Q: Hi AWC, what’s the deal with the word “GOLD”?

A: Well, it’s pretty old. Can you guess where it comes from?

Q: I’m going to go with Latin.

A: Nice try, but nope – their word was “aurum”. And it’s the reason the chemical symbol for the element gold is “Au”.

Q: Okay, so where DID it come from then?

A: The noun for the shiny, soft metal was in use as early as the 12th century, likely from Old German “gold” and Dutch “goud”. They came from the root “ghel” meaning “to shine”. This same lineage gave us words like “glimmer”, “glitter”, “glow” and “gloss”.

Q: What about the adjective?

A: To describe something as “gold” – i.e. the colour itself – started in the 13th century, but the metal itself would not be described as gold in its appearance until the 1400s.

Q: Wait. What’s the difference between describing something as “gold” and “golden”?

A: That’s a great question. Writers and poets will wax lyrical, using each fairly interchangeably. But while “golden” started life in the 1300s to mean anything “made of gold”, by the 1400s it was used to describe “the colour of gold”.

Q: Like golden hair or golden flakes of breakfast cereal?

A: Yep. This leaves things actually made from gold – e.g. a gold medal, gold ring etc – using the adjective “gold”. There are of course exceptions however.

Q: Are gold medals made from actual gold then?

A: Another common question (especially from cash-strapped Olympic athletes!). The first “gold medal” to denote a first prize was given out in 1757 according to the Online Etymology Dictionary. Meanwhile, gold medals weren’t given out at the Olympics until the third modern games of 1904. And those first ones were in fact, solid gold.

Q: Pay day!

A: Yes, but since the Olympics of 1920, gold medals are required to be made from 92.5% silver – although they still must contain at least 6 grams of pure gold.

Q: It seems so many things use the term “gold” or “golden” these days.

A: It’s true. From the 1400s on, “golden” became synonymous with “excellent, precious, best, most valuable” giving us figurative terms like “golden age”. Then from the 1600s, “golden” came to be seen as “favourable or auspicious” – giving us terms like “golden law” or “golden ratio”.

Q: Oh, “auspicious” – like “au” for gold!

A: No, it’s not related.

Q: What about that TV show The Gilded Age? Is that also another way to say golden?

A: Yeah, around the late 1500s, the verb “gild” came to mean applying a thin layer of gold to something. This was originally described as “gilt” but became “gilded”.

Q: I guess the gilt just got too much to bear…

A: Hilarious. By the way, the TV show didn’t come up with that name. The “Gilded Age” was an era of American history roughly spanning 1870–1900. It was first coined in the novel The Gilded Age, co-authored by Mark Twain.

Q: Okay, what are some other gold terms?

A: “Gold rush” came along in 1859, just in time for the gold rushes of the late 19th century. Meanwhile, San Francisco Bay’s entrance channel was first given the name “Golden Gate” by American explorer John Fremont in 1846. He named it to complement the “Golden Horn” harbour entrance in Istanbul, Turkey. He saw it as “a golden gate to trade with the Orient”.

Q: What about goldfish though? They’re orange.

A: Well, back in early China, these small carp fish were a dull yellow, with mutations creating flecks of yellow/orange varieties that resembled gold. Further selective breeding has led to the dominant bold orange today.

Q: Do music albums still “go gold”?

A: They do – although sales numbers for qualifying are different depending on the country. The first description of a “gold record” happened in 1948 (on the one-millionth copy of Frankie Lane's That's My Desire), while the term “to go gold” in a musical sense didn’t surface until the late 1960s.

Q: I love that song, “I ain’t sayin’ she's a gold digger…” 

A: Well, we ain’t messin’ when we say that long before Kanye/Ye’s 2005 hit song, the term “gold digger” was first used in the early 1800s to describe someone actually digging up gold from the ground. The term for “a person who forms a relationship with another purely to extract money from them” wouldn’t appear in literature around 1915, and by the 1930s had spread globally.

Q: What about “sitting on a gold mine”?

A: The idea of a literal gold mine has been a thing for centuries, but the figurative term “gold mine” – to mean any source of great wealth – is from 1882. (A time when, amusingly, many people were probably sitting atop actual gold mines.)

Q: And having “a heart of gold”?

A: That one comes from Shakespeare’s play Henry V from 1599. You’ll also find “all that glitters (originally “glisters”) is not gold” from his 1597 play Merchant of Venice.

Q: And finally, “worth your weight in gold”?

A: This one is much older – actually starting life in Ancient Rome.

Q: I think about it often!

A: Good to know. We’ve previously discussed that the Romans paid soldiers using salt – a valuable commodity at the time. So the original saying was to be “worth one’s weight in salt” (much later becoming “worth one’s salt”). The more precious “gold” replaced “salt” when the phrase debuted in English around the 1200s.

Q: I’ve met plenty of great people who are figuratively worth their weight in gold. But is anyone literally worth their weight in gold?

A: Sure. Pure gold is currently worth about $116,000AUD per kilogram. So plenty of babies and children, although an adult might need at least six million dollars. 

Q: It’s always nice to feel valued…

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Q: Hi AWC, with the Olympics starting, we’re going to hear the word ‘podium’ a lot. But what’s the difference between a podium and a dais?

