The Bling and I

Going back 1,500 years, we have been talking - at times with considerable difficulty in the translation - to members of the Northumbrian Language Society, who maintain that there's an awful lot more to the patter than may be found by gannin' along the Scotswood Road.

At much the same time, a small volume called Mingin' and Blingin' arrived, purporting to be a guide to "essential modern English" - otherwise, of course, Blinglish.

"It's no longer all right to say you dislike something," says the introduction, "you have to say it's minging."

MANY years ago, some time after her silver buckled ancestor went to sea but long before the Blinglish language evolved, Mrs Rosa Edwina Marguerite Duncombe Shafto still lived in Whitworth Hall, near Spennymoor.

Even in the 1960s, her treasured Ming Buddha was worth an estimated £10,000. One dark and dastardly night it was stolen by a gang who turned out to be Leeds lowlife, though doubtless with a local map reader.

The day after he finally locked them up, we took an ecstatic telephone call from Det Insp Charles Organ who, had he a hyphen between his names, would have been a double barrelled Organ. A week later he rang once more. The night after its return to Whitworth Hall, the Buddha had again been stolen. Poor Charlie Organ's exact comment probably couldn't be printed, but may have been a mid-20th century equivalent of minging. It defined exasperation, anyway.

WE met Kim Bibby-Wilson, the Language Society's secretary, at a decidedly indecipherable gathering at St George's United Reformed Church in Morpeth, about which much more in Saturday's At Your Service column.

Suffice that Aidan, the great Northumbrian saint whose feast day is celebrated on August 31, had a bit bother wi' the banter, an' all.

In broad terms - very broad terms, sometimes - Kim supposes the Northumbrian language still to be alive (if not always cockin' its creels) in much of Northumberland and north-west Durham. It explains, in queen's English, why we simple Shildon lads can't even understand the cover of the introductory leaflet.

Readers are therefore invited to translate the following: 1. Scrunty 2. Coggle 3. Blashy 4. Fadge 5. Dowly 6. Oozly 7. Bari 8. Gliff 9. Joggle 10 Hippletyclinch.

Answers in panel on the right.

MINGIN' and Blingin' turns the word wheel full circle. Bling is something to do with modern jewellery, and little or nothing to do with Crosby.

"One thing is certain about this language," the book adds, "you'll be a social outcast if you don't understand it." The faithful are thus further invited to explain a further ten terms, a whole new meaning to etymology: 1. Biffa 2. Bingo wings 3. Chav 4. Do one 5. Hoodrat 6. Moby 7. Peppered 8. Scuzzbucket 9. Ug 10. Wife beater. Answers in panel.

ONE more thought before losing the thread completely, a feature on the history of Durham jail - in Durham Town and Country magazine; there offers an intriguing theory on the origin of the word "screw", meaning prison officer. Alongside the treadmill, of infamous memory, early 19th century inmates were required to turn the handle of a giant crank, rather like an old fashioned mangle.

There was no point to it, save that it was incredible hard work. Prisoners were often required - says a confirming website - to complete 10,000 turns in eight hours, one every three seconds. If in a particularly bad mood, the jailer could turn the screw (see!) to make hard labour yet harder. Hence, unguarded moment, screw.

Talk in the pub thus turned to screwdriver, a cocktail of orange juice and vodka, apparently named because American oil rig workers in the 1950s stirred cans of the stuff with the nearest thing that came to hand.

It doesn't explain sex on the beach, of course. In the politest way possible, perhaps somebody can.

RECENT columns have dwelt upon curious place names. It prompted Paul Dobson in Bishop Auckland to recall that he's been to Hell and back (it's in Norway), Redcar campanologist Peter Sotheran to note that he's rung in Sinn - but not, of course, lived there - and Pete Winstanley to confirm that Dull, in northern Scotland, is actually quite spectacular. (I wonder," adds Pete, "what Boring's like?"

Tim Stahl in Darlington polishes up last week's reference to Baldhead, in the States with the recollection that, high up in Teesdale, there's a little place called Balderhead. Another English loss leader.

Several readers also drew attention to the page one paragraph in last week's paper about the Austrian town coyly identified as F***ing, said to have a fearful problem with sign thieves.

The website www.amusingfacts. com/weirdtowns/ suggests that it was founded in the sixth century and named after Herr Focko. The locals, curiously, have several times voted to keep their identity at the cost of losing their nameplates.

The website also offers explanations for unlikely places like Blow Me Down in Newfoundland (named after a 4ft 2in sea captain), Two Egg in Florida (a bit scrambled) and Intercourse in Pennsylvania, which might as easily have been called Crossroads.

The only English entry is Crackpot, above Reeth, said to originate from the Viking words for "crow" and for "cavity." Booze, its Swaledale neighbour, is abstained from quite totally.

....and finally, that earlier reference to simple Shildon lads may, like the English dictionary, have to be revised.

John Briggs in Darlington sends a piece from the Yorkshire Post about a medical experiment in which some bairns from a Shildon primary school - dear old Tin Tacks, presumably - were given a course of "fish oil supplements" to test improvements in behaviour and educational performance. The results, it says, have been "remarkable."

"Within four weeks there was a massive difference," said Sheila Best, mother of eight-year-old Elliott. "He went from plodding along to being able to read." Just like many of the brave new words, of course, it may be a case of there being nothing new under the sun. We didn't endure all that NHS cod liver oil for nothing.

www.thisisthenortheast.co.uk/news/gadfly.html

Published: ??/??/2004