This word is doubly obscure, at least for me: Whilom (c. 1200), means having once been; former; once upon a time, erewhile, or at times past. It comes from the Old English hwilum, meaning at times, and is related to today’s while. It is doubly obscure for me because it has a similar formation to an equally obscure German word, weiland, meaning formerly, of yore. This German word is related to the modern weil, which is a false friend to the English word; the German word means because. The relation between the two is not a far stretch, as because implies that something happened in times past, once upon a time.
What do you think? Should we bring back whilom? I think, at any rate, we should start using of yore every chance we get!
The baroque town of Solothurn, though only an hour away from our home, was unfamiliar to us until my husband and I took a day trip this week. It has a beautiful historical centre and is known as the “city of elevens”: It was the 11th canton to join the Swiss Confederation; there are 11 towers in the fortification walls of the city; there are 11 churches and chapels, and 11 historical fountains throughout the city; the stairs leading up to the St. Ursus Cathedral have landings every 11 steps; the cathedral itself has 11 altars and 11 bells; the local brewery, producing an eponymous beer, is even called Oeufi – which is a Swiss dialectical word for eleven. 11:00 is the most “auspicious” time to set appointments in the town, and there is even a clock, hanging on the wall of a local bank, which is segmented into 11 hours; it has 11 cogs and 11 bells, which are chimed by a metalwork sculpture of a harlequin on the hours of 11:00, 12:00, 17:00 and 18:00. The bells chime to the tune of the city’s unofficial anthem, the Solothurner Lied.
Solothurn’s history dates back to the palaeolithic era, and its Roman era is dated to around AD 15-25; it was first mentioned in AD 219 as vico saloduro, and may have referred to a Celtic settlement, possibly meaning “Salo’s fort/stronghold”. In the Battle of Sempach, July 1386, the Habsburgs attacked Solothurn; it was a decisive Swiss victory, and even more importantly, it helped to solidify the loosely allied Swiss Confederation cantons into a more unified nation and is seen as a turning point in the growing strength of Switzerland as a nation. Today, it is largely bypassed by tourists due to its proximity to Bern, the Swiss capital, so it remains a hidden gem.
Another interesting clock is the clock tower, the “Zeitglockenturm”, a tower built in 1152 and first mentioned as a “clock tower” in 1406. If you look closely, you’ll see typical rain spouts coming off of the corners of the tower’s spire and roof, shaped like dragon’s heads. The 24-hour astronomical clock was built by Lorenz Liechti and Joachim Habrecht in 1545. The sun and moon hands both run counterclockwise; the moon makes one complete rotation every 27 days, while the sun makes one complete rotation every 365 days.
According to the Roter Turm website, there’s a humorous story connected to the upper, 12-hour clock: By 1753 the hour hand and the bells were no longer in sync; a commission contacted the watchmaker Niklaus Pfluger, reminding him of his gild’s oath, i.e. his responsibility to correct the clock. He suggested to the local government council that they add a minute hand; but minutes were not so important in the 18th century, apparently – they told him to leave it as it had always been. He took matters into his own hands (I guess it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission…) and in 1756, he added a minute hand. He justified it as the “warning hand of God” – but he made it smaller, less noticeable than the hour hand, so on this clock, the small hand shows the minutes, not the hours.
Because the clock tower was built and added to over time, you’ll see four dates on the full image of the tower: 1411 and 2022 on the highest, 12-hour clock; and 1545 and 1883 on the central tableau; the latter dates usually refer to restorations.
The three figures in the central tableau above the clock are a knight, king, and skeleton (Death), which perform every hour: The knight holds a battleaxe in his right hand, and a sword in his left; every quarter-hour, he turns his head toward Death and strikes his breast, signifying his loyalty to the central figure, the king. On the right stands Death; in its right hand is a hourglass, which is turned on the hour, symbolizing the contradictions of life – good, bad, life, death. In the other hand is an arrow, showing that one could be struck down at any moment. On the hour, its head turns toward the knight.
