Milk

I doubt there are many animals that drink milk from other species, but it seems that we have been doing so for a very long time. The word itself is certainly ancient.

If we go back to Middle English, we can find several different forms of the word. It was variously spelt milc, meolc, melc, melk and even the familiar milk. Not much change from that period up until the present day, it would seem.

There are still regions today where the vowel is pronounced more like /e/ than the standard /i:/ . Let’s take a look at an example from 1398. It has been taken from Trevisa’s translation from Latin into English of Bartholomaeus’s De Proprietatibus Rerum, or On the Properties of Things:

Ivy..multiplieþ melk in geet.

(Ivy increases milk in goats).

Here, it has been written as melk. This version of the word is closer to the Old English forms meoluc and meolc and occasionally meoloce. Let’s take a look at an example from Old English:

Gáte geallan meng wið cú-meoluc

(Mingle goat’s gall with cow’s milk)

This is from Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of early England, a collection of writings published in the 1800s, dating back to the late ninth century. Another example, this time from 1072, is from the Old English text Codex Exoniensis (or Exeter Book):

Mid lytle meolc wætere gemengedre

(With a little milk mixed with water)

So you can see that the word has not changed a great deal since that time. But where did it come from? Well, it has a number of cognates in other Germanic languages, such as German Milch, Dutch and Norwegian melk, Danish mælk, Swedish mjölk (from Old Norse mjolk). These have helped to trace the word back to Proto-Germanic and *meluk, with the same meaning as today’s word.

We can take a further step back in time and trace *meluk to the Proto-Indo-European root *melg-, meaning ‘wipe, rub off, stroke’. This would have developed in sense through the hand motion needed when milking an animal. It has a modern cognate today in Greek; αρμέγω [armego], which means ‘to milk (an animal)’.

It is also cognate with Latin mulgere, which meant ‘to milk’, and this is an interesting connection, as ‘emulsion’ is derived from mulgere, via French into English. This means that milk and emulsion are distant cousins!

Lamb

In the spirit of Easter, I have decided to look at the animal that has traditionally been on the table at this time. Lambs have long featured in Christian symbolism, from sacrificial lambs of the Old Testament, to Christ as the Lamb of God.

However, our focus today is on the word in English. It is an intriguing tale. Today the word is lamb, and in Old English, it was also lamb, or also lambe, as you will see in the example. Why should this be intriguing, you might wonder.

Well, the thing is that despite its ancient and modern forms being the same, if we go to the intervening period of Middle English, we will find a difference. Let’s take this example from 1398. It comes from Trevisa’s translation of Bartholomaeus Anglicus’s De Proprietatibus RerumOn the Properties of things. I have mentioned this work before – it is a kind of early encyclopaedia.

          Among alle the bestes of þe erþe, þe lomb is þe most Innocent, softe, and mylde.

Among all the beasts of the earth, the lamb is the most innocent, soft and mild.

As you can see in this example, lamb is lomb. It also appears in Middle English as lombbe, loumbe, lomp, lomber. Occasionally, it is also lambre, lambur, lamp. Does the frequent appearance of the /r/ suggest a pronunciation that crept into Middle English, different from Old English, but that was lost again before the modern era? Read on and find out!

Now let’s look at our example from Old English. This comes from the Homilies of Aelfric, dating to around 990.

          Hé gefullode ðone wulf and geworhte tó lambe

          He baptised the wolf and made it a lamb

The word in this example looks more like what we recognize today. What does this mean? Does it suggest that either the word went through a circle in terms of pronunciation, and gradually returned to the starting point of Old English, or that it remained constant in some dialects of English, and those were the versions that prevailed?

Well, things are not so simple. The plural in Old English was lomberu. This provides us both with the /r/ and the /o/ vowel and it is not hard to imagine how a plural form might come to be used in the singular.

