When the British post office delivers copies of this essay to the former Camille Parker-Bowles and her mother-in-law, Queen Elizabeth, both of them will pounce on the title as a redundancy or as a tautology. That it is a redundancy and a tautology, I fully agree. But it seems to me that the new word I am adding to the English dictionary is worthy of being called a new neologism. In any case, it is better than the folks who say “revert back” or the people who add an unnecessary “u” in the middle of nuc-u-lar power.
The word “nunce” appeared to me in a heaven sent spontaneous manner as I awoke. There was no forethought or afterthought. It just happened. As soon as it happened, I knew that the English language would be greatly enriched.
The new word flows from my experience over the past several years with night sweats. As time has progressed, it has been necessary for me to keep at least four pajama tops on a hook in a closet to be used when the former pajama top becomes wet with sweat. During a week, I may enjoy two full-fledged night sweats along with three or four moisturizers that nonetheless require me to change the top of my pajamas. On a good night, I am able to sleep without having to change the top of my pajamas. But that happens rarely, say no more than once a week.
The medical profession has been of absolutely no help whatsoever. When they are asked about what produces night sweats, they throw up their hands and in all candor, I must compliment them for their honesty because they say that they simply do not know. They do not know what causes them nor do they know how to fix it. So people with night sweats continue to have night sweats. Perhaps it is a function of the male menopause.
When morning comes, I usually comment that this was a two-pajama-top night or a three or a four one, depending upon how much the night sweats afflicted me. But this week there was an occasion when I slept all the way through.
When my wife noticed in the morning that I was wearing the same costume as when I went to bed, she asked, “And how many times did you change your pajama tops last night?”
Without thinking, I instantly answered her, “Nunce,” meaning not once. And so an addition to the English language was born.
I am inclined to let the night sweats go forward, if they contribute to further additions to the language of our forefathers. I have consulted with neurologists, cardiologists, urologists, dermatologists, and even a Lebanese podiatrist. He was from Lebanon, a country near Jordan, and it is not to be confused with being a lesbian podiatrist.
So as you can see, if the night sweats continue to contribute to the lexicon of the English language, I guess I say, let us have night sweats. But “nunce” seems to me to be a contraction that ranks with “don’t” and “can’t” and “couldn’t.” As such, they are to be treasured not only by Queen Elizabeth and her new daughter-in-law, Camille Parker-Bowles, but those two women might wish to instruct Charles, the Prince of Wales, on its proper use. There are those who call the Prince a Dunce, but I believe that even he can master the use of this new neologism.
Now that we have settled the issue of night sweats and the new language addition of “nunce,” let us turn to a word called “lagniappe.” Lagniappe is a Cajun word meaning something extra. If a bartender offers you some peanuts to go with your drink, that is lagniappe. If you go to a ball game and if it lasts more than nine innings, that is also lagniappe. What I am suggesting next is another case of lagniappe which has to do with the intrusive “r” in the English language. This can occur in several instances.
Let us consider the speech of New Englanders. They might say, for example, “My mother-in-lawr sawr an idear that would be helpful around the house.” What I want to know is where did that intrusive “r” come from? Is that lagniappe