February 22, 2014
by Graham


The present upheavals in Ukraine bring the pronunciation of its place names into prominence. Even the country’s name is now subtly different from what it was thirty years ago. Then the geographical area was always called “The Ukraine”, which was suitable for what was a part of a larger whole (cf. “The Midlands”, “The Algarve”)  but since its independence with the break up of the Soviet Union, the definite article has been dropped.

Ukrainian is a different language from Russian, so the old Russian forms of its place names have also, on the whole, been abandoned in favour of the equivalent Ukrainian forms. So we now have Lviv, which used to be Lvov (and before World War II, when it was part of Poland, Lwów), and Kharkiv, formerly Kharkov. The capital, however, has not lost what has become a standard anglicization – Kiev. However, I’m puzzled by the pronunciations for this that I’m hearing on both radio and television. The eponymous dish – chicken kiev – is always pronounced (in my experience at least) /ˈkiːef/, and I have always pronounced the city in the same way. Now, I am hearing /ˈkiːev/ or even /kiːˈev/. These are not the Russian pronunciation, nor the Ukrainian. Must we now start getting used to all Russian or Russian-like names having their final -v pronounced /v/? Moloto/v/? Prokofie/v/? Khrushche/v/?

January 25, 2014
by Graham

Railway Station

This is what I call the place where I catch the train both to and from London. Increasingly, what I’ve always considered to be an Americanism – train station – is being used, even by friends of my own generation. Until about 15 years ago, I had the feeling that ‘train station’ was current only among British people born since about 1965, but it is now seeping up the generations, and last week-end, I heard it on the lips of a 70 year old. Interestingly, the first line of Paul Simon’s song Homeward Bound is “I’m sittin’ in the railway station”. I know he wrote it in Britain (actual location disputed), but since when do Americans use British phrases simply because that’s where they are? Of course, “I’m sittin’ in a train station” wouldn’t scan.

Anyway, the OED inevitably has a section on the phrase. The first references are to the Morning Chronicle, March 1845 and the Daily News November 1856, both British, but then there is a long gap to 1955 (US) and then 1981 (New York Times Magazine) which is, like me, commenting on the usage: “When was the last time you heard a young, rich-affluent-wealthy type use the phrase railroad station? Upper-class use is now train station.”

I mention this now because I’ve just caught up with the first episode of the new series of “Mr Selfridge” on ITV, in which the (fictional) female owner of a dubious ‘gentlemen’s club’ gives a reading from her autobiography, and uses ‘train station’. Even though she had supposedly recently returned from the US, I don’t think that would have been right in 1914, especially given the circles she is supposed to move in, and the 1981 quotation given above. Film makers, whether for the big screen or TV, go to great lengths to get costume and set dressing correct. Why can’t they pay the same attention to the language their characters use?

January 14, 2014
by Graham


I wrote in an earlier post about regional variation in terms for lying snow. There are also phrases that belong to one part of the country rather than another.

My mother would look at a lowering sky, when dark clouds were gathering before a storm, and say “It’s looking a bit black over Bill’s mother’s”. I always assumed that this was simply a family saying, going back to a time perhaps when a family member or friend called “Bill” lived in the direction from which bad weather often came, but my partner, who was born thirty-odd miles away from me, and whose parents’ families were from Norfolk and South Staffordshire respectively, also uses it, so it obviously has wider currency. I’ve also established that it is known as far away as Blackpool. There is some discussion on various web sites about its origin, from which it also seems common in the East Midlands. Can we stretch it further?

Another one in use in Stoke on Trent is a phrase that means explain something in a long-winded way, or go a long way round for a short cut: “go all round the Wrekin”. The Wrekin (pronounced /ˈriːkɪn/) is decribed in Wikipedia as being a hill of volcanic origin in Shropshire, and so quite some distance from the Potteries, but visible on a clear day (in the old days there weren’t many of them, with hundreds of bottle ovens belching out smoke from being fired with coal!) from the hill tops. Obviously, the expression can only be used in those parts of the country where the Wrekin is a familiar landmark, but not very close by (photograph by Gordon Dickins). How far can we extend this phrase’s usage?

photograph by Gordon Dickins

December 14, 2013
by Graham

One sentence, two meanings

About a month ago, John Maidment wrote about an ambiguous phrase: here

Now here is a proverb that has two meanings, and they are quite difficult to distinguish even by their intonation:

“No news is good news”. When this means that the absence of news constitutes good news, it may be “\No /news is \good _news.” To mean that whatever the news, it is bad, it may be “\No _news is ◟good ◞news.”

