Animal Names from Yesteryear

As a boy I recall those traditional names given to animals: badgers were always known as 'Brock'; horses were Dobbin; and Reynard was the name for all foxes (be they dog or vixen). Regular visitors will already have guessed I thought it time that the etymologist (or slightly older boy, if you prefer) should investigate.

Brock the badger is the ideal start, at least for the etymologist, for the animal has been known as a badger since around 1520. Prior to that the largest carnivore in the British Isles was known as a brocc, this an Old English loan word from the languages of the Celtic peoples - Old Irish brocc and Welsh broch two examples. Interesting to note that Middle English brocc was used to mean 'a low, dirty fellow', most often preceded by 'stinking'. Anyone who has ever got close enough to a badger will know they do fit this description, at least aromatically speaking.

Reynard the fox was the title of a series of stories, but the trail goes back much earlier than that. It came to English from Old French in the late 13th or early 14th centuries, the French word came from the Old High German personal name Reginard, itself related to the Latin name Raginohardus - the latter meaning 'strong in counsel' and an early example of the wisdom and cunning associated with this highly successful mammal. The popularity of the stories in France has led to reynard being used as the word for 'fox' in France, replacing the earlier goupil, itself derived from the Latin vulpecula.

Neddy the donkey is only seen in Britain, at least for the most part. In Australia racehorses are known as 'neddy'. Any etymological explanation is lost, but it seems likely to be related to Neddy (or Ned) being used as a pet form of Edward.

Buttercup the cow is probably the obvious answer, butter being associated with dairy and cows. Buttercups were once known by two other names - either a goldcup or a butterflower, thus the modern name borrows a bit of each (and may have been a cupflower). The irony being that certain buttercups contain a chemical called Protoanemonin which is toxic to cattle,

Dobbin the horse was a common name for a working horse, especially a farm horse, and is given as such in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, although certainly used earlier. It seems to be a later version of Dob, a pet form of Robin or Robert. Note 'Dobbie', the name of the elf in Harry Potter, was used to mean 'household sprite' from the late 18th century, while in Sussex it had also been used earlier to describe a 'silly old man'.

Fido the dog comes from a Latin word which meant 'to trust or confide in' and most often used to state 'I am faithful', which is what dogs are deemed to be. Personally I think they are only following their natural instincts and if you were to fuss and pet me and feed me whenever I demand, I'd be pretty faithful, too - just don't throw the ball and expect me to retrieve it.

Tiddles the cat is derived from the Old English word tid meaning 'weak, tender'. Indeed, the first syllable of 'tender' shares that origin, while it is still used in English in the word 'tidbit' - yes, I know the English tend to use 'titbit' but the Americans, and quite correctly, have not corrupted it and still say 'tidbit'.

Quackers the duck was the only modern one I could find, and there's no need to explain that, but research revealed that ducks, and indeed many waterfowl, have been known as Arsefoot for more than four centuries. Of course, this refers to their legs being set back on the body (it helps with swimming).

Bobby-Dazzler - now I know you are going to think this is a term used to describe someone of glitzy appearance, but it began as a reference to a butterfly. Indeed, 'bobby' was also used to describe a plant which was covered in invertebrates - buddleia and butterflies, nettles and caterpillars, etc.

Moths were once known as candleflies - no explanation needed there.

Dumbledore - another J K Rowling loan, but it was an Old English word for any buzzing or humming insect.

An Etymology of Australia's Fauna

Some years ago I heard the story of how Captain James Cook landed in Botany Bay. As another captain, one James T. Kirk, would do when visiting planets around the Alpha Quadrant years later, Cook was able to make himself understood anywhere in the world by speaking English. (You can almost hear him speaking loudly and slowly in his Yorkshire accent saying "Do you understand?") The idea that the indigenous population of Australia, isolated from the rest of the world for perhaps 30,000 years, understood what Cook and his crew were saying seems fanciful, and yet a story I heard some years ago made me wonder whether the punchline was true.

Cook is chatting away to the locals when he spots an animal bounding along in the distance. "What's that?" he asks. The locals look at one another, shrug and tell him "kangaroo", and he makes a note in his diary "Today I saw a kangaroo." Unfortunately the message from the locals was lost in translation for, instead of them telling him what the creature was called, they had merely said "kan ga roo" or 'I don't know." This etymologist, having heard/told the story again recently, decided to see if this story has any basis in fact and the result produced this post, covering not just the kangaroo but many of the unusually-named fauna of the Australian continent.

Koala: is a European reproduction of the indigenous name, which may be koola, kulla or kula, depending upon the source consulted. This comes from the Dharug word gula or gulamany which suggest 'no drink'. Famously the koala gets all its moisture from the eucalyptus leaves on which it feeds and never needs to drink. At least that is the theory, in recent years koalas have been increasingly reported seeing taking a drink of water. Various things have been blamed, such as heatwaves, deforestation, and bushfires.

