You can’t beat ‘fernitickled’

Iread that the Scottish Book Trust has declared “dreich” to be the most iconic Scots word. I fundamentally disagree. Indeed, it seems to me that the trust – a very worthwhile national charity promoting and championing literature, reading and writing – displays a lack of originality in its choice.

As ever, when faced with etymological challenges, my first call is to my faithful 1882 Dr Jamieson’s Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language. The good doctor defines dreich as tedious or wearisome, as in a “dreich road”.

Now I’ll bet, like me, most readers associate the word with the sort of diabolical weather we had at the beginning of the week. It certainly was both tedious and wearisome and when I was out with Inka it was pointless lifting “mine eyes to the hills” for they were shrouded in mist and rain. Fair mirkie, you might have said – but there you would be wrong, for the good doctor defines mirkie as smiling, hearty, merry, pleased. Which shows how careful you must be when tempted to lapse into the vernacular.

There’s a sense of negativity about dreich that makes it an odd choice for our most iconic word. So what might that iconic word be?

Over the years I’ve used a number of vernacular words in this column and in my talks – not for effect, but because they are words I’ve used all my life. Doup, for instance, meaning backside or buttocks. Skelp – what I got on my bare doup when I was a naughty little boy, administered by my mother with the back of her longhandled hairbrush.

Scunnered – probably what I felt when my misdemeanours had been exposed and I was about to get a skelping. No doubt my poor, demented mother despaired that I was just a thrawn – obstinate – little boy despite her best efforts.

A word which is a great favourite is whaup – the curlew. My father always used it and I use it myself when I think my audience will understand. Then, of course, there are the spuggies – sparrows – noisy wee devils that visit our feeders every morning and are such a pleasure to watch.

What about wandered? – a wonderfully descriptive word to describe someone whose memories are more important than the present. I raised a few eyebrows when I wrote about a pain in the peenie – the Scottish contraction of pinafore – in other words, a pain beneath the pinafore. Better informed readers knew fine it was just a pain in the waim – stomach ache.

Then there’s mickle and muckle and wheesht and puggled, blether, galluses and puddock, not forgetting bannock and limmer. Realistically I don’t think any of them are contenders for our most iconic word although one or two could be strong runners.

I’m tempted by perjink and kenspeckle – both splendidly allembracing words which those in the know understand when they hear them. However, after profound consideration my choice would be fernitickled.

My mother used to tell the story of her great-great grandfather who, as a child of five, had watched Bonnie Prince Charlie and his Highland army pass through Moffat on their march to London to claim the British throne for his father, the Old Pretender, which ended ignominiously at Derby in December 1745. He described the Prince as a “reid-heided laddie full fernitickled” – a red-headed young man with a lot of freckles.

But ye maun jist a’ mak’ up yer ain minds fit ye think.

Versification

Still on words, but not mine. The Doyenne and I were bidden to a charity poetry book launch of Scon’versation, a collection of verse by four local poets – a farmer, a schoolteacher, a Royal Marines officer and a financier. A maist unseemly crew, to paraphrase the bothy balladeer, but drawn together by a shared love of poetry.

The poems are a mix of diverse expression – humorous, moving, several personal stories – composed in Betjeman-style doggerel to free poetry but mostly written in traditional metre and rhythm. Themes run the aesthetic range from wistful sonnets about dementia to meat eating, the colour blue and lots more besides. The poets allowed themselves the occasional lapse into limerick – the evergreen Young Lady of Kew making a cameo appearance.

All very readable and an ideal stocking filler or to send to your favourite sister for Christmas, as I am doing.

Proceeds from sales of the book will go equally to Marie Curie and Havilah, a community outreach venture run by St Andrew’s Church in Arbroath, providing support to people who find themselves excluded and isolated, sick or otherwise on the margins.

Scon’versation – the name is what happens when you throw scones, poetry and four “garrulous old fellows” – their own description – into the mixer. Books, costing £10, can be ordered from rdr3000@ btinternet.com

Skelp – what I got on my bare doup when I was a naughty little boy

Trust the oracle – Angus Whitson’s four leather-bound volumes of Dr Jamieson’s Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language, alongside a copy of Scon’versation.