Why is United Kingdom singular, whereas United States is plural? Most countries unite in the plural – the United Nations, the United Arab Emirates, the Seven United Provinces of the Netherlands, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, to name a few – for the obvious reason that it takes more than one to form a union. Sometimes, there is no alternative: the United State or the United Nation would have meant something else, and Union of Soviet Socialist Republic wouldn’t have made any sense at all. Likewise Union of South Africa, the British
colonial name used from 1910 until South Africa became a republic in 1961, was a less peculiar option than a union of ‘South Africas’. You don’t want a name that raises more questions than it answers, ‘Popular Front’, ‘Democratic Republic’ etc. Sometimes it seems that it might have been possible to use either the singular or plural form, and a choice was made. In the late 1950s there was the United Arab Republic, a union between Syria and Egypt that only lasted three years and was dominated by the will of Egypt’s President Nasser. Its Arabic form is الجمهورية العربية المتحدة. Google Translate assures me that’s a singular ‘republic’ and perhaps Nasser preferred it that way (ironically, after Syria quit, the United Republic continued for another ten years with Egypt its sole member).
In the British case the kingdoms that were united were: a) Scotland, and b) England-and-Wales, Wales being a principality that hadn’t had its own king since the Norman conquest (I’m not sure where Ireland came into this). The union was made law by the Scottish and English parliaments in their 1707 Acts of Union. I’m no historian, and I haven’t researched it, but I expect the unification into one kingdom was a way of reconciling the fact that both countries had been using the same monarch for about a century: since James VI of Scotland, grandson of Henry VIII, became James I of England. Now the Scots are preparing for a referendum on independence, and thinking about applying for membership of Scandinavia. Is this nitpicking important? Probably not compared to taxation and the profits from North Sea oil, which seem to be the nationalists’ main justifications for voting Scotland independent. But it is quite fun, in the same way that British republicanism is fun (I think). How you see the S may depend on your attitude to change. The Scots may want to discuss with the English whether the final S might become part of a compromise. That unequal Scandinavian relationship that ended in 1905, almost exactly two hundred years after the Acts of British union, was at least known as the United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norway.
There’s no relation between the photographs and the text here. I don’t quite see why there ought to be. We might drink orange juice while we discuss art, without anyone complaining. Rather than merely illustrating a verbal argument, can’t pictures be a a counterpoint or contrast – perhaps even a relief?
Update: From the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Century lots of new words came into English, and during that time England was ruled by Mary I, Elizabeth I, Mary II and Anne I, for a total of roughly sixty years. Since 1952, Britain has had a queen for its monarch, adding another 60 years to the total. Why has England never been called a Queendom? Does such a word exist in other languages?
A Bad Guide 
Not quite. The union of 1707 resulted in the Kingdom of Great Britain (a resurrection of a medieval name for the whole island – Britannia Major, Grande Bretagne, which distinguished it from Bretagne i.e. Brittany). In fact, James VI and I liked to refer to himself as King of Great Britain but neither parliament would discuss union. It was the union of 1801 that resulted in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and the secession of the Irish Free State that led to its becoming the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
And Brittany is so called because it was settled by Britons who fled there while their homeland was being invaded by Irish and Germans in the Dark Ages.
The name Britain, then implying the whole archipelago including Ireland, goes back to at least the Greeks of Massilia/Massalia (now Marseilles) – Prettanike.
There’s a well known genetic defect in Englishmen that precludes their ever quite grasping these matters.
I think I grasp it. The title for the Scottish 1707 act is Act Ratifying and Approving the Treaty of Union of the Two Kingdoms of SCOTLAND and ENGLAND. My question is: shouldn’t we be saying ‘United Kingdoms of Great Britain’? Your point that ‘Great Britain’ originally was a geographic description reaffirms that. We (I, at least) will leave northern Ireland for another time.
For my part, I’m a bit concerned at the discrepancy-for-discrepancy’s-sake turn that Crown’s blog has taken. It seems that Art is making a power bid. In a historical prespective, of course, it’s rather épater-les-bourgeois retro. Is this compatible with family values ?
Perspective
Perhaps some spin doctor of the time said that Kingdoms would be backward looking whereas Kingdom would be forward looking. Or perhaps some Scotsman pointed out that it would save ink if they used the singular.
Three cheers for Topsy, ears flying! and Betty and Alma. No “excuse” needed.
