It’s no surprise to most of you that I am an Irishwoman, married to an Irishman. You’d think – Ireland being such a small place – that we would, therefore, speak the same language.
Often, in conversation, I will say something which will cause my husband to stare at me, confused, and I’ll have to pick my way back through my words until I find the stitch I dropped – the phrase or saying that I carelessly flung into my chatter which he has never heard before and doesn’t understand. We grew up in opposite ends of the country and so some of the things I say as second nature are (or, I suppose, were, as we’ve been together quite some time now!) alien to his ears. The other evening we were talking about some of these phrases and I had so much fun remembering them that I thought ‘there’s a blog post in this.’
So, for your delectation, here are a few of the phrases I grew up saying, and their definitions. Unfortunately most of the funnier phrases I learned as a youngster can’t be included here as they contain incredible, eye-watering levels of obscenity – but I hope these will do, instead.
Blackguard, n. Pronounced ‘blaggard’, this word has its origins in the earliest days of Hiberno-English, and like a lot of words which are still used in Ireland it probably came from the days of colonial rule by Britain originally. Once upon a time it would have been the vilest insult imaginable, commensurate with ‘outlaw’, ‘scoundrel’ or ‘ruffian’, but now it’s basically the name my parents spent most of my childhood shouting after my brother and me. ‘Come here you little blackguards till I redden yiz!’ was a typical phrase around our house, c. 1987-1997. It can also mean you have a weakness for something – i.e. ‘I’m an awful blackguard for the drink.’
Cat-melodeon,adj. I’m not actually sure of the spelling of this word as I’ve only really heard it, rather than seen it written. It’s the word my grandfather used to use when my brother and cousins and I, as children, were making a mess of his house or running around screaming our heads off, as kids are wont. It’s a word which means ‘noise’, ‘uproar’ or ‘chaos’, but I always associate it with my granddad, all six feet four of him, standing in the back door screaming that if we didn’t stop this cat-melodeon, there’d be trouble. That was usually enough to shut us up for a while.
Come here to me, phr. This is one of those Irish sayings that you don’t take literally. If someone says ‘Come here to me,’ what they’re really saying is ‘listen.’ You can use this phrase while on the phone with someone, so all it’s really saying is ‘I am talking to you.’ If you obeyed literally, and came over to the person who said it to you, they’d look at you like you were a gobshite (see below).
Fizzog, n. I am from a part of Ireland which was heavily influenced by the Norman, as well as the Viking, invasions. A lot of words and family names in my part of Ireland are therefore taken from French, and fizzog (along with its related term vizzard, see below) is one of those. Clearly a derivative of the French visage, fizzog basically means ‘face’, but used mainly in a pejorative sense. So, if you were in a bad mood, someone might say to you ‘What’s the fizzog on you for?’, which means ‘Why the long face?’ or ‘You’ve some fizzog on you,’ which means, in a roundabout backhanded way, ‘cheer up.’
Gobshite, n. Probably the Hiberno-English word most non-Irish people are familiar with, ‘gobshite’ means ‘idiot’. It can also be used affectionately – ‘Ah, you’re only an old gobshite,’ – and it’s not a terribly hurtful or serious term of abuse. One hears it a hundred times a day here. Literally, it means ‘mouthful of excrement,’ but we won’t dwell on that.
I’ll give you who-ate-the-biscuits, phr. Basically, this means ‘That’ll be the end of it, now!’ If you’re fighting with someone, or having a heated discussion, and your opponent feels they have the better of you, this phrase is one they’d use to alert you to the fact that they are about to lay a smackdown upon you from which you have no chance of recovery. See also that’ll put the tin hat on it, below.
I will, yeah, phr. In my part of the country, ‘I will, yeah,’ most definitely means ‘no’. It’s a bit confusing, I’ll grant, but it’s all about intonation. You need to sneer it, rather than say it, leaning heavily on the word ‘will’. ‘You wouldn’t go to the shop for me, would you?’ ‘I will, yeah.’ ‘Right, you little gobshite. I’ll go myself, so!’