Can we trace the word further back in time? Well, we can, but not very far. A form has been proposed in Proto-Germanic*lambaz. There are cognates in other Germanic languages, such as Dutch and German, that help to reconstruct this form. But there are no known cognates outside the Germanic languages, and it doesn’t seem to be related to another recognizable root.

Problem

I was very surprised recently when someone asked me why this word is used in other languages. “Obviously,” the speaker said, “they took it from English!” I thought at first that this had to be a joke, but no. It was completely serious.

The word problem in this form is indeed English today, just as many other words that started out in other languages are also English. But it did not originate in English. We find our earliest references for it in English in the 14th century, in Middle English. This example is taken from the Wycliffite Bible, from 1382:

Þei seidyn to þe wif of Sampson, ‘fage to þi man & moeue hym þat he schewe to þee what betokneþ þe probleme (Judg.14.15)

They said to Sampson’s wife “go to your husband and get him to show you what the problem signifies.”

As you can see, its form here is more or less the same as today: probleme. But apart from its modern meaning, it could also mean a riddle, a mathematical problem, a puzzle, a difficulty or a scientific question that invited investigation. In this respect, it has changed.

The Middle English word came from Old French problème, the same form as in Modern French today. It was contributed to French by Latin, from the form problema, which in turn came from the Greek πρόβλημα – it is a bone of contention as to whether this should be pronounced /provlima/ as in Modern Greek, or /problima/. Unfortunately, there are no native speakers of Ancient Greek left around to ask!

Now, let’s examine the components of the word. It is made up of two elements: προ + βλήμα (pro + blima). The first element is seen in a number of other words, and means “front, forward, before”. Moving onto the second part of the word, we find that it comes from a verb: βάλλω. This is the source of another word that we readily recognize in English: ballistics. This might give you a clue as to what it meant, as it was ‘throw’. (In Modern Greek it means ‘put, place’.)

So in problem we have “thing that is thrown forward”. This could indeed be a problem in its modern sense! And it is one of those words that has travelled around the world, with examples such as French problème, Italian problema, Russian проблема, Welsh problem, to name but a few.

Spoon

This post is dedicated to Robyn and Daz

No longer merely a humble eating or cooking implement, the spoon also has its place in the world of those suffering from chronic illnesses as the Spoon Theory becomes more popular.

Perhaps this will affect the meaning of the word in the future. But here we shall deal more with the past and the origins of the word.

In Middle English we can find it in various forms, such as spon, spoun, spun, spones and occasionally even spoon. But things are not as clear cut as you might at first think. It was not used simply to refer to an eating tool. Consider this example from 1450, taken from A Treatise on Horses, a Late Middle English text by Anne Charlotte Svinhufvud;

          Take a drie stikke of wyþi or of hasel & þwyte þer-on longe sponus

Take a stick of willow or of hazel and whittle to a long sliver

Here, the meaning is clearly nothing to do with its current counterpart! But it did also mean ‘spoon’ in the current sense in Middle English, as in this example from 1395, to be found in Chaucer’s Squire’s Prologue:

a ful long spoon That shal ete with a feend.

So the word had more than one meaning, and it seems likely that the one arose from the other. Spoons as tools for eating or cooking were made of wood, and may have originally just been seen as long slivers – perhaps the earliest ones were like long, flat spatulas. Their shape evolved, but the name for them had already become settled.

This theory gains even more weight when we see how the word was used in Old English. This quote comes from Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Baedae Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum), which is thought to have been completed in 731:

          Monige of ðam treówe ðæs hálgan Cristes mǽles spónas and sceafþan nimaþ

Many are used to chip small slivers from the wood of the holy cross

The other theory is that the meaning in common use today may have evolved from Old Norse sponn, which also meant spoon. However, the Old Norse word was very much like the Middle English word in that it meant ‘chip, splinter, sliver’ in addition to ‘spoon’, so it is very hard to say today whether the Old English word spon evolved the extra sense independently, or whether it was influenced by Old Norse. In any case, the Old Norse and Old English words are cognates, both coming from the Proto-Germanic root *spenu-, which may have meant “wooden chip/ splinter”.

