shoo-in

A shoo-in (not a ‘shoe-in’ as I thought) is someone or something that’s certain to succeed – the winner before the race has even started. Today, we use it for everything from obvious Oscar contenders to politicians with an easy lead. But did you know that its roots actually lie in early 20th-century American horse racing? And dodgy horse-racing at that?

‘Shoe-in’ first appeared in print around the 1920s – Merriam-Webster’s earliest citation dates it to 1928. The ‘shoo’ bit comes from the verb ‘to shoo’, as in to urge or guide someone or something away, like an annoying fly or other people’s children. But the things being shooed in this case are those horses I mentioned earlier, in races that had been rigged for betting purposes. Jockeys would deliberately hold their horses back and shoo the chosen horse to the front, guaranteeing it would win. So that horse was – you’ve guessed it – the shoo-in. And as long as enough of the jockeys were in on it, it was easy for trainers, owners, bookies, syndicates or whoever to quietly control the result and cash in.

By the 1940s, the term ‘shoe-in’ had broadened its meaning beyond the racetrack and was being used metaphorically in politics, entertainment and business – wherever someone seemed like a guaranteed winner. So while it’s now a harmless way to say ‘that’s a sure thing’, like lots of our words (and politicians), ‘shoe-in’ actually has quite the shady past.

hench(wo)man

These days a hench(wo)man is a villain’s loyal-to-a-fault sidekick, and the one who does the dirty work. But where does the ‘hench’ bit come from? Well, it actually has a quite noble backstory.

(Just FYI, henchperson sounds weird, which is why I’ve gone for that less sexist bracketed version.)

Hench comes from an Old English word ‘hengest’, which meant a horse – more specifically, a stallion or gelding ridden into battle. In the Middle Ages, a henchman (or henxman – an early spelling) was someone who walked or rode beside a noble or royal, often leading their horse. They were trusted servants, sometimes young noblemen, who acted as attendants in a lord’s household or during travel. The role was both practical and symbolic – yes, they were there to help with the horses, but having a henchman also showed off the lord’s status.

‘Henchman’ first appeared in Middle English in the 14th century. Records from 1360 mention ‘henxmen’ in the service of King Edward III. Over time, as the roles of squires and personal grooms disappeared, ‘henchman’ came to mean any loyal supporter or follower. By the 17th and 18th centuries, it was used more generally for someone who backed up a powerful figure. The more sinister meaning – a thug or blindly loyal enforcer – only became common in the 20th century, helped along by fiction books and films.

Talking of which, the most famous henchmen and women have probably gone up against James Bond. Here are just a few of my favourites along with JB’s perfectly delivered one liner.

• Oddjob in Goldfinger (1964), who’s electrocuted when Bond jams his steel-brimmed hat into electrified metal bars: ‘He blew a fuse.’

• Xenia Onatopp in GoldenEye (1995) is crushed against a tree when Bond shoots down her helicopter harness: ‘She always did enjoy a good squeeze.’

• Necros, The Living Daylights (1987) (my favourite Bond film), who falls to his death after Bond cuts his bootlace during a fight hanging out the back of a plane: ‘He got the boot.’

• Vargas, Thunderball (1965), is shot by Bond with a speargun, and impaled against a palm tree: ‘I think he got the point.’

(Oh, and the slang term ‘hench’ for someone who’s big, strong and muscular probably does come from hench(wo)man, although no one’s completely sure.)

dashboard

These days we use the word dashboard for a couple of things – cars, and techy things with lots of displays and buttons, which I’m reliably informed by the internet are called graphical user interfaces (GUIs). So you might think it’s quite a modern word. In fact dashboards pre-date cars by a good 40 years*, first appearing in print in 1842. Hold on to your hats – let’s find out what put the ‘dash’ into ‘dashboard’.

The word ‘dashboard’ originally referred to a protective board or barrier at the front of a horse-drawn carriage. It was there to stop passengers being covered in crap thrown up by horses' hooves as they, you guessed it, dashed.

When cars turned up in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the design used lots of elements from horse-drawn carriages (except for the horses, obviously), which included the dashboard. Initially it had the same function i.e. as a crap barrier, but as cars got more and more complicated (and got windows), the dashboard evolved to include various instruments and controls like the speedo, fuel gauge and so on (you know what a dashboard looks like). And we then started using the term to refer to that whole instrument panel.

In the mid-20th century, as computers and digital displays became the norm, the term expanded to include those GUIs I mentioned earlier, that display information and controls in one place. Cool, right?

*The first ‘proper’ automobile is widely attributed to Karl Benz (he of Mercedes-Benz fame), a German engineer and inventor. He developed and built the Benz Patent-Motorwagen in 1885, getting a patent for it a year later. It’s considered the world's first true automobile because it was designed to be powered by an internal combustion engine. Obviously there were lots of other experiments and prototypes that came before it though.

recalcitrant

Despite sounding like a medical complaint, recalcitrant is an adjective (AKA a describing word) for someone or something that stubbornly refuses to follow rules or instructions, while also being a dick about it. Think stroppy teenagers, Donald Trump or my dog*.

Recalcitrant’s angry roots are Latin, from ‘recalcitrare’, which is a combo of ‘re-’ (meaning ‘back’ or ‘again’, as in ‘return’, ‘recall’ and ‘recover’) and ‘calcitrare’, which means ‘to kick’. Why kicking? Well, in its original sense, ‘recalcitrare’ was used to describe the behaviour of a stubborn or unruly horse that literally kicked back at someone trying to control or train it. Over time, we’ve extended the term’s meaning to describe people who resist authority, are uncooperative, or are unwilling to be controlled or directed.

I asked my friend ChatGPT if he (it’s definitely a he) had any stories about stroppy horses. And he told me about Clever Hans. Now Clever Hans wasn’t actually stroppy (so I don’t think ChatGPT is going to be taking over the world just yet, seeing as he can’t even get that right), but it is quite an interesting story, so I thought I’d include it here anyway.

Clever Hans was a horse born in 1895ish who became famous for doing sums and other clever things. He would answer questions by tapping his hoof, and became a sensation in Germany in shows run by his owner, Willhelm von Osten. Hans could add, subtract, multiply, divide, work with fractions, tell time, keep track of the calendar, differentiate between musical tones, and read, spell, and understand German, which makes him much cleverer than yours truly.

Sadly, it turns out although Hans was a very clever horse, he was perhaps not quite as clever as everyone thought. A psychologist called Oskar Pfungst carried out a series of experiments to understand how Hans was answering questions correctly. And he discovered that the horse was actually responding to subtle (and unconscious) cues from his trainer and human audience. For example, when he was asked a question, he would start tapping his hoof. When he reached the right number of taps, the audience would involuntarily exhibit subtle body language changes like tensing up or relaxing. Hans would stop tapping when he detected these cues, giving the appearance of getting the question right.

One of the ways Pfungst realised he was doing this was that he only got the answer right when the person asking the question knew the answer themselves. This is now called the ‘Clever Hans effect’, and has changed the way scientists all over the world investigate animal intelligence.

Even after he was debunked, von Osten, who refused to believe Pfungst's findings, continued to show Hans around Germany, where he still attracted large and enthusiastic crowds. It’s worth pointing out that Willhelm never charged for any of these shows, either before or after Clever Hans was outed. Nice, right?

Also, I still think Hans was pretty clever.

*I love you really, Gus.

Clever Hans with Willhelm