragic backstory as well. Brace yourselves…

(It’s not that bad really. I’m just building the tension.)

Don’t mention Greek plays

‘Tragedy’ comes from the Greek word ‘tragōidia’, which is a combination of ‘tragos’, meaning ‘goat’, and ‘ōidē’, meaning ‘song’ or ‘ode’. This is linked to ancient Greece (although you probably could have guessed that), where tragic plays were an important part of cultural and religious festivals. These plays often dealt with serious and weighty themes, and were accompanied by a chorus of people who sang and danced (seriously and weightily, presumably).

So that gives us the song/ode bit – but what about the goat? Well, those ancient Greekies often sacrificed a goat or two during these performances to honour the god Dionysus, who was associated with theatre (also, wine and fertility). I hope they waited till the interval so they didn’t put the actors off.

That was all a bit depressing, wasn’t it? Sorry about that. Here’s some Steps to cheer you up. Good luck not doing the dance.

geek

Unless you’ve seen Ryan’s Murphy’s TV show American Horror Story or Guillermo Del Toro’s film Nightmare Alley (both of which I highly recommend, as long as you have a strong stomach), you might think a geek is just a slightly derogatory word for a socially inept someone who spends a lot of time on a computer in their parents’ basement. A little sad, maybe (but also likely to make millions later in life with a tech start-up). But in fact, the word ‘geek’ actually has a pretty nasty backstory. Brace yourself…

The first OED citation of geek comes from 1876 in a glossary of words from northern England where it’s defined as ‘a fool, a person uncultivated; a dupe’. This is because it comes from a German word ‘geck’, which means ‘fool’ or ‘simpleton’. In early 19th-century America however, ‘geek’ took on a much darker meaning. Carnivals and freak shows were big business. Many of these featured a ‘geek show’, usually a man whose humiliating act consisted of chasing some live animals (generally chickens but sometimes snakes or rats), then (sorry) biting their heads off and swallowing them. Unlike many of the other members of the freak shows (like conjoined twins or bearded ladies), the geek looked just like the members of the audience. This meant they were easy to replace, so didn’t need to be paid much. They were considered the lowest of low in carnival circles, and were often drug addicts or alcoholics who were paid in booze or narcotics. Many broke their teeth and jaws during their gruesome acts, and suffered from animal-related illnesses. Definitely a tough gig.

Chang and Eng, conjoined twins who were widely exhibited in the 19th century. They married sisters and fathered 21 children. I’ll just leave that one with you.

So when did ‘geek’ change from exploited carnival worker to nerdy but clever computer person? As per usual, I can’t find a definitive answer for this. Jack Kerouac seems to get some of the credit for it in a 1957 letter where he wrote:

‘… unbelievable number of events almost impossible to remember, including … Brooklyn College wanted me to lecture to eager students and big geek questions to answer.’

It wasn’t until the 1970s and 80s that ‘geek’ took on the meaning we know today. Since then it’s been reclaimed as a positive (see ‘geek chic’ for example) which makes it a contronym – a word that started out as one thing and now means the opposite.

(If you’re wondered whether ‘nerd’ has similarly dark origins, you’ll be pleased to hear that it doesn’t – it was coined by Dr Seuss in 1950 in a book called If I Ran the Zoo. Phew.)

shambles

I can’t imagine there are many of us who haven’t uttered the words ‘it’s a [expletive] shambles’ about something or other. So I’m sure you know that it means a state of disorder or confusion, AKA SNAFU. But, did you know that despite having been around since the end of the 16th century, it was only in the 1920s that ‘shambles’ came to mean this? Before that it had a much darker meaning… DUM DUM DUUUUUUM

Photo by Madie Hamilton on Unsplash

Okay, so the first meaning of shamble (singular) was a stool or a ‘money-changer’s table’ (this isn’t the dum dum dum, don’t worry), from the Latin for footstool, ‘scamellum’. After a time it took on the extra meaning of a ‘table for the exhibition of meat for sale’, with ‘shambles’ (plural) becoming a term for a ‘meat market’ (the kind that sells meat, not the Colchester Hippodrome on a Friday night in the 90s). It wasn’t long before ‘shambles’ became an alternative word for a slaughterhouse and, finally, was used figuratively to describe a scene of blood, like a battlefield or place of execution. DUM DUM DUUUUUUM (there it is).

Here’s ‘shambles’ in action in this way in Shakespeare’s Othello:

‘Desdemona: I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

Othello: O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing.’

Photo by Hayden Pollard on Unsplash

(I think this means he doth not esteem her honest.)

Jane Eyre’s Mr Rochester (swoon) also uses it in this context:

‘If the man who had but one little ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter […] had by some mistake slaughtered it at the shambles, he would not have rued his bloody blunder more than I now rue mine. Will you ever forgive me?"

YES, EDWARD, YES. Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes. The Shambles, the picturesque street of timber-framed buildings in York, is so called because there used to be lots of butchers’ shops there – 31 in 1885 apparently. Its full name was ‘The Great Flesh Shambles’. I can see why they rebranded.

I found a couple of different sources for ‘shambling’ as in wonky walking/zombies. Both stem from the stool/table-meaning I mentioned before all the dum dum dumming above. One source says that because people regularly hacked up chunks of meat on these tables, wobbly legs – or ‘shamble legs’ – were a hazard of the job. A second source says that it was to do with the bowlegged position you have to assume to sit on a stool, or shamble.

(I haven’t been able to find out why ‘shambles’ got sanitised in the early 20th century and came to have the hot-mess meaning it does today. Sorry.)