This can be further traced back to Proto-Indo-European and the root *spe-, which would have meant ‘long flat piece of wood, splinter’. Possible cognates of this can be found in Greek. The word σπαθή [spathe] which in Modern Greek means ‘sword’, but used to be ‘spade’ is one, and another possibility is σφήνα [sfina], which means ‘wedge’. However, these possible connections are not universally accepted. If correct, it would make ‘spade’ a cognate of ‘spoon’!

On Radical and Radishes

Radical

These days, if we think of the word radical, various organisations might come into mind, of religious or political significance. A quick look at the dictionary (I used the Merriam Webster) gives the meaning as:

very new and different from what is traditional or ordinary

 

            very basic and important

 

            having extreme political or social views that are not shared by most people.

It came into English in the 14th century, but at that time it had quite a different meaning. Let’s take a look at an example from 1398. This is taken from John Trevisa’s translation into English of Bartholomaeus’s On the Properties of Things, (De proprietatibus rerum) which was a kind of early encyclopaedia.

Þe onyoun..haþ þer vnder oþere rootes..and þerby..radical humour is ysent in to al þe herbe.

The onion has other roots underneath and thereby a radical feeling is sent through all of it.

Here, the word is used to mean ‘pertaining to roots”. This makes sense, as the word was taken from Late Latin radicalis, meaning ‘of roots/ about roots/ having roots’. This comes from Latin radix, meaning ‘root’, and was formed from the genitive form radices.

As the roots are perceivably where a plant starts, it started to take on a more figurative meaning of basic’ or ‘origin’ as time went on.

To trace our word further back in time, we will go to another word that also has the same <ahem> root. This is of course radish.

Radish

Radish, meaning the vegetable, can be found in Old English as rǽdic. An example is in Leechdoms, Wortcunning and Starcraft of Early England:

Syle ðane rǽdic tó þicganne

A radish takes in a muddy place

The source of rǽdic is the same as that of radical: Latin radix. There are a number of cognates in other languages which have allowed us to trace it to Proto-Indo-European and the root *wrad, meaning none other than ‘root’. We can see examples in Greek ρίζα [riza], Gothic waurts, Old English wyrt and wrotan, Welsh gwraidd and others. You can read more on the word root here.

So, does this mean that a radish is radical? Or that if you are radical you are really a radish?! On the first point, given that a radish is a root, you could describe it as radical in the sense in which the word first entered English, although perhaps not with today’s generally understood meaning. The jury is still out on the second point!

A Springtime Poem

Season’s Turn

A chill lies upon the silent ground

The last tendrils of winter, ruling still.

But a sound breaks through the air,

A flutter of wings, a twig falling from a beak,

In a flash of blue-black and white

The swallow chirrups, calling in the change

And Change answers!

The sun peeps from behind the clouds

Green shoots burst up from below

A freshness is upon us, banishing the chill

With the promise of brighter skies,

Young buds, nests of feathered song

A warm dance of life;

Spring

This is my entry for this month’s Salt and Caramel Writer’s Workshop

Garlic

Today I am excited to announce a new type of article. In collaboration with Nicola Miller, we have a glorious new mix of etymology, history and food and plant properties!

I am very pleased to have had the chance to work with Nicola on this. Nicola Miller is the editor of Bury Spy digit news and food editor for the Spy News Group. She is an enthusiastic amateur when it comes to etymology. She blogs at: The Millers Tale

Garlic

Such a small word, and yet such a long history! And so important in cooking, of course.

Etymology

The modern English form has not changed a great deal over the course of history. Taking a step back to Middle English, we can find it variously spelled as garlec, garleek and garlek, among others. Let’s take a look at an example from 1399, from the Forme of Cury:

Take Colyandre Powdour of Peper and garlec ygrounde in rede wyne.