Platypus: derived from the Greek, the name was given by Europeans and translates literally as 'flat-footed', which seems odd considering few would see this creature's feet as its defining feature. Note the American idea of the plural being platypi (or is it platypii?), does not work as that would need to be a Latin root. Strictly the British idea of platypusses is accepted, but if we stick with the Greek beginnings this would give the plural as platypodes.

Thylacine: is a modern name from the Greek and correctly is Thylacine Cynocephalus 'the dog headed pouched one'.

Echidna: an interesting name which is most often said to come from the Greek ekhidna meaning 'snake, viper' and said to come from Proto-Indo-European angwhi 'snake, eel'. Whilst the forms may appear very close, to describe an egg-laying mammal (monotreme) with spines akin to a hedgehog as an ophidian seems odd. There have been suggestions that the tongue, used to collect ants and termites, is the 'snake', but this would not be overly easy to recognise from a distance. Another possibility is the Greek ekhinos 'sea urchin;' which is spiny like the hedgehog which it originally was used to describe and was also used to describe 'sharp points'. There is a third idea, for the serpent-nymph of Greek mythology named Echidna was described as 'a beautiful woman in the upper part of the body, but instead of legs and feet she had, from the waist downward, the form of a serpent'. Just how this would be likened to the Australian marsupial, is unclear. Perhaps just throw them all in the hat and pick one.

Quoll: is from an indigenous language, recorded as je-quoll by Joseph Banks, he who accompanied Captain James Cook on his voyage, where it was also recorded as a dhigul, both from the Guugu Yimidhirr language again.

Tasmanian devil: is simple enough, for it is named from the island of Tasmania, itself named after Abel Tasman, the Dutch explorer.

Sugar glider: is simple enough for, as many will know, it is a bit like a flying squirrel in that it glides, and gets it 'sweet' name because it has a predilection for sugary foods.

Wombat: is the European version of the indigenous names of womback or wombar, from the language of the indigenous Darug people, now nearly extinct. Note the collective name for the wombat is a wsidom, and even Sir David Attenborough said the wombat is not known for its intelligence.

Possum: is a shortened form of opossum, itself the Algonquian opassum or 'white dog'.

Dingo: is from the Dharruk language (spoken in the region of Sydney) and means 'tame dog', which is a little odd as the creatures are also known by the Dharruk term warrigal or 'wild dog'.

Dugong: comes from a Visayan word dugung and from Proto-Malayo-Polynesian duyun, all of which do NOT mean, as is so often said, 'the lady of the sea' another description of a mermaid (which also doesn't exist).

Emu: is from the Portuguese ema meaning 'crane, ostrich', and of unknown origins.

Cassowary: is another indigenous name, the Malay kasuari.

Galah: is a parrot named from the Yuwaalaraay language.

Budgerigar: has two possible etymologies: either the Yuwaalaraay word gijrragaa; or the Australian slang boojery 'good' amd gar 'cockatoo'.

Kookaburra: is from the Wiradjuri word guuguubarra which is simply imitative of its call.

Taipan: is derived from the Wik-Mungkan name for an ancestral creator also known as the Rainbow Serpent.

Goanna: is from 'iguana', itself from the Arawakan name for this lizard.

Barramundi: is an indigenous word meaning 'large-scaled river fish'.

Wobbegong: is another name from an indigenous language, this shark resembling a carpet (hence it's a carpet shark) and is a name meaning 'shaggy beard'.

Kangaroo: and finally a look at the creature which started all this. If you thought the "I don't know" story was bad enough, the actual origins are even more confusing. The name comes from the indigenous language known as Guugu Yimidhirr (no, I don't know how to pronounce it either), where gaNurru is said to mean 'large black kangaroo'. Thus if 'kangaroo' means 'large black kangaroo', then 'large black kangaroo' means 'large black kangaroo large black kangaroo' and so on and so forth. Yes, it is confusing and I certainly prefer "I don't know".

The Oddingley Murders

On 24th June 1806, George Parker, Rector of Oddingley, was found in the village of Oddingley lying in a field and dying from a gunshot wound to the abdomen. He was discovered after a shot and the cry of "Murder, Murder!" had been heard by two men travelling along a nearby lane. They saw someone running away and, from their description, Richard Heming, a local odd-job man, was wanted. He could not be found and rumours abounded he had left for America. In 1830 a skeleton was found in a barn near to where George Parker had been shot. From his clothes he was identified as Richard Heming. Both men were deemed to have died in 1806, and neither had yet resulted in a conviction.

The barn was owned by one Thomas Clewes. He was promptly arrested and, while in gaol, he confessed to having witnessed the murder of Heming, and even named the killers. Three local farmers, all substantial landowners, were in dispute with Parker about the tithes they were required to pay. They paid £50 to Heming to murder the rector, and then bludgeoned their own man to death. Clewes, John Barnett, and George Banks were arrested and charged, and the case made national headlines. (The third farmer had since died.) Everyone expected a triple hanging - and, in 1830, who did not enjoy a good hanging (well EastEnders had yet to reach the public and yes, I know it seems like it's been around that long).