On the throne between these two figures is the king: In his right hand is a sceptre, which he lifts on the hour. His jaw moves in rhythm with the hour hand, and his beard represents wisdom. However, notice that he’s wearing red and white fool’s garb: If the king does not rule with wisdom and the humour of a fool, his reign will become a tyranny. It tells us that life should have moments of both wisdom and a jester’s humour.
While Death announces the hours, the king swings his sceptre. At the same time, Death nods with each stroke and confirms the relentless passing of the hours. The king with his fool’s garb reminds us of the memento mori. When death or illness reigns, even the power of a wise king can do little (Solothurn was hit by the plague, e.g. in 1348). Though the Freudian era banished death from contact with the living in many Western cultures, death personified as a skeleton is still a symbol seen in many countries around the world. Having death constantly before your eyes encourages you to savour each moment of life.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief glimpse into a beautiful city with an ancient history!
Most English-speaking people have heard the term whitewashing: Literally, it means to paint a surface with a diluted white paint to lighten the surface and conceal blemishes. Figuratively, it means to downplay the negative aspects by emphasizing the positive ones of a person, event, or situation.
Greenwashing is a term related to environmental issues: It is the deliberate dissemination of a false or misleading impression of environmentally friendly practices used to conceal or obscure damaging practices.
Blackwashing is the use of public campaigns and advertising funded by the coal industry to draw attention away from environmentally unsustainable practices or to justify exclusion from carbon taxes.
Bluewashing is to tout a business or organization’s commitment to social responsibility while using this perception for public relations and economic gain; to present a humanitarian front while obscuring actual practices.
Redwashing is the practice of a state, organization, political party, politician or company presenting itself as progressive and concerned about social equality and justice, in order to use this perception for public relations or economic gain.
There are other colours of X-washing, but they all stem from greed: In marketing, these tactics are a way to charge customers more, because the higher price leads people to think, in connection with the misleading information or imagery, that the extra money spent is going to a good cause, e.g. schools for the workers’ children or working children, when in fact it’s likely going toward a CEO’s yacht.
On holiday recently, we’d forgotten to bring towels from home into the motorhome, so we went into a houseware store; I thought the towels would be a bit more expensive than another store I usually buy our towels from, but it was a whopping 50.- per towel more! On each towel was a tag; here’s the translation (the company name withheld):
“Cotton (name)® Made in green, inspiring confidence. Tested for polluting ingredients and sustainably produced according to (name)® guidelines. The label “made in green” gives you the assurance that this textile product has been made by pollutant-free materials in environmentally friendly factories in protected and socially acceptable work environments.”
Nowhere is it mentioned where this product was made; their testing agency, for accountability, is them. Inspires confidence? On what grounds? Price? Notice that they don’t claim to have passed those tests or what they were testing exactly, nor do they state what their guidelines were supposed to be.
These schemes prey on first-world people’s sense of guilt, or of wanting to pay a bit extra to help those less privileged. Yet their concept of “environmentally friendly factories in protected and socially acceptable work environments” might have nothing to do with your or my concepts – would the company’s execs be willing to work in those factories? I doubt it. This is also an example of bluewashing.
An E-Talk was given to show the marketing tactics in connection with the foods we eat. The disclosures made in the short talk are enough to leave the audience in stunned silence. I challenge you to watch the video (less than 7 minutes long) here. Marketing’s most effective, secret weapon is you. They bank on willful ignorance (the avoidance of making undesirable decisions or taking actions that accurate information might prompt).
All of these wash-tactics boil down to hogwash. So the next time you find yourself looking at the claims of a label, or seeing the sunny kitchen in a perfect home with perfect families on a commercial, take a moment to challenge what you’re reading or seeing, and use your purchasing power wisely. Research; see if the company is on any blacklist by organisations that actually care (WEF, Greenpeace, or any from a long list of NGOs). Search the topic online – there are a lot of informative articles out there with practical tips for making informed decisions. Here’s a website for checking a brand’s ratings: https://directory.goodonyou.eco/. If you find that a company is making bogus claims, stop buying their products; make the effort to blow the whistle on them – social media can be a positive tool in that aspect.
