Q: Hi AWC, what does it mean to give something the “acid test”?

A: Good question. According to Macquarie Dictionary, an acid test in the figurative sense is “a rigorous test which conclusively establishes a person’s character, a product’s performance, or a held judgement”.

Q: Example?

A: Well, it’s anything you might do to prove something is what it says it is. For example, if something is said to be waterproof, you might say that “the real acid test would be submerging it in a swimming pool”.

Q: Is the pool filled with acid?

A: No, we’re still figurative. So it’s a pool of water.

Q: Riiight. Okay.

A: Think of it as an everyday experiment to prove something. The Cambridge Dictionary gives a great example of this: “I think that baking fresh croissants is the acid test for any establishment that claims to be a patisserie.”

Q: That reminds me of my friend Charlie. He used to work 18 hours a day as a pastry chef.

A: Oh! We know this one – it’s because he “kneaded the dough”, right?

Q: What?? His daughter had an incurable disease and they had to work hard to pay for the medical bills …

A: Oh, um. So sorry.

Q: Nah, kidding, it was the kneading dough joke!

A: Ugh. Shall we move on?

Q: Yep. So, the acid test of whether someone is serious about their New Year’s resolutions is to see if they’re still going three weeks later?

A: Yeah, that can work, although usually it’s something more immediate. 

Q: My goal for this year was to swim more, but I’m now scared that pools might be full of acid… 

A: It was just an example, calm down.

Q: But hang on, pools have chlorine in them! Isn’t that acid?

A: Actually, adding chlorine in liquid or solid form is alkaline – making a pool LESS acidic. It’s only chlorine gas that is acidic.  

Q: So is chlorine where this whole “acid test” saying comes from? 

A: Nope. Nothing to do with that or swimming pools at all. 

Q: Of course it isn’t…

A: Anyway, the original, literal acid test was indeed a chemical test, and it was first used by gold miners in the 1840s. 

Q: What a fun nugget of information!

A: Indeed. The point of an acid test was to identify actual gold versus other metals. This could be done using nitric acid to test if a mark would dissolve on the surface. If it passed two specific acid tests, it proved the mineral was actual gold – thanks to gold’s properties that make it resistant to corrosion and oxidation. 

Q: So how long was it before figurative “acid tests” popped up?

A: Almost immediately. It must be something to do with the idea of proving authenticity that appealed to the wordsmiths and advertisers of the day, as the first recorded use was in 1845. More than a century later, in the 1960s, “Acid Tests” also became the name of LSD parties in California.

Q: Groovy baaaby!

A: Oh, behave.

Q: So as a recap, an acid test is just a check that something is what it says it is, or does what it says it does.

A: That’s right – like testing something is real gold, this is simply a way of saying you’ll find out if it’s really what it claims to be.

Q: So is this similar to the “pub test”?

A: Not really. Whereas there are an infinite number of acid tests you might conduct to prove all sorts of things, there is just ONE pub test – an Australian term typically applied to politics.

Q: Explain?

A: A policy or decision would pass the pub test if an ordinary pub patron would understand it as fair were it to come up in conversation. 

Q: Example?

A: Let’s say there was a proposal to tax tall people an extra 10%. That’s the sort of thing that wouldn’t pass the test if it came up in casual conversation in the pub.

Q: I dunno, those giants do take up a lot more space…

A: Meanwhile, a politician might be said to pass the pub test if they seem friendly enough to have a beer with. A “person of the people”.

Q: Yardglass drinker and former PM, the late Bob Hawke then?

A: Yes, most certainly him.

Q: So a pub test is a measure of what Mr Everyday Joe at your local pub thinks about something or someone? 

A: That’s right.

Q: And the “smell test”?

A: If something doesn’t “pass the smell test” then it’s much like sniffing month-old milk from the fridge.

Q: Heeeey, it doesn’t say “expires”, it simply says “best before”!

A: Okay, well, much like drinking rancid milk, if something doesn't pass the smell test, it's not a good idea – something smells off about it. It’s also sometimes called the sniff test.

Q: A bit fishy!

A: That’s right. Same meaning.

Q: And yet, fish are high in fatty acids! We’ve come full circle with the acid test.

A: Cute. But they’re all quite different. An “acid test” is a particular way to prove or disprove something. A “pub test” is a gauge of popular opinion. And a “smell test” is simply a measure of whether something is a good idea or not.

Q: Any other fun tests?

A: Well, there’s the “duck test” in logic.

Q: What’s that?

A: It’s about making a reasonable assumption based on the absence of any conflicting information: “If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it's probably a duck.”

Q: I like that one.

A: And moviegoers might be familiar with the Bechdel Test.

Q: The what?

A: It’s a term that was coined by American cartoonist Alison Bechdel in 1985 in response to a trend she noticed in screenplays. In a movie, if two women can be on screen and talk about something OTHER than a man, then that film passes the Bechdel Test! 

