spondulicks

‘Spondulicks’ (also spelled ‘spondoolicks’ or ‘spondulix’) is a slang term for money, which I’m almost certain Delboy Trotter used more than once. It first emerged in the United States in the mid-19th century, where it quickly gained popularity, even appearing in a New York Times article in 1857. Its exact origins are unknown, but there are a couple of theories about its etymology.

The first one, and the most widely accepted, is that it comes from the Greek word ‘spondylos’, meaning vertebra or a type of shell. What do shells have to do with money? Well, they were often used as currency in ancient times, and even as late as the early 20th century in some regions. (I read this in a fab book called ‘Spirals in Time: The Secret and Curious Afterlife of Seashells’ by marine biologist Helen Scales – nice bit of nominative determinism there.)

Cowrie shells were among the most widely used shells for currency across various cultures and regions, including West and Central Africa, India, Sri Lanka, China, Thailand and The Maldives. There’s even a cowrie shell called cypraea moneta or money cowrie. Why cowries? They’re hard and durable which makes them good for lots of handling, and they also come in relatively uniform sizes and shapes, so they’re easy to count and use as a standardised form of money. They’re also really pretty.

The second theory for ‘spondulicks’ is that it comes from the Latin word ‘spondere’, which means ‘to promise’ or ‘pledge’. This one’s less popular though.

When I asked ChatGPT for a list of slang words for money it gave me the usual suspects including ‘bucks’, ‘cash’, ‘dough’, ‘quid’ and ‘moolah’, but also some others I’ve never heard of. These included ‘cheddar’, ‘cabbage’, ‘simoleons’ and ‘bones’. Who knew?

Makes me laugh every single time.

flatulist

Not to be confused with ‘flautist’ (that could be embarrassing), a flatulist is a professional farter. (Look, I wanted to take a break from railing against the patriarchy, okay? It’s very tiring.)

Professional farting has a surprisingly rich history, going all the way back to medieval times, and possibly even earlier. ‘The City of God’, a book of Christian philosophy written in Latin by Saint Augustine of Hippo in the early 5th century AD, mentions some performers who had ‘such command of their bowels, that they can break wind continuously at will, so as to produce the effect of singing’. I’m not sure what that has to do with Christian philosophy, but never mind.

Possibly the most famous flatulist was Roland the Farter, who lived here in England in the 12th century. He was a jester for King Henry II, and each year performed ‘Unum saltum et siffletum et unum bumbulum’, or ‘one jump, one whistle and one fart’ for the king’s court at Christmas. For services to farting, Roland was given Hemingstone Manor in Suffolk (which is just up the road from where I am now) and 30 acres (12 hectares) of land.

Le Pétomane, just about to let one go

Another famous flatulist was Le Pétomane (real name Joseph Pujol) who was born in 1857. He was known for his remarkable control of his abdominal muscles, which meant he could fart at will. Apparently he wasn’t passing intestinal gas like us unprofessional farters do though – he was actually ‘inhaling’ air into his rectum and then controlling its release with his anal sphincter muscles (apparently he could even suck water up there and then blow it back out). Some of the highlights of his stage act including making sound effects of cannon fire and thunderstorms with his bum, as well as playing ‘O Sole Mio’ and ‘La Marseillaise’ on an ocarina through a rubber tube in his anus. He could also blow out a candle from several yards away. His audience included Edward VII, King Leopold II of Belgium and Sigmund Freud.

Flatulists haven’t really managed to make the leap to modern-day entertainment, with one notable exception. If you’re a fan of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’, you might remember Mr Methane, who claims to be the only performing farter in the world. Mr M (real name Paul Oldfield) gave up a career as a train driver in Sheffield to become a flatulist, and went on to appear as a guest on ‘The Howard Stern Show’ in the States, even performing a series of fart acts on Broadway.

Crime might not pay, kids, but it seems farting definitely does.