This brings us back to that secret weapon of marketers, our willful ignorance: The tragic factor in all of these tactics is that, like water, humans usually choose the path of least resistance… least effort… least active involvement, least time required; and so willful ignorance prevails. However, since we’re making an average of 35,000 decisions a day anyway, (automatic, habitual, emotional, stress-related, worry-related, or environment-related) let’s neutralise that ignorance one wise, informed choice at a time.
No one likes a doryphore – a pedantic & annoyingly persistent critic of others; a petty pedant, a person who complains about minor mistakes. The word comes to us through French, and is also the term used for the Colorado beetle – perhaps alluding to the meaning of the word related to “pest” (doing double duty for a bug and for someone who is a pest). Alas, I think doryphore deserves to be brought back – it’s much more sophisticated and subtle than mere pest.
Most languages in the world probably have a term for such people as they are, unfortunately, rife; in Swiss German we would say that someone is “bünzlig” – they’re usually the people who become meter readers and give you a parking ticket as you’re getting into your car 10 seconds too late. We recently paid a parking ticket because we parked for 10 minutes in a business parking, on a Saturday when the business was closed and spots were empty; yes, technically a ticket can be issued; but most authorities use common sense in such situations – but not the doryphore; they were likely waiting, watching for shoppers to do just that. In all the years I’ve been driving and parking in Switzerland, it’s the first time this has happened, but there will always be that one bünzlig person. Pity them. They live in shrinking worlds.
A few months ago, I began something that has added a layer of creativity and organisation to my life which, to be honest, is fairly creative and organised as it is. But this little addition adds a nice colour: Fieldnotes.
The original concept of taking fieldnotes comes from the scientific disciplines: An archaeologist in the field, taking notes on where, what and when something was uncovered; a geologist, botanist, ornithologist, or entomologist taking notes on observations, perhaps drawing an illustration of a specimen or a map of the landscape.
Fieldnotes can include writing, diagrams, drawings, or visual clues within an entry such as arrows or other visual connectors. They differ from a daily journal in that the fieldnotes are concise… rambling or expanding on a thought belongs elsewhere, but not in a “quick-draw” situation (pun intended).
Creative thinkers have jumped on the idea for reasons other than scientific observation: As a writer, fieldnotes help me capture snippets of ideas, dialogue, or an observation when out in public (I love to people-watch), or something I read – sometimes the comments on YouTube videos are a great capsule of humour! I also use fieldnotes to keep track of tasks on a busy day – lists of to-dos, to-writes, and so on. When I have a creative project, I take notes on the steps taken – such as making giant flowers that no one else has ever made; how to scale up a smaller version of a crepe paper flower is not always straightforward, and if I have several to make, it helps to have those detailed notes of the prototype phase for the next time around.
Taking fieldnotes might help get your creative juices flowing. If you’d like to start this practice, here are a few tips:
Use a small notebook – one that can fit into a shirt pocket, man-bag, or purse. I’ve made my own with 70gsm blank paper, which allows me to make the same size and style repeatedly. But if you can’t do that, just use something like a moleskin notebook; these come in various sizes, with or without lined pages. There is also a company with books called Field Notes, though they seem a bit pricey for what you can do on your own…
Use a good pen, or pencil, or coloured pencils if you want to sketch something with colour.
You can either take chronological notes, such as dating each entry, or you can organise your notes into groupings: One page per character, scene or topic, or for a to-do list, or whatever you want to capture on the go.
Use visual cues, such as boxes around certain elements or arrows connecting one thing to another. Use illustrations or draw diagrams; attach images from magazines, printouts, etc.
Highlight tags or keywords; consider numbering each page and keeping an index at the back of the book to help you find things later on.