This work translates as “forms of cooking” – the ‘cury’ is in fact from French cuire. It is a collection of recipes claimed to have been written by the Master Cooks of King Richard II.

Just a few years previously, Chaucer wrote in his Canterbury Tales:

Wel loued he gā̆r-lē̆k, oynons, and eek lekes.

Here, you can see that it has been written as two parts put together, and you might wonder why. The reason is, of course, simple. Garlic is indeed formed of two parts. It comes from Old English garleac or garlec in some dialects, which consists of gar and leac. We will start with the first element: gar. This meant ‘spear’. You have only to look at the shape of the cloves to see why it might be called a spear – they do indeed look similar to the shape of a spear-head. This term, gar, has of course become obsolete, but we can see a well-known example of it in Beowulf, from around the 10th century:

Hwæt! We Gár-Dena, in geárdagum, þeódcyninga þrym gefrunon

Lo! We have heard renowned the Spear-Danes’ great kings in days of yore

Let’s take a look at the second element: leac. There is nothing strange about this at all. Quite simply, it means ‘leek’, another word that remains little changed!

Ðæt greáta cráuleác; nim ðes leáces heáfda

That makes crow-garlic; take the leeks on the rise

From Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of early England, a collection of Old English source texts.

The Old English word is thought to derive from Proto-Germanic *lauka. There are cognates to be found in other Germanic languages; Swedish lök and Danish løg both meaning ‘onion’, Dutch look and German Lauch, meaning ‘leek’.

The Plant Throughout History

Allium Sativum, or Garlic as it is more usually known has a long and noble history as food stuff and an even longer one as a herbal medicine and tonic. Indeed, for a long period of our history, the eating of garlic for pleasure alone was eschewed by many different cultures although we can find much documented evidence in the form of almanacs, treatises and records for its use in medicine by herbalists, medicine men and other men (and women) who took responsibility for the health and welfare of their community.

The ancient Egyptians possessed a medical papyri, Codex Elsers, dating back to circa 1500 BCE recorded 22 formulas for medicinal remedies with garlic at their heart. This plant polymath offered up a cure for heart disease, worms, and tumors and has been cultivated for over 6,000 years and grown in Egypt since 3200 BCE.

The Ancient Egyptians have been described as being much enamoured of garlic and legend says that slaves put to work to construct the pyramids were fed large amounts of it to strengthen their bodies and prevent infection after they were injured (and one imagines this was a frequent occurrence). Surprisingly enough, when Moses led the Hebrew slaves from Egypt (around 1200BCE), garlic was one of the ‘finer things’ they complained of missing along with cucumbers, fish, leeks, onions and melons.

Centuries later and during the First World War, British physicians mixed garlic juice with water to create a topical antiseptic for wounds with Russian doctors following in their footsteps in the Second World War. The doctors took it a step further though in supplementing their soldiers diet with both onion and garlic, giving it its nickname of ‘Russian Penicillin.’ This more recent use of the bulb as a treatment for war wounds is strongly reminiscent of the faith placed in its talismanic protection against wounds inflicted by spears and Greek battalions were presented with it to give them courage and promise of victory too.

Of course we now know that this tacit knowledge has an evidence base. The essence of what Culpeper, the renowned herbalist and apothecary said in The English Physitian back in 1653, has been backed up by empirical research:
“In choleric men it will add fuel to the fire; in men oppressed in melancholy, it will attentuate [weaken] the [melancholic] humour, and send up strong fancies, and as many strange visions to the head; therefore let it be taken inwardly in great moderation; outwardly you may make more bald with it”

The adding fuel to the fire is Culpeper associating choleric humour with an elevated temperature (fever) and in humoral physiology, encouraging a sick person to run a ‘good’ fever was seen as therapeutic, encouraging the flushing of impurities from the body. We know that garlic reduces cholesterol, the viscosity of blood and its lipids and we also know that a melancholic disposition (according to Culpeper) can be linked to an increased risk of blood viscosity. Or to be more specific, a person prone to low mood or depressive disorder which causes them to reduce their activity is at increased risk of fatty build up in their circulatory system and disorders of circulation. Clever old Culpeper.