I agree with catannea we don’t need any excuse, I just love the pictures.
A question assault me when I read the post: can’t the singular / plural issue has something to do with the difference between a kingdom and a republic? I mean, a republic is formed by the union of different forces(?) individuals (?), but a kingdom always want to have one head only.
(I’m not sure if my phrase is comprehensible and even less if it has any sense…)
For another sort of prespective, why would I want to épater les bourgeois? I love the bourgeoisie, and what am I if not a discreetly charming member? I can trace my mother’s family’s middleclassness back to the 17C.
Perhaps some Scotsman pointed out that it would save ink if they used the singular
This would explain the whole thing. Thank you.
No “excuse” needed
we don’t need any excuse
Thank you both, but perhaps I just need to acknowledge what’s going on.
Julia, you’re completely comprehensible and maybe you’re on the right track. I’d have expected 2 republics that form a union to become 1 republic, but the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR, now Russia & others) didn’t work that way. So, as dearie said, whether 2 kingdoms that form a union become 1 kingdom may just depend on whether they want to. I don’t think there’s a general rule, either linguistic or political.
I forgot to say, why is there no word Queendom?
Britain has been a queendom for the past 60 years. Many new words came into English in the 16C – 18C, during which time England had Queen Elizabeth I, two Queen Marys and Queen Anne as its monarch. Why was England not called a queendom?
Why isn’t there a “queendom” word ? What would the union of two such be called ?
“Himdom” and “herdom” would have been useful terms, since then a contractual union could be called a “condom”. Large cities in a himdom would be condhiminiums, large cities in a herdom would be conherbations.
You beat me to it, by 4 minutes.
Goodness, what a coincidence!
I’m glad the oddness has struck someone besides me. I was wondering a) whether there had been any discussion of this, either recently or during the past five-hundred years, and b) if there’s a corresponding word for Queendom in other languages.
There’s Queensland, and queenship, and that poem by Wallace Stevens: The Empress of Ice Queen
Queensland’s good, though not perfect.
Does the name “Reginald” have anything to do with Regina ?
There are 78 Reginalds in the OED. Unfortunately they’re all from citations, so there’s no etymology. Wiki seems to think there’s a connection, but the entry’s a bit waffly, I thought. My impression is that the name started in German with one of those Rein-something names and, via Scandinavia, became ‘Reginald’ in English because it sounded like regina. Or something.
If there were an English king called Rex, would they write Rex Rex on the coins?
¡jajajaja!
Thanks.
I presume you have share my laughs (congratulations) with Stu. Have you?
I think the reason for a singular United Kingdom is that it was ruled as one kingdom with one parliament and one treasury, whereas plurals like the United Arab Emirates and the United States are, or at least at the time of foundation were, made up by constituting members retaining much of their independence.
Have you?
I feel it’s implicate. Oh, all right, no. But I will.
Trond, that sounds right, I think. But it’s quite late.
I love these flying Topsy photos.
Our son used to be in a school that had something called “mixed group”: when you were in first grade you were in a class of first and second graders, and the next year you were with the same teacher but you were now one of the older kids. Even though the school called it “mixed group”, my wife tended to call it “mixed groups”. I could see her logic, but I it also made sense to me the other way.
Ostler’s Empires of The Word offers this on “Britain”:
“… the name Britain itself, from a presumably Gaulish term to describe the ancient Britons, ‘the figured ones’ (Pretanoi — Welsh pryd, old Irish cruth, form) from their custom of body painting. Even older might be the name Albion, used in Greek c 300 BC…”
Trond, that sounds right, I think. But it’s quite late.
Yeah, well, it was implied in Dearie’s first comment, but I think you (pl.) lost track of it (sg./abst.) further down. But maybe it was me (sg.) who lost track of you (pl./meton.).
“Albion” seems to have meant the island of Britain and the Greek (also ca 300BC) “Prettanike” referred to the British Isles i.e. the whole archipelago. It seems entirely plausible to me (but what do I know about it?) that the Greeks picked up the word from the Gauls.
William and Mary ruled as joint monarchs so you could also argue for King&Queendom.
<iQueensland’s good, though not perfect.
Particularly where its state governments are concerned.
Or overdevelopment on the Gold Coast.
<iQueensland’s good, though not perfect.
Like my copyreading of HTML.
Yes, I remember that dreadful Bjelke Petersen man who my Queensland relatives used to vote for.
