THE TASMAND "SLANGUAGE"

Cue (NZERS), Issue 37, 15 December 1945, Page 31

THE TASMAND "SLANGUAGE"

7N the evolution of language is the story of human development. Language is the coursing of blood through the veins of society; it is alive, it is essential, never static, always growing, changing, merging strange new meanings into old words, evolving new onesjust as society itself is continually moving from one stage of development to another.

The New Zealand (and Australian) way of life is so far removed from that of our English cousins that it was inevitable that a colloquial language to suit our different environment would emerge. New Zealand, with its vaster, greener, more silent bush, its less intimate country-side, and its absence, of rolling downlands and depressing English fogs; with its fresh air and sunlight unenclosed by the dun-coloured bricks of English cities, has made the modifications and additions referred to as “slang” almost a necessity.

New Zealand’s early history has much in common with the beginnings of Australia—New Zealand had its convicts and exiles too, mostly escaped from Australia. Much of the vigour of Australian slang has been inherited from these convicts and adventurers who were her first settlers, and because they were the type of people most inclined to use unorthodox English speech. So, although to a lesser degree, was this the case with New Zealand. One can not allow wishful thinking to blind one to the facts of history, for the first book written of New Zealand (in 1807) referred to the white populat-

ion as “some of the lowest profligates in Europe”.

The whaling fraternity added their contribution with the argot of the seven seas, which was described in 1845 by another author on New Zealand as “unintelligible to the stranger.” among the terms he listed were "spuds” (potatoes), “mob” (party of men) and heifer (a woman). None of these was in use in England at the time. "Spuds” was not listed in the Oxford Dictionary until 1860, so that its appearance in New Zealand fifteen years before would perhaps support the claim that this now widely used word is New Zealand born.

There is a close affinity between Australian and New Zealand slang because of its more or less common origin. “Bush,” meaning wood or forest, originated in both countries about the same time, but there is a fine distinction of its meaning in each. Several dozen derivatives are commonly used both in Australia and New Zealand, among them bush-telegraph, bush-lawyer, bush -baptist, bush-whacker and bushman. In New Zealand “bush” always means forest, but in the Commonwealth it merely means “the country” and is often applied to tracts of open land without any trees at all! However, in both countries the term “bushed” (to be lost) applies anywhere, even in a city.

While on the subject of origins, it should be noted that we owe the early currency of “Paheka” and “Maori” to the original white inhabitants of our country. These terms are probably two

of the most important contributed by New Zealand to the English language. “Pakeha”, we have been led to believe was derived from an expletive of which early inhabitants are reported to have been inordinately fond. However, there are at least six different theories on the word’s origin and the current popular belief may finally be ousted by the “flea” explanation (from “keha,” a flea, together with the causative “pa”). Fleas were introduced to New Zealand by Europeans.

The name “Maori” was not used by the natives themselves; they did not call themselves “Maoris” nor their language “Maori”, since the nearest approach they had to that term was an adjective meaning “native”, “indigenous” or “common”. When they described themselves as “tangata Maori”, that expression signified no more than the ordinary common inhabitants in contrast to the newcomers. It was merely a quirk of English misunderstanding that changed the adjective into a noun. This change took place before 1815 and while “Maori” was destined to become a noun of great significance to New Zealand, “kanaka”, which is only another form of “tangata”, has become current throughout the whole of the Pacific for a Polynesian native.

“Enzedder” and “Pig Islandef” were terms that made their appearance considerably later than 1837, when “New Zealander” was first applied to inhabitants of other than native origin. The use of the initials “N. Z.” for the country has a long history dating back to 1793.

New Zealand slang has its roots in English slang, which had a start of many centuries on American. For example, “cove’’ (man), “plant” (to hide) and “shop-lift” were in use in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Though not specifically applied to clothes, “duds” was descriptive of personal possessions in Shakespeare’s day.

The universality of slang is perhaps one of its most important features. We

find Australian and New Zealand terms used in Britain and America, just as we can find English slang used in the United States. American slang, of course, thanks to Hollywood, has wide currency in the other English-speaking countries. For this reason, it is sometimes difficult to trace a country’s own native-born slang words as many, fondly imagined to be indigenous, have had their their origins elsewhere. “Squatter”, “larrikin”, “cobber” and “dinkum”, for example, used in both Australia and New Zealand, have been inherited from English dialects.

Up to the twentieth century the evolution of our slang was, because of these origins, an even process, but from then on there was a speeding up. New Zealand slang became grown up, concerned not so much with rural life, but with a faster rate of living. It was also more confident of its background, less concerned with English idiom. The youth of the country was now New Zeal-and-born.

Perhaps the first event of the new century to give New Zealanders a sense that they had an identity apart from the supplying of primary produce to England, was the success of the 1905-6 footballers. The name “All Blacks”, coined to describe them (and all subsequent New Zealand Representative Footballers), remains as a record of the birth of the national spirit of the inhabi-

tants as New Zealanders and not English emigrants. They became known as “Fernleaves” and “Kiwis”. By 1915 many of them were “Anzacs” and “diggers”. (They are now, of course “Kiwis”, “digs” or “grim digs” —a metamorphasis brought about as older soldiers fade from the scene). World War I brought many new term—“Bill Masseys” for army boots; “shot full of holes” and later just “shot” for drunk; “cootie”, from the Maori “kuti”, for louse; “just quietly” for “between you and me”; and many others. The need to find some outlet for pent-up feelings resulted in “Blimey Charlie!”, “By Christchurch!”, and the inevitable “That’ll be the day!”, with all its now odious variations. Some that came, but not to stay, were also the result of the First N.Z.E.F.’s sojourn in Egypt— “maleesh” comes to mind, though another, “bukshee”, stood the test of time.

“Snork” is purely New Zealand, as also are “batch” (turned from a verb to a noun in our country), “have a sale” (to vomit), “poled” (stolen), “give a person his running shoes”, “goory” (from the Maori “kuri”), “dingbats”, “tripehound”, “crawler”; as well as such children’s terms as “whopcacker”, “snitcher”, “snitch”, “bottler”, and their popular farewell expression, “hooray!”

Australia is responsible for many of New Zealand’s more colourful words and expressions, and although many of

either country have little or no currency on the other side of the Tasman, in certain features there is the closest link. With the common reliance on primary production, it is only natural that we should have borrowed such terms as “bail up” (a cow), “billy” (from the aboriginal “billa”) “backblocks”, “rouseabout”, “swagman” and “dray”. Our “social” borrowings are no less extensive; we would be lost without “dinkum”, “cobber”, “hard case”, “wowser” “Pommie”, “skite”, “financial” and “holding” and the verb “to barrack”. “To argue the toss”, “do the block”, “stoush’, “tucker”, “graft”, “crook” (meaning state of health) are words and phrases that come easily to both New Zealand and Australian tongues. We “shout” drinks, occupy “pozzies”, “go crook” when annoyed and call a sixpence a “zack”. The Australian term for strong drink, “plonk”, is particularly well-known to us.

Out of World War II will come new additions to the New Zealand slang dictionary—“out the monk”, “clueless”, “mocker”; “grouse” is already there but “groppi” will go above it-“Teds” will replace the “Jerries” and “Fritzes” of the last war when referring to the vanquished . These and the many others known to us all are already so firmly entwined in soldier jargon that they will persist in civilian life. Slang has a strange aptitude for surviving prejudices against it.