The spear shape of garlic shoots, from the above ground foliage to the tiny spear at the centre of the bulb which slowly greens up and becomes bitter after harvesting inspires its Old English name- garleac or garlec with ‘gar’ meaning ‘spear’ as Millie explains above. Culpeper ascribes a celestial ruler to all living plants and garlics ruler is the warlike, passionate and dominant Mars. This kingship may be inspired by the warrior like (and phallic) spear of those etiolated and pointed leaves which are analogous to the glyph for Mars. Additionally let’s look at where garlic originates from: the arid and scorching lands of the Middle East and West Central Asia, migrating east toward China and west into Southern Europe, Garlic thrives in soil which is sandy, thin and allows the bulb to push its spears straight and true, unhindered by clay sod which might cause it to deviate from its path to the sun. It is not a great leap of the imagination to see why its botanical requirements caused Culpeper to ally it to Mars, the hot, red planet- depicted as sere and superheated in its atmosphere and garlic also pushes its scape (a false flower stalk), towards the light in the northern hemispheres springtime which falls in the astrological house of Aries (ruled by Mars).

The tombs of Egypt probably contain the oldest records of the existence of what the French call the ‘Stinking Rose’ with clay sculptures of its bulbs dating back to 3700BCE and paintings depicting the plant in another tomb which have been dated to 3200BCE. The Greeks and Romans did not initially share in Egypts passion though, much less ascribing the bulb a place in its high culture. Initially the citizenry of Greece, and especially its aristocracy, refused to consume garlic, finding its aroma and after effects repugnant and vulgar and banning those smelling of it from entering temples. Aristotle flew in the face of this though and included garlic in his lists of foodstuffs he deemed to have aphrodisiac effects and Hippocrates prescribed it as a panacea albeit with reservations and contra-indications: “[it] causes flatulence, a feeling of warmth on the chest and a heavy sensation in the head; it excites anxiety and increases any pain which may be present.”

The Romans, like the Egyptians, fed garlic to their slaves and labourers hoping that they would be invigorated enough to do their (no doubt) arduous work. To smell of it was a sign of low status and class and Pliny the Elder stated, “Garlic has such powerful properties that the very smell of it drives away serpents and scorpions” although he then went on to list a humongous amount of conditions cured by it. This stimulating reputation is a familiar one across many different world religions: garlic was deemed to upset the spiritual balance of Buddhist practitioners, was rejected by Zen masters and both Hindu and Brahmin observants avoid it for similar reasons. Intriguingly the reproductive nature of the bulb is the reason why Jains do not eat it or similar vegetables such as onions. Garlic reproduces itself by producing a multiplicity of cloves in each bulb which detach and fatten up to form a new ‘head’. Jains believe that each one of these is a potential new life and feel that the destruction of a head of garlic is to destroy multiple lives.

Amusingly enough, the ever pragmatic faith of Judaism recommends the eating of garlic on Fridays, the day before the holy Sabbath in its Talmud (the book of rabbinical teachings) because of those same stimulating properties. Sex on a Sabbath is considered an act of both faith and good deed, especially garlic fuelled passion! Chaucers Sommour who was ‘lecherous as a sparwe’ agreed, as in the quote from above; “Well love he garleek, onions and eek lekes” and across Central Europe, the dog, gander, bull and cockerel would be kept fierce, strong and fit on a diet of fat garlic bulbs. Its fecund ability to produce many offspring from one tiny fingernail sized clove led to the most obvious of conclusions with regards to the potency of breeding animals but it was also administered to livestock as protection against the evil eye. For their human owners, to dream of garlic was said to be a sign of hidden treasure and a clear reference to its secret life underground, swelling, growing and dividing which must have been pretty mindblowing to those yet to discover the botanical science behind its reproduction.