The Oddingley Murders

Researching one thing often results in finding something else of note. This piqued my interest recently and, although I had read about such before, delved a little deeper.

The story begins in the quiet village of Oddingley some 5 miles north of the city of Worcester. The place name means ‘the woodland clearing of the family or followers of a man called Odda’, and as the story unfolds you will see events really do get ‘odder’.

Beginning on 24 June 1806, two fellows travelling near the glebe meadow heard a gunshot. As they went to investigate, they heard the faint cry of “Murder!” and soon discovered a man lying in the meadow, with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. This was George Parker, Rector of St James’ Church in Oddingley, but not for long as he soon died from his wounds. These witnesses also spied a man fleeing the scene. While these strangers could not name him, from their description he could only have been Richard Heming, a local odd-job man. A man-hunt ensued, but Heming would never be found – it was rumoured he had fled the country and living in anonymity in America. Not having any reasons to doubt the murderer had made good his escape, the story made the local headlines for a while but, other than local gossip, was forgotten.

Forgotten until 24 years later when the skeleton of a man was discovered buried beside the wall of a barn at nearby Netherwood Farm. Forensics not available in the first part of the 19th century, the identity of the chap could only be deduced from the clothes and belongings found with him. There was no doubt these were the skeletal remains of Richard Heming.

Investigations showed Netherwood Farm had been leased to a famer named Thomas Clewes at the time Heming vanished. Arrested, Clewes confessed to having witnessed the death of Heming, gave clear details of the killing and named the murderers. He named John Barnett and George Banks as the killers (a third man, Captain Evans, had since died), all three local farmers who had been at odds with the rector on the subject of tithes and had paid Heming the princely sum of £50 to kill George Parker, but subsequently reneged pn the deal and bludgeoned the assassin to death. They had the motive, the body, and the murderers. Locals were confident Barnett, Banks, and Clewes would soon provide the focus for the spectacle of a public hanging.

What had been a local scandal in 1806, became a national headline in 1830. Interest grew when it was announced they could not be tried with the murder of the rector, but only as accessories. The late Captain Evans, said to be the ringleader and mastermind despite being an officer and a magistrate, could not face charges; farrier James Taylor had dealt the fatal blow (according to Clewes) and he faced a murder charge; Clewes was charged, as were Barnett and Banks.

At the trial, the complexities of the case created more confusion. Clewes was the key, everything revolved around his confession. The jury’s verdict against Clewes was ‘guilty as accessory after the fact’ – but when the judge pointed out (and as the press reported quite vociferously) Clewes had not been charged with that but with ‘aiding and abetting’, they retired a second time and returned with a verdict of ‘not guilty’. Such effectively ended the cases against all concerned, and all went back to the quiet life away from the public eye.

The acquittals were, rather surprisingly, met with relief in and around Oddingley. Indeed, some of the villagers broke into the church and rang the bells in celebration – such levity did not go well with landowners or the press, especially when they learned the bell ringers gathered a group who continued the celebrations by drinking and smoking inside the church. Generally the newspapers were in agreement with the verdict as an important principal of law had been upheld.

While I could never suggest George Parker deserved to be murdered, his tithe demands would certainly be seen as excessive. As rector the tithes came to him, one-tenth of the value of their crops to be paid to him to cover his income. That income of £135 per annum - £14,450 today is not a fortune, but considering he did not have to pay for his accommodation, comfortable enough – but Parker, having spent five years trying to get the farmers to pay up, demanded an extortionate sum of £150 in compensation. When the rector took the farmers to court to get payment, he won. Then after five years the farmers, who had resigned themselves to having pay every year, would have given up – but then Parker got greedy.

Perhaps today forensic evidence would have helped secure a conviction or convictions. Doubtless we could almost certainly have shown Heming had not left the country, and surely forensic evidence would have identified killer or killers. And yet today’s legal system would also likely have rejected Parker’s demands for £150.

Blue Idioms

Several words have become part of the language in being used in phrases. Last time we looked at ‘green’ and now look at ‘blue’.

Blue blood is first seen to describe those of noble birth in 1809. It is not an English reference but one describing the old aristocrats of Castile in Spain.

Out of the blue, or a bolt from the blue, is first used in Thomas Carlyle’s writing entitled The French Revolution.