Latchiko, n. A thoroughly unpleasant person, or a delinquent child. Possibly derived from ‘latch’, as in a ‘latchkey-kid’, or a child who lets themselves into the house after school because nobody is there to welcome them home (due, probably, to the fact that their parents are in the pub). My dad used this of me a lot as a youngster, which is why I’m such an upstanding member of the community today.
Quare/Quare’n, adj., adv. This is a term you’ll hear at least a hundred times an hour when you spend any time in the South-East of Ireland, where I grew up. ‘Quare’ and ‘Quare’n’ basically mean ‘very’, and are used as an intensifier. ‘It’s quare warm.’ ‘Yer man over there is a quare’n eejit.’ ‘I’m quare’n hungry.’ It can also be used, roughly, to mean ‘strange’: ‘He’s a quare card’ means ‘he’s a unusual fellow.’ When I was a teenager, it also functioned as a one-word answer to most questions. ‘Do you want to go to the beach?’ ‘Quare’n!’ I love this word. It’s in my DNA.
Slob/Sloblands, n. Basically, ‘slob’ means ‘muck.’ The Sloblands is a part of my home county in which a bird sanctuary has been established; essentially, it’s a marsh, hence the name. I love the fact that words in Ireland look like they mean one thing and end up meaning something totally different – we’re a tricksy folk, that way.
Sure lookit, phr. This one is used a lot in the southern part of my home county. It basically means ‘what can you do?’ and is used to end discussions and conversations on a fairly neutral tone. If you were talking about the atrocious weather and it had gone on a bit too long, someone would drop ‘Sure lookit’ or ‘Ah, sure lookit’ into the conversation, and that’s a clear indicator that no more can be said on the topic. Usually muttered with a laboured, painful tone and martyred-looking eyes.
That’ll put the tin hat on it, phr. Basically, this means ‘that’ll be the end of that’, or ‘I can’t see how anything further could possibly be said/done to improve this situation.’ For example, whenever another tax is levied by the government, people mutter: ‘That’ll put the tin hat on it, now. People won’t stand for much more of this!’ But then we give up mumbling and just get on with it. Sure lookit.
Tundish, n. My father uses this word when most other people would use ‘funnel.’ I never knew that it was an unusual word until one day I tried to use it at school and people looked at me like I was an alien, so it’s clearly a word that is used mainly within my family. Apparently, it’s a word which was used in Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and it originally comes from Middle English. So there.
Vizzard, n. See ‘fizzog’, above. ‘Vizzard’ has the same etymology, but it means something slightly different. A vizzard is a mask, and when we were young it meant a Halloween mask, specifically. Essentially, it’s something that covers the face or which purports to be a face. Sometimes, rarely, it can be used in place of ‘fizzog’, but this isn’t a normal usage.
You’ve a head on you like Pontius Pilate’s horse/ a face on you like a full moon in a fog, phr. I’m not sure if these are local colloquialisms so much as sayings that are unique to my family, but in either case, nobody is really sure what they mean and they are among the worst insults you can pay to another living human. I have no idea why Pontius Pilate’s horse had such a disagreeable head (perhaps because Pilate wasn’t the most popular of fellows), or what, exactly, a full moon in a fog looks like, but you want to be sure your face doesn’t resemble one. One can pretty much use the construction ‘You’ve a head on you like…’ or ‘You’ve a face on you like…’ with anything, e.g. ‘You’ve a head on you like a sprouting potato’. Try it!
I hope you’ve enjoyed this mini-dictionary. Let me know if any of these phrases sound familiar to you, or if there are things you say in your part of the world which are meaningful to you, for whatever reason. I love words, me!
I love, I love, I love! I cannot express how much I loved this post! My family are full of these (not *these* exactly, but ones quite similiar). I cleverly thought I might have heard of them, but no. Most of my family phrases are from Yorkshire. Might be a blog post for me in that (perhaps not quite as long as your own!)