It’s amazing the Greeks were even aware of the British Isles in 300BC, especially when you think that it took another 2200 years for Britons to start taking their summer holidays in the Mediterranean.
Well, it seems that long before that the Phoenicians had been haring about on the high seas, flogging Mediterrean products (wine, olives) to all and sundry. Source: some TV documentary, half understood, half forgotten (the other half).
There was an exploratory sailing from Marseille.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pytheas
Joh Bjelke-Petersen is one of several Kiwi exports to Oz that we are proud of having ditched, Russell Crowe and Derryn Hinch being two others. Bjelke-Petersen is a special case, though, because he was born in between two small towns about 90 kilometres from here and they argue about which one he was from – each says it was the other!
I think the Greatest New Zealander in the World, certainly for those of us who grew up in Britain, must be Sir Keith Park, who won the Battle of Britain in WW2. Park’s not as well-known (at least in Britain) as Sir Edmund Hillary. Though Park’s had some press in the past few years, his reputation was buried for years.
Has anyone heard the word hoosegaw? It means ‘jail’. I just read it in a NY Times article. I’m wondering if I’m alone in not knowing it.
There must have been some novelty for Pythias & co., sailing northwards from the Mediterranean into a colder and colder climate. If the ancient Britons could build Stonehenge, you’d think they would have been able to get to Greece somehow. Even I have managed that.
The Phoenicians – they’re a blast from the past. You don’t hear much about them either, nowadays.
“I’m wondering if I’m alone in not knowing it.” Yup, pa’dner, yo sure are.
Well how did it pass me by?
It’s a Wild West sort of word. But I’ve only ever seen it spelled hoosegow.
My dad always said “hoosegow” [if he’d spellt it he’d’ve spellt it with an o]. If you didn’t know it, shall I tell you before Julia does that it’s really just an American (or other English) colloquial pronunciation from having heard “juzgado” – which is Spanish for courthouse. Lots of places have the lock-up in the court building… but you probably recognized it with no help from me.
Thanks for fixing my name again the other day. Here we go again. Grrr.
I gather it’s a hard g. How can I have missed this word that your dad always said? Was he a cowperson?
Sorry about your name. I really don’t mind fixing it, though.
My dad said it too, but I would say it was in a self-consciously folksy way.
When I first heard it from him I thought it was “cow” not “gow”.
If everyone’s dads said it, does that mean it’s not commonly used nowadays?
Since “hoosegow” originated in juzgado – something I had once read but later forgotten – then phonetically one would expect “hoosegah” (or “hoosegaw”).
I just looked at the article – there is no “hoosegaw” there, only “hoosegow”. Now we will never know whether Crown needs new glasses, or whether the NYT was rudely awakened from its orthographic slumber by shouts of dismay from a Norwegian comment thread.
Or maybe “hoosegow” is not so much off – in one kind of Border Spanish, if I recall rightly, you can hear people say something like juzgao – the “d” is barely audible in that variant pronunciation.
The article has this passage: “Before long, the sole evidence of his operation will be on his walls and on a little bookshelf, next to his cholesterol-control pills and a few envelopes of farina, where seven three-ring binders overflow with letters and pictures, most addressed to ‘Big Hy,’ from appreciative soldiers”.
What is an “envelope of farina” ? Even if it means what it says – an envelope containing some kind of corn or barley meal – what would want with such a thing ?
It’s possible that this farina stuff comes in envelopes, and he keeps them on a shelf in case there’s a flood, or something like that.
I might easily have misread the O as an A.
I think the kind of farina meant is a sort of water-soluble digestive-aid commercial food, associated with the elderly in the way stewed prunes used to be.
Regarding the pronunciation of hoosegow/juzgado, Stu, I can’t think of it without mentioning that in Spanish the word for cod is “bacalao”, but Catalans often say “bacalado” instead of the Catalan “bacallà”, mocking the Andalucian tendency to miss out consonants. I know that’s not the correct linguists’ way to refer to their accent. We once listened to a Malagueña discussing the poor teaching of arithmetic in her children’s school, and exchanged round-eyed looks when she said her children had to add “co’lo’e’o”. If she hadn’t gesticulated we’d never have realized she was saying: “con los dedos”. Only the initial c and the l remained. Malaga was fascinating.
Bacalao is very popular in Norway (and, I believe, Italy) as a dish that uses cod that has been dried on these racks in north Norway. We have it for dinner probably about once a month.