Blue, when referring to something risqué, is not recorded until 1840 and there is little evidence to explain why the colour was chosen. Several theories have been put forward, most often the colour of choice worn by ladies of the night.

Blue in the face, used to describe someone who is frustrated, is first recorded in 1864. Yet earlier it was said to be black and blue in the face, the earlier form seen from 1829.

Once in a blue moon is first used in the modern sense to describe a very long time in an anti-cleric flyer in 1528. But a blue moon is a real astronomical event and occurs, on average, every 33 months. As the lunar month is slightly shorter than a calendar month, the blue moon is simply a second full moon in a calendar month.

Monday blues originated in the US press in the 1830s, used to describe the hung over workforce returning to work after the weekend. More recently Blue Monday is the third Monday in January, said to be the most depressing day of the year.

Blue collar is first used in 1924, another of US origins, describing manual workers as opposed to white collar office workers.

Blue-eyed boy is first used in print in the novels of P.G. Wodehouse in 1919.

Blue ribbon is a misnomer used solely in the USA for many years. It was a mis-hearing of ‘blue riband’ and resulted in blue ribbons being awarded as prizes. Blue Riband had been awarded to the vessel making the fastest trans-Atlantic crossing when it was the only way to travel between the two continents. Blue Riband was borrowed in the early 20th century from the prize awarded in horse racing.

True blue has been used for centuries, certainly appearing in Chaucer, and likely only through the obvious rhyme. Yet it has not always had the same meaning. In the 15th century it was used to mean ‘sorrowful’; by 1788 it described women as either ‘pedantic’ or ‘learned’ depending upon context; while latterly it is a song by Madonna.

Feeling blue is simply the modern version of the earliest use of ‘true blue’, although there are records of ‘the blues’ from as early as the 16th century.

Blues and twos is a police reference to the blue flashing lights and the two tone siren used when attending an emergency.

Blue sky thinking seems to date from the 1940s and is based on the idea that the best work is done when the weather is fine or, possibly, the weather is perceived as better when working well.

Blue sky research is exactly the same as ‘blue sky thinking’ and seems to have developed at the same time.

Blue chip stocks are those which are a fairly safe bet and usually a buy-in to major companies.

Nobody had baby blues before 1892, when it first appeared in the Magazine of Poetry

Scream blue murder first appears around the late 19th and early 20th centuries. My research has often seen me reading old newspaper reports and I have often read of someone giving evidence at a trial or inquest and relating how they were first aware of the victim’s distress when they called out ‘you have murdered me’. I always wonder whether that was accepted as evidence as for surely you can’t be guilty of murder, while the victim is still breathing and screaming blue murder.

Level Crossing Tragedy

Saturday 3rd January 1885 and blacksmith Francis Clay, aged 62, left home for work at 6:30am. He walked with a stick and was decidedly deaf, both undoubtedly factors in what was to follow. This day, as many other days, he was touring the local farms for work to help support his wife Emma and their seven children, ranging from a babe in arms to a 17-year-old. One hour after least seeing her husband she received the news he was dead. He had been hit by a train at Hademore Crossing. The signalman gave evidence at the enquiry on Wednesday 7th saying he was to another signalman at 7am that morning, when the 6:20 from Stafford to Rugby passed at about 45mph. They heard a thump and went to investigate. Evidence was also given by a policeman. Together these witnesses painted a most gruesome picture.

The body appears to have been thrown against the crossing gates, the gate post taking most of the impact. They also found his toolbox, coming to rest some 60 yards down the line. The gates were locked, the wicket gate unlockable, although people would often cross after the gates were locked. Despite the dark mornings there was plenty of light to see by. His body was found on one side of the gate, flesh removed from one hand, his clothes thrown up over his face. The post was covered in blood and brains. When they uncovered the face they discovered part of the head was missing, this they found on the other side of the gate on the turnpike road. Before the inquest on the Wednesday, his wife had been allowed to wash all the blood from the post and around the scene. Such was the force of the body hitting the post, it had broken. It was common to cross on foot when gates were closed, usually under supervision from the signalmen(!), no whistle was noted but, once again(!), this was not unusual.