A: Good question, because while many think podiums are three-tiered by definition, that isn’t their definition at all. 

Q: So what is it?

A: Macquarie Dictionary defines a “podium” simply as “a small platform”. This might be used by a conductor of an orchestra, a public speaker or yes, for recipients of awards.

Q: So just a raised platform?

A: Yep. It was first used in English in the 1740s – architecturally to describe a raised area around an arena where the VIPs sat, or later for the continuous base around a building. It’s from the Latin “podium” and Greek “podion” before that – meaning foot. 

Q: Oh, like podiatry?

A: Exactly like that. It wasn’t actually until the 1940s that it got its most common meaning today as a raised structure at the front of a hall or stage.

Q: My uncle Thomas used to have the job of drilling podiums into the floor. For a while he was very worried that he was damaging the timber, but it turns out it was just a stage he was going through.

A: Groooan.

Q: So what about “dais” – how is that any different?

A: It’s certainly older – with “dais” arriving in English in the 1300s, as a “platform or raised floor at one end of a room or hall”. It came from Old French “dois” meaning high table, and Latin “discus” before that – where we also get the word “dish”. Curiously, according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “dais” died out around 1600, only to be revived by the Scottish in the 1800s.

Q: Och aye!

A: If you want to find the biggest difference, a dais is sometimes considered a platform for many people, while a podium is fewer or just one. But then you have contradictory examples where a single throne sits upon a dais. They are very similar, except you’re more likely to call a raised circular structure a dais, especially knowing its lineage.

Q: And winners of medals in the discus at the Olympics really should stand upon a dais, not a podium!

A: Haha, sure. You will probably hear both terms – “medal dais” and “medal podium” – during the Olympics… they’re fairly synonymous at this point. 

Q: Raised platforms, got it.

A: At this point, it’s probably a good idea to bring in a third word – “lectern”.

Q: Oh okay, what’s its deal?

A: Well typically, the lectern is the actual structure that a speaker might place notes on or which holds the microphone, pointer, water etc. It was traditionally the “reading desk in a church” – from the Latin word “lectrum”, meaning to read. 

Q: So what’s that got to do with our raised platforms? Wouldn’t a lectern sit atop a dais or podium?

A: Well yes, but it’s worth mentioning that lecterns are increasingly being called podiums, especially in North American English. 

Q: Ugh, I simply won’t stand for this!

A: Would you like a lectern?

Q: Hmmm. Okay, so let’s look at podiums in the Olympics. You mention they were part of ancient arenas, so I’m guessing they go waaay back.

A: Your guess is wrong.

Q: Of course it is.

A: A quick history lesson first. Basically, following the revival of the Modern Olympics in 1896, the whole medal ceremony was a hot mess. It wasn’t until 1928 that they had any kind of ceremony, with all the athletes receiving medals on the final day by marching up to a dignitary’s table and having the award bestowed upon them there. 

Q: Sounds clunky.

A: It was. And it was actually at the first ever Empire Games (later becoming the Commonwealth Games) of 1930 that any kind of “podium” was first used. In that case, the winner stood on a raised middle step, while 2nd and 3rd stood lower down on either side. All three had a balcony style rail to lean on and from here they waved to the crowd, but never actually received medals while up there.

Q: So they literally put their top athletes on a pedestal.

A: They did. By the way, the figurative use of “to put someone on a pedestal” – as in to regard them highly – dates back to 1859.

Q: When did the Olympics first use podiums?

A: Ah yes. Well, the IOC President Count Henri de Baillet-Latour had been at those 1930 Empire Games and he liked what he saw. The podium would go on to make its debut in the 1932 Winter Games at Lake Placid and later that same year at the Los Angeles Summer Olympics.

Q: Wow, so the three-tiered thing like we have today?

A: Yep. In fact, that same guy made the rule that the 2nd place getter would stand on the winner’s right and the 3rd place getter on the left. And that’s how it has stayed – in the 2-1-3 order as you look at it.

Q: Very cool. 

A: It was. And by the way, those Los Angeles games of 1932 were also the first to see the gold medalist have their national flag raised and anthem played at the podium presentation. 

Q: So to recap, it could be called a winners’ dais or podium, as both mean raised platform, but “podium” seems to have become tied with the Olympics.

A: That’s right. In fact, especially in America, the word is often used as a verb. So “to podium” – much like “to medal” – would mean coming in 1st, 2nd or 3rd. Needless to say that purists aren’t all that impressed at this rise in “podiuming” – with even the New York Times writing about it back in 2010. But as we know, English is a living breathing language and you can’t meddle with progress.

Q: Unless you do that meddling on a “meddle” podium! See what I did there?

A: That’s not winning any gold…

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Q: Hi AWC, a quick one this week. I just need you to tell me the difference between pigeons and doves. Let’s start with pigeons, shall we?

A: Well…. Um. So the name “pigeon” has been around since the 13th century.

Q: Uh huh. Yup, good.

A: Aaaand, it’s from the Old French “pijon” – meaning “young dove”. 

Q: Wait. What?

A: Young dove.