One book that might help kick-start illustrative note-taking if it’s new to you is The Sketchnote Handbook, by Mike Rohde.
Think about how you’re recording things on the page: Do you always want to write straight, top left to bottom right, or do you want to mix things up and write diagonally, sideways, or even backwards? Yes, sometimes that’s a thing; Leonardo da Vinci wrote privately in a mirrored direction, only writing normally when he wanted others to read his notes; he also developed his own shorthand.
Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, with mirrored writing.
I also have my own shorthand for many things; Sometimes I use what I call pigeon Asian (I use this when I don’t want anyone else to read it); it’s something I learned when living in Hawaii. It looks like Kanji (the logographic writing of Japan), but it’s not – that’s all I’ll explain! I also use logographs, such as the ancient Anglo-Saxon rune of daeg, which includes the concept of day, dawn, intuition or breakthrough; I use this to designate those times when I’m writing: Rather than writing, “Today, I wrote/worked on the manuscript for...” I just write that symbol plus the name of the manuscript and details. I have a whole series of such shorthand symbols that I use daily.
While there are note-taking apps available (and I use one, called “Keep My Notes”, on my phone for things like shopping lists or feedback notes for singing students or bands that I take during performances and review with them later), sometimes it’s helpful to get away from digital screens. Sometimes I’ll write whole scenes away from the computer – I don’t use my fieldnotes for that, though it will probably be used to outline a scene that comes to mind until I get to another notebook. Something about writing long-hand sparks a level of creativity that might not come while working at a computer; hand-eye coordination should never be underestimated in creative endeavours. Once a scene has developed enough away from the screen to be integrated into my current manuscript, it then takes on another reiteration as I type it in, tweaking and changing… it’s what I call a “ripening process” as a wine metaphor for the creative maturing process a scene goes through by this method. It gets my head into a new space figuratively, literally, and literarily!
In an age when we are constantly bombarded with visuals wherever we go, sometimes it’s healthy to go back to good ol’ pen and paper. On those days so busy that I can’t remember what I’ve actually done, it’s helpful to look back at my fieldnotes as I write out my thoughts in my daily journal.
Do you write? Do you ever make lists for shopping, chores, people to contact, or things to do? If so, how have you kept track of such things so far? If it’s a system that works for you, brilliant! But if you find yourself wanting to switch things up or wanting to improve your use of time, would you consider taking fieldnotes? Please comment below!
My husband and I have a quirky sense of humour; we recently had a good laugh coming up with pets’ names in pairs (don’t ask why that topic came up – it’s too hard to reconstruct!): There are pairs of names commonly associated with each other, such as Tom and Jerry, or Cain and Abel; last night, we thought of naming two cats Maelstrom and Doldrum – the irony is that these are nautical terms for ocean conditions and we live in a land-locked country. My husband says that if we ever have a snake, he’ll name it “Abebambelela” (which is a Swiss German phrase meaning “to hang down”)! There are certain words that I find funny, like Asparagus (or the old English version, Sparrowgrass), and I can imagine naming cats something Latinesque, some of which are actually quite beautiful (Aurora, Adamaris, etc.)
Pet names are as creative as the owners, so the sky’s the limit! I once heard of a dog called Dillingham Osborn Gunderson… initials being DOG. Naming a pet Velcro, Big Mac, Groucho or Tweezer seems tame to some purebred titles (such as Bluewater Full Metal Jacket – Jack for everyday wear). When our cat had kittens (the mother, Gandria, and father, Caprino, were named after towns along Lake Lugano), we used musical terms (sticking with Italian): The first came out vocal, so he became Crescendo; the second was slow and calm, thus Piano; and the 3rd is gentle but friendly – Allegra. We kept Allegra, who is curled up between my feet as I write this; the other two were adopted by neighbours – who subsequently moved to give the cats more room!