In an indefensibly lackadaisical way, I am preparing a book (who isn’t?) of 101 recipes for bacallà (calligraphed and illustrated…), and back when I lived in the city and had better resources I learned a lot about it, which I’ve now had time to forget. I’d’ve said the cod you have shown us appears to be what is called “peixopalo”: fish + stick – fish-on-a-stick: air-dried cod. Unless so specified, “bacalao”/”bacallà” is salt cod. If I want fresh cod, I have to include the adjective. Peixopalo takes days and days to soak to soften/hydrate it for cooking, while salt cod usually takes only 24-36 hours. If it’s this years…
Yeah. My father was a cowboy among many other things, and spent a lot of time in the hoosegow, as well.
What’re some of your favourite recipes? I’ve got vegetarian visitors coming, but they eat fish…
You mean just in general favourite, or for bacalao?
I love one thing my wife makes, when we have vegetarian guests and at other times. It’s goat cheese grilled on oval-shaped toast with arugula. I suppose it’s a sort of hors d’oeuvre.
I like your book idea.
Bacallà – salt cod or dried cod – recipe[s], please, if you have a favourite? I love chèvre chaud salads – at least usually we put the toasted cheese on top of a bed of assorted leaves as a first course. Damn. I’m fasting. Probably you didn’t want to start a food blog. Sorry.
This http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Salade_mesclun_et_ch%C3%A8vre_chaud_sur_toasts.jpg one doesn’t look very “chaud”, does it? I don’t know how to tidily insert links in comments…
No, that doesn’t look like it’s been anywhere near a grill. And the ones I get have all the arugula and stuff as a bed, as you said. We don’t add mescaline to ours, either.
Yeah. I don’t know that word, actually (although I think I have some in jars in my cupboard). Wikipedia is with you: “any food served prior to the main course is technically an hors d’oeuvre” (how definitive it is!) but I guess I apply it to things that actually come before the first course, and that are eaten without utensils. (A demi-tasse of purée soupe with a tiny spoon I might call an amuse bouche [or an amuse gueule, but I’ve been told not to], but not an hors d’oeuvre. On the other hand, I’m on record using “aperitif” for little food squares, while WiPe sez it’s something you drink. I guess I lose. Funny thing, though, those toasts look as though they were toasted around the cheese.
– If you mean mesclun, since Marie-Lucie isn’t here, I’ll just repeat what it says in Wikipedia:
Somewhere I’ve lived, it’s a name that’s used fairly commonly – maybe it’s New York.
– If you mean arugula, it’s just the New York & Italian for rugula or ‘rocket’, as they call it in the UK.
– If you mean hors d’oeuvre, the name I remember from England for those little things, often served on stale bread, before you get to the table or at parties, is canapés, ‘can o’ peas’ as they’re sometimes known.
It was the “mescaline” I was referring to. I could see what it meant – mixture; but I’ve never heard it before. I do wonder why people say arugula instead of rocket. Just to confuse me, I think!
The canapés – yes! I think of the little toasts as little sofas upon which the fillings recline. Otherwise, why “canapés”? I think I thought “canapés” were hot hors d’oeuvres.
Où est Marie-Lucie?
It’s a NewYork word, eh? “Mesclun.” Thank-you.
“mesclum” de verdes (a mix of different tipe of salads and other green-leaf vegetables) is very common in hip restaurants here in Buenos Aires.
Ah, then I’m even thicker than I thought I was – I thought the “mesclun” was going to be the veg-on-a-stick stuck into the cheese as a garnish. I shouldn’t get fed up with Wikipedia’s loading time. Thank-you.
I’ve known it as arugula for years. In spite of the potential confusion with “rugelach”, I think of this as its real name. The British “rocket” sounds like, well, like a rocket.
To paraphrase Roo, how thick did you think you were?
“Appetizer” sounds crudely American to me, though it is the ordianary or default word in my dialect for something served before the main course.
“Hors d’oeuvres” is what you call it if you are putting on airs, or pretending to put on airs.
“Canapé” is an alternative to the latter, but perhaps has a narrower application, applying only to things in which the bottom layer is something bread-like.
“Starter” sounds laughably British in the same way that “appetizer” (when I try to don British ears) sounds laughably American. Parallel to “lift” and “elevator”.
Is it, “Waiter, we’d like two amuses bouches, please”,
or “Waiter, kindly amuse our bouches” ?