Bloodbath

September 26th 1817 was a Friday. A Mr Owen went to visit his sister at her home in Gibraltar Row, Prospect Place, St George’s Fields, where she lived with her husband, Mr Jones. Here the maidservant Mary Berry let him in, whereupon Owen burst into the kitchen where the couple were eating and proceeded to attack Mr Jones with a large knife, resulting in large wounds to the head and neck. Mrs Jones and the maid attempted to pull Owen off, resulting in wounds to their hands and arms. With blood still dripping from her wounds, the maid ran into the street screaming for help.

A former sailor by the name of Hopkins heard her cries and rushed to her aid together they ran back into the building. Here they found Owen kneeling on his brother-in-law, the later now bleeding from several wounds including a deep cut to the abdomen. Hopkins managed to dislodge and disarm Hopkins and dragged the injured Jones into the street. Owen then produced a second knife and leapt upon his own sister, first plunging the blade between two ribs, then slashing open her forehead, and then shoving the knife into her mouth ripped the side of her face open to the ear and also split her tongue wide open. The maid rushed to the aid of her mistress but was also set upon and with cuts to Mary Berry’s arms.

Although both women were quite faint through loss of blood they somehow managed to drag themselves into the street and the protection of their neighbours, who took them into their own homes to await medical attention, albeit the likelihood of their successful recovery was, at best, slight. By now the large and powerfully-built Owen had barricaded himself inside the house loudly threatening anyone in earshot the, too, would be butchered should they attempt to gain access. This violent individual was now defending himself against at least two hundred individuals in the street.

When the police arrived they planned to storm the building. With volunteers aplenty armed with pokers, clothes-props and bludgeons, a vast number entered through the windows and doors both front and rear, even bringing ladders to crash through upstairs windows. Appearing at one of the upstairs windows, Owen was seen whetting one knife on the other until felled by (of all things) a clothes-prop and subsequently pounded by a multitude of fists and weaponry – although he continued to fight back ‘mightily’ until disarmed. With cuts to both hands, the now overpowered Owen was tethered at hands and feet with strong rope and carried bodily from the place, albeit still ranting and raging like a madman.

The injured were taken to St Thomas’s Hospital while, with his now wounds bandaged, Owen imprisoned. Later it was revealed this horrendous attack was started by Mr Jones when he sued Mr Owen for custody of Owen’s two young sons, believing they would be better off living with the Jones family. Owen had won the case and retained custody of his children, but the stress and worry had resulted in the death of his wife (just how this came about is not recorded). It had been earlier of the day of the attack that her funeral had taken place and, having been taken to the house of a friend where they had given him food and drink, the now drink-enraged Owen had gone into a frenzy as none had ever seen in the city of Lichfield.

Jesse Joseph Quartermaine of Upper Gungate in Tamworth

It is 1901. To be precise, Saturday 26th October 1901, and for Jesse Joseph Quartermaine of Upper Gungate in Tamworth a fateful day.

A procession of wagons pulled by traction engines was passing through heading for the city of Lichfield. These owned by Danks and Co, they were transporting three large colliery wheels from Tamworth to Hanley. The convoy called at the Constitution Inn shortly after 10am, where food and three quarts of ale were consumed by the six men. Shortly after they stopped at the top of the hill to take on water from a pool. As they set off, Jesse walked up one side of the wagons and his brother Harry up the other side. After a few yards a shout was heard and the engines stopped.

It was then Jesse was found under the last wagon, both legs virtually severed. For some three or four yards a great deal of blood showed the extent of the incident, the progress marked by a trail of blood, bits of flesh, trouser and bone. It was generally thought, though none had observed such, he had fallen while riding the draw-bar. Perhaps he was attempting to climb into that third wagon. Police and doctors were called and he was taken to the Lichfield Victoria Nursing Home. In shock and bleeding greatly they attempted to save his life by amputating both legs at the thigh. To no avail. He died at 1:40pm that day and left a widow and three children.

Maldives Place Names Explained

Having blogged samples of my books on English place names and also examined the etymologies of the nations of the world and their respective capitals I thought it time I cast my net a little wider. As English place names share some links to other tongues it would be interesting to see if any of the elements contributing to our place names could be found elsewhere. Continuing an alphabetical tour of the world and a look at the largest the Maldives settlements.