Q: Hang on. Are you telling me that pigeons and doves are the SAME?

A: Well, essentially yes. 

Q: No!

A: Yes. They’re all from the same big “Columbidae” family of birds. “Pigeon” is simply the name the French gave to them – from the Latin “pipio” for the peeping sound chicks made. Meanwhile, “dove” was named by Germans – for the bird’s diving action. But there’s no difference. 

Q: But, I always thought doves were smaller?

A: Here in Australia, some might label the smaller birds as ‘doves’, but the experts will tell you that those feral pigeons you see crapping on statues are actually also known as “rock doves”. 

Q: But “homing pigeons” – they MUST be different?

A: Not anatomically. Of course, sure, that particular usage has them labelled as pigeons – and other phrases like “carrier pigeon” (from the 1640s) followed suit. But they could have just as easily been called “carrier doves”. Same bird. Same innate homing ability. Simply different names, depending on where you live.

Q: So what about the white ones with the olive branch? They must surely be ONLY doves, right?

A: Again, sorry to break it to you, but the famous “white dove” is just a feral pigeon. 

Q: No!

A: Yes. The best way to think about it is that the name “dove” simply got itself a better PR team. 

Q: What about the two “turtle doves” from that Christmas song?

A: Once more, they’re universally known as “turtle doves” – but again, they’re a type of pigeon.

Q: By the way, are they named that because they look like they’re wearing a turtle-neck? Or maybe they have trouble coming out of their shell?

A: No, it’s unrelated. The word “turtle” in the name actually comes from the Latin “turtur” – from the sound the bird makes. Turrrrr turrrrr.

Q: Cool. Any other fun facts?

A: Sure! To be “pigeon-toed” – toes curling inward – was originally applied to horses in the late 1780s before switching to describe human toes about 15 years later. Meanwhile, the term “dovetail” has been used in carpentry since the 1500s for the wedge shape resembling, you guessed it, a dove’s tail.

Q: So it’s just whoever got there first with naming things after pigeons or doves?

A: Yeah. And like idioms, they tended to stick with one or the other. Another example is the term “pigeon-hole” – those things often used by teachers and other professions to keep mail etc in. It was named in the 1680s for the small compartments on a writing desk that did indeed resemble the holes that carrier pigeons flew in and out of. 

Q: Fascinating.

A: The verb followed in the 1870s. For example, “she pigeon-holed doves for only symbolising peace, when they were also happy to defecate on statues”.

Q: Very funny.

A: By the way, do you know the name of the structure that Macquarie Dictionary defines as “usually at a height above the ground, for domestic pigeons, containing recesses for nesting and holes for the birds to enter and leave”?

Q: A pigeon palace?

A: Nope, it’s called a “dovecote” – yet more evidence of the interchangeable nature of the names!

Q: Okay, okay. I get it. They’re the same bird. Sheesh. 

A: Any other questions?

Q: Actually, YES. My friend just had her second baby, and now people are telling her she has a “pigeon pair”. Why?

A: Because all they’ll do is poop everywhere and keep finding their way home?

Q: Haha. 

A: A “pigeon pair” refers to having “one of each” – a boy and a girl. But any Noah with an Ark could tell you that there are plenty of animals you could apply this phrase to other than pigeons, right?

Q: Exactly! Why not a panda pair? Or a pelican? Or even a pangolin?

A: A pangolin?

Q: Yes, those rare anteater things that start pandemics.

A: Ah yes, those. So, the reason they’re called “pigeon pairs” is because pigeons do something those animals don’t. 

Q: Carry olive branches and call themselves doves?

A: Well yes, that. But they ALSO typically lay two eggs at a time, normally hatching as a male and female. The phrase dates back to the late 1700s and was originally just for a set of twins that contained a boy and girl. 

Q: But my friend doesn’t have twins!

A: Yes, because these days it can also simply mean a family with two children – where one is a boy and the other is a girl. A “pigeon pair”. 

Q: So to recap, pigeons and doves are basically the same bird, and specific names of things like “turtle doves” or “pigeon pairs” are idiomatic.

A: Perfect! And now, it’s time to fly away…

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Q: Hi AWC, what’s the deal with “taught” and “taut”?

A: Two completely different words. Nothing to see here.

Q: Hi AWC. I saw America celebrating Independence Day last weekend and it got me wondering. Who exactly is – or was – “Uncle Sam”?

A: Do you mean it’s not one of your relatives? You always have a story about an uncle or aunt doing something.

Q: Nope, not one of mine. Although I do have an eccentric uncle named Swepson – he drives miniature trains on the first Sunday of each month.

A: How nice.

Q: So I’m guessing Uncle Sam was in charge of America at one point? Or something. Was he the president? 

A: There have been no US presidents named Sam or Samuel. Or any name beginning with S for that matter.

Q: Okay, so who is he?

A: “Uncle Sam” is indeed a symbol of the United States of America. And he surfaced in the 1810s during the American war with Britain.

Q: Wait! (Wait for it.) I thought the Revolutionary War was in the 1780s? The one Hamilton and all the hip-hop rappers and dancers fought in?

A: No, not that one. Hamilton had gone the way of Biggie and Tupac by the time this second conflict rolled around.