Hello, glad to see everybody. I see you have left a few amuse-gueules for me, thank you!
Amuse-gueule(s) is the right word, Catannea, don’t let prim and proper prudes deter you from using the word. Amuse-bouche just sounds silly.
I used amuse-gueules (“mouth-teasers”) because this seems to be a party and not a preliminary to a meal. You are passing them around on a tray, or perhaps leaving them on a coffee table for the guests to help themselves.
Hors-d’oeuvre(s) could consist of the same types of food, but they are part of a meal, eaten while seated at the table, especially in a formal or semi-formal meal (not an everyday meal at home). Thjey are solid foods – no soup, for instance. My mother used to include radishes, perhaps boiled egg halves, a few anchovies, and usually a fourth item, perhaps olives or grated carrots. Those platters divided into 3 or 4 sections are handy for that type of thing.
m-l, don’t you call those radishes etc. crudités? Except for the anchovies? Apart from carrots, I use all those items in the salade Niçoise that I seem to make for lunch nearly every day now.
Merci, merci! Marie-Lucie. Je viens de perdre un post entier. Je n’ai pas le courage de le refaire. I feel better informed. How thick did I think I was? Pretty thick.: the way I misinterpreted the caption on the WikiPedia image. Thank-you, Marie-Lucie!
Mr Crown, in this context, I’ve just read about a controversy about whether a Salade Niçoise “can” have any cooked ingredients at all – what is your view? What do you do for your lunch?
No one’s ever asked my opinion about food before. How flattering. It’s probably not a ‘real’ salade Niçoise, but it’s closer to that than it is to tunafish salad that you’d get in a New York deli. I’m roughly aiming for a pain bagnat filling.
Tuna,
mixed green stuff including arugula, so-called ‘lamb’s quarters’, etc.
boiled egg,
anchovies,
radishes,
shallots,
small toms,
a tiny bit of diced jalapeno,
basil, corriander etc.
and other appropriate stuff that’s around.
I use a little bit of Norwegian mayonnaise (the world’s best, in my opinion) and an oil, vinegar & lemon dressing (with Coleman’s mustard in).
That sounds delicious. Now I want to SEE it. Then I can copy it and eat it. Except for the Norwegian mayonnaise. I think I have a tin of Coleman’s – in powder form, though…
Having just returned from 6 days in Scotland — first trip there! — I feel I am now an expert and must comment on this. What I learned in Edinburgh:
1. JK Rowling didn’t make up Hogwoarts — she just looked out the window of her coffee shop.
2. Mary Queen of Scots was very tragic, very important, and had very white skin.
3. The Protestants and Catholics really did a number on each other. (I knew that, but I don’t think it sunk in until I’d seen 300 martyr monuments, 25 kirks that were really — who are we kidding? — Catholic cathedrals, and two cities largely built from monastery walls.)
4. The blue-faced actor on the Royal Mile looks just like Mel Gibson.
5. The Scots want to be independent. Just because. It’s really important to them.
Oh, I also discovered that sometimes I really couldn’t understand what anyone was saying.
Lucky you! I was thinking only yesterday that I want to go to Edinburgh. In my case it’s because I’m reading one of those Alexander McCall Smith books, and I keep having to look places up on google maps: for instance George IV Bridge, which isn’t a bridge at all, and Saxe Coburg Street. Will these names be enscotified, I wonder, in the independent Scotland? Anyway, Edinburgh looks beautiful, and with global warming maybe it will have a perfect climate. The Buenos Aires of the north.
25 kirks that were really — who are we kidding? — Catholic cathedrals,
Yes, this is why I hate Henry VIII, England’s biggest vandal.
It was beautiful, although bitterly cold and mostly rainy, and a bit down at the heel in some areas.And much of it does look as if the entire city were fortified behind 4-foot-thick walls with turrets and towers, prepared for an attack. But in New Town you can walk lovely streets of Georgian houses and pretend you are on the way to tea and a discussion of moral conundra. Conundrums. Whatever. The bridge streets should be better explained on maps. I had plotted out a walk from the train station to hotel that involved “turn left off North Bridge Street” — which would have involved a 50-foot drop to the pavement of the street I wanted to be on. I definitely want to go back at theater festival time — it must be something, what with street performers and sidewalk cafes and ALL THAT SINGLE MALT SCOTCH. Ahem. Sorry for shouting, but there must be 3000 kinds.