When it comes to the place names, many are named after the island or atoll on which they stand. 'Atoll', now used as a term throughout the world to refer to a ring-shaped coral reef that encircles a lagoon, sometimes completely. The word is from the Dhivehi of Maldive word atholhu and has the same meaning. Traditionally Maldivians do not add 'atoll' to the end of the names.

Kulhudhuffushi is named after its most famous feature, the kulhi or 'mangroves'.

Fuvahmulah is from the Dhivehi tongue and means 'island of the Areca nut palm'. The palm nut has a number of uses and is used across Asia.

Gan comes from a Sanskrit word Grama meaning simply 'village'.

Hilhumeedhoo is an amalgamation of Meedhoo and Hulhudhoo.

Male is named after the island and has also given its name to the nation, for dives means 'islands'. Its name is said to come from the time of early settlement where freshly caught tuna were cleaned after being landed. The large amount of offal and blood stained the sandbank and waters and resembled a large pool of blood or maa ley gandeh 'big blood'.

Fasdhuthere Atoll describes itself as 'what lies between five islands' and refers to its location.

Huvadhu Atoll has a name referring to 'the forbidden place'.

A few British names can also be found, Malcolm Atoll, Horsburg Atoll, Ross Atoll, all named around 1835 by Robert Moresby to honour famous commanders of the British Empire.

Note the spellings of the places are English as the piece is written in English.

A Bloody Tale

February 1902 and PC Williams is following his regular route around the streets of Lichfield, coming along Lombard Street at 10:40pm. It was here he saw a woman running towards him and crying out "Oh my lad, what have I done?" Being a good officer he took hold of her and took her back to investigate further. On entering the house, he discovered her husband, Frank, on the sofa in the kitchen. Blood was everywhere. Maud Shipley was arrested.

The first inquest had to be adjourned as the main witness, the victim, had been too ill to come to court. Indeed, the following week he appeared heavily swathed in bandages and looking most frail. It was then the story began to unfold. Frank Shipley had been employed by Mr Summerfield, a coal deal, as a waggoner. Leaving work he had called in to the Mitre Inn for a well-earned pint on his way home.

Arriving at his home in Lombard Street he discovered his wife to be most agitated, in an aggressive and excitable state, clearly the worse for drink and demanding money. Frank refused and turned on his heel, going out to get a shave. When he emerged from the barber's shop he was met by his wife who, once again, was demanding money and this continued as she followed him home. No sooner had he reached home than Frank went back out, this time to the Mitre Inn to fill a bottle with beer so he could drink it with his supper.

At this point the inquest heard from her sister who had spent some of the earlier part of that day with her. Indeed had seen her on a number of occassions, each time she had been complaining of a lack of money. Both she and two other women had shared their beer with Maud, eventually brining her home from the Grapes Inn where she was described as being "Half and half with the drink".

Another witness came to the stand and spoke of Maud banging on the door screaming "I will finish the bastard before the night's out". He followed her into her house to witness her picking up a knife and stabbing Frank three or four times in quick succession. She passed him by as she ran into the street, while he went to see how he could help the man who was bleeding profusely. He described Maud as being "Three sheets".

A second passer-by then entered and went back out to summon medical assistance. When the doctor gave evidence he described the scene as looking like a slaughterhouse. Mr Shipley having several wounds about the head, including a severed ear lobe, a two-inch gash across his face, and a wound to the neck.

When the case came to court the accused claimed she had acted in self-defence, that the very knife brought as evidence had been thrown at her by Frank at least twice. There was no evidence to support this claim and Maud Shipley, aged 28, was found to be guilty of the assault on her husband and sentenced to three months hard labour. This left Frank, himself still far from well, to look after their three children - the eldest five years and the youngest just two.

Train Accident

On Saturday 3rd January 1885, 62 year-old blacksmith Francis Clay left home at 6:30am as he did most days. As a blacksmith he would tour the local farms to perform required tasks on site. He travelled on foot, always using a stick, and carried his tools with him to earn the money to support his wife, Emma, and their seven children - aged 17 right down to the youngest babe in arms. The next they heard was an hour later when a knock at the door told them Francis Clay was dead.

Hademore Crossing has only been provided with a bridge to cross the tracks in the 21st century, prior to that a level crossing sufficed for more than a century. At about 7am that morning the two signalmen, having manually set the gates to allow the train to pass, were conversing as the 6:20 from Stafford to Rugby passed them at about 45mph. As it did so they heard a thump and went to investigate and soon after a policeman was summoned.

