redoubt

This is one of the (many) words I’ve seen hanging around, but never really knew what it meant. And it’s nothing to do with doubting again or even being redoubtable (another word I had to look up – it means ‘very strong, especially in character; producing respect and a little fear in others’). A redoubt is a fort, usually made up of an enclosed defensive structure outside a larger fort. Redoubts are meant to protect soldiers who are outside the main defensive line, and can be permanent structures or temporary fortifications. ‘Redoubt’ can also refer more broadly to any safe or protected place, both literally and figuratively.

You could be forgiven for thinking that ‘redoubt’ is a member of the same etymological family as ‘doubt’ or the aforementioned ‘redoubtable’. Both of these come from a Latin verb, dubitare, which means, rather boringly, ‘to be in doubt’. But the English language doesn’t like to play fair, so of course ‘redoubt’ actually comes from a completely different Latin verb, reducere. That means ‘to lead back’, and is also where we get the word ‘reduce’ from.

‘Redoubt’ found its way into English via the Italian word ridotto and the French word redoute. Nobody’s quite sure where the extra, some might say redundant, ‘b’ came from. Some etymologists have guessed, sorry, theorised that it might have been mixed up with another ‘redoubt’ which has since fallen by the wayside. This now-vanished verb does come from dubitare, and meant ‘to regard with awe, dismay or dread’.

In the UK, we have a few redoubts, many of which date back to the Napoleonic Wars. Harwich Redoubt in Essex, Eastbourne Redoubt in East Sussex and Dymchurch Redoubt in Kent are the most famous (or at least they were the first ones that came up on my search engine). As a proud Essex girl, I’m pleased to say that we win the battle of the redoubts – Harwich Redoubt is a massive, 180-foot-diameter circular fort built in 1808, and one of the best-preserved redoubts in Britain. It has a central parade ground, 11 gun emplacements along the battlements and a moat. If you're harbouring any lingering doubts about Essex’s superiority, you can go and visit it – it’s now a museum run by the Harwich Society.

Eastbourne Redoubt was finished in 1810 to cover the beaches of Pevensey Bay. It hasn’t fared as well as its Essex cousin – it used to be a museum, but it’s currently closed to the public due to concerns bits of it might fall off and kill some unsuspecting redoubt enthusiast (AKA ‘structural safety concerns’).

The final member of our trio, Dymchurch Redoubt, was built between 1804 and 1812 to support a chain of 21 Martello towers (small coastal defence forts) that stretched between Hythe in Kent and Rye in Sussex. But, like many of the military’s best-laid plans, by the time it was finished, the invasion threat was over.

Unlike Harwich and Eastbourne, Dymchurch Redoubt is still owned by the Ministry of Defence and is used for military training. It also appears to be falling down, with English Heritage listing it as ‘at risk’. You might be at risk if you decide to go and have a wander round Dymchurch Redoubt too – the area around it is used as a firing range by the military. So if the crumbling masonry doesn't get you, the live ammunition might.

Dymchurch: undoubtably a redoubtable redoubt (photo: Ian Dunster at English Wikipedia)

benignant

EF Benson, who looks like he was pretty benignant

If you’re thinking that ‘benignant’ sounds like it’s just stepped off the set of a Victorian drama wearing a waistcoat and holding a pocket watch, then you’d be right. I read it in a ghost story by one EF Benson, who was born in 1867. You might have already guessed that it’s the opposite of ‘malignant’ – it means kind, gentle or benevolent.

Benignant comes from the Latin word ‘benignus’, which is a mash-up (or compound) of ‘bene’ meaning ‘well’ or ‘good’, and ‘gignere’ meaning ‘to beget’ or ‘to produce’. So it’s basically about creating goodness, generating kindness or radiating a beneficent glow. Which makes a change in today’s shitty world, doesn’t it?

Interestingly (to me, at least), ‘benignus’ didn’t just mean ‘nice’ in Latin. It also carried a sense of generosity and nobility, so it was often applied to rulers, gods or generally all-round nice guys. It arrived in English via Old French in the early 17th century, alongside its more popular sibling, ‘benign’.

So why did ‘benign’ stick around while ‘benignant’ got assigned to obscure Victorian ghost stories? Well, ‘benignant’ generally leaned towards describing people, actions or attitudes, while ‘benign’ became the go-to for describing things that aren’t out to kill you (think moles and weather). Not to be cynical, but maybe there just aren’t enough nice people around to make ‘benignant’ more popular…?

Margaret – all that Egyptology sadly didn’t raise a smile

I referred to EF Benson as an obscure writer above, which is a little unfair. Well a lot unfair, actually – he was a prolific English author whose literary output included over 90 works, ranging from sharp social comedies to chilling ghost stories (the one I read was called ‘The Room in the Tower and Other Stories’). Benson was born into a pretty well-to-do family (his dad was the fricking Archbishop of Canterbury), and studied archaeology at Cambridge before turning to writing. He was a keen sportsman and also gay (a combination which sadly still isn’t accepted today), and his books are famed for their dry wit and camp humour. He was also the mayor of Rye in Sussex, which inspired the fictional town of Tilling in his most famous novels. His siblings were pretty cool too – Robert Hugh was another prolific author and Arthur Christopher wrote the words to ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. Let’s take a moment to appreciate his sister, Margaret (who apparently only got one name, unlike her brothers #patriarchy) though. She was one of the first women to be admitted to Oxford University and went on to become a keen amateur Egyptologist, excavating lots of super-cool stuff, and later writing about it. In fact, her writing and lectures are credited with making Egyptology much more accessible to the general public.