First the law did not allow for the charge of murdering Parker to be levelled at any of them. They may have been accessories, but the law in 1806 (when the murder took place) did not allow them to be charged. It had been changed by 1830, but the law was not changed to work retroactively. Yet they could have been charged with Parker's murder, if Heming had been charged, which he could not be as he was already dead. But, it was these three who had had a hand in killing the killer, so where is the justice here?

Further complications meant Clewes was only charged with aiding and abetting the murder of Heming. His two surviving accomplices, Barnett and Banks, were then charged as his accomplices. Now it gets even more frustrating, for there was little evidence remaining, any witnesses called to give evidence were uncertain when giving details and many contradicted statements they had made earlier. Well it was 24 years afterwards and the ringleader, Captain Evans, and the third man, James Taylor, were deceased. To add further confusion, Clewes counsel argued that his confession could not be used to implicate others, as he had had no foreknowledge of, nor participated in, the murder of Heming. All three, despite clearly being guilty, were set free and lived out thier lives in relative peace. The locals, who were rather relieved that nobody was held to account for two murders (showing how unpopular the tithes were), broke into the church and rang the bells in celebration (much to the indignation of the press).

For a clergyman to be murdered was rare in Georgian England, but for his death to result from a conspiracy between a magistrate and yeomen farmers was unique. Although a clash of strong personalities contributed at Oddingley, the dysfunctional tithe system was the root of the conflict. Parker's income as rector came from his 'tithe', his right to a one-tenth share in everything the parish produced. At Oddingley as in most parishes farmers had switched to paying money annually rather than giving actual produce, but by 1800 there was often a mismatch between whatever long-agreed sum they gave as tithe, and the real value of a tenth of their crops. Parker's annual income from his tithes was £135, then a respectable amount; but one which had not altered for decades, while years of war had caused rampant inflation. After Parker tried to renegotiate his payment and the farmers refused, for several years he collected his tithes in kind. This procedure caused smouldering resentment and sometimes violence: when it did, Parker simply took the recalcitrant farmer to court. His stubborn refusal to be intimidated exasperated them and his success in gathering a tenth of their produce cost them money. After five years of attrition they were ready to yield the increase he had asked - but at this point Parker demanded a further sum of £150 compensation for costs incurred in collecting his tithes. With the resentful farmers under the sway of Captain Evans, an ex-military man already familiar with the process of delegating violence, a fairly commonplace quarrel over tithes ended in double murder.

Injustice?

On Wednesday 20th January inquest before J T Bagley, coroner, on the body of a female infant found in the privy of the Bell Inn, Derby. Both medical men interviewed, Mr Harwood and Mr Jones, were of the opinion the child had been alive when deposited there, certainly they thought it had been born alive. But witnesses said the infant had been stillborn and the jury were in agreement that the infant had been put there to conceal the birth. Jane Frearson, the mother, had lived at the Bell Inn for five months working as a kitchen maid; previously with a highly respectable family in Sheffield, and before going to Mrs Wightman’s was living with parents at Normanton. She was held awaiting trial at the next borough sessions – where she was acquitted through a lack of evidence to show the child had been born alive.

Criminal?

Esther Dyson was in court in York on 31st March 1831 for cutting off her child's head and throwing the body behind a dam to conceal the evidence. She had been deaf and dumb since birth and it was claimed she was insane. At the trial the judge asked the jury to consider one point, was her apparent inability to comprehend what was happening real or not? Was this a good act, or was this God's will? They decided it was the latter and she was acquitted, Yet later a Mrs Ann Briggs came forward and claimed she was more than capable of understanding, she had known her for eight or nine years, and should not have been acquitted. Esther was sent to West Riding Lunatic Asylum in Wakefield where she is reported to have performed tasks associated with a housemaid without trouble until her death on 2nd March 1869 at the age of 62.

Synonym Etymologies Z

Continuing the look at synonyms through the eyes of the etymologist, this time it is the letter Z and zoo. Not seen as an abbreviation before 1847, this an abbreviation of the London Zoological Society founded in Regents Park nineteen years earlier, the word came to English through the Latin zoologia and Greek zoion 'animal', both from Proto-Indo-European gwei 'to live'. As there are no actual synonyms, no surprise for such a late word, I will content myself with looking at similar terms.

Menagerie came from the French where it described 'housing for domestic animals', and itself derived from menage 'household' and sharing a root with the Latin 'mansion'.

Vivarium today refers to 'a glass bowl for studying living creatures', but the Latin vivarium referred to 'an enclosure for live game' and even 'park, warren, fish pond'. Again we can trace this back to Proto-Indo-European gwie 'to live'.

Aquarium is from Latin aquarius 'pertaining to water', the first element from Proto-Indo-European akwa 'water'.

Aviary is linked to the previous two words, with Latin aviarium 'place where birds are kept' derived from Proto-Indo-European awi 'bird'.

Terrarium is first seen in 1877, and derived from Latin terra 'land' and traceable back to Proto-Indo-European ters 'dry'.