And another: “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good”. Is this a wind which causes harm to everybody, or does it mean that in most circumstances, no matter how “ill” the wind, some one will benefit from it? Only the intonation can tell us: “It’s an ˈill \wind, that blows \nobody any good.” (harms everybody) or “It’s an \ill wind that blows \nobody any ◞good.” (someone will benefit).

December 8, 2013
by Graham

Welwyn and Willian

These are two villages in Hertfordshire. Welwyn /ˈwelɪn/ is better known these days for Welwyn Garden City, founded by Ebenezer Howard, but somewhat later than Letchworth Garden City (the world’s first garden city), and which is situated a couple of miles away from the old Welwyn village. Willian /ˈwɪlɪən/ is in fact one of the three villages that make up Letchworth GC, the other two being Norton, and Letchworth itself.

Both names are derived, according to the English Place Name Society’s volume on Hertfordshire (1938), from the Anglo-Saxon word for “willow”, which occurs in the forms welig and wylig. The first of these gave rise to Welwyn, and the second to Willian (both come from the dative case of the word, so that its meaning is literally “at (or to) the willows”). Presumably welig and wylig are the forms in different dialects of Anglo-Saxon. The two villages are only about 10-15 miles apart, and yet seem to be on opposite sides of an isogloss. Is there anyone out there who can confirm the two dialects for me?

In case anyone has seen it, the recent movie “The World’s End” was shot mostly in Letchworth Garden City and Welwyn Garden City. Ironically, the film tells the story of a pub crawl, and Letchworth GC was the world’s original town with no pub: the first licensed premises in the town did  not open until 1961, the town having been established in 1903 (Letchworth is also the site of Europe’s first roundabout – ca 1909 – it appears in the film).


December 1, 2013
by Graham

Portmanteau words

According to the OED’s examples, Lewis Carroll may have invented the use of ‘portmanteau’ to mean a word made up of the elements of two or more other words in order to somehow combine their meanings: in Through the Looking-glass, the words slithy and mimsy, which he coined for the poem Jabberwocky, are called by him portmanteau words (slithy = lithe and slimy; mimsy = flimsy and miserable).

Nick Robinson created another for the Today programme on BBC Radio 4 on 28 November: /ˈræpɪdʒɪŋ/ (I hesitate to put it into traditional orthography). It was a purely accidental coinage, and one which he immediately noticed (slips of the tongue often pass unnoticed by the perpetrator, and are sometimes even denied when pointed out to them), and corrected, in both ways. He meant to say either “wrapping” or “packaging”, but for some reason his brain mangled the message on its way to his mouth, and a mixture of the two words was the result.

I suppose you could say that in Saussurian terms, the “langue” was correct, but the “parole” slipped, or to use Chomsky’s words, the competence was there while the performance left something to be desired.

November 25, 2013
by Graham

Doctor Who

This weekend it has been almost impossible to avoid Doctor Who. Even Google introduced a simple game to its home page for both Friday and Saturday. I don’t understand why they didn’t commemorate JFK’s assassination on Friday, but there was Doctor Who and a dalek … My regular weekend crossword was also full of references to the programme, but I didn’t expect it to invade my professional space. On Saturday morning my copy of the latest edition of JIPA (The Journal of the International Phonetic Association for the uninitiated) arrived, and on page 359, in a review of “English Accents and Dialects” by Hughes, Trudgill and Watts, Hannah Leach, of the University of Sheffield, has this:

“Rose: If you’re an alien, how come you sound like you’re from the North?

The Doctor: Lots of planets have a North!

(Series 1, Episode 1, 2005).”

Of course this is not really series 1, but the first in the new run. That was Christopher Ecclestone, but we’ve since had David Tennant, a Scot, playing The Doctor with a South East accent. Pedants would have wanted Rose to say “as if” instead of “like”.

November 17, 2013
by Graham

Haiyan and Tacloban

It’s over a week since the appalling typhoon hit the Philippines and I’m still unsure what the “official” BBC pronunciation of these names is.

