‘ What is this big F--- ing joke?’
The small Austrian town with the unfortunate name
For those travelling to it across the border from Germany, it is a long way on from Petting — where some people prefer to stop for a while rather than going all the way. It might appropriately be twinned with the Amish town of Intercourse, Penn. Or perhaps with Condom, France. Or Climax, Col.
In the world of crosswords, cryptically the name of the village, which begins with F, has seven letters and is not for those under 16, could be: “Monarch follows soccer team, you hear.” A quick crossword clue might ask you, po-faced, for the gerund form of the English profanity that refers to the principal act leading to procreation.
An etymologist would know that its verb was derived from the Latin futuere and the Old German ficken, meaning “ to strike or penetrate.” The lexicographer can trace its first recorded use back to John Florio’s A World of Words, a 1598 dictionary.
D. H. Lawrence used it in Lady Chatterley’s Lover
in 1928, but it was 32 years before it could be published legally. The playwright Kenneth Tynan was the first one to utter its root on television four decades ago.
But for the conservative inhabitants of a settlement called F--ing in rural Upper Austria near Salzburg that comprises just 32 houses (population: 104), the English meaning of their village’s name is just one giant headache. One night, all four road signs on its approaches were stolen by tourists. Since records began, there has been no crime there — apart from the perennial theft of what officials call “street furniture.”
Now the authorities are fighting back. The signs have been set in concrete bases and Kommandant Schmidtberger, the local police chief, hints at clandestine operations to combat what he calls “foreign criminals” disturbing the alpine order.
Around the village, corn grows in neat rows, stacks of wood seem almost geometrically arranged and every lawn is clipped each week. There are gnomes in the village, but none of the flashing kind. “God bless our work” is painted over the threshold of one rustic dairy farm.
“Let’s just say there are plans in place to deal with this,” the Kommandant warned darkly. “What they are, I am not at liberty to disclose, but we will not stand for the F---ing signs being removed. It may be very amusing for you British, but F---ing is simply F---ing to us. What is this big F---ing joke? It is puerile.” Andreas Behmuller, a local guide, said that each nationality had its own priorities when visiting the area.
“ The Germans all want to see the Mozart house in Salzburg. Italians and Russians always celebrate New Year here. Every American seems to care only about The Sound of Music [filmed around Salzburg in 1965]. The occasional Japanese wants to see Hitler’s birthplace in Braunau. But for the British, it’s all about F---ing.”
The village is believed to have been founded in the sixth century by a Bavarian noble called Focko. The Germanic ending “ing” means “family of.” Its existence was first documented in 1070 and records show that 20 years later its lord was Adalpertus de Fucingin. By 1303, it was known as Fukching and in 1532 the official designation was Fugkhing. It was not until 1760 that the village took its modern name, which is pronounced in German with a guttural “oo” sound.
After the Second World War, British and American soldiers stationed near Salzburg noticed the name and, to the bemusement of villagers, began to visit the place and be photographed beside its signs while striking jocular poses. The number of tourists who take a quick detour has been increasing ever since. Now there is even the occasional tour bus.
“Here we have tranquility, clean air, lakes, acres of forests and some of the most breathtaking vistas one could imagine,” said Augustina Lindlbauer, who runs a guesthouse in a medieval pile just outside the village. “ Yet still there is this obsession with F---ing. Just this morning I had to tell an English lady who stopped by that there were no F---ing postcards.”
The one local who tried to cash in on the village’s growing fame was threatened and shouted at in the street. Josef Winkler set up an Internet site selling Tshirts featuring the village sign and carrying the message: “I like F---ing in Austria.” They were selling well and there were even discussions with the men’s magazine Maxim about a possible promotion.
“It was a bit of fun that didn’t hurt anyone, but I found out that in this region you just can’t do something like that,” said a chastened Winkler. “ The whole thing became a real trial for me and I had to stop. People are very traditional here.”
Franz Meindl, the newly elected mayor, refuses to discuss the issue on the basis that any publicity would simply lead to more signs being stolen. “Leave me in peace with this F---ing,” he said angrily, before slamming down the telephone.
His predecessor, Seigfried Hauppl, was equally dismissive when he was interrupted playing a game of Skat. “I am no longer the mayor so this F---ing problem is nothing to do with me,” he growled, turning his back and studying his cards.
At the area council offices in adjoining Tarsdorf, a young planning official called Gabriele, who asked for her surname to be kept secret for fear of provoking reprisals, revealed that each sign cost at least 300 euros to replace and this was reflected in local taxes. “ There was even some discussion about changing the name because it has become such a serious issue,” she said. “But everyone decided that F---ing had been here for so long that it would be a shame to consign it to the past. The older people don’t like being laughed at by some of the younger ones from other villages, but we are proud of our beautiful F---ing.”