The religion thing must still be a problem, otherwise they could form a group with Ireland.
I’d like to go to see the Festival too.
Yes, I was raised, partially, in the Presbyterian Church and those cathedrals are just so not Presbyterian.
If you tried ten different scotches a day, you could try them all in under a year, then. That would work.
Dogs. That’s another good thing about Scotland. There is a special cemetery in the castle for soldier’s worthy dogs. Walter Scott has been immortalized in Carara marble with his beloved dog Maida. And then there is Bobby, the loyal dog who lay on his master’s grave until he died. He was buried in the most prominent spot in the cemetery, marked by a gravestone paid for by city residents.
You are, as you can imagine, strongly encouraged to try as many scotches as you can, every day, all day. It’s hard to stay sober there.
What a country. I’d read about Bobby in this McCall book. I wonder if they have any goat cemeteries? One has to think ahead, start saving up, etc.
Is it called North Bridge, or North Bridge Street? The map I am looking at reminds me that as you go south it turns into South Bridge (Street?), then Nicolson Street, Clerk Street, South Clerk Street, (The?) Newington Road, Mayfield Gardens, and Craigmillar Park, all in a few miles. When I (briefly) lived there years ago, I felt that it would be convenient to have also a unified name for the whole of this major thoroughfare that I walked or rode along so frequently.
I never got over my first glimpse of the place: I hadn’t known that upon sleepily stepping out of the train station at dawn one could look up and see a castle gleaming in the sky.
It sounds marvelous, I can’t wait.
Have you both been to Glasgow too? I think Stu said he once went there, & I expect dearie’s been.
Well, it wouldn’t have been quite the same if I had known in advance about the castle in the sky. Sorry. Also, the sun is usually not out. But this first glimpse was pretty much enough to convince me and my then wife to return for a long stay another time.
I think of Glasgow as being related to Edinburgh as the Morlocks are to the Eloi in Wells’s Time Machine. Not that I’ve read it since I was about 12. And not that I’ve ever been to Glasgow.
You’re right, Empty — it’s just North Bridge, and it is, in fact, a bridge of sorts hovering over Cowgate and other little streets, which are in ravines — highly populated ravines. The weather was pretty terrible — mostly 6 degrees C and rain, but with a few hours of sunlight from time to time. I have a slightly — well, very — ridiculous raincoat and hat that makes me look like I ought to be on the label of a can of clam chowder – Ahoy maties! Thar she blows! — that I wore every single day. And still got drenched.
It was Arthur’s Seat that made me gasp — the oddest-looking (to me, anyway) chunk of rock and grass (with bright yellow gorse) rising up like a huge vegetal and mineral ship. I didn’t go to Glasgow, although an editor I’m in touch with tried to lure me there for the day. He insisted that Glasgow was a “real” city and Edinburgh was a twee little place not worth more than an afternoon’s visit. I did go to St Andrews, which I loved instantly: a medieval market town of stone with a great towering university and the kind of ruins on the craggy coast that make you start spouting Burns or imagining ghosts. Great pounding waves and screaming gulls. There’s even a small aquarium, which I had to visit (because I’m a child). A few nice seals, mercats (odd, but there you are), and a bright blue lobster. The lobster made my day.
And did I mention the bright yellow fields of rape or the sheep and baby lambs or the little stone cottages or the vast sand beaches….
What were mercats doing at an aquarium; just visiting? Apparently mercat is also the Scottish for ‘market’.
I want to go to Glasgow to see the Mackintosh buildings, like Hill House & Glasgow School of Art. And the tea rooms.
I see that Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s birthday is one day before mine & Frank Lloyd Wright’s. Coincidence? *
*Yes.
The mercats were part of some study, and the aquarium people were very wry about them. And made mercat/mercat puns. In Edinburgh I was taken with the India Buildings (not smart enough to put in link), which were part of the “let’s make the entire city look like it came out of a Walter Scott novel” movement. The Mackintosh buildings are very fine, too. And Charlotte Square — just breathtaking. There’s a neat Georgian house there that’s been opened as a museum, and you really get a sense of what it was like to live there in 1820 or so. I ADORE house museums, and Edinburgh is full of them. You get to go underground to the former old town tennaments, see a 17th century house with a preserved painted wooden ceiling… The Mary Queen of Scots rooms at Holyrood Palace were also very wonderful.
Thank you, that’s really good to know. At least for now, I can look on my computer.