At the inquest the three men revealed the gruesome evidence they uncovered that morning. The bloodied post at one side of the gate led them to the discovery of a body. The flesh had been removed from one hand, clothing thrown up and over the head. When they removed the blood-soaked clothing to identify the individual the discovered part of the face and head missing, with blood and brains smothered all over the top of the post. The remainder of the head was found on the other side of the gate lying on the road. Suspecting the identity of the man they continued to search along the line and, 60 yards away, they found the toolbox which confirmed his identity.

By the time of the inquest his wife had removed much of the evidence from the post at the side of the track. It seems Francis had attempted to cross after the gates were closed. This was not unusual, the signalman would often allow foot passengers across when the train was not in sight. On this morning they had not seen him, although there was plenty of light despite the early hour.

A verdict of death by misadventure was recorded.

Blood, Blood and more Blood

The following story was reported in the Lichfield Mercury on Friday October 3rd 1817. It is a tale of quite appalling violence and grief.

On Friday 26th September 1817, a Mr Owen went to visit his married sister and her husband at their home. Admitted by their maidservant, he burst through into the kitchen where his sister and brother-in-law were enjoying their evening meal. Without saying a word he produced a large knife and launched a frenzied attack on Mr Jones. Before long he was suffering from great blood loss due to significant wounds to the head and neck.In trying to restrain Owen, Mrs Jones and the maidservant were also bleeding from wounds to their hands and arms.

With blood still dripping from down her arms, the servant ran into the street screaming for help. Passing by was a Mr Hopkins, a former sailor, and he rushed to her aid. Together they ran back into the house where they found Owen on top of Jones and continuing to slash at his brother-in-law, the victim now bleeding freely from several wounds and in particular a deep gash to the abdomen.

After a brief tussle Hopkins managed to get Owen Jones out of the room and into the street. Meanwhile inside Owen pulled a second knife and began to set about his own sister. He slashed across her forehead, plunged the blade between two ribs, and then pushed the blade into her open mouth ripped her face open to the ear and also split her tongue.

As the maid ran to her mistresses aid, Owen turned his attention to the servant, her name was Mary Berry. Fresh wounds were opened up across her arms and face. Despite severe blood loss the two women managed to get outside to the street, where neighbours took them in awaiting much-needed medical attention. Their recovery seemed unlikely.

By this time Owen had barricaded himself inside the house. Should anyone approach he threatened them with the same butchery as had befallen his sibling and other members of her household. By this time there were hundreds outside the property, including the police who were already planning to storm the building amassing a small army of volunteers. Armed with pokers, clothes-props, and assorted bludgeons - an array of unlikely weapons more often associated with a mob than a rescue party - they poured into the building through front and rear doors and windows, even using ladders to enter through upstairs windows in a co-ordinated and simultaneously assault.

Witnesses outside reported seeing Owen appear at an upstairs window, he whetting one knife against another. Knocked down by a man wielding a clothes-prop, he continued to fight back until, under the sheer weight of numbers, Owen was finally disarmed. Still he raged and struck out at his attackers despite the now severe injuries to his hands and arms.

With hands and feet tethered securely, Owen was carried from the building. A thorough search revealed the young Jones daughter still asleep in her room. She was dressed and taken to the home of a neighbour, while the injured were conveyed to the hospital of St Thomas.

In the aftermath questions were asked as to why this horror had happened. What had Owen got against Jones? What had made a man with an unblemished record and a reputation as a good husband and father initiate such a frenzied and bloody attack?

The story began some months earlier. Jones and his wife had sued for custody of both the Owen family's sons. Thinking, and likely correctly, they would have a better upbringing with their more affluent aunt and her husband, they tried to show the children were in an unstable home. After a bitter and unnecessary court hearing, it was ruled that Owen and his wife were quite capable of bringing up their sons even if they did not have the finances of the Jones household.

While the Owens were successful, the stress proved too much for Mrs Owen and she died a few weeks later. After the funeral, Owen had been taken to a friend's house where, after food and perhaps an unwise amount of drink, had gone to the home of his sister and brother-in-law in Gibraltar Row armed with two sizable knives. He never saw his two sons again.

