The Whimsical World of Forgotten British Words
Ah, the English language, a vast and ever-evolving tapestry of verbosity, has seen many a word come and go. Some, like the beloved ‘thou’ and ‘thee’, have faded into the realm of Shakespearean plays and historical dramas. Others, however, are so delightfully bizarre and outlandishly specific that their disappearance from common parlance is nothing short of a linguistic tragedy.
Today, we embark on a whimsical journey through the annals of history to resurrect some of the most horribly wonderful old British words that have unjustly fallen into disuse.
First up is ‘abacinate,’ a word that sounds like it could be a fancy dance move but actually refers to the rather less delightful act of blinding someone with a red-hot metal plate. It’s no wonder this word isn’t invited to modern conversations; it’s far too hot to handle!
Now let us tip our hats to ‘crapulous’, a term that sounds suspiciously modern but actually dates back to the days when overindulgence at the local tavern was a gentleman’s sport. To be crapulous is to feel ill from excessive eating or drinking, a sensation all too familiar after a hearty Christmas feast or a night out with friends who never learned the meaning of ‘last call’.
Then there’s ‘grumpish’, a word as fun to say as it is to experience. Hailing from the 1720s, it describes a mood that’s a notch or two below cantankerous but still far from chipper. It’s the perfect descriptor for the feeling one gets when the morning coffee hasn’t yet taken effect, or when the neighbor’s cat decides your freshly washed car is the ideal spot for a nap.
What about ‘abnegate?’ This means to renounce or reject something. It’s like saying no to a second helping of pudding, but with more flair and a touch of self-denial. Nowadays, we simply say “no thanks,” but where’s the drama in that?
Let’s not forget “brabble,” the act of arguing noisily about trivial matters. It’s the verbal equivalent of a food fight, but with less mess and more head-scratching as to why it started in the first place. Perhaps it’s time to bring “brabble” back for our online debates?
And who could ignore ‘callipygian’, a word that appreciates the well-shaped buttocks? In an age of gym selfies and squats, it’s baffling that this word isn’t making a comeback. It’s the perfect compliment that sounds both sophisticated and a tad cheeky!
We also have ‘tosticated’, a splendid term for being befuddled. It’s like being confused but with an extra twist of disorientation. Imagine trying to solve a Rubik’s cube while riding a unicycle—that’s tosticated for you.
There’s the little heard ‘groak’, a verb that encapsulates the act of silently watching someone eat, hoping to be invited to join. It’s the word you never knew you needed until you found yourself eyeing your colleague’s lunch with a mix of envy and anticipation.
Groak may sound like a creature from a Tolkien novel, but it’s really just the inner foodie in all of us, waiting for a chance to pounce on an unattended sandwich.
And who could ignore ‘pismire’, a term that combines the charm of Old English with the delightful imagery of the natural world? This word, which refers to an ant, is derived from ‘piss’ and ‘mire’, painting a vivid picture of these industrious insects as they go about their business, undeterred by the colossal humans who deem them a nuisance.
‘Twattle’ is a term that sounds like it could be a new social media platform for birds, it actually refers to trivial or foolish speech. Originating in the late 16th century, possibly as an alteration of ‘tattle’, it encapsulates the art of talking a lot without saying much at all. So next time you find yourself in a conversation that’s going nowhere, just smile and think, “Ah, such twattle,” and then gracefully steer the chat to more substantial waters—or just tweet about it instead.
In the realm of the meteorological, ‘snowbrowth’ takes us back to the 1590s, describing the freshly melted snow that turns a winter wonderland into a slushy mess. It’s the word you mutter under your breath as you trudge through the remnants of a snowstorm, cursing the heavens for not granting you one more day of pristine, powdery bliss.
And then there’s ‘excogigate’, a verb that sounds like it should involve gears and steam rather than brains and scheming. To excogigate is to plot or plan with great care, a word that conjures images of Victorian villains twirling their mustaches as they devise their next dastardly deed.
The term ‘elflock’ refers to hair that is matted or tangled, as if by the mischievous actions of elves. Historically, it was believed that elves would come and tangle the hair of sleeping people, creating what were called elflocks. The word itself dates back to the late 16th century, combining “elf,” a mythical creature known for its magical powers, and “lock,” meaning a strand or small bunch of hair. This term is often used in a plural form, “elflocks”, suggesting multiple tangled strands of hair. It’s a whimsical way to describe hair that is knotted or uncombed, invoking images of fairy tale creatures and their nighttime antics.
But let’s not dwell solely on the obscure and the odd. Some words are simply too delightful to leave behind, like ‘apricity’, which describes the warmth of the sun on a cold winter’s day. It’s a sensation that deserves its own term, a single word to capture the feeling of the sun’s rays defying the chill in the air to kiss your face with gentle warmth.
And finally, ‘zanella’, a mixed twill fabric used for covering umbrellas. Nowadays, you mention “zanella,” and people might think you’re referring to a new Italian pasta dish rather than a sturdy material for a rainy day.
As we bid adieu to these old friends, let’s remember that language is a living thing, constantly evolving. Who knows, perhaps some of the words we use today will be the ‘abacinate’ and ‘zanella’ of the future. Until then, let’s revel in the quirky charm of these wonderful old British words no longer in use. Let us remember them fondly and perhaps, in the spirit of linguistic revival, sneak them into our daily conversations. After all, who wouldn’t want to be known as the person who brought ‘twattle’ and ‘elflock’ back into vogue?
So go forth, dear reader, and groak no more; the world is your linguistic oyster, and it’s time to excogigate some new old words into existence!
© Colin Lawson Books