I lost track of the thread here, but I’ll say that In Norwegian the word farin means “raffinated sugar”. Somebody told me it happened because sugar for the Norwegian market was packed in second-hand flour sacks. I don’t know… It’s the same person who told that the ananas got its name when the B was scratched off second hand banana boxes.
Nice to hear all about Edinburgh. I went to Edinburgh once, by train from London. The train was full of young boys in kilts, wearing identical jackets. They were returning to school after a holiday of some kind. I intended to go back to London in stages, stopping in different cities, but I liked Edinburgh so much I stayed there for the whole two weeks I had planned. I did not have a guide, and just walked around, and once took a bus to Oban. It would be nice to go back there.
George IV Bridge is a bridge of course, much like South Bridge and North Bridge. “The Protestants and Catholics really did a number on each other”: actually, by European standards the Reformation was remarkably unbloody, probably because the Roman Catholic church was a thoroughly decayed institution: one puff and it tumbled down. (Twenty five cathedrals? Someone has been pulling your leg.) The big religious bloodshed came later in the Bishops’ Wars, which were about the Stuart monarchy trying to force Episcopacy, in the style of the Church of England, on a country which was keen not to have it. The Presbyterians won in the end, both in terms of church organisation and politically – they established that the King ruled by invitation of Parliament, not by Divine Right. There’s a lovely expression in the Claim of Right that gives the spirit of the late 17th century rather well: “Whereas King James the Seventh… did by the advice of wicked and evil counsellors, invade the fundamental constitution of this Kingdom and altered it from a legal limited monarchy, to an arbitrary despotic power…” You’ll see that King James had trodden a path that American Presidents have been exploring since – Jefferson? Jackson? Lincoln?
Oh aye, and visiting Glasgow to enjoy Rennie Mac is very well worth doing.
25 kirks that were really — who are we kidding? — Catholic cathedrals
This is indeed impossible. A cathedral is not just a big and ornate church: it is literally the church of a bishop, and you can’t have twenty-five bishops residing in the same city! The word cathedral (originally an adjective) comes from Greek cathedra meaning ‘chair’, and the bishop is kind of the ‘chairman’ of a diocese, residing in its ‘seat’.
I used to think that you couldn’t have twenty-five cats in one house, but there are a few people who manage it. Perhaps if you found some bishops of very easy-going disposition, or very hungry ones.
m-l, your Edinburgh story warms my heart. The place does seem to affect people that way. What did you like so much about it?
I was in Edinburgh several times in the early 1970’s. So much did I like it, I would move there rather than anywhere else – should a time come when I didn’t like living in Germany anymore, which is fairly improbable.
Trond; In Norwegian the word farin means “raffinated sugar” [it’s called ‘granulated’ sugar in Britain, where they also have ‘caster’ sugar, which is finer in both senses]. Somebody told me it happened because sugar for the Norwegian market was packed in second-hand flour sacks
I’ve often wondered about this. I still find it very confusing that farin is sugar and not flour. While I’m at it, I never liked ‘mel et lac’ for ‘honey & milk’ in Latin. Mel looks like ‘milk’, and we say ‘milk and honey’ anyway, so I always confused the two words.
Well, let’s make plans to all meet in Edinburgh some time!
I don’t remember why I liked Edinburgh so much, but I did. I stayed at the YWCA and enjoyed the company of the other girls there. Among them was an American woman from Anchorage, Alaska. I was amazed that someone would come from such an out of the way place and did not imagine that I would actually go there many years later! I saw her again in a museum in London when I returned there just before going back to France. Once you meet people, you will recognize them, while you ignore strangers you have never seen before.
M-L, I know you like detective stories and Edinburgh. Have you read the Sunday Philosophy Club series, by Alexander McCall Smith? I think there are three books. You might like them; they have excellent descriptions of the city, and they’re well thought out. They’re not exactly bursting with exciting plot twists, and they’re cozy rather than grim or shocking.
>marie-lucie
That’s right. However there are sometimes “concatedrales”* when the bishop has a diocese with two sees. For example, here in Extremadura there are two cases: the diocese of Coria-Cáceres (two towns with cathedral in Coria, where the bishop lived until 70’s if I remember well), and the diocese of Mérida-Badajoz (cathedral in Badajoz).
*I’m sorry; I didn’t find a translation. Here “con” is a prefix with the meaning of aggregation.