Q: Wow. Do many films pass?

A: No, not many.

Q: Interesting.

A: And finally, you may have heard “litmus test” used. This also comes from an actual science lab test involving litmus paper that changes colour in the presence of an acid. So it probably comes as no surprise that when used figuratively, it has a similar meaning to…

Q: Acid test!

A: Yep. The Free Dictionary says that “a “litmus test” of the quality or success of a particular thing is an effective way of proving it or measuring it.” The subtle difference (versus “acid test”) is that this is more an indication rather than proof, such as a political poll providing a litmus test on how people might vote in an election.

Q: All very fascinating, but I need to run. A new patisserie just opened around the corner and I have a sudden urge to test its croissants…

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Q: Hi AWC, I have a question about videos.

A: We told you – just dance along to the music, then upload it. It’s simple.

Q: Nooo, I was referring to a specific word relating to videos.

A: Oh, okay.

Q: It’s the word “footage” – why do we call recorded material that?

A: Good question. And thankfully the answer is fairly straightforward – relating to the measurement of a foot. 

Q: But everyone has different sized feet! My uncle is a size US17. He has so much trouble finding ballet shoes that fit.

A: Sorry to hear that. But in this case, it’s the imperial measurement of a foot – 12 inches or 30.48cm to be precise in metric.

Q: Ah right, that makes more sense. Well, it does and it doesn’t.

A: Sure, in this age of digital footage, it has little relevance, but you have to remember how film first started out.

Q: Silent!

A: Yes, that’s true. And also on ACTUAL film, that could be measured in feet. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the term dates back to 1916, so definitely still in the silent era of 35mm film, where everything was measured in feet and frames.

Q: So it was basically a measure of how long the film was?

A: Or a scene. Physically, it was the total number of running feet of motion-picture film used. Film wasn’t cheap, and it made a difference to talk about footage in this way.

Q: Did people really measure out film like that though?

A: They did. In fact, Merriam-Webster Dictionary quotes an account of a fundraiser after the Hiroshima bomb, where “people would buy ten feet of ‘footage’ from American photographers for one thousand yen”.

Q: And I suppose it just stuck around even when we stopped using actual film tape?

A: That’s right. While it started out literal, today “footage” is used in a figurative way to describe “material recorded on a film or video camera, either on film, tape or digitally” – according to Macquarie Dictionary.

Q: So not only did it outgrow its literal meaning, but we also no longer use the imperial measuring system here in Australia!

A: That’s true. Another example of that would be the word “mileage” – again, fairly clear where it comes from in relation to the rate of miles travelled or the amount of fuel used per mile. Even today, with everything in kilometres here, “mileage” continues to be used.

Q: I suppose “kilometerage” is quite the mouthful.

A: Indeed. Of course, like “footage”, “mileage” also gained a more figurative meaning, relating to usefulness or derived benefit – dating back to 1860. An example might be: “we seem to be getting a lot of mileage out of this topic”.

Q: Nice. So why end these kinds of words with “–age”?

A: It came from Old French “-age”, and Late Latin “-aticum” before that. Meaning “belonging to or related to”. 

Q: And what about the term “found footage”?

A: That is the term for a cinematic technique first coined back in 1975 by US film critic Roger Ebert. He described “found footage” as a horror sub-genre made up of mostly fake archival footage edited together for suspense. 

Q: Example?

A: The 1999 movie The Blair Witch Project took the idea of “found footage” mainstream.

Q: Surely if the term had been around since the 1970s, it can’t take all the credit, right?

A: Well, okay, the first “found footage” film came out in 1961. But let’s put it this way: in the next 38 years before The Blair Witch Project, only 13 films were classed as using this technique. 

Q: And since then?

A: A whopping 192 films!

Q: Wow, they’ve sure got a lot of mileage out of that kind of footage haven’t they!

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Q: Hi AWC, did you have a nice break?

A: Sure did. How about you?

Q: I spent it hanging out in cafes reading and writing. It was bliss! In fact, that brings me to my question.

A: Is it about the difference between a latte and a flat white? Most of the time, probably what it’s served in!

Q: Maybe, but not if you have a good BARISTA…

A: What’s happening? Why did you put it in capital letters like that?

Q: Because that is my question! Where does the word ‘barista’ come from?

A: You might be shocked to learn that this word is really quite modern – only existing for as long as people have been getting snobby about coffee.

Q: You’ll have to be more specific.

A: Merriam Webster dictionary first listed it in 1982 – and it didn’t go worldwide until the 1990s. English is the only language that relates it solely to coffee.

Q: But it sounds very Italian!

A: Well okay, it HAS been borrowed from Italian, but over there, it’s used in a far more generic way – as in someone who works any kind of bar; what we’d call a “bartender”. 

