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books, language, reading, vegetables, vocabulary, words, writing
Have no fear, this isn’t a tale of gruesome deaths in Scandinavia.
A friend in Toronto, a former colleague in my first editing job 20 years ago, asked me in an email if I knew that in Britain, rutabagas are referred to as ‘Swedes’. I did indeed know that, having lived in London for many years, and wrote back that not just rutabagas but also turnips are known as Swedes.
Why? I have no idea. No more than I can understand why anyone in their right mind would have crossed turnips and cabbages to create rutabagas in the first place, thereby giving life to yet another unappealing vegetable.
My own mother used to force me to eat mashed turnips as a child, and I assure you that 20 years later I found them no more palatable when presented for Sunday lunch in England by my ex’s mother under the guise of ‘mashed Swedes’.
You’ve probably heard the line that Britain and America are “two nations divided by a common language”. (Attributed to multiple famous men including Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw.) I would make that North America, not just America, because of course Canada shares many ‘language-isms’ with the US.
This makes it tricky for writers with a background in different countries. I know that I have picked up a vocabulary of random words and phrases over the years, and I carelessly assume everyone knows what they mean.
In my novel, the hero says to the heroine, “You’ve not got the lurgy, as well?”
And of course my invaluable editor friend in Toronto emailed me to ask what the heck a lurgy is!
That made me realise just how many of these language pitfalls I had sprinkled merrily throughout the pages, with no regard to the end reader. Trawling through tens of thousands of words looking for them was no thrill, but I hope it makes the final book clearer for a North American reader while still retaining the flavour of words commonly used in England and Scotland.
Kerb or curb? I agonised over that one. Now it’s a gutter.
If you too are wondering just what the heck a lurgy is, it’s a bad cold. Sometimes, as my hero explains, when it’s very bad it’s known as the dreaded lurgy.
And Mum – I forgive you for the turnips.
Dad and I still like and often have “mashed Swedes” but thanks for the forgiveness anyway. I won’t make you eat them again.
Date: Sat, 11 Aug 2012 02:01:48 +0000 To: flobrian@hotmail.com
Thanks for the lovely, playful writing. Looking forward to checking out your book! And thank you for your kind comment on my post. Wishing you smooth–but not dull!–sailing….
Hah, that’s the best kind of sailing, isn’t it? Warm and dry is nice, too. And thanks for your kind words about my writing.
Here in North East England we are very familiar with “the lurgy” and only yesterday I mashed up some swede together with potato, for two reasons (1) the day before I had used some in vegetable crumble and the smallest swede is too big for that purpose, and I was reluctant to throw away the remainder, and (b) the children don’t notice the swede has been added, meaning they get to eat one more of th eir “five a day”.
However, until quite recenty I thought that swedes were turnips, and had little awareness of the real turnips.
(b) is very sneaky of you! My mother used to mash turnips and carrots (or was it parsnips?) together to fool me, but it never worked. As for vegetable discoveries, I myself learned the origin of the rutabaga only after my friend’s email prompted me to write this post. Thanks for dropping by! And I love your photos.
I did not know that rutabagas were a cross between turnips and cabbages.
What I do know is that, in college, a colleague decided to have a party with a rutabaga bobbing contest instead of an apple bobbing contest. What he didn’t know was that rutabagas don’t float.
I hope no one drowned whilst trying to grab a sunken root vegggie.