The Wanganui Chronicle. "Nulla Dies Sine Linea." THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1922. “TWANG” AND “SLANG.”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXVI, Issue 18432, 16 March 1922, Page 4

The Wanganui Chronicle. "Nulla Dies Sine Linea." THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1922. “TWANG” AND “SLANG.”

Public attention was recently drawn to the alleged development of an undesirable “twang” in the language of the rising generation. An Australian writer finds an even more serious cause for complaint in the growing prevalence of slang. To the young colonial, he says, the English language seems to be totally inadequate to express modern, everydaythought. Instead of undergoing the usual evolution by the slow process of analogy, English is apparently being revolutionised, for the youth of the day imbibes correct language at schools and universities, and immediately “scraps” the lot-—to use its own method of expression—in favour of the more modern language of the times. It is a matter-of-lact age and brevity of sentiment brings its own recommendation. Poetic thought Is disdained as holding no place in a commercial and moving era, and where the poet would have said with a pretty imagery, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” the enterprising. youth of to-day waves a flippant hand and says, "Hop in! the time is Jake.” This language appears to be all that can be desired in lucidity and expressiveness to those who know -its mysteries, but it is apt to be rather confusing to those of an older generation. In respect to a difference of opinion, one of the old school might expect something of this kind:—“Your argument is not exactly logical, Smith, and you are working from wrong premises. Now, with regard to this point, etc., etc.”; but you don’t, get anything so polite. Modern youth listens casually to the opponent’s argument, and then, with a “consigned to oblivion” gesture, says tersely and laconically, “Over ripe,” and dismisses the whole subject into the limbo of forgotten things. At one time slang aud profanity were the sole prerogatives of the male sex, but we fear the writer from whom we have quoted is quite I within the truth when he declares that the present-day young woman, with both arms outstretched for her “rights,” is catching some of the undesirable elements in respect to language, and the acquisition does not become her. Adjectival eloquence does not grace the average person, and be safely left to the proverbial bullock driver, or the profane street gamin who, when asked where he had learnt such horrible language, proudly said, “Larn it! Yer can’t larn it, gov’ner; it’s a bloomin’ gift.” A few years if one person called another a dirty dog it was instantly a matter for an improvised pugilistic exhibition, with a job for an ambulance at the end of it. Gradually, the term evolved into “a dusty bow-wow,” and the facetious joker obeyed the dictum of Owen Wister’s Virginian when, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, he said, “When you call me that, smile!" Now it has reverted unblushingly to the original, and young girls and lads gaily call one another “dirty dogs,” to the accompaniment of a smile resembling a caress. Such are the vagaries of language iu the hands of modernity. The writer places on record a particularly illuminating incident.

Quite recently I visited a picture theatre at which a star, featuring “Snowy” Baker, was the chief attraction. Seated beside me were two young girls of sixteen years or more. One in particular impressed me by her ladylike appearance. With a lorehead which might, in the concentrated and descriptive language of the hour, be called a “high brow,” she appeared to be the personification of gentle and lofty thought. I was soon to have my phrenological reading proved grossly incorrect; or, in other words, I came a thud—the sort that applies to the mind only, and leaves no broken bones or concussion in its wake. When manly heroism fought villainy in the name of unprotected womanhood, this young lady grew intensely excited, and at last, from a mouth which would have graced a Cupid, came these elevating words:—-“Jump on him, Snowy; kill the dirty brute; that’s right, tap the beggar on the scone.” I presumed that, in,the absence ot any bakers’ commodities in the vicinity, that she meant the miscreant’s head. That night I decided to read up the subject of phrenology again, and to revise my previous knowledge of a very confusing subject. This new and seemingly fascinating mode of expression—it cannot truthfully be called language—is invading every walk of life, and there really does seem to be ample justification for fearing that we are In danger of adopting a whole slang vocabulary, with only the decorative portion composed of the original English. Exaggeration and the illuse of terms are other features deplored by this seemingly old-fash-ioned pleader for the purification of our language. Anything that stirs the emotions ever so slightly is alternately “loathed” or “adored.” The “flapper’s” gown is a positive “dream,” and the latest strawberryiced confection is “heavenly.” The bride looks “sweet,” and the turkey and trifle are "goffeeous.” A languid feeling is described as “frightfully tired," and the person mildly disliked is an "odious creature.” Old fashioned or not, surely there is wisdom in the contention that idle tricks of expression and gross exaggeration are not necessary when we have a language so rich and full at our command. II we turn to the

works of our great 'Znglish writers of prose and verse, we do not find them’hampered to any extent by inadequacy of the English language. It is the medium of our national thought now as then, and it behoves us to keep it unsullied and as free as possible from those things which, when carried to excess, rob it of much of its beauty.