Q: Oh, so Napoleon then?

A: Not really. He was busy trying to invade Russia and inspiring an 1812 Overture to be written 70 years later. It is true that the French had been busy fighting the British for years prior and the US decided it would be a good time to declare war on them too. It was all a bit of a mess, and no one really was fully prepared for what was essentially a land grab of Canada and the Gulf regions.

Q: Yeah, but WHO was Sam?

A: One theory has it that he was a New York meat packer named Samuel Wilson, who supplied rations to soldiers during this war. Others claim it was already a term that had been in use by the army and that it came from an alternative abbreviation of the U.S. (Uncle Sam/United States), documented from as early as 1810.

Q: So they just created some pretend mascot?

A: Oh, it was all the rage back then! Britain had created their own, with “Brittania” ruling the waves from 1740, and a union-jack-wearing character named “John Bull” established around 1712 as an archetype Englishman. In reply, America had embraced “Columbia” as their female mascot (we spoke about it previously here), so this added a male character to the ranks.

Q: Ranks being the operative word!

A: Indeed, because Uncle Sam would become very well known for stirring up national pride. Future president Ulysses S Grant had the nickname “Uncle Sam” while at West Point Academy in the 1840s, due to his “U.S” initials, and the character would make appearances in cartoon form here and there. But he didn’t really get a proper look or true branding campaign until World War I in 1917. 

Q: The famous “WANTS YOU” poster?

A: Yes and no. The original was actually Britain’s moustached Lord Kitchener “WANTS YOU” from a 1914 poster. But then, when the US entered the war a few years later, they copied that idea. For the first time, Uncle Sam got the look he has kept till today – an old white man with a goatee, top hat (with stars), blue coat and red-and-white striped pants.

Q: And he’s pointing at the viewer?

A: That’s the one. “I WANT YOU FOR U.S. ARMY” it said in rather clunky grammar. Of course, the “U.S ARMY” in question was “Uncle Sam’s Army”.

Q: Any other fun facts about Uncle Sam?

A: September 13th is officially “Uncle Sam Day” in America – designated back in 1989 because it was that original meat packer Samuel Johnson’s birthday. So despite the convenient “U.S.” connection, it seems everyone likes a proper human origin story.

Q: And what a meaty story it was!

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Q: Hi AWC, what’s the deal with “taught” and “taut”?

A: Two completely different words. Nothing to see here.

Q: Except there IS something to see. I saw it in my friend’s story yesterday. It read, “the rope was pulled taught” … but that’s not how I was taught!

A: Haha, calm down. And yes, you WERE taught right. The word “taught” is indeed the past tense (and past participle) of the verb “teach”. It came from the Old English “tahte” during the 1300s.

Q: And to be self-taught?

A: That term followed much later, around 1725 according to the Online Etymology Dictionary.

Q: My uncle is a self-taught saxophone player.

A: Oh, that’s nice. Is he good?

Q: Oh no, he’s terrible. Can’t play a single tune. He really should have had some lessons…

A: Ummm, okay. So, now let’s look at “taut” – the word your friend SHOULD have used in their story.

Q: I knew it!

A: “Taut” is an adjective described by Macquarie Dictionary as “​​tightly drawn; tense; not slack”. And as you might expect considering such a different meaning, it’s not related to teach/taught at all.

Q: I did expect that, yes.

A: “Taut” is also the older of the two words – arriving into English during the 1200s.

Q: When you say that, I always imagine a fresh-faced word jumping off a ship, ready to start a new life in England. 

A: That’s quite ridiculous, but a fun image.

Q: I know, right? I can hear the seagulls now, the ropes pulled taut against the wharf…

A: Well, as far as where your ship had sailed from, “taut” was possibly an offshoot of the Old English word “toen”, meaning to pull or drag. The same root word gave us “tow” and “tie”. But another etymological theory traces it back to a similar path of the word “tough”. It’s unclear.

Q: So what you’re saying is that not only was there heavy fog on the morning the good ship Etymology sailed into port, but “taut” also snuck off without filling out any paperwork?

A: Something like that, yes. Interestingly, in its early life, “taut” wasn’t spelt that way. Can you guess HOW it was spelt?

Q: Surely not… Was it spelt “taught”?

A: It was!

Q: Oh English, WHY do you keep shooting yourself in the foot!

A: Haha, it can be frustrating. The good news is that by the 1500s, “taut” had settled on its current-day spelling as well as the final “tightly drawn” meaning. 

Q: Why do people use “taught” instead then?

A: Besides simply not realising “taut” is a word, it’s likely that the similar “-ght” form of “tight” and “taught” leads them to assume those words are related. They’re not.

Q: So that’s the end of the confusion!

A: Not quite.

Q: Sorry, what?

A: It’s probably also worth mentioning the word “taunt” at this point. Again, it’s a completely different word – a verb meaning “to reproach or mock” as well as a noun of that same thing – “a scornful reproach or gibe”. 

Q: Example?

A: “Bullies taunted the boy and their taunts were heard through the streets.”

Q: Poor kid. I would have taught them a lesson.

