It’s not wrinkles but words which bear witness to old age
IT’S easy to pick the oldies. Not by their shambling gait, hearing aids and walking sticks, nor by their frustrated fumbling with their mobile phones or their bewilderment when they find their grandson is marrying a bloke.
No. Oldtimers stand out in the crowd because of the language they use.
How my heart leaps up when I behold a coterie of oldtimers using words that young people know nothing of. That’s how it was last Friday afternoon when a bunch of the boys (all SuperGold Card holders) were whooping it up in the Patearoa saloon.
Pete was holding forth about a nearmiss while overtaking a semitrailer near Ranfurly.
‘‘I was halfpie past him,’’ exclaimed Pete, ‘‘when suddenly . . . ’’
I missed the rest of the drama (but obviously Pete survived) because I was gobsmacked to hear ‘‘halfpie’’ — a magic phrase from my childhood when just about everybody used it.
It means, of course ‘‘unfinished or incomplete’’. ‘‘Halfpie’’ is one of the few genuine New Zealandisms to have graced the English language. It began as ‘‘half pai’’ based on ‘‘pai’’, the Ma¯ori word for ‘‘good’’. It appears in newspapers from about 1900.
During debates about registering dentists Dr James Fitzgerald, a member of the Otago University Council, spoke of ‘‘halfpie’’ qualified men and everyone knew what he meant. The other Ma¯ori phrase which oldies use is ‘‘taihoa’’ which means ‘‘hang on a bit’’ or ‘‘don’t be in a hurry’’. A hundred years ago a ‘‘taihoa policy’’ described government delaying tactics.
These Ma¯ori words entering the language as a natural development are gems as opposed to the present policy of thrusting them at the public to create a state of utter confusion.
English phrases from the old days are also magic.
I remember as a 6yearold being unable to spell ‘‘table’’ (I think I got it right this time). I was given the customary whack by the teacher and told to ‘‘pull my socks up’’.
Now, there was real confusion, as I was barefooted at the time. But I was not alone in my bewilderment. A 1950 news item tells of pupils at a Wellington primary school being told to pull their socks up because the inspector was due.
When the class was being inspected one lad was bent double under his desk and the inspector asked what was he doing? ‘‘Pulling my socks up, sir,’’ replied that noble scholar.
Of course, political correctness has seen the demise of some fine English. Remember when nonunion watersiders who queued up each morning on the chance of getting work were called ‘‘seagulls’’?
All of us workingclass types knew what it meant but in 1935 the more intellectual element needed guidance.
When Mr Justice Callan, who had been dux of Dunedin’s Christian Brothers’ High
School, and on the bench was known for exploring every aspect of a case, was dealing with waterfront employment matters in the Supreme Court he asked what seagulls had to do with it. ‘‘It’s a vulgar term applied to nonunionists, your Honour,’’ explained the union official.
‘‘I see,’’ commented His Honour. ‘‘Sort of swooping.’’ (Sycophantic laughter in court).
Never the dux of any school, I at least knew what seagulls were and I knew that seagulls and unionists never drank in the same pub.
‘‘Smoko’’ has now become unacceptable but in the old days balladeer Joe Charles was able to write a poem about the traditional shearers’ smoko and thankfully shearers still use the word.
Imagine my delight when I saw the agenda for a recent public health seminar which read: ‘‘9 am Workplace Safety Issues. 9.45 am Lessening Sugar Intake for the Under5s. 10.3011. Smoko.’’
Joe Charles also wrote Running the Cutter and that was a phrase I learned about only later in life when I was interviewing a Ma¯ori woman in
Motueka about the days of tobacco picking.
Her job was to ‘‘run the cutter’’ but she couldn’t tell me how the phrase originated. I later found that it referred to the men left on board a ship while the rest of the crew were ashore. Those left behind would borrow a cutter (a ship’s small boat) and slip ashore for a quick drink. Later the term came to be used for the job of going to the nearest hotel to pick up liquor.
The list of oldtime, seldomheard lively language is a long one and I haven’t even mentioned my favourites — the rude ones.
Sadly, this generationrelated language confusion seems to be pretty general according to a recent item in an English paper.
It reported that four out of 10 Generation Z (born 19972012 — I had to look it up) job applicants didn’t know the meaning of ‘‘bite the bullet’’, ‘‘cut the mustard’’ or ‘‘flogging a dead horse’’.
But then, I can’t understand what Generation Z are talking about either.