Mr Methane in action on BGT – watch it if you dare (I couldn't get to the end).

gossip

You know what ‘gossip’ is – trivial chat, usually by women and usually a bit mean, about which celebs are sleeping together, the friend in your group that no one actually really likes (aw) or other people’s bad haircuts. (Also, an awesome indie rock band fronted by the legend that is Beth Ditto.)

But ‘gossip’ originally meant something completely different, and much nicer. It comes from an Old English word, ‘godsibb’, which referred to a godmother or godfather. ‘Godsibb’ was a compound (aka two words smushed together) of ‘god’ (you know what that means) and ‘sibb’, meaning a relative or friend, or kinship.

By the Middle English period (approximately the late 11th to late 15th century), changes in pronunciation meant that ‘godsibb’ had evolved into ‘gossib’. And its meaning had expanded to include close friends and companions, not just godparents. It was often used to describe women’s close and intimate friendships, especially those who supported one another during childbirth.

Later, the term became closely associated with women’s social interactions, and the personal and detailed conversations we have when gathered together to support each other. As these gatherings and conversations became more visible, ‘gossip’ began to be used more specifically to describe talk among women.

By the 16th century, ‘gossip’ had acquired the modern sense of idle or pointless talk or rumour-mongering, especially about other people’s personal or private affairs.

The way that ‘gossip’ morphed from something positive into something negative is called semantic derogation. This is a phenomenon where everyday words, usually related to women or female-associated things, become a pejorative (i.e. a word that expresses negative or disrespectful connotations). Other examples include:

• spinster: this simply meant a woman who spun thread for a living. But we now use it to describe an unmarried older woman who’s lonely and will be eaten by her many cats when she dies

• madam: this used to be a respectful term for a woman of authority. But now it’s mainly used to refer to women who run brothels

• mistress: this was also a term for a woman with control or authority. Now we use it to describe a woman involved with a married man

• diva: now used for women seen as ‘high maintenance’ or demanding, this used to just be a term for a kick-ass female opera singer

• biddy: an annoying or nosy elderly woman. According to ChatGPT, this once meant a young chicken. But according to me, it was originally a shortening of ‘Bridget’, a popular Irish girls’ name – see previous word of the week, ‘biddy’. Either way, it’s sexist

• crone: this originally just meant an old woman, but now has much more negative connotations of ugliness and nastiness.

GRRRR, patriarchy. Here’s some Beth Ditto being awesome to make us all feel better.

electricity

Electricity. Without it, we couldn’t run life-saving machinery or straighten our hair (among other things). But have you ever wondered why it’s called ‘electricity’? Don’t worry, I’ve asked ChatGPT so you don’t have to.

Like a lot of words of the week, ‘electricity’ has its roots in ancient Greek. It comes from the Greek word ‘ἤλεκτρον’ (AKA elektron), which means ‘amber’ after the yellow fossilised tree resin which caused Jeff Goldblum, Sam Neill et al so many issues in Jurassic Park.

Why? Well, the ancient Greeks noticed that when they rubbed amber with fur, it attracted small objects like feathers or bits of straw. They attributed that to a mysterious force within the amber. In the 16th and 17th centuries, scientists began to study similar phenomena in other materials (like using glass rods to generate static electricity), and coined the term ‘electricity’ to describe it. That was based on Latinising that Greek word ‘elektron’, and adding the suffix ‘-ity’ which denotes a state or condition (other examples of that include ‘equality’, ‘flexibility’ and ‘simplicity’).

Over time, as our scientific understanding of electricity expanded, we started to use the term to cover the whole range of electrical phenomena, including electric currents, electromagnetic fields and electrical energy.