A: Anyway, despite it once more being unrelated, ”taunt” is often mistakenly used for something that is being pulled tightly, when the correct word should be “taut”.

Q: So is there some way to remember it?

A: “Taut” has just four letters – it is the shortest word because it has been pulled tight. That’s really all you need to know. The other words simply mean other things!

Q: Fair enough. So, what about Tweety Bird?

A: What about Tweety Bird?

Q: Well, he “taut” he taw a puddy tat, right?

A: Haha. It’s true that I Taut I Taw a Puddy Tat WAS the original spelling in a 1950 song by the cartoon creator Mel Blanc, the spelling was later changed to “tawt”.

Q: Fascinating! Or, as Sylvester the Cat would taunt, “Sufferin Succotash!”…

A: Believe it or not, it’s not the first time we’ve discussed “succotash” – check out our conversation on “squash vs quash” if you want to be taught some more!

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Q: Hi AWC, what does it mean when Sheryl Crow says “apropos of nothing” in the hit 1994 song All I Wanna Do? 

A: What do YOU think it means?

Q: Hmmm, is it some kind of payment system, like EFTPOS? She’s singing in a bar after all. 

A: It is not. First, let’s clarify the pronunciation. You say it “ap-ruh-POH”.

Q: Okay.

A: And the word “apropos” has a few uses, so let’s start there shall we?

Q: Fine. We have apropos of nothing to lose, after all! 

A: That is not one of the uses.

Q: Hey, all I wanna do is have some fun…

A: According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “apropos” came to English from French in the 1660s, from the French”á propos” – “to the purpose”, from the original Latin “propos” – meaning a “thing said in conversation, talk; purpose, plan”.

Q: 1660s? Just in time for the Great Fire of London!

A: Well, the original role for “apropos” in English was as an adverb, meaning ‘opportunely’. So one might say that considering all the disease and rat-infested filth in the city at that time, the Great Fire of London arrived “apropos”.

Q: And it still means opportunely?

A: It does. It can also relate to the seasonality. So blossoms in spring appear apropos.

Q: That’s quite the contrast from disease and filth.

A: We try to mix up our examples.

Q: Nice.

A: By 1690, “apropos” was also being used similarly as an adjective – describing something that was relevant or opportune. For example, “The hunting lodge has a giant stag’s head above the fireplace, which feels very apropos.”

Q: So is “apropos” related to “appropriate”?

A: Etymologically, no. But their meanings are very similar today.

Q: What about the word “propose” then?

A: Yes it is related, but curiously, that word started out as “propound” – from the Latin “proponere”. However over time, the French came in and simply swapped out the ending to fit with one that suited THEIR purpose.

Q: They just did it for no real reason?

A: That’s right, apropos of nothing!

Q: Ahhhh, I see what you did there. So, that has brought us back to all this “apropos of nothing” silliness.

A: It has. And to be fair to the above uses, while they are valid and pop up from time to time, they’re less commonly seen than the use of “apropos of” as a preposition – something that took hold around the 1760s. Certainly well before 1994.

Q: So, what’s the meaning here?

A: “Apropos of” goes back to the original Latin, relating to “a thing said in conversation”. Essentially, “apropos of” is just a fancy way to say “with regard or reference to”. It gets used when bringing up some other fact or anything relevant to the topic at hand.

Q: Unless of course…

A: Unless of course something is “apropos of nothing”! Not relevant or without reference to anything. So, in the earlier example, the French just came and changed “propound” to “propose” with no etymological reference – apropos of nothing. 

Q: And Sheryl Crow?

A: Her lyric states that a man sitting next to her just says something to her out of nowhere. “It’s apropos of nothing” she goes on to add. Not in relation to anything.

Q: Well, she was drinking at noon on a Tuesday, so it was likely to happen.

A: It was.

Q: Do you have another real world example for me? It doesn’t have to be from a song.

A: Okay, well you might say that “a tree fell in the forest, apropos of nothing”. No storm. No lumberjacks etc. It just fell.

Q: Ah yes. But the real question is did it make a sound?

A: Haha. Annoyingly, sometimes “apropos of” drops the “of” while still meaning “with regard/reference to”. For example, “Apropos the planned changes, more discussion is needed.”

Q: Or you could just say “regarding” and stop being pompous!

A: True. And “pompous” is another great French-derived word.

Q: Okay, so to recap. “Apropos” can describe something relevant or opportune. But it can also be a preposition, usually with “of”, meaning “with regard to”.

A: That’s right. So if something is “apropos of nothing” it’s unrelated to anything. 

Q: Any final fun facts?

A: Yes actually. During the 2020 COVID outbreak, the US mint coincidentally brought out a quarter dollar coin with a design of a bat (the animal thought to have started the pandemic). Many called this release “ironic” – but the better term to describe it would actually have been “apropos” (relevant and opportune).

Q: Don’t even get me started on Alanis Morisette’s abuse of the definition of “ironic”…

A: Haha, we’ll save that for another day.

Q: Right now, all I wanna do is have some fun. And I got a feeling I'm not the only one…?

A: Ummm nope. You’re the only one.

Q: Ugh, I wonder if you’ve ever had a day of fun in your whole life.