Oh, brilliant! Please do write a post about your Yorkshire-born family sayings. I’d be delighted to learn about them. I’m so happy you enjoyed the post – it was a lot of fun to compile. 🙂
Great fun Sinead – 😀
Although with my gothic novel geek on I have to point out that fizzog derives from physiognomy, but as that also means visage… ROFLMAO
Ah! Wow, thank you. I was only going on my dad’s store of knowledge… I will take great pleasure in telling him it derives from physiognomy instead! But, as you point out, visage is at the root of it all, so perhaps it’s best to leave him thinking he’s a linguistic expert. 🙂 Glad you enjoyed the post, anyway.
Very entertaining. I bought a fridge magnet when I was in Ireland the other day saying ‘Feck the weather, in Ireland it’s always grand’. I’d love to know how that word has come about to mean ‘to hell with’ as it is nothing like the one with the other vowel and is used by priests to politicians and everyone in between!
Well, erm. It’s a euphemism for the ‘other word’, and is used as elastically as the word with the naughty vowel in. Basically, anywhere you can imagine using the other word, you can harmlessly use ‘feck’ in this country and nobody would bat an eyelid. I think it came about because we’re a bunch of feckin’ sweary feckers in this country and we couldn’t bring ourselves to live without a word to express the utter pointlessness of life. I mean, if we didn’t have ‘feck’, we’d all be heavy drinkers… Oh. Wait a minute… 😉
My dad (South Londoner) used to say ‘fizzog’ with great relish. Another one I remember from him was ‘black as Newgate’s knocker’ (Newgate pronounced ‘Noogit’). Yikes!
Haha! Black as a Newgate’s knocker – that’s brilliant. My father has a collection of sayings in that vein but they’re all far too offensive to share in public. 🙂 I love keeping a record of them, though, lest they fall out of use. Thank you so much for this one!
Thank you for your post. Sadly my mother who hadB British and Irish (Newah) Ancestry would have really enjoyed it! I have as well.
My Dad used to say “Whist yourselves!” when he wanted us to keep quiet. I think this is used in Scotland as well.
My family uses ‘will yiz ever hold yer whisht!’ or even just ‘whisht!’ for the same purpose. I’ve no doubt it’s used in Scotland too – I think we share a lot of the same linguistic quirks! Thanks for your comment.
Stumbled onto this tonight while looking for a reasonable definition of the word “blaggard”. I’m reading The Raven Spell, and thanks to you I’m now pretty sure it takes place in Ireland!!
It was delightful reading all of these, and I’d love to read more if you have them!
Thank you! This blog post always gets a lot of love. I really should revisit it and see if I can update it with a few more entries. If you haven’t come across it already, let me recommend A Hiberno-English Dictionary, edited by my late friend and colleague Prof. Terry Dolan. It really is a treasure trove!
OMG! I’m on the Edinburgh to London train and your blog had me convulsing in that way that’s hard to contain when sat amongst straight-faced fellow travellers. ‘Blackguard’ was one of the solutions in today’s Everyman crossword and I set off in search of the word’s origin wondering why my father pronounced it blaggard when he chastised us small ones for some misdemeanour. And I hit, immediately, on you blog and now writing this to straighten up my face.
You really must revisit and add more. I recognised most of your examples though, being from the west, not all.
On the subject of ‘feck’ when my son, age 10, was heading off on his first rugby tour from his south London club the coach, of Irish heritage, laid out the rules: what goes on tour …etc; absolutely no bad language apart from ‘feck’ which he reassuring told them was Irish for ‘oh dear’.
My favourite saying from our family and I don’t think it had a life outside ours was one of my aunt’s who’d say ‘you have your Ballmahon’ which kind of translates to ‘you dirty eejit’ or ‘you’re talking through your hat’
Oh, that’s brilliant – thank you! I’m so glad you liked the post. It’s the one that I get the most contact about, mostly from people telling me my explanations/etymologies/examples are arseways (whoops!) but – shur lookit. It’s all just a bit of craic. ‘Blackguard’ remains one of my family’s worst insults! And as for ‘feck’ – it’s practically a wallpaper word, one you don’t even hear because you hear it so often! I’m glad you enjoyed the post and thanks a million for your comment. 🙂