I will never have a purebred pet; more often than not, the animals are sickly, as traits have been unnaturally bred into them; pugs and Persian cats are prime examples of pets that simply cannot breathe properly, and have respiratory infections or even failure. These health issues are hot topics between breeders and vets or those who care for animals such as the Kitten Lady. Give us a good ol’ farm cat, “Heinz 57-pedigree”, and they’ll do just fine! We have three cats: Allegra (born in 2009), Andromeda Zora (from an animal shelter, born in 2020), and Mira Bella (born in a home nearby, 2021).
Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names, and how did you choose them? Please comment below!
Today, I went with a friend to a large second-hand warehouse; it’s an organized treasure hunt of sorts. Every section is well-defined, so you know where to look if you’re looking for something specific, and don’t need to waste time scanning isles of glass dishes when you’re looking for office supplies. But it got me thinking about the whole topic and the cultural differences around the world.
When I first came to Switzerland, “Brockenhäuser” (or Brocki, as they’re called here) were few and far between; Swiss people weren’t usually found in such shops. I think Swiss people (and I can only really compare this to the Zürich area – perhaps in other areas of Switzerland the sentiments were different) used to have a sense of embarrassment, as if one wasn’t successful enough to buy new. But nowadays the importance of recycling has grown, and people have discovered the fun of treasure hunting.
I grew up in a region of America where garage sales were every Thursday through Sunday during summer months; my father and I were the most frequent hunters in our family, searching for treasures amongst the junk. I once found a 1920s white gold, 24-diamond dinner ring for 10¢! Someone had cleaned out grandma’s house and had no idea what they had; I took it to a jeweller to have it examined, so I knew that what I’d found was the real deal. I once took my Swiss husband along on the cultural experience when we were in the States on holiday, and he found a stack of pristine Life magazines of the first moon landing. They now grace our library shelves among the astronomy books.
In Britain, I know of some roads where nearly every other shop is a charity shop; one had a sign in the window asking for books, because they were selling nearly a thousand a week. Whenever I’m in Britain, I fly with as empty a bag as I can manage to leave room for charity shop treasures.
Fraktur Script
Today when I was at the shop, I was looking for specific things, mostly to do with crafts; I got a few antique German books (with the Fraktur script, often generically referred to as “Gothic text”); I’m fluent in German, but even I have to really concentrate to decipher the old type-text, especially as spelling has shifted or become more standardised. So honestly, I’m fine with using them in crafts, though the antique book lover in me fights to preserve them! I also bought sheet music for the same purpose. I kept an eye out for things I could use to make gigantic flowers with – that’s the next prop I’ll be making for our church stage area for the spring/summer season. In this particular shop, by the way, there are very few items with prices; once you get to the register, they assess what you’ve got, and calculate the set prices (such as the antique books, which ran from 3.- to 8.-); usually the end price for everything is quite reasonable – after all, they need to make room for the new inventory being restocked every 30 minutes!
What is the culture of second-hand shops in your region? Even within a country, it can vary wildly. Do you have boot sales, garage sales, thrift stores, charity shops, meet & swaps, buy-sell-trade shops, street markets, or another variety? I’d love to hear about your experiences! And if you’ve done any of the above, what was your best treasure find? Please comment below!
Recently, my mother sent me a link on Facebook and asked me to write an article about it; it’s definitely an interesting topic – so thanks, Mom!
First of all, for those of you who don’t know what a folly is:
In architectural terms, a folly is a building that is either constructed as decoration which suggests another purpose or is a practical garden building that transcends its purpose with extravagant features. An example of the former term would be buildings that were designed from the outset to look like ancient ruins, such as Wimpole’s Folly in Cambridgeshire, England; an example of the latter would be buildings like the Dunmore Pineapple in Stirlingshire, Scotland (I’ve been to this site a few times and was once able to go inside the pineapple). Designed to look like a giant pineapple, it was actually a working hothouse; that’s perhaps another story to tell. As for today’s topic, the folly of King Alfred would fall into the former definition.
Second of all, who was King Alfred, and why does he bear the sobriquet Great?