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Q: Hi AWC, why do we refer to body parts when talking about something being expensive?

A: Such as?

Q: To pay “through the nose” or to pay “an arm and a leg”?

A: Ah! The phrase “paying through the nose” does indeed mean to pay a large amount, and Macquarie Dictionary suggests that its origin could go all the way back to the 9th century.

Q: Gosh, that’s old.

A: They point to the “nose” tax imposed on the Irish by the Danes who invaded at that time. 

Q: A nose tax? What, so if you had a big nose you went bankrupt?

A: Haha, not exactly. It seems it was called this because if you didn’t pay this particular tax, the Danes would slit your nose!

Q: Is that where “to cut off your nose despite your face” also comes from?

A: You mean “to cut off your nose TO SPITE your face”.

Q: Do I?

A: Yes, you do – as it’s all about spite. But no, it’s not related. Out of interest, that phrase means to end up disadvantaging yourself while attempting to hurt someone (the “spite” part). It first appeared in a 1796 dictionary – cutting off people’s noses was a common way to exact revenge in the Middle Ages.

Q: Probably a blessing not to have to smell things back then!

A: Anyway, the Oxford Dictionary believes the more likely origin of paying “through the nose” is much later – from a 1666 text that suggested that paying excessively was akin to a metaphor of bleeding through your nose. 

Q: Rather ironic, as the cheapest seats are usually the “nosebleed” section – way up high!

A: True. Apparently, during the 1600s, “rhino” (Greek for “nose”) was also a slang word for “money”. The nose/money connection seems unclear beyond this however.

Q: I’m pretty sure rhino horns are worth a lot of money. I learnt that on Safari.

A: Wow, didn’t realise you’d been to Africa!

Q: No, I meant “Safari” the web browser…bahahaa.

A: Okay, shall we talk about “an arm and a leg”?

Q: I’m going to go out on a limb and say that yes, we should.

A: Hilarious. Well, in this case it’s costing you TWO limbs. The phrase “to give my right arm” (to desire something greatly) has been around since the 1600s, as has one origin theory.

Q: What theory?

A: According to Grammar Monster, it came from the Irish halfpenny coins in the 1680s. Apparently, King Charles II (yes, the last King Charles before the current one) had copper halfpennies made for use in Ireland. And the two men who made them were named Sir Thomas Armstrong and Colonel George Legge.

Q: Okay, I see where THIS is going.

A: Yep. So, these coins ended up in use by the Irish over in America and “it will cost you an Arm and a Leg” was simply a way to say “it will cost you a halfpenny”. Over time, the link to the names was lost, so people assumed it meant very expensive.

Q: Hmmm, it all sounds very convenient. Got any other theories?

A: Yeah. Less of a theory and more actual usage. A 1908 article recounted hunting a bear claimed “it cost an arm and a leg, besides the eye”. Then, as World War I and II saw the advent of machine guns and explosives on the battlefield, these conflicts quite literally cost soldiers “an arm and a leg”.

Q: So when did it stop being about missing limbs and start being about pricey hotel rooms?

A: Around 1948, we begin to see “an arm and a leg” used figuratively. The evolution seems clear – losing limbs during the war had been an actual high price to pay, so now it simply denoted a high price to pay for everything from diamond rings to .

Q: I like the 20th century origin story better than those two conveniently named coin-makers.

A: We agree.

Q: So to recap, to pay “through the nose” may be from a 9th century nose cutting tax or simply a metaphor for nose-bleedingly high prices.

A: That’s right.

Q: And to pay “an arm and a leg” is the figurative evolution of people who literally paid a high price – sometimes with their lives – during war.

A: Correct! 

Q: They say talk is cheap, but this one was expensive…

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Q: Hi AWC, I feel like raisin a topic today.

A: Are you trying to be clever by using the word “raisin”?

Q: Hmmmph. Yes.

A: What would you like to know about raisins?

Q: Well, it’s actually about THEM versus sultanas. What’s the difference? I know they’re dried grapes, but is it simply red and green grapes? And what’s the deal with currants?

A: We can certainly look at “currant affairs” too.

Q: Haha. So, they’re all dried grapes, yeah?

A: They certainly are. But it’s not as simple as the colour of a grape – just like some white wines are actually made from red grapes.

Q: Wait, seriously?

A: Yeah, the skin colour is not as important as you might think.

Q: What a lovely lesson.

A: So let’s start with “raisins” – the word literally meaning “grape” in French, where it came from. 

Q: So if you owned a French house that grows grapes, you could call it your “Raisin Maison”?

A: Very cute. So, raisins are dark in colour not due to the type of grape, but rather the fact that a grape will darken as it dries – in this case, a specific dehydrating process that takes weeks. Some claim a variety known as Muscat is required, but in truth, many different varieties are used – both green and red/black grapes.

Q: What about sultanas?

A: Again, we’re drying grapes, but this time they are more specifically from large green seedless grapes. These will give a lighter “golden” brown colour and for this reason, America doesn’t actually use the name “sultana” – instead preferring the label “golden raisins”. These almost universally use the Thompson Seedless grape and are grown typically in California. 

Q: So they’re lighter?