Q: Fascinating!

A: Well if you want your mind blown even more, it’s basically from the same place etymologically as “barrister”.

Q: Wait, what? Objection, your honour!

A: Overruled. Approach the bench please.

Q: How is a barrister the same as a barista? For starters, one gets paid a lot more than the other. And there are not many movie climaxes where a barista gives a big closing argument – isn’t that true?

A: You can’t handle the truth!

Q: Hilarious.

A: Obviously these days you’re not going to mistake them. After all, most barristers would probably burn the milk and their latte art is atrocious. The word “barrister” did start off in the same way though – someone who works at a bar. It emerged in the 1500s from the bar in a courtroom – the wooden railing that marks off the area around where the judge sat, prisoners stand and a barrister makes their fancy speeches. 

Q: Objection! They’re not always fancy, sometimes they’re very boring.

A: Sustained. The “–ist” part just means “one who does or makes”. In the case of a barrister, it took the “–ister” ending from Old French “–istre” while languages like Spanish and Italian preferred the Latin “ista”. We saw a rise in these in English during the 1970s as words spilled over like “fashionista” or revolutionary terms like “Fidelista” or “Sandinista”.

Q: So it made sense that the cafes chose to go with the top-knotted, Che Guevara shirt-wearing version in “barista”.

A: Well remember, the word “barista” was already Italian, but simply as any barman – not specifically coffee. It’s likely that the rise of Starbucks and other coffee ‘bars’ during the 1980s necessitated the need for a name.

Q: And they wanted something ‘grande’!

A: Exactamundo.

Q: Ooooh, is “exactamundo” Italian too?

A: Nope. It’s slang that was made popular by TV character “Fonzie” in Happy Days and is a mix of “exact” and the Spanish word “mundo” meaning “the people who live in the world” to mean “precisely; absolutely”. Spanish does use “exactamente” for a similar thing though.

Q: English is quite the melting pot.

A: Or coffee mug in this case.

Q: So, to recap, “barista” and “barrister” both mean people that work at a bar. It’s just that one came along about 450 years after the other one?

A: That’s right. So next time you think you’re being clever by making a joke to the barista who is putting themselves through law school, you’ll know that the two words have more in common than just sounding similar.

Q: No further questions, your honour.

A: Great. Wanna get a coffee?

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A: Is that a rhetorical question?

Q: No, a genuine one.

A: Oh, okay then. Then yes, we have. Fascinating at times.

Q: I know right? It’s always so tricky picking just 10 favourites to share with our readers.

A: It really is. Much like choosing a favourite child.

Q: Oh, not really. That’s easy. The trick is not TELLING them who it is.

A: Ahhhh. Good tip!

Q: So, are you ready for this?

A: Absolutely, let’s roll. The best of 2024. Please enjoy!

We started the year dining in style – as we wondered where the world’s fanciest foodie award started, and more importantly, why Australian restaurants have never won any! Read more here.

A lot of things would need debunking in 2024. We set about debunking any myths about this word’s origin and presenting the actual facts, which were almost stranger than fiction! Discover more here.

In March, it was time to play the generation game – as we untangled the various names for each period in history, when this name-calling began, and what a baby born today would be grouped as. It’s all here.

Some classic band name origins are legendary, while others are far more obscure. So we scooped them all up and put them under the micro– er, microphone? There are some surprising origin stories in there! Discover them here.

English gives us all sorts of arbitrary terms – one of them being a “country mile”. So we decided to go great lengths to discover the truth about these vague measurements for once and for all! Read more here.

This may just have been the article that broke the internet this year (or at very least, it blew Valerie’s mind). After all, who knew that doves simply had the better PR agents? Find out more here!

Who exactly decided that knocking on wood would save you from bad luck? Or is it all part of some elaborate knock-knock joke? Back in August, opportunity knocked and we answered the call! Read all about it here.

There are plenty of umbrella terms out there, but nothing keeps us drier than the actual word ‘umbrella’. And yet, for all its rain-shielding properties, it’s awash with questions about its lineage. So we went searching.

Back in October, it was all about the ladies – as we wondered aloud why half the English-speaking world calls them birds, while the rest call them bugs. And while we were at it, WHY “lady” in the first place? Discover more here.

And we round this collection off with two common terms that each have intriguing origin stories. In particular, the semantic journey that “off the cuff” has taken will give you whiplash! Learn more right here.

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Email it to us today!

Q: Hi AWC, can you believe that 2024 is coming to an end?

A: It sure looks that way.

Q: So are you ready for our annual discussion about the so-called ‘words of the year’ that have been announced in recent weeks?

A: We sure are. Where would you like to begin?

Q: How about America’s Merriam-Webster?

A: Certainly. And perhaps we should finally call them the Divided States of America, as their word this year was “Polarisation”. 