Statue of Alfred the Great at Wantage, Oxfordshire
Born in 849 AD, Alfred the Great was King of the West Saxons from 871 to 886, and then King of the Anglo-Saxons from 886 to 899. He lived in a time when Viking invasions and warring tribes were common. Both of his parents died when he was young, and his three older brothers reigned before he eventually came to the throne. The battles, invasions and wars are too numerous to mention; to be a king meant to be at war. At the age of 21, he was already the King of the Wessex and a battle veteran. In early 878, the Danes struck like lightening, taking Chippenham (on the map below, you’ll see that it was in the heart of Alfred’s territories); inhabitants surrendered or fled, and it reduced Alfred and his men to hit and run means of getting provisions; they withdrew into the tidal marshes of Somerset (the area on the other side of the River Severn, just below Wales on the map below). Alfred reevaluated his strategy and learned from his enemy: He and his men began a guerilla war against the Danes, and by May, he’d defeated them in the Battle of Edington. Knowing that he would never be able to drive out such a powerful enemy, he made a treaty with them, establishing borders and what became known as the Danelaw territory; King Guthrum of the Danes converted to Christianity, with Alfred as his godfather and soon son-in-law as he sealed the treaty by marrying one of Guthrum’s daughters, Aethelflaed.
The Great comes from the fact that he united many of the disparate tribes; he recognized the deterioration in learning caused by years of disrupting wars and the Viking’s destruction of the monasteries, which were centres of learning and literacy. He recognized the fact that without widespread literacy, a king cannot rule – a people who were not united by a written language would be more vulnerable; but united through a common tongue, they would have a sense of loyalty and continuity in turbulent times. They would be able to adhere to laws, reach legal decisions, and be called to arms more readily if they could read a common language. He set out to make the English proud of being English and thus be prepared to fight for it.
By stopping the Viking advance against all odds, and consolidating his territories, he set the stage for future kings. His accomplishments in Wessex became the seed that eventually gave fruition to a united Anglo-Saxon England, which is why he alone among all kings or queens of England bears the sobriquet Great.
King Alfred’s Folly:
King Alfred’s Folly – Credit, Flickr, Andrew Bone
King Alfred’s Tower was built between 1769 and 1772. To put those dates into perspective, here are a few events from the year that construction began: 13-year-old Mozart, under his father’s control, was just finishing his third concert tour of Italy; James Watt improved his design for a steam engine that would spark the Industrial Revolution; King Charles III of Spain sent missionaries to California, founding San Diego, Santa Barbara, San Francisco and Monterey; Daniel Boone set out to explore what would become Kentucky; and finally, in August of that year, Napoleon Bonapart was born in Corsica.
The tower itself was built near the site of Egbert’s Stone, which is said to mark the mustering site for the troops of the Battle of Edington; the tower was intended to commemorate the end of the Seven Years’ War and the ascension of King George III to the throne of England. It was designed in the Palladian style (a European architectural style) by the architect Henry Flitcroft, at the commission of Banker Henry Hoare. While the reasons for commissioning the tower might be altruistic of Hoare, its site and magnificence might have had something to do with the fact that the tower was an eye-catcher for those touring the parks at his private estate, Stourhead.
Standing at over 40 metres high (131 feet) and a circumference of 51 metres (167 feet), it is completely hollow; it is a triangular structure with a round “tower” at each corner, though only one of them has a use – a spiral staircase of 205 steps, with no landing places along the dizzying ascent or descent. The only safety is a rope “railing” anchored occasionally along the central pillar of the staircase; passing others up or down can be a tight squeeze, and it is not a climb for the faint-hearted. Once reaching the top, you’ll find a crenelated parapet that surrounds a viewing platform offering a great view of the surrounding region; the centre of the platform is surrounded by a guard rail as it is a gaping hole straight down to the ground level; it’s covered with a mesh netting to prevent birds from using the tower as a dovecote.