A: Yes, especially in America where they tend to use a preservative called sulphur dioxide. Some darker sultanas here in Australia don’t have that – often labelled “natural” sultanas.

Q: What about the word? And how does the “Sultan of Brunei” fit into all this?

A: The name “sultan” came from French in the 1500s, referring to rulers of Arabic and Muslim lands. The wife of a sultan was indeed a “sultana”, and together they ruled a “sultanate”.

Q: I have visions of a sultana reclining and being fed grapes by her servants. But is our grapey word related?

A: It certainly is. In fact, it was because at the time the best green seedless grapes were grown in a particular region in Turkey, that they named the resulting delicacy after that region’s sultan’s wife. The name appears to have caught on during the 1840s. 

Q: So fairly current then!

A: And speaking of currants – these also come from grapes, but this time an even more specific type. – the Black Corinth grape. The dried variety is sometimes referred to as the “Corinth raisin” or the “Zante currant” – after its origins to the Greek island of Zakynthos.

Q: Mama mia!

A: Here we go again. The Black Corinth is a dark grape that will give a dried fruit similar in colour to a typical raisin, but a lot smaller in size.

Q: Are these currants related to blackcurrants, red currants etc?

A: Importantly, NO. Despite the name, whenever you see reference to red “currants” – very similar to “gooseberries” – and other fruit like blackcurrants, they are completely different. They come from the Ribes berry shrub/plant and NOT a grape.

Q: So you don’t dry out red currants to make the little shrivelled raisin-like currants?

A: No. Totally different fruit. Berries vs grapes. That’s why to avoid confusion, the grape variety (the one that you DO dry out) is best called the “Zante currant”.

Q: I never knew that! So which had the name first?

A: The grape one did – which it got from its Greek location. The “th” in “Corinth” was mistaken as an “s” and gave us “Curans” – eventually “currants” – the name first appearing around 1500 as they were exported from Greece. The unrelated berry plant would be named about 80 years later, in a moment of stupidity.

Q: And what about the word “current”?

A: No relation. It came to English around 1300 from the Latin “currere” – meaning to run or move quickly – like the current you might find in a river (but eventually other things). By the 1400s, it applied to things “presently in effect”, with the terms: “current events” and “current affairs” both arriving in the late 1700s. “Currency” also comes from the same Latin base.

Q: So, to recap, raisins are many varieties of dried grapes. Sultanas are lighter, from more specific seedless green grapes. And finally, currants (aka Zante currants) are really from just one type of dried grape.

A: That’s a grape way to put it!

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Q: Hi AWC, can you help with a boat question?

A: Is it about the popular reality show Below Deck? Because we don’t really want to be giving out spoilers…

Q: No it’s about navigation on a boat.

A: Perhaps a compass would help? Or you could get one of those sextant things and navigate by the stars.

Q: Ah, you misunderstand. I mean ON the boat. I always get my afts and ports and bows and starboards mixed up. Can you help?

A: We certainly can! Probably the easiest place to start is with the “left” and “right” words – “port” and “starboard” as you face forwards. The left side is “port” and the easiest way to remember it is that they have the same number of letters.

Q: That’s handy. But WHY call the left side “port”? The harbour won’t always be on the left!

A: Well it WAS back in the 1540s when this word was first used. The reason being that on many boats of that time, the steering oar was on the right side, meaning that the left side of the wharf was up against the wharf – the “port” side!

Q: Well okay! But why not just call the right side, “oar” or something?

A: Well it IS related to that – but rather the “steer” part. The original word came from Old English “steorbord” meaning “steer-board” – the “bord” was the ship’s side. 

Q: Aha!

A: In fact, the original name for the left side was “larboard” – which related to “laden” and the side of the ship that you load things onto. But in the 16th century, left became “port” largely to make it less confusing when said aloud on the high seas.

Q: That would have been confusing.

A: Just as confusing, the left side was also sometimes known as the “backboard” during this time – despite having nothing to do with the back of the ship.

Q: Well that brings us nicely to actual names for the back of a ship. What are they?

A: The most common name for the back of the ship is the “stern”. Its companion at the front is the “bow”. 

Q: Origin stories?

A: Once more, the “stern” relates to steering, as it was at the back where you’d find the rudder or steering helm. It seems to have come to English very early – the 1200s – from the Norse word ‘stjorn’ (“steering”) or the Old Frisian word ‘stiarne’ (“rudder”). Later, during the 19th century, some steamboats had the name “stern-wheelers” as they had the big wheel at the back.

Q: So it’s nothing to do with being harsh – to be stern?

A: Nope. That adjective has a different origin, from Old English and Germanic root words that related to being rigid or stiff.

Q: Okay, so you said “bow” is the front. Is that because when they pick up the boat from the dealer, it has a giant bow on it? They did that with my Toyota Corolla.

A: Cute idea, but no. The word “bow” (rhyming with “cow”, not “mow”) arrived in the 14th century, from the Middle English “boue” – meaning to bend. The bow on a ship therefore is from where the sides start bending in to meet each other.

Q: Kind of like the shape of a bow, yeah?