Q: Don’t you mean “polarization”?

A: Well yes, in America they use the Z, but we’re not going to. “Polarisation” is a form of division where people tend toward the extremes rather than toward the centre. This was most obviously seen during the US presidential election, but increasing across other things like technology or celebrities. In fact, Merriam-Webster says the only thing people aren’t polarised on is that “polarisation” is the word to sum it all up!

Q: Well, apart from the spelling.

A: Yes, that is a little polarising.

Q: Did they have other shortlisted words?

A: They had many. These included “weird” – again due to discourse during the election, and even a word “totality” – related to the solar eclipse in America earlier in 2024.

Q: I wonder if “totalitarianism” will feature next year?

A: Hmmmm, we’ll see!

Q: Okay, let’s cross the pond and find out about Oxford Dictionaries?

A: Their word of the year was “brain rot”.

Q: Wow, it just keeps getting better doesn’t it?

A: Hmmm yeah. This term captured concerns about the impact of consuming excessive amounts of low-quality online content, especially on social media.

Q: This might be a great time to remind readers that we have an archive of more than 500 Q&A discussions over the past 10 years that you can browse over the holidays – you can find them all right here!

A: Haha, nice. And it would seem that many people spent 2024 rotting their brains on Tik Tok, because a viral video in August on that platform gave us Dictionary.com’s word of the year – “demure”.

Q: Ah yes, I remember this – “so mindful, so demure”.

A: That’s right. On Tik Tok, there were countless videos with these words applied to everything from fashion choices and cute cats, to decor trends and even hangover cures. Some considered it a counter to another hedonistic word made popular by British singer Charli XCX – “brat”.

Q: Oh right – as in “brat summer”!

A: Yes. In fact, it was so big that Collins Dictionary named “brat” THEIR word of the year. They defined it as an informal adjective characterized by a confident, independent, and hedonistic attitude. Other shortlisted words included “era” – no doubt influenced by that other big singer of the year, Taylor Swift. And “rawdogging”.

Q: Wait, what?

A: Not in the original sexual context (look it up), but specifically with regard to long haul flights. Young people bragged about “rawdogging” the journey – which involved simply sitting there with no electronic entertainment, devices or reading material.

Q: People are weird.

A: If you want something weird, check out The Economist’s word of the year – “kakistocracy”. In short, it means “the rule of the worst”.

Q: And the longer version?

A: “A government run by the worst, least qualified, or most unscrupulous citizens.”

Q: Haha, okay, that’s pretty funny. One way to make your editorial opinion known I guess. 

A: Indeed.

Q: Brains rotting, nations polarised and run by morons, plus zombies on planes. Sheesh. Are there any positive words this year?

A: Cambridge Dictionary came to the rescue with their word of 2024: “manifest”.

Q: Wait. Isn’t that the Netflix show about the plane that disappears for five years?

A: Well, yes. A manifest can indeed be a list of passengers on a ship or plane. But here we’re talking about the verb – “to manifest something” such as a gold medal at the Olympics. Cambridge elaborate on the definition by saying it is “to use methods such as visualisation and affirmation to help you imagine achieving something you want.”

Q: How old is this word?

A: Really old – since the 1300s. Initially as an adjective to describe something plain, clear or evident – also giving us the noun “manifesto” in the 1600s for a public declaration of so-called “obvious facts”. Then a few centuries later, it was famously invoked by the Americans during their so-called ‘Manifest Destiny’ push to colonise the West of their continent during the 1800s.

Q: I wonder if they had mood boards in the Old West?

A: Not likely. In fact, it has only been in the last five years or so that the idea of “manifesting” something has become a big thing of its own.

Q: I really hope the old word manifested making it to the top of the charts!

A: Another shortlisted word from Cambridge was “romantasy” – a book genre combining romance and fantasy that has been around for about a decade or so, but blew up this year in the mainstream, again thanks to TikTok.

Q: For something so brain rotting, it sure is giving us a lot of new words.

A: Indeed.

Q: Okay, how about Australia’s own Macquarie Dictionary? They must have a nice word, right?

A: Ummmm.

Q: You’re kidding me.

A: Sorry. In fact, this might be the worst one of all for the crop of 2024 words. 

Q: Come on now. Just how bad can it be?

A: “Enshittification”

Q: Excuse me??

A: No need to repeat it. This is the Macquarie Dictionary’s word of the year – and not only that, it’s only the third time in almost 20 years that the People’s Choice pick has matched the official Committee pick.

Q: Wow, so we’re all agreed on how bad things are? Hurrah.

A: This word simply means the “deterioration of a product or service” – with many feeling that it captured many aspects of our lives right now.

Q: What a time to be alive.