Most broadcasters are calling the typhoon itself /ˈhaiˈjæn/ or /ˈhaiˈæn/, but Radio 4 newsreaders appear to be saying /ˈhaiˈjen/, which puzzles me: the name is Chinese, and I always understood that the usual anglicisation for the Pinyin syllable yan was /jæn/, not /jen/, regardless of the tone (for instance the port of Yantai: /ˈjanˈtʌɪ/ – OBGP transcription).

As for the city most affected, I’ve lost count of the number of different pronunciations I’ve heard, sometimes from the same person within a few seconds. Here, you can hear a “male from Philippines” say the name as /taʔˈklobən/, but there is no indication as to his first language. Stress has appeared on any of the three syllables, and sometimes on first and third. I am sure that the Pronunciation Unit is recommending only one of these, but clearly nobody is taking much notice. The one chosen is not so important as the making of a choice and sticking to it.

A few weeks ago Tony, Lord Hall, the Director General, made a speech in which he said he wanted to get back to the Reithian triad of the BBC’s purpose: to inform, educate and entertain. There have been at least two occasions in the past 15 years when  direct orders have come from on high to use a particular pronunciation – the notorious case of Althorp, and the more benign one of Beijing during the 2008 Olympics. Surely the same could happen again. It would ‘educate’ (in teaching a standard) and ‘inform’ (by clarifying the identity of the place referred to).

Print journalists have to conform to the style of their organ, including using standardised spellings for proper names. The equivalent in broadcasting is standardised pronunciations.

November 11, 2013
by Graham


The other day, I forget exactly when, I heard someone on BBC Radio 4 use a word I hadn’t come across before, and one to which my immediate reaction was “he’s making it up”. However, I should have remembered that it is actually very difficult to make up a “new” word in English as so many have been created and then forgotten over the years. The word this time was indignance and I was at first puzzled as to whether he “meant” ‘indignity’ or ‘indignation’. The context then clarified it to ‘indignation’.

Needless to say, the OED has an entry for the word, with this meaning, but I’m still wondering whether the speaker the other day was using it as a familiar word, or whether he simply ‘created’ it from indignant on the spur of the moment by analogy with all the other similar pairs, such as resistant ~ resistance. The OED’s most recent example for indignance dates from 1845, and its earliest from 1590.

November 3, 2013
by Graham

Pottery Phonology (2)

This post may be something of a disappointment to anyone wanting a comprehensive analysis. As I said last week, while the modern accent can be compared, for its differences, with standard British English accents, it would be wrong to compare the dialect in the same way, as both the modern standard and the local dialect are descended separately from different dialects of Middle English, and even Old English. Modern Standard English arises from the form of the East Midlands dialect of Middle English as spoken in the London area (and note that what is usually taught today as ‘Standard’ Old English, or Anglo-Saxon, was not this dialect, but Wessex), whereas the dialect spoken in North Staffordshire was West Midlands.

It would take a whole doctoral thesis to make a thorough analysis of the Phonology of Pottery dialect, so here are just some of the most noticeable features:

Middle English (ME) long ū /uː/ has split: in many cases it has become /ai/, as in house or council (the first of these is a Germanic word, the second Romance, which is itself interesting for dating the evolution of the sound), so that “Arfur Tow Crate in Staffy Cher” can make fun of the phrase ‘kind slice’ for “council house”. Other words with ME /uː/, however, have developed to /ɛu/. Now and mouse are examples of this.

ME /a/ before a nasal had already become /ɒ/ in the West Midland area, so that man is pronounced /mɒn/, and cannot is /kˈɒnə/.

ME /eː/ has simply diphthongized in many cases: see is pronounced /sei/, while ME /ai/ has become a closer monophthongal vowel /iː/: say is pronounced /siː/.

ME /iː/ has in many cases merged with ME /eː/ – wife /weif/, mice /meis/. Elsewhere it has undergone the general vowel shift to /ai/, and then simplified to /aː/ and then to /ɑː/ my wife is often called /ˈmɑː liːdi/ (= “my lady”).

ME /el/ has opened to /al/: tell pronounced /tal/. In final /al/ the /l/ has vocalized and the /a/ backed and risen to form a diphthong /ou/: ball pronounced /bou/.

Apart from the phonology, Pottery dialect has some archaizing grammatical features as well: retention of a second person singular form of modal verbs is the most obvious. The shibboleth question for recognizing another Potteries native is “Cost kick a bo’ agen a wo’, then yed it til thee bost it?” Translated, this is “Can you kick a ball against a wall, then head it until you burst it?” It loses a lot in the translation.