A: That’s right. Same word, different pronunciation! Incidentally, the word “bow” in relation to bending in reverence – such as to bow to the King – didn’t come along until three centuries later, around 1650.

Q: Alright, that’s four biggies covered. But then what is “aft”? 

A: Okay, so aft – from the Old English “aeftan” – simply means behind or farthest back. In the case of a boat, it is more of an area than a specific point, and is typically referred to as the area towards the stern or back.

Q: What is its opposite?

A: That’s even easier – the “forward” is the area towards the front of a boat. Sometimes this is shortened to “fore”, such as in the nautical term “fore-and-aft” – meaning from one end of the ship to the other.

Q: So they’re basically the same as bow and stern?

A: No. There is one important difference. The bow and stern refer to the outside face of the boat/ship. Meanwhile, the fore(ward) and aft are the insides.

Q: For example, a cruise ship might say the viewing deck is forward, while the adults only pool is aft?

A: That’s right. Anything inside the edges of the vessel. So the forward is up near the bow end, while the aft is back towards the stern.

Q: So in Titanic, Rose and Jack meet at the aft, when she’s about to jump off the stern. And then later, they do that arms-out thing forward at the bow?

A: That’s right. Although the important thing to remember is that Jack saved Rose from jumping but then Rose went on to hog that floating door all to herself.

Q: Unthinkable!

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Q: Hey AWC, can we talk about cake?

A: We’re always happy to discuss cake.

Q: The other day there was cake in the break room, and my friend said to just cut them a small “slither”. But, it’s “sliver” isn’t it?

A: You’re right! But these two words get confused a LOT, despite one being a slippery verb and the other is usually a thinly sliced noun.

Q: Can you elaborate?

A: Of course. According to our friends at the Macquarie Dictionary, the main meaning of “sliver” is “a slender piece, as of wood, split, broken, or cut off, usually lengthwise or with the grain.”

Q: So, specifically wood?

A: That’s how it started out – from the Old English word “toslifan”, meaning to split or cleave, appearing first around the late 14th century. The word “splinter” was literally the name of a sliver of wood.

Q: Oh, I HATE getting splinters.

A: They can be very painful – including politically. The term “splinter group” originated in 1935 and is defined by Merriam Webster as “a group of people that has separated from a larger group (such as a political party)”.

Q: Can you also sliver something?

A: You sure can – although the verb didn’t come along till later, about the 1600s. And it simply means to cut into slivers. Of course, while a sliver started out as a piece of wood, today it’s any thin slice – wood, bone, cake. It can even be used to describe “a sliver of moonlight” or figuratively, such as “a sliver of hope”.

Q: A sliver of silver moonlight, haha.

A: Yeah, that is a little confusing.

Q: But at least it’s not WRONG like a “slither of moonlight”, right?

A: Right. You don’t want anything slithering near your slice of cake. Most commonly, “slither” is defined as a verb: ‘to slide down or along a surface, especially unsteadily or with more or less friction or noise.’ And the most common thing that slithers is?

Q: A politician?

A: No.

Q: A used-car salesman?

A: Try again.

Q: Insurance broker!

A: The answer we were looking for was a snake.

Q: Ah yep, that also works. 

A: The word comes from the Old English “slidrian” – entering the dictionary during the 15th century first as “slidder” and originally simply meaning to slip or slide. 

Q: Ohh – like a Middle Ages water theme park!

A: Not exactly. It was during the 16th century that Middle English underwent a widespread phonetic shift as spelling caught up to changes in pronunciation from “d” sounds to a “th” sound. Many English words including “mother”, “father”, “weather”, “gather” and “slither” underwent this change. Curiously, the word wouldn’t be applied to reptiles such as snakes until the 1840s – quite late in the piece.

Q: And what about “slidder” – is that still a word?

A: Yes and no. You’ll find it in some dictionaries – but not all. It still retains its originally slippery meaning, but is probably a word to avoid as people might think you’ve got it wrong.

Q: Okay sure, I’m gonna let that one slide.

A: Incidentally, the phrase “to let something slide” (as in to not consider or ignore) might sound quite modern, but actually dates all the way back to 14th century Chaucer and later appears in Shakespeare’s works.

Q: Fascinating. But WHY do so many people get “sliver” and “slither” confused? They’re clearly two different words!

A: The answer appears to be a mix of factors – the main one being the obvious similar “th” and “v” sounds. There’s also the fact that they’re words that aren’t used a lot. “Sliver” is especially uncommon – which may explain why people will more commonly use “slither” incorrectly than the other way around.

Q: So basically, it’s ignorance?

A: Yep. And it’s common too – with even newspapers guilty of reporting that a sports team only has “a slither of hope”. There’s also been a trend to people pronouncing things like “smooth” as “smoove” – further mashing the two sounds together. But that’s no excuse here.

Q: It really is just a sliding scale of poor usage.

A: It really is. By the way, the term “sliding scale” came to English in 1842, initially in reference to payments – but now can refer to all manner of things.

Q: So any tips on remembering which word to use?

A: Sure. Think of the “V” in “sliver” like the shape of a slice of cake (or wood, or moonlight!). And the “TH” is like “python” – something that slithers!

Q: I like it. That tip most definitely takes the cake!

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