A: Runners up included “brain rot” and “rawdogging” once more, as well as “social battery” – the energy people have for social interactions, and “skibidi” – a nonsense word that kids use to mean a bunch of things, but often ‘cool or excellent’. 

Q: I’m way too old to use that one.

A: Agreed. And finally, down the road at ANU’s Australian National Dictionary Centre, they named their word for 2024 as “Colesworth” – a derogatory nickname that reflects the perceived duopoly of our two biggest supermarkets and disgruntlement at the increased cost of groceries.

Q: How appropriate, because I’d like to check out now!

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Q: Hi AWC, what’s the difference between “allude” and “elude”?

A: They’re very different – just look at them! But you’re right in that they do get confused often, due to sounding similar.

Q: Are they related in any other way?

A: Well yes actually. They came from the same place but mean quite different things today.

Q: So take me back to the start!

A: Certainly. The 1530s to be precise. And BOTH words originated during this time and meant roughly the same thing – “to mock or make fun of”.

Q: Wait, what? That’s not EITHER of their meanings today!

A: Bizarre, right? “Allude” came directly from the Latin ‘aludere’ meaning “to play, make fun of, joke, jest”. Meanwhile, “elude” came from the very similar Latin ‘eludere’ meaning “make a fool of, mock, frustrate; win from at play”.

Q: Wow, so Latin had two words for the same thing!

A: Similar things. The ‘ludere’ part was of course common to them both – this was the part that meant “to play”, and where we get the word “ludicrous” from.

Q: And the counter game “Ludo”?

A: Yes! It was originally the Indian game “Pachisi” but was adapted in England as “Ludo” in 1896 – the name chosen from the Latin ‘ludo’ for “play”

Q: Very cool.

A: Anyway, so where the two Latin words differed was the “a” in ‘aludere’ was from “ad” – meaning “to”. Meanwhile, the “e” in ‘eludere’ was from “ex” – meaning “out; away”. And this gives a few clues to the separate paths they would end up taking.

Q: Please! Lead me down those paths!

A: Well, “allude” almost immediately narrowed its definition to mean being “to be playful” in referencing someone – initially in metaphor form. By the 1550s, we also see the word “allusion” emerge – again, with an initial meaning of a “word play; joke”. By the 1610s however, both would come to mean “passing or casual reference” – as “playing with, or reference to” someone without saying their name. We even got the word “allusive” from this too.

Q: Wait, “allusive”?

A: Not to be confused with “elusive”!

Q: Oh dear.

A: So that brings us nicely to “elude”. Remember how it started out also with a mocking, joking meaning?

Q: I do indeed.

A: Well, it spawned the word “elusion” in the 1540s – which meant to escape by artifice or deceit. A playful way of getting “out” or “away”, if you will. And by the 1610s, “elude” came to mean a similar thing of evading – initially in a figurative sense, but by the 1630s it meant to literally run and hide.

Q: Ready or not, here I come … with more questions!

A: Haha, sure. Fire away.

Q: So, you’re telling me, as well as “allude” and “elude”, we also had “allusion” and “elusion” plus “allusive” and “elusive” too?

A: Yes! Although that last one, “elusive” came along later – in the 1700s. It is, however, used far more than “allusive” today.

Q: Yes, “allusive” does seem rather elusive to most people’s vocabularies.

A: Nice. And of course, it’s the other way around with “allusion” vs “elusion” – we’re far more likely to see “allusion” being, well, alluded to.

Q: So, essentially by the 1630s, these meanings were locked in?

A: Yeah, today’s meanings are pretty close. According to the Macquarie Dictionary, “allude” means “refer casually or indirectly to” – and is always used with “to”. For example, “in stating her case, she alluded to his poor hygiene”.

Q: Gosh, that example sounds intriguing! I think it’s a break-up.

A: And “elude” means to “avoid or escape; to evade”. This can be physically, like in “the killer continued to elude the detective” or mentally, such as “the meaning of this poem eludes me”. Same thing.

Q: And despite their beginnings, there’s not a mocking joke between them!

A: You might say that they’ve matured into more sensible words.

Q: Wait, what about “delude”?

A: Good question. That also came from a similar Latin word – but this time it was ‘deludere’, with the “de” meaning “to one’s detriment”. And unlike the others, this word kept the playful nature of ‘ludere’ – with today’s meaning being “to play false; to mock or deceive”.

Q: That reminds me, I have to go visit my grandpa. He’s been having delusions of grandma and we need to break the news to him that she’s gone to a better place.

A: Oh, that’s rather sad. When did she pass away?

Q: What? No, I’m alluding to her 27-year-old yoga instructor Carlo… She ran off with him and has a much better place, on the ocean and everything. But she can’t elude grandpa and her family forever!

A: Oh dear…

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Q: Hi AWC, where does “head honcho” come from?