In 1944, the tower was damaged when a Canadian single-engine plane crashed into it in the fog, killing all five aboard. In the 1980s, it finally underwent repairs and restoration; the statue of King Alfred above the main entrance was also repaired at that time, restoring a missing right forearm. A stone tablet (also in need of restoration) between the door and statue reads:
ALFRED THE GREAT AD 879 on this Summit Erected his Standard Against Danish Invaders To him We owe The Origin of Juries The Establishment of a Militia The Creation of a Naval Force ALFRED The Light of a Benighted Age Was a Philosopher and a Christian The Father of his People The Founder of the English MONARCHY and LIBERTY
Picking up from where I left off in February, here are a few more everyday phrases that have been gleaned from the times when ships at sail were the most influential source of importing new ideas, foreign words and catchy tunes (such as shanties). The first of these phrases might be recognized by Star Trek fans, as the captain usually used this term or something similar to hand over the authority of the ship whenever he left the bridge.
Take the Conn: A term used to take over navigational duties on the bridge of a ship (this comes from the mid-1800s, during the age of iron-clad warships). Idiomatically, it means to take control of a situation. The word conn is either a noun or a verb and comes from conning tower – a raised platform from which the entire deck and surrounding environment can be observed.
Sailing Close to the Wind: Strong winds can be just as problematic at sea as no wind; strong winds can unexpectedly shift and take control of a boat’s direction, and many sailors will lower their sails until more favourable conditions exist. To use strong winds for sailing is risky and unpredictable but sometimes necessary; the modern term refers to taking risks that may be unreasonable, being close to breaking the law or going too far.
All Hands on Deck: A call to action – everyone must assist in resolving a problem or addressing a situation. During inspection or trouble, all hands were called to the deck; everyone needed to be present or accounted for, and working as directed.
On the Right Tack/Track: The correct course while sailing requires you to tack or move the sail to catch the wind to keep you on course. To take the wrong tack means to be off course, heading in the wrong direction. Tack has changed to track in a more modern language. Today it refers to Taking the line/course of action that leads to the correct conclusion.
Overboard: If cargo or people went overboard when sailing, the call “overboard” would be yelled out to draw attention to the event. With luck, the items or people could be recovered, but unfortunately, this was not often the case.
Abandon Ship: When a ship was sinking or being overrun by an enemy ship, sailors would need to abandon their posts and escape. The call to abandon the ship was considered a last resort.
As the Crow Flies: After crossing the oceans, sailors would watch for birds to detect nearby land. Following the direction of birds, such as a crow or seagulls, got them closer to shore to follow it to a port. Crows fly straight, and so it refers to the shortest distance between two points.
Tide Over: When a ship could not get under sail due to poor winds, they would ride the tide until the winds returned. If something tides one over, it will last until new provisions can be obtained or until conditions change.
High and Dry: If a ship was caught in low tide or ran up on the shoals, it might end up being stranded with no hope of recovery. The term was to be caught high and dry, as in up out of the water. It’s used today to describe the feeling of being abandoned, stranded, or helpless.
Sink or Swim: Tossing a person overboard resulted either in them sinking or swimming. The term was made popular in swashbuckling movies featuring pirates deciding on whether they should spare their captives or not. Today, it refers to either failing (sinking) or succeeding (swimming) in a task or an endeavour.
The topic of this article has been on my mind for the past two weeks; last week flew by so fast I barely had time to blink, let alone order my thoughts into coherent sentences. The topic was sparked by coming across an article online about what is known as the “Milan Conference” or “The Second International Congress on Education of the Deaf” (though it was, in fact, the first), held in Milan, Italy in 1880.
To give you a bit of my personal background, I learned BSL (The Glaswegian dialect) and translated for the deaf when I lived in Scotland. Being as close to that community as I was, I’d shockingly never heard about the Milan Conference until a fortnight ago.