A Liquid Lesson

Not a cookery or brewing lesson but one looking at why various liquids, and not just drinks, are known by the names we use virtually every day.

Alcohol comes from the Arabic al-kuhul, this the fine metallic powder used to darken eyelids, for kahala means 'to stain, paint'. Not that the two things at all similar, other than in the method of production - sublimation.

Beer has been said to be a major factor in creating civilsation - it is argued that our ancestors were forced to settle temporarily to produce beer for drinking, a reasonable alternative to potentially bad water. Be that true or no there is no doubt beer has been drunk for thousands of years, as seen in the many seemingly diverse languages which speak of the drink using quite similar words. The English 'beer' is related to the Latin biber meaning 'to drink' which has given us the word 'imbibe'.

Blood is another word which has remained largely unchanged for millennia, the term seen in the ancient Proto-Indo-European bhlo-to which was also used to mean 'to swell, gush, spurt'. It takes little imagination to realise just how blood was most often viewed in those far-off days.

Broth is a Germanic word, seen in Old High German brod and its root bhreue meaning 'boil, bubble'. Here we see how 'broth', a liquid from cooking, and 'brew', the act of producing beer, are related and have a common root as the two use the same process.

Diesel comes directly from Rudolph Diesel, the German engineer who designed the diesel engine. The surname is a pet form of Mathias (or Matthew) and is from the Hebrew for 'Gift of God'.

Emulsion came to English from the French and earlier from Latin emulgere or 'to milk out'. Milk is the best example of an emulsion, that is drops of one liquid dispersed in another.

Gasoline uses the chemical suffix 'ine' after 'ol' (understood as representing 'oil') and 'gas'. Here the use of 'gas' is taken from 'gas' as both are fuels. Incidentally 'gas' is from the Greek khaos meaning 'empty space' and has the same origin as 'chaos'.

Gravy is an Anglo-French corruption of the Old French grave, itself from grane meaning both 'sauce' and 'stew'. Earlier this is seen as Latin granum, 'grain, seed'.

Honey is a Germanic term and originated as Proto-Indo-European keneko simply meaning 'yellow' or 'golden'.

Ink came to English from Old French encre which described the same thing. Taking it further back we find Greek enkauston from enkaiein meaning 'to burn' and related to 'caustic'. Here we need a history lesson, for this was also used to refer to a kind of painting produced using fire or heat. Later it was transferred to a purple-red ink used by Roman emperors and produced by heating the ground remains of certain shellfish - note the Code of Justinian prohibited common folk from making this ink on pain of death.

Juice, in its simplest form, refers to any flavoured liquid. Going back to Proto-Indo-European yeue it meant 'to blend, mix food' and from this came Sanskrit yus 'broth' and Lithuanian juse 'fish soup' among others.

Kerosene uses the chemical suffix 'ene' following a word derived from the Greek keros or 'wax'. The link here is that both contain paraffin.

Milk may be a noun but it is also a verb, indeed it is the action of milking which has given the product its name. Tracing this back to Proto-Indo-European we discover this has hardly changed since melg meant 'to stroke, wipe, rub off'.

Molasses has been adopted into English in the plural form, although this is seen as singular. This came to English from Portuguese melaco from Latin mellaceum or 'new wine' and ultimately from mellaceus or 'resembling honey'.

Oil is a comparatively late word for substances with a certain texture. Indeed olive oil must have been known since prehistory, although we have no idea what these ancestors knew the product as. The modern oil takes the name of possibly the earliest produced oil, that being olive oil and named for the olive. Ironically substances with this greasy or viscous texture are named from the early olive oil, itself derived from the olive which had the original meaning of 'oil' and has thus turned full circle.

Paint as a noun comes from the verb. This term came from French and Latin, both from the Proto-Indo-European root peig meaning 'to cut'. Hence first used to mean 'decorate' (pots, for example) the term now means the substance with which we most often decorate our homes.

Sauce originates from the Latin salsa, literally 'that which is salted'.

Syrup is from the Old French sirop 'sugared drink' and ultimately from Arabic sharab 'beverage, wine'.

Turpentine was first derived from the terebinth tree, hence its name, although now applied to that obtained from conifers. Terebinth trees are native to the Mediterranean, the name coming from Greek but here the etymological trail dries up and can only have been an early loan word from a non-Indo-European language.