A: It’s an interesting one. It’s mainly an American informal phrase that Merriam-Webster lists as “the person with the most authority”.

Q: That’s it. But we also use it here in Australia.

A: It has spread everywhere, true. And our own Macquarie Dictionary has it listed as a colloquial term for “a person with the greatest authority or power”.

Q: How does it differ from a regular “honcho”?

A: Not by much actually! Macquarie lists “honcho” as “a person in power; boss”. Likewise, Merriam-Webster has “honcho” synonymous with a “boss”.

Q: Pretty similar!

A: True, but in terms of usage, you’re far more likely to see the longer “head honcho” – even if the “head” part is a little redundant. It adds extra emphasis!

Q: Fair enough. So, where does “honcho” come from? I’m thinking Spanish, like a “poncho” raincoat. Yeah?

A: Nope. Wrong culture entirely. “Honcho” actually comes from Japanese – specifically from their word “hanchō”, which means “leader of a squad or group” (han = squad, chō = leader).

Q: Japanese! Oh, okay. But why?

A: At the end of World War II, there was a big American presence in Japan, and during this time the word “hanchō” appears to have been linked to soldiers in charge of Japanese prisoner of war camps. This included American, British and Australian soldiers.

Q: So the 1940s?

A: Yeah, it seems recorded in print in 1947, although likely in use earlier.  It then became a much bigger thing during the Korean War of the early 1950s and military circles.

Q: Hmmm, the military usually has rows, not circles. “Attennnnnntion!”

A: Haha, okay, military rows then.

Q: How did “hanchō” then become “honcho”?

A: It’s likely a simple case of mishearing the original pronunciation. After all, imagine an American sergeant-major yelling the word – it could easily sound like “honcho”. Many of the original American soldiers simply spelt it this way back during the war.

Q: And when did it escape the ranks of military usage?

A: “Escape the ranks” – nice.

Q: Thank you.

A: It was the 1960s when the term made its way to mainstream American culture. During the 1964 election campaign, a campaign manager for Democrats candidate Barry Goldwater used the terms “honcho” and “head honcho” to describe who was making the decisions. This seems to be the earliest recording of “head” being added to the front.

Q: Because sometimes the voting public need an extra nudge…

A: Something like that. And since the 1960s, the use of it has become more about the boardroom than the military parade ground. It has been common to see a CEO referred to as a “head honcho”, although there is some evidence that usage has dropped in recent years as people are unsure if it is offensive.

Q: Yeah, that sounds about right. They probably think it’s insulting to Mexicans.

A: They probably do.

Q: Are there many Japanese words that have come across to English?

A: Not a lot actually. There are of course some clearly Japanese-origin things like “bonsai”, “haiku”, “anime”, “origami”, “sushi” or “wasabi” and so on. But in terms of more generic things, a “futon” bed is an example, as is “bokeh” – a photography term for the out of focus circles behind a sharp image. Others include “tsunami”, “samurai”, “kamikaze”, “sudoku”, “ninja”, “rickshaw”, “karaoke” and even “emoji”!

Q: Eggplants and peaches have never been the same.

A: One final Japanese word is “tycoon” – from the Japanese word “taikun” (“great lord or shogun”) and switching its meaning to “important person” in 1860s English to describe Abraham Lincoln. Today, of course, it’s just another way of saying…

Q: Head honcho!

A: Correct. And that brings us full circle…

Q: It’s NOT a circle, it’s a row!!

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Q: Hi AWC, where did “at the drop of a hat” come from?

A: Ah yes, the phrase that means “instantly”.

Q: That’s the one. I mean, a hat will instantly fall if you drop it, but then again, so will a watermelon.

A: And make a lot more mess.

Q: So why a hat?

A: It’s a good question, and the Online Etymology Dictionary says it was first recorded in 1854, a period of time when hats were commonplace.

Q: Sure, but so were lots of things.

A: Like watermelons?

Q: Yeah, Victorian-era watermelons. 

A: You might hear it used in “Begin at the drop of a hat” – and that is a big clue to where the phrase comes from. Back then, it was common to begin a race or fight by someone dropping a hat or holding it and sweeping your arm down. We’d later see a similar action with a flag or scarf in car races – like this scene from the movie Grease.

Q: Oh, I love that movie! Although I think Mamma Mia captured the Greek scenery better.

A: No, that’s– never mind… 

Q: Okay, so while we’re talking about clothing items and doing things quickly, what about “off the cuff”? Where does THAT come from?

A: Another fun one. The Macquarie Dictionary defines someone who does something “off the cuff” as doing it in an unrehearsed or impromptu way.

Q: So, extemporaneously?

A: Oh, well, yes. Anyway, it seems to have entered English dictionaries in the 1830s and came from the practice of speakers or actors writing notes on the stiff starched cuffs of their shirts.

Q: Like cue cards!