As I’m writing about electricity while in Ely, a region previously known for its eel population, I think I have to spend a little bit of time talking about electric eels. They can generate electric shocks of up to 600 volts to stun prey or scare off predators. They can also deliver multiple shocks in rapid succession to immobilise whatever it is they’re trying to eat or frighten. This is down to specialised organs made up of thousands of electrocytes, which are electrically excitable cells (I don’t know what that means, but I like the sound of it). These organs can generate both high-voltage electric discharges for defence, and low-voltage ones for navigating and communicating. They can also detect minute electric fields generated by the muscle contractions of nearby prey. Electric eels can grow to over 8 feet (2.5 meters) long (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK) and weigh up to 44 pounds (20 kilos). Thankfully they’re native to the Amazon and Orinoco River basins in South America, so you’re unlikely to run into one if you decide to take a dip in the Great Ouse.

Gratuitous Jeff-Goldblum-with-his-shirt-off scene from Jurassic Park. You're welcome.

flitch

I’m meeting up with my pal Sarah in a few weeks. We wanted to find somewhere that’s roughly halfway between us, and we settled on Great Dunmow in Essex. The only thing I know about Great Dunmow is that it’s a flitch town. I know this because I’ve driven past the sign for it on the A120 a few thousand times, and it says that there. But as I’m finally going to go there, I thought I should find out what a ‘flitch’ actually is.

Picture courtesy of the Dunmow Flitch Trials website.

Turns out it’s not, as I had assumed, an Ancient Brit-type tribal figure, akin to the Iceni. In fact, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Because a flitch is a side of bacon (it’s actually about half a pig – apologies to any vegetarians out there). So why is Great Dunmow a flitch town? Because of a tradition that dates back to at least the 12th century. The idea is that a married couple (the ‘petitioners’) can claim a flitch of bacon if they can prove to a jury of six unmarried men and six unmarried women that they haven’t had a row or regretted marrying each other for a year and a day. The jury listens to the petitioners’ testimonies and decides whether the couple has met the criteria to win the flitch. The winners are then seated on an ancient chair and paraded through the town in a procession to the Market Square, where they take the Flitch Oath (similar to marriage vows). This is followed by a big old Essex party (the best kind of party).

More than one couple can win the Flitch Trials (although I’m not sure if they get a side of bacon each or they have to split it). But the losers have to walk behind the empty chair to the Market Square. Although they do get a prize of gammon (hopefully not with a side of divorce), so it’s not all bad.

The tradition of the Flitch Trials is said to have begun in 1104, when Lord of the Manor Reginald Fitzwalter and his (unnamed, of course) wife dressed themselves as peasants and asked for a blessing from the Prior (the head of the Augustinian Priory of Little Dunmow), a year and a day after their marriage. The Prior was so impressed by their devotion that he gave them a big old bit of bacon. Then Reggie revealed his true identity, and gave his land to the Priory on the condition that any couple who could claim they were similarly devoted would also be awarded with a flitch of bacon. My dad has always said that ‘bacon makes everything better’, and if this is anything to go by, he’s bang on the money. Unless you’re Reggie of course, who it seems swapped all of his land for half a pig. I bet his wife wasn’t quite so devoted after that.

The Dunmow Flitch Trials are held every four years. The next ones are actually in a couple of weeks, on 13th July (there’s also a spot the pig competition!). Sadly entries for this year’s comp are already closed, but if you’re up for the next one in 2028, couples from anywhere in the world can enter – you just have to have been married for at least a year and a day.

The earliest recorded winner to take home the bacon* was one Richard Wright (once again, no mention of his wife’s name) in 1445, which was when winners began to be officially recorded. He travelled all the way from Norwich (66 miles as the crow flies) to try his luck. And in 2018 a group from Frome called the Bad Detectives were inspired to write a song about the Dunmow Flitch, which you can listen to below.

Dunmow Flitch by Bad Detectives

* Sadly, the phrase ‘bring home the bacon’ has nothing to do with the Flitch Trials. It’s instead linked to a prizefighting event in America in 1906, when one Joe Gans got a telegram from his mum before a fight, urging him to ‘Bring home the bacon’. Gans won the fight and declared: ‘I not only brought home the bacon, but I fried it and ate it.’