Varnish began as a noun, this from Latin vernix meaning 'odorous resin'. Here the trail becomes unclear but it could well be derived from the Greek Berenike, the ancient Libyan city today known as Bengasi as this is where varnish is said to have been first used. This town is named after Berenike II, queen of Egypt whose name is now seen as Berenice.

Guam Place Names Explained

Having blogged samples of my books on English place names and also examined the etymologies of the nations of the world and their respective capitals I thought it time I cast my net a little wider. As English place names share some links to other tongues it would be interesting to see if any of the elements contributing to our place names could be found elsewhere. Continuing an alphabetical tour of the world and a look at the largest of Guam's settlements.

Dededo is by far the largest settlement with a population of almost 45,000. The origin of the name is unclear but often said to mean 'two inches' and from the Chamorro word dededo. Other words from the same language are offered, such as dedeggo 'heel of the foot' and deggo 'tiptoes'. If any of these explanations are the true origin then the reference is a mystery.

Yigo is another which is by no means certain but most often said to come from either the Spanish yugo meaning 'yoke', as in that used to hitch an animal to the plough. However there is also an alternative name for the area, this Asyigo said to represent 'the home of a man called Yigo'.

Tamuning is a Carolinian word given after they settled here around the middle of the 19th century and thought to be after the chieftain of this people.

Mongmong-Toto-Maite are actually three villages and one principality. Once again the origin is uncertain but this has not prevented an intricate tale of how these names came about. It seems the Chamorro version of creation involved the god Puntan and his sister Fu'una. On his death Fu'una used the god's body to form the world and the sky, with his eyes producing the moon and stars and his flesh the earth. Hence the Chamorro words momongmong is a description of a heartbeat, toto meant 'to recline', and Maite is from ma'ette or 'the touch of another'.

Mangilao is undoubtedly from the Chamorro word ilao meaning 'to search'. This refers to this being a hunter's paradise where, in the past, many would come seeking deer, boar, fish and crabs.

Barrigada is from the local word for 'flank', here a possible reference to hunters coming here and the target when hunting deer. However this idea likely came from the Chamorro creation myth, for barrigada 'flank' and tuyan 'stomach' would refer to the two central hills of Guam, each formed by parts of the body of Fu'unta.

Chalan-Pago-Ordot uses the Chamorro Chalan Pago or 'the pago road', a reference to this being the route from Hagatna to Pago and is covered with Pago trees. Ordot is a second village name, this from otdot meaning 'ant'.

Yona is from iyo na, this Chamorro and meaning 'to possess something'. This has given rise to the tale of how visitors to the region, admiring the extensive coconut plantation, enquired who owned this area and heard the response Iyo na or 'we do'.

Santa Rita is clearly of Spanish origin, this from the patron saint of St Rita of Cascia.

Agat is thought to either come from the cry of the Marianas Crow which flies here calling out aga, this was then adopted by the Agat people who came to settle here and thereafter the place, or from the Chamorro haga meaning 'blood'.

Talofofo gets its name from entalo' i fe fo' meaning 'between the cliffs' and an apt description of the location. Note some argue this could also be from fo' fo' or 'bubbling spring' and thus 'between the bubbling springs'.

Sinajana is possibly from the local word china-jan, this referring to the local cookware designed specifically to cook the yams which, owing to their proliferation, would have been the staple food.

Inarajan is a Spanish pronunciation of the original Chamorro name of Inalahan

Asan is from hassan meaning 'scarce, rare', although just what this refers to is uncertain.

Merizo was earlier known as Malesso this from the Chamorro word lesso and the name given to the immature stage of the rabbit fish which run these bays at certain times of the year and prove a great delicacy for the locals.

Piti is thought to come from the Chamorro word puti meaning 'to hurt, ache' but the reference is unclear.

Hagatna is from the Chamorro haga' na, literally translating as 'his (or her) blood'.

Umatac is believed to come from the name of the Chamorro equivalent of March, this being Umatalaf, if so this may refer to the annual celebration held to the north of the village before and after the arrival of the Spanish in the early 16th century.

Ma'ina comes from Chamorro ina or 'shine, illuminate'. Here the reference is disputed, some point to those who hunted at night and used torches to light their way, others speak of the sunrise marking the arrival of a new birth, and a third explanation speaks of the moon illuminating the valley in which the settlement lies.