A: Exactly, so they could remember their lines, as it were.

Q: How interesting – so the origin of a phrase that is usually thought today to be saying something unrehearsed or planned came from quite the opposite – hidden notes scribbled on your shirt!

A: Exactly!

Q: Makes me wish I’d completed all my school exams “off the cuff”.

A: Haha. In this famous scene from Modern Times, Charlie Chaplin has the words to a song written on a detachable cuff, but loses it so has to sing gibberish instead!

Q: So he really did have to come up with something “off the cuff” after his off-the-cuff remarks disappeared!

A: He did! And fun fact, that song was the first time most of the world ever heard what the silent film star sounded like. He was actually British, but preferred American audiences to think he was one of them!

Q: Fascinating! So today’s chat has been all about doing things on the “spur of the moment”, right?

A: Okay, we know where this is going…

Q: Exactly. What IS the “spur” in said moment? Please tell me it's a cowboy spur!

A: Well, a horse-rider’s spur, yes. The original, now-defunct phrase from the 1500s was “on the spur” – meaning “in great haste”. It came from digging the spurs on boots into the horse’s flanks to make it go faster. The modern phrase came later – in 1782.

Q: Giddy-up!

A: Well, THAT exact phrase dates back to 1909, but existed in the horsey world as “giddap” in the mid 1800s and “gee-up” as early as the 1600s.

Q: So, to recap, people say “at the drop of a hat” because in the mid-1800s it was the nearest thing handy to start a fight, race or Victorian watermelon eating contest.

A: Haha, sure.

Q: And to do something “off the cuff” also comes from the mid-1800s and was all about pretending to be doing something unrehearsed, but having a cheat sheet on your clothing. What’s more, hilariously, these days it’s all about NOT having any notes.

A: That’s modern times for ya!

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Q: Hi AWC, where do we get the term “SOS” from?

A: Good question! Do you have any theories?

Q: I think I’ve heard people say it stands for “Save Our Souls”?

A: This is a popular theory. Another often cited is “Save Our Ship”. But both, while now fully associated with the term, are not part of its origin story.

Q: Ooooh, okay, so we have a mystery. Call Inspector Morse!

A: Or in this case, Inspector Morse Code!

Q: I see what you did there.

A: Thank you. So Morse Code was pioneered by Samuel Morse in the 1840s and became the language of telegraphy throughout the second half of the 19th century. Each letter or number was represented by a series of dots or dashes – and messages were conveyed across telegraph wires in this way.

Q: Beep beep beeeeeep!

A: Actually, it was initially just a series of clicks onto paper. They wouldn’t be represented by actual tones until wireless radio signals came along in the 1890s. This revolutionised one particular communication method.

Q: Let me guess. Tin cans and string?

A: Um, no. Communication with ships.

Q: Yeah, that makes more sense.

A: If you think about it, there was previously no way to get wires to a ship floating in the ocean. But Italian engineer Guglielmo Marconi changed all that with this wireless method.

Q: What did ships use before this?

A: All sorts of things, such as flares, foghorns – but mainly a flag signalling system called “semaphore”. However, none of these could match the range of radio.

Q: Radio killed the semaphore star!

A: Haha, cute.

Q: So how did SOS come about?

A: Well, as you can imagine, one of the priorities of any new communication system is coming up with a way to indicate that you are in distress.

Q: Yup, that makes sense. After all, no one needs to urgently reply to a “all good here, nothing to report, in fact we just saw some dolphins” signal.

A: Exactly. By the early 1900s, everyone realised they needed an international standard for distress. One idea proposed in 1904 by Marconi’s own company was the morse “CQD”.

Q: Wait, what?

A: CQD. The “CQ” part had already been in use by Marconi’s operators as a way to signal all channels. The “D” stood for distress.

Q: Was it at least a catchy morse code?

A: Not really. It was “dash-dot-dash-dot / dash-dash-dot-dash / dash-dot-dot”.

Q: Surely no one went with this? How confusing!

A: You have to remember that radio operators were highly trained to understand this language. That said, there were a few other competing ideas.

Q: What were they? 

A: The US Navy wanted to adopt the semaphore’s “NC” code for distress. And another was adopted in 1905 first by the German government.

Q: Was it “nein nein nein”?

A: It was not. In fact, unlike Marconi’s team, who sought to overlay the Morse codes with their own system, the Germans simply went back to basics with their Notzeichen signal – the tones themselves. They decided that “dot-dot-dot / dash-dash-dash / dot-dot-dot” was the clearest way to communicate distress.

Q: So it started with the tones, not the letters?

A: It sure did. In fact, it was only later referred to as “SOS” when adopted as the International standard in 1906. At the same time, Americans, who used a slightly different version of Morse Code that had three dashes for the number 5, called it the “S5S” code initially.

