Yesterday I went to Yarramundi Reserve, a small and frankly not very interesting area at the junction of the Nepean, Grose and Hawkesbury Rivers, north-west of the Sydney metropolitan area. Yarramundi (or Yel-lo-mun-dy, or Yal-lah-mien-di, or Yèl-lo-mun-dee, or Yellomundee, or Yello_mundy, or Yellah_munde) was a leader and healer of the Buruberongal (or Boo-roo-bir-rong-gal, or Bu-ru-be-ron-gal, or Bu-ru-be-rong-al, or Boorooberongal, or Buribırȧŋál), a ‘wood tribe’ whose country extended inland from somewhere north-west of Parramatta towards and including the Nepean/Hawkesbury River.
A party of British explorers led by Governor Arthur Phillip met him and several others in April 1791, on an expedition to discover if and how the Hawkesbury (which they had previously explored upstream from its mouth) and the Nepean (which they had encountered after walking overland westward from Parramatta) met. As it turns out, the Nepean/Hawkesbury is essentially one river, but the two names have stuck, and this junction is the arbitrary point at which the names officially change. (The Grose River was named later; Major Francis Grose (later acting governor) did not arrive in the colony until 1792.)
My college is around the corner from a branch of a well-known fast-food restaurant chain (no name, no free publicity, even though it’s perfectly obvious who I’m writing about). Several years ago, a student arrived in class and told us “I ate Madonna for breakfast”.
The pronunciation issue is consonant clusters. All languages have rules about what consonants and consonant clusters can occur at the beginning, in the middle or at the end of a word. Some languages allow none, some a very limited number and some many. English allows a moderately high number of consonant clusters, so most of my students speak languages which allow fewer.
While I was making the bed just before, I noticed that the summer quilt we’re using has the very Konglish brand name SHE’S CLUB.
This immediately reminded me of a dress shop I’ve seen in the medium-sized suburb of Strathfield (which has a large Korean community) named SHE’S … something. Is it SHE’S BOUTIQUE? No, that’s in Downers Grove, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago (with no indication of Korean ownership on the shop front).
Google Maps Street View to the rescue. (I don’t usually give free publicity to corporate entities, but I really gotta in this case.)
Part 1 – introduction
Part 5 – nouns
Part 2 – auxiliary and modal verbs
Part 3 – regular and irregular main verbs
Part 4 – consonant clusters
1 – Five basic sentence types
(1a) Juliet is a young woman.
(1b) Juliet is in love.
(1c) Juliet is happy.
(2) The Prince banishes Romeo.
(3a) This makes Juliet sad.
(3b) This makes Juliet cry.
(4) Friar Lawrence gives Juliet a potion.
(5) Juliet dies.
Last year I downloaded a trial version of one of programs of a major software developer (no free publicity), and have since been receiving marketing emails, despite unsubscribing several times. The latest one had the subject: Make someone ugly cry. [This major software developer] can help.
At first reading, this is Make (someone ugly) cry, but the text of the email reveals a different story. I’ll put the page break here so you can think about it.
In 1960, Margaret Smith won the first of her 24 Grand Slam singles titles (alongside 19 in women’s doubles and 21 in mixed doubles). In 1967, she married a man with the appropriately tennis-y surname of Court, and was thereafter known as Margaret Court. (Her husband’s family was/is involved in law and politics – royal courts and law courts came before tennis courts. He successfully courted her, obviously.) When the Melbourne Park tennis complex was built in 1988, two of the major venues were named after Australia’s most successful male and female tennis players, but are not the Rod Laver Court and the Margaret Court Court, but the Rod Laver Arena and the Margaret Court Arena.
Post-tennis, Margaret Court became a minister in a Pentecostal church in 1991, and has publicly maintained a conservative position against homosexuality and LGBT+ rights in general and the current campaign to allow same-sex marriage in Australia in particular. As a result, there have been calls for the arena to be renamed. The latest of these came from a well-known Australian pop singer performing at Tennis Australia’s Newcombe Medal presentation ceremony on Tuesday night. Her name? Tina Arena.
The Sydney Morning Herald’s story has the mixed-metaphor title Tina Arena tackles Margaret Court at the Newcombe Medal, but the url uses the tennis-y metaphor tina-arena-lobs-one-at-margaret-court-at-the-newcombe-medal.
Enough students to be noticeable pronounce island as ‘ice-land’, ‘eyes-land’ or ‘is-land’. Yes, an island is land, but that’s not relevant. There never was an /s/ in the pronunciation of island – the Middle English was iland and the Old English was igland. In fact, īeg meant ‘island’, so an island is really an island-land. Then someone added the s by analogy with the unrelated isle, from Latin insula via Old French.
Iceland is an island, and what prompted this post was finding out that the Icelandic word for Iceland is Ísland, which I did not know from a childhood hobby of stamp collecting. (I can’t remember that I actually had any stamps from Iceland.) In a post on the Lingua Franca blog, William Germano mentioned that Háskóli Íslands is not ‘the Haskoli Islands’, but ‘the University of Iceland‘. Thinking about it, I guessed that Háskóli is ha (high) + skoli (school), which Wiktionary confirms, and which actually makes more sense than the Latinate university, which means approximately ‘one community (of scholars)’. According to Wikipedia, the Icelandic word for ‘high school’ is framhaldsskóli (‘continued school’). (He also ponders adopting the Icelandic name Bjór Garðurinn, which means ‘beer garden’. The Germanic-ness of that is clear.)
Ireland is also an island, and in my non-rhotic pronunciation those two are pronounced identically. I sometimes find myself introducing a small /r/ to emphasise the difference.
The spelling island took off in the 1750s, for reasons I can’t discover – it was too late for the ‘Age of Discovery’ and too early for James Cook. The spelling iland was used as late as the 1788 – one online source of the diary of a First Fleet officer gave ‘Lord Howe Hand’. When I checked with the scan of the original, I found that it was actually Iland with a curlicue on the I, which the OCR had read as Hand.