Unlike many nations of the Americas once under Spanish rule, few of the place names have come from this language but have retained their indigenous names. Note the spellings of the places are English as the piece is written in English.

A Writer’s Research

As the majority of my writing recalls events which happened before anyone I’ve ever known was born, it takes a great deal of research to produce the finished work. Personally I find all research to be enjoyable, although that for my recent release of Bloody British History Stafford published by The History Press was particularly enjoyable and I’m very much looking forward to producing further volumes.

In preparing the Stafford volume I ploughed through every local newspaper released for the area from the early nineteenth century until the end of the Second World War. I lost count of the number of reels of microfilm I saw scrolling past but soon learned where to find the relevant columns. This would have saved some time had I not been distracted by some of the reporting of the day. Some of the news items would hardly be considered worthy of even a mention today. The reporting style, too, was most entertaining. One story, covered in Bloody British History Stafford, concerns the large fire destroying much of the town centre in 1887. Many volunteers pitched in to aid the firemen, some being interviewed by the local reporter. I found the quotes most amusing. Such eloquence from witnesses regularly given free supplies of thirst-quenching ale during their rest breaks, with not even a hint of a grammatical slip.

Not suitable for inclusion in the book were a number of stories which I made a note of simply because I found them so entertaining. For example can we imagine a modern headline proclaiming how wondrous it must be to live in a certain terraced house as recently the combined ages of the four residents surpassed three hundred years!

With modern transportation methods meat is brought into our towns and cities in easily handled sizes to be trimmed and cut for the customer. Once the slaughterhouses were situated within the town, the animals brought in alive. Several stories were related regarding the cattle and their attempts to avoid the butcher’s slab, always assuming they knew of their destination. It was common for butchers to bring the animal to their premises, the beast led by a halter to its final destination. One butcher could not understand where all his halters were disappearing to, so instigated a thorough search of his servants’ rooms. He found the remains of the halters, each minus the ends, within the skirts. It seems his employee desired a very full skirt in the style of the day, however could not afford the metal hoops to fill them out and found a suitable replacement in the halters.

Escaped animals, presumably those not tethered by a halter, were quite commonplace. One evening in May of 1858, Mr Bridgwood, a butcher in Eastgate Street, lost control of a bullock. It ran into the yard of the New Inn where a young lady was targeted. She fled and escaped when a young child wandered into the path of the now rather angry bullock. The child was knocked down and would have suffered worse than the minor bruising had it not been for the intervention by a man who “seizing a large stick laying conveniently at hand, applied it with vigour to the forehead of the enraged brute.” Others managed to tether its legs, making it topple over and enabling them to break its legs, thus preventing it escaping and allowing the butcher to kill it where it lay – in the middle of Stafford.

However one narrative of Victorian pomposity appeared in an edition from May 1864. The newspaper reported how, while it was mindful a Smithfield (meat market) was a necessity, it was appalled that these creatures were still allowed to roam the streets on the way to the abattoir. It seems on the day of the May Fair two animals were highlighted as to why this must be dealt a most severe and final blow. Firstly one rampaged through the crowded streets until apprehended. However it was the second, a cow which attracted the most attention when it decided “to venture into the District Bank, perhaps in order to pay a call on the mayor.” There is no explanation as to why the mayor was in the bank, nor why they thought the cow may be seeking the man out. However it seems likely the mayor had done something to irritate the newspaper in recent weeks, or maybe he was just extremely unpopular. Yet things deteriorated shortly afterwards when, as the newspaper reported, “in the presence of both sexes of all ages the screams and dismay was apparent to all as it did the unthinkable – it calved. An indecent disgrace and disgusting filth for any town to be forced to endure.” A letter the following week echoed the editor’s sentiments in saying “in 1864 and within 130 miles of the Metropolis (London) this should be allowed to happen!” I still wonder how far from the Metropolis a cow would need to be to give birth in public and for it to be considered acceptable?

Incidentally, I shall be signing copies of Bloody British History Stafford at Waterstones in Stafford from 10am on Saturday October 19th 2013. Look forward to meeting you there.

I would welcome any suggestions for themes or subjects, or even specific words to examine the origins, meanings and etymologies. I’d be delighted to hear from you.