THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21530, 30 December 1931, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

By Wayfarer. From a correspondent whose place of residence should be (but is not) Gore: ■ Dear “ Wayfarer,”— Anent that unprintable national adjective! In the Daily Times the other day appeared a cable from London in which a soldier’s expletive that South Africa “is hot! ” was printed with the above blanky dash. Now, presumably, the missing word was just the old favourite “ bloody ” (please print it in full). I have often marvelled why this worcj should be thus camouflaged in print and when used in polite society. It seems just a ludicrous instance of that mid-Victorian, old-maidenish prudery which is ingrained and often so objectionable in your conventional Englishman. What is wrong with the word? It is a good solid dictionary word and it is absolutely correct in its proper application, such as “a bloody battle,” “ a bloody sacrifice,” or even “ a bloody row.” When misapplied to express intense heat it cannot by any stretch of the imagination be designated as being immoral, obscene, or blasphemous, can it? The worst you can say against its over-popular use as an adjective of emphasis is that it is silly. l y!—l am, etc., Unsophisticated. Alert readers, noting their reactions to this letter, will find that it has produced in them one of three sensations—they will be pained and shocked; they will be amused; or they will agree wholeheartedly with our correspondent. Most of them, possibly, will be mildly surprised and intrigued at the admission to a column so noted for its temperate expression and purity of speech of an adjective whose warmth accords but ill with the most characteristic symptoms of Dunedin weather. Those who have been shocked will already have turned in disgust to the latest report of the activities of the prolific hens at the utility poultry contest, so we need bother no more about them; those who were amused are hereby rebuked for a lack of appreciation of the serious nature of the ponderings of our correspondent-philologist; those who are interested now hold all our attention, and we should invite them soberly to view this letter and its questionings, even as Banquo appealed to Macbeth:— . . . let, us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. ... Let us, we say, approach not with ribaldry, neither with pious misgivings, the question of the plade,. the purpose, and the permissibility in our native speech of a word so much in use that everybody hears it almost daily, yet so uncertain of its respectability that we know not when to acknowledge that it has been heard. It has, of course, the approval of the theatre, and doubtless Mr Bernard Shaw can even now regard it with a grateful if satanic smile as the most serviceable of all those devices he has employed to make the public thrill with mingled pleasure and misgiving and say what a naughty writer ho is. When Shaw’s Pygmalion first crashed into polite society with her slumside quips, and the gentle lady in innocence emulated her with an adjectival expletive, we know that people were certainly surprised, indubitably amused, and possibly a trifle shocked. Mr Shaw had timed the moment well, and while “ Pygmalion ” escaped the intervention of the public censor it gained the attention of the public. That was some 25 years ago, and the word is, so far as we know, entirely approved currency on the stage to-day. In “ White Cargo ” it raised an apprehensive titter but legitimately secured its atmospheric effect; in one of Ben Traver’s farces, it was heard again in New-Zealand, and greeted with good-natured, appreciative laughter. Those, however, are Occasions, and it is safe to say that many who use the adjective most frequently would be still surprised, and haply a little shocked, to find the occasions becoming a stage custom. When the blushing female witness is asked to repeat in the box the words the defendant used she will still, as often ns not, modestly hesitate until the magistrate says: “You may write it on a piece of paper.” The chances are that when the defendant chose his adjective she not only was not shocked, but gave him back in more exotic currency, yet bashful reserve reasserts itself at the prospect of repeating it in the forum. Inexplicable, we grant you, but nevertheless the case. The circumstances our correspondent recalls, in which South Africa’s heat was stigmatised, are worth bringing to mind. The Royal Family was in attendance at Noel Coward’s newest lush extravaganza, and the soldier delivered his opinion boldly. Its reception by the distinguished visitors was characteristic: — Everybody glanced towards the royal box. The King apparently had not quite caught the expletive, and the Duchess of York leaned over and whispered it to him. The King smiled slightly. But the Prince of Wales and his brothers laughed outright, and even the Duchess seemed amused. And here, respectfully, we are constrained, in the interests of historical research, to state that there is reason, from authoritative report, for believing that the adjective was not entirely new, at least to the male occupants of the royal box, when they heard it used in “ Cavalcade.” The Prince of Wales, like any Guardsman, knows the residence of his noble parents as “ Buck House,” and is stated to refer to it affectionately in that term with the addition of an equally affectionate qualification. flis Majesty’s pardonable abhorrence of the sanguinary activities of the Germans jn wartime was, we are assured, quite frequently expressed in appropriate language. If the royal box found nothing to protest at, or something to smile at, in the rhetorical use of the adjective the artisan attaches to ids spade, it must be added that its occupants are not alone among the great and revered in that respect. It is a matter not of hearsay but of fact that the late Dr Parker expressed himself as greatly pleased and flattered when, happening to ride on top of a bus, lie overheard a workman confide to his companion: “You know I got a lot o’ time for the preacher at the City Temple —lie’s not too bloody serious." Here was a tribute from a common layman to a prelate (such as perhaps is too seldom paid in these . ungodly times), which could not be said to lose in conviction, and might even ho said to gain immeasurably in sincerity, by being expressed in the idiom of the unceclesiastieal masses. Writers have grown mightily to like the word. In quite Victorian times an author could scarcely be expected to acknowledge its existence, save in the classical sense, or if, like Walter Besant, lie owned to knowing it he did so circumspectly. Lord Jocelyn, exploring the East End, questioned a workman as to the purpose of a new building, Mr Besant relates, when The man replied that be did not know the object of the building, and, to make it quite manifest that he really did not know, he put an adjective before the word “ object,” and another, that is, the same, before the word “building.” No such qualms assail even the most respected and distinguished of our literati to-day. Mr Masefield’s “closhy puts ” arc probably well known to every intelligent schoolboy, and the same bright pupil would immediately recognise that something was lacking of

artistic effect if the hero of “ The Ever lasting Mercy” called a man an uh adjectival liar.