An aggregat, in Norwegian, is an electrical generator.
>A. J. P. Crown
That’s interesting; then an “aggregated cathedral” could be related to light and God in the other post.
I want to add to my last com a good anecdote that my father told me about the Coria-Cáceres diocese When the last bishop (I knew him) leaved Coria to go to Cáceres, Coria’s people got very angry so they wrote at the door of this see: “this stable for sale owing to a lack of donkey.”
Sorry about the weather, Mab. It’s been foul for most of us for April and early May: cool, and bucketing with rain. The weather expert in the Telegraph points out that for its first 10 days of May, Charlwood (in Surrey i.e. the edge of London) had only 7 hours of sunshine. By contrast in the last 10 days of March, when the days are three hours shorter, it had more than 100 hours.
The sunniest spot for those first 10 days of May was Tirree in the Inner Hebrides (i.e. in the Western Isles of Scotland) with 94 hours. So – not far from Edinburgh, but not close enough.
Anyway, the downpours mean that much of England has now been declared free of drought, but not the South East. Great: we’ll have the Olympics with an official drought probably going on. No good can come of these Olympics, I tell you.
My one spring in Edinburgh was, in memory, a damp one. February: not really winter, just very dark, and sort of moist and green. March: a bit more daylight, moist and green. April: still more hours of (moist and dim) daylight. Moist and green. May: the trend continues. June: lots and lots of daylight hours, but still lots of clouds and rain, moist and green. July: much the same, but of course the days getting a bit shorter again. August: ditto, and time to go home. Six months of spring, no real summer or winter as I understand them, but a marvelously long spring.
I went to Edimburg for a few days in 1995, and I loved it. Let’s meet there some time, please, it’s a wonderful idea.
Crown, I just downloaded lots of McCall books in my Kindle… I will take them to the Cataratas del Iguazú (we’re travelling there tomorrow for 5 days, they say the falls are amazing)
http://www.iguazu.com.ar/
These books have much the same feel as that long-ago spring in Edinburgh. Mild, cozy, not terribly exciting or challenging, but just what you need if that’s what you need.I read the “Scotland Street” series and (with a little less enthusiasm) the “Philosophy Club” series, and never got to the other series(es), although I think the “Ladies Detective” series (set not in Scotland but somewhere in Africa) is also very good stuff.
Thanks for the reading suggestion. I have read one of McCall’s African books and liked it very much. I have been intending to read the Philosophy Club series. I don’t think I have heard of the Scotland Street series but will try to look for it. I buy these kinds of books when I find them, then save them to read during my next plane trip.
RAIN.
John Lennon.
(These are the views of John Lennon. Me, I hate the stuff, but it’s still one of my favourite Beatles’ records & Lennon lyrics. And of course rain can be very different somewhere where it’s warm and sunny most of the time. He wrote this in Australia, apparently.)
I’ve been to Edinburgh twice. I, too, love the city. I’ve thought it’s because it reminds me som much of Bergen. I first was there some seven or eight years ago for a weekend with my office. It was late April. Nice weather but a cold wind.Then again for three days with my wife and kids and my brother last summer. Beautiful, hot summer.
We actually did the slow trip south. First for a day and half in York, then just for the day in Manchester, a week in North Wales, and finally a couple of days in London.
When I’m in Edinburgh I always (huh-huh) buy a coupie of Ian Rankin’s Inspector Rebus novels. I read some of them in Norwegian, but the early books haven’t been translated.
I also had a weekend in Glasgow with my wife a couple of years ago. I could well go back there too. In Glasgow I buy Denise Mina.
(This summer we’re making a similar stray through southern Germany. We had just planned to do so when Crown kindly happened to give us a destination.)
More of a pilgrimage, I’d call it.
“making a similar stray”: the Scottish verb is ‘to stravage’.
Great: we’ll have the Olympics with an official drought probably going on. No good can come of these Olympics, I tell you.
Make everyone bring some water with them.
Next year we’ll have to do Japan. If the results of my struggle to tweak a meaningful answer out of Google Translate and Wikipedia are to be believed, it means something like “the name of it all”.
You should ask Bathrobe, at Languagehat. He seems to know everything Japanese. I think he’s also on facebook if you want to ask him there.
I’m not on Facebook, so I’ll try Hat’s. But given the sad state of the treasures of the 延元 dynasty, the matter doesn’t look all that pressing anymore.