Q: Hilarious to think of ABBA or Rihanna singing “Ess five ess”!

A: True. Anyway, despite becoming the preferred maritime distress signal, many old school operators would continue to use the earlier adopted “CQD” signal. In fact, during the Titanic sinking, the radio operators famously used only the older signal at first, before deciding to try the newer “SOS” signal.

Q: Dot! Dot! Dot dash, dash, dash, dot. I believe that the dot will dot on….

A: Haha, nice. Anyway, not long after, World War I came along and cemented its use by ships at battle. And things “Save Our Souls” that get mentioned today are what’s known as a “backronym” – retrofitting an acronym into something that didn’t originally have it.

Q: And I guess it eventually became more universal outside shipping lanes?

A: Yes, by 1918 the term “SOS” was being used figuratively for “urgent help” – not just by boats. And of course, the dots and dashes are no longer required.

Q: What about “mayday” – that seems to have taken over in modern times.

A: Certainly for flight emergencies. It first appeared in the early 1920s and is credited to Frederick Stanley Mockford of Croydon Airport in England. “SOS” had not been effective as the letter “S” didn’t translate well audibly for operators, so Mockford trailed the use of the term “mayday”.

Q: Why?

A: Perhaps due to the fact that most flights back then were from England to France and this word was a way to mash the languages together. “Mayday” sounded like m'aidez – the non-standard French for “help me” or m'aider – for “come help me”. By 1927 it was adopted internationally and the rest is history!

Q: Thanks for the lesson. So to recap, “SOS” was first adopted by the Germans in 1905 based on the simplest sounding mix of Morse Code tones. And only later was it backdated to stand for “Save Our Souls”.

A: Dash-dot-dash-dash / Dot / Dot-dot-dot !

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Q: Hi AWC, where does the term “having a field day” come from?

A: Can you provide an example?

Q: Sure. “The press are going to have a field day with this scandal”.

A: Okay, yep. Quite often that form of the idiomatic phrase is used in reference to reporters or the media. But it didn’t start out that way, as we’ll find out.

Q: So where does it come from? Is it cricket?

A: What makes you think that?

Q: Well some of those games go on for five days, so if the other team keeps batting, your team will have a day in the field.

A: It’s a good point, and the idea of “fielding a ball” and so on certainly came from cricket. But for this phrase, we need to put on our uniform.

Q: Oh goodie! I love dress-ups! Okay, um, I have a school uniform, or maybe a nurse’s uniform? Hmmm… this leather thing, with buckles…

A: Not going to ask… But no, we mean a military uniform.

Q: Ah right. Okay.

A: The original “field day” was a day of military exercises or manoeuvres – essentially a day spent playing war games and rehearsing tactics, held in actual fields. Etymology Online dates it back to 1747. The word field pops up frequently in military contexts – such as “in the field of battle” or a “field soldier”.

Q: Okay, so how did we get from there to here?

A: Well, first up, there are still a bunch of literal field days that might occur today. A day spent researching something “in the field” (out of a lab or classroom) might be called a field day (usually a field trip). Also, a school might hold a sports day and these – much like what the military ran in actual fields – are also outdoor exercises.

Q: Oh, I remember doing those. The parents would turn up too and we’d do three-legged races, which was always SO unfair as Sarah M’s mother actually HAD three legs.

A: Well anyway, the military also sometimes denotes field days as a day for cleaning the barracks, while farming and agricultural expos are often called ‘field days’.

Q: I’ve heard they showcase award-winning scarecrows at those.

A: Oh really?

Q: Yes, they’re all out standing in their field! Bahahahaaa.

A: Groan. Anyway, by the 1820s the original military “field day” of activity evolved to also have a figurative meaning – “any day of unusual bustle, exertion or display”. This might have been initially used for any eventful day.

Q: Such as?

A: “The kids went to the amusement park and had a field day on all the rides.”

Q: Okay.

A: However, by the early 20th century, the phrase “to have a field day” seems to have branched off to mean having fun not just for the sake of it but at someone else’s expense. This is ultimately where we get the “press having a field day” from.

Q: So it’s about someone finding enjoyment in someone’s misfortune?

A: That’s one take. It often has cynical overtones, but it can also simply go back to that bustle and activity idea – to mean a lot of people talking about a topic. For example, “the local neighbourhood is going to have a field day when they hear about the developer’s plans.”

Q: Gotcha.

A: Of course, typically when referring to the press, it’s about them rubbing their hands with glee at the content they can write about a particular event – and yes, very often it is something scandalous.

Q: So, to recap – “having a field day” was initially a literal day of military exercises. Today it can still be that, or a bunch of other sporting, research or agricultural days in actual fields. However, it’s more likely a figurative phrase meaning to get excited about a particular event.

A: That’s right! And we’ve fielded enough questions for today. Goodbye.

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