Mr Ernest Weekley describes the subject of our discourse as “a stock rhetorical device in the works of all our bestsellers,” and (with certain reservations in the case of Misses Dell, Hull, Ruck, and so on, who employ other devices) we must admit that it is. Perhaps the most striking acknowledgment of the acceptance by literature of a lurid expletive is contained in a note supplied by Richard Aldington to his “ Death of a Hero,” in which he explains his astonishment when his publishers told him that certain words he had used were taboo in England, and he therefore reluctantly consented to their replacement by asterisks. If we turn the pages of the book in search of the admonitory three stars we find them quite frequently, often in the same phrase or sentence wherein occurs the adjective “Unsophisticated ” insists on, spelt out as fully as could be desired. Incidentally it is perhaps even more illuminative of public feeling on the matter that the publishers, while permitting the frequent use of an adjective that is, technically, not used in polite society, put asterisks in place of the title of one of the most esteemed newspapers because Mr Aldington expresses contempt for its opinions.

But if we proceed at this pace “ Unsophisticated ” will be accusing us of prevarication. He asked for an opinion, and expects, doubtless, to receive one. Used in what we have called its classical sense (Hamlet’s “my thoughts he bloody,” Macbeth’s “ bloody instructions,” and in such phrases as our correspondent notes), “bloody” comes under the dictionary definition of “Of, like, running, or smeared with blood”; used as the South African veteran employed it in “ Calvacade,” “ bloody ” is defined in the latest edition of the Concise Oxford as “ (in foul language) equal to damned, etc.” This, we must protest, is rather a strong indictment. The word, be it good or bad, was apparently necessary in wartime conversation, and anyone will assume who walks down Princes street with his ears open it is absolutely indispensable to-day. That fact, however, does not make it a word to bo encouraged or approved. It is expressive, but only by usage and a certain euphoniousness, not owing to any inherent quality. ? “ Muddy ” would be just as expressive, “very” would be adequate. “ positively,” if clumsier, would still be more emphatic. If you are a Bright Young Thing, the Sketch assures us, “ wistful ” is the word correctly in use to describe everything.

We were once told of an old shepherd who, embracing rigorous Presbyterianism late in life, forswore all swearing. The result, he found, was that his faithful collies, accustomed to a rich flow of gory invective to regulate the performance of their duties, failed to respond to his suddenly sedate injunctions. Resourceful, their master composed an effective chant which could be approved by any Wee Free, yet, delivered with the rapidity and vehemence of its strong predecessors, sent the dogs about their business with a will. For the benefit of those who might protest that the heated moment requires the red-hot oath, we reproduce the tirade. If they care to shout it in their bath, or declaim it before a mixed audience in the Octagon, we take no responsibility for the actions of their wife or the police. Try it over quick and loud: —

Go to Elderberry you Dandelion Bucket Godfrey Daniel Blasting Furnace-Maker Jam and Butter Muddy Bucket of Pitch ! ! ! With this moral tale in mind, and recalling the devastating retort of Dr Johnson to the fishwives of Billingsgate t—and remembering, also, the range and variety of the English language—we are forced to conclude that the frequent use of one old adjective proclaims the empty mind or at least the deficient vocabulary.

Swell arguments, however, we now hastily confess, are technical and useless. If a synonym for sanguinary is, by custom, created the favourite of the people, nothing but a change in the fashion can abolish it, and this particular fashion haft endured for a long time. That being the case, it seems reasonable that it should be recognised as a legitimate adjective, entitled to more courteous recognition in the dictionary. But as there are many people whom it may still offend, we should urge our correspondent to regard more tolerantly a mutilation which does not conceal its entirety from anyone, and is, the most, a possibly needless but essentially courteous obeisance to the prejudices of a section of the people. One further word and" we are done. If the “ national adjective ” can, unaccompanied by other reputedly foul expressions, be interpreted in a court of law as “obscene” (we do not know, but suspect this may bo the case), then it is time the roster of obscenities was revised. A futile word it may be, and in certain circumstances an ugly and provoking, but the time has passed when the most squeamish would swoon or become demoralised at the sound of it. From a story by G. K. Chesterton: “The other sat further down the table, dark ami angular, with a hatched face.” Betokening, no doubt, his chicken-heart-edness. Miss Marion Davies, we read, opened a Christinas parcel to find that it contained a perfect bomb. Now, wasn’t that perfectly sweet of someone? An Alpine villager, the cablegrams report, when he opened ids garage on Christmas morning found that rats had nibbled his ear into a heap of refuse. The only appropriate reply to that one seems to be “Rats! ”