When I first moved to Switzerland, I wanted to continue working with the deaf and began taking Swiss German sign classes. I immediately began hitting brick walls: The crux of the matter was spelled out – they didn’t want hearing people in their world. It made little sense to me back then, and it was frustrating. Also at that time, my husband wasn’t yet hearing impaired – which would have made a difference in their attitude toward me, as people with family members affected by hearing loss were more acceptable to them. In light of the Milan Conference, their reticence makes perfect sense. I never was able to break that barrier, and I’ve lost much of the sign language I once used fluently.
The conference was an international gathering of (hearing – with only ONE exception) educators of the deaf and mute. The imperialist arrogance of the discriminating resolutions passed profoundly wounded and damaged the deaf community for nearly 100 years.
To sum up the conference’s resolutions briefly, the majority decided that sign language was disadvantageous to integrating the deaf into the hearing world, and they banned – yes, banned – sign language from the education of the deaf in favour of “oralism” – forcing the deaf to read lips to make them assimilate to the hearing world’s culture. Deaf teachers lost their jobs, and an overall decline of deaf professionals resulted – they were no longer allowed the tools to communicate in their own language, and communication professions such as artists, lawyers and writers fell silent. Here in Switzerland, there was a two-fold impact: Deaf children were forced to sit on their hands and learn to lip-read from High German-speaking teachers; but when they went home on holidays, they couldn’t lip-read their own family’s dialects of Swiss German, and so they were isolated from society both in school and at home. The anger and resentment to the hearing world still runs deep.
Most disturbing for me is the fact that Alexander Graham Bell, whose own mother and wife were deaf and who worked with the deaf throughout his life – including helping bring Helen Keller out of her silent world as a blind and deaf girl – was one of the strongest proponents for oralism at the conference. The most famous picture of Bell and Keller is one in which Keller is finger-spelling on Bell’s hand. It is a form of sign language. Yet he advocated to eradicate it.
The resolutions of 1880 held their ground until they were overturned in 2013 when an official apology was issued to the deaf community. Eleven years ago. Let that sink in. Inroads were made to teach sign in pockets here and there; in America, most schools for the deaf only began teaching sign language again in the 1960s; in the UK it was around a decade later. Generations suffered under the restriction. [For those who have been deaf their whole lives – what’s known as pre-lingually deaf – it means that sign language is their first language, while spoken English is their second; this can lead to difficulties in understanding complex or abstract messages in English. Imagine being denied your own native language…] Only in 2003, the British government recognised BSL as a minority language – but so far, Scotland is the only country in the UK that has given BSL legal recognition. The shift in understanding and recognition had already been set in motion by the time I’d moved to the UK, which is perhaps why the Milan Conference was no longer a topic when I was involved in the deaf community.
The ban is the main reason there are so many regional dialects today: Even though sign language was officially banned, the deaf still needed to communicate among themselves, and so signs evolved “under the table” within each pocket of deaf students. There was no exchange of information; for example, “bread” took on the shape of the local speciality, so in the French part it looks like a long baguette, while in the Zurich region, it looks more like a half-sphere. There are 5 major Swiss-German dialects; in Scotland, there were at least 7.
Please click here to watch a ~13-minute video by Storied about the history of sign language and the Milan Conference. If you’d like to learn more about the timeline of sign language in Britain, please click here to visit University College London’s website, and to learn more about BSL in Scotland, click hereto read the Scottish Parliament’s article.
ASL, American Sign Language, also has a forgotten predecessor that was largely written out of history: The Plains Indian Sign Language, also known as “hand talk”. For an interesting video about that history, click here.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief insight into a long and tangled topic, and that it encourages you to look into it more.
Just as a parting trivia: Everyone recognizes the sign for phone; but did you know that it became a euphemism in some deaf communities for the restroom/loo? Back when restaurants had their public phones near the “small closets”, the Deaf would sign “phone” as a polite, covert way of saying they were going to the restroom/loo.
Below are the British Sign Language and the American Sign Language alphabets; I’d encourage you to learn one or the other and stretch those grey cells a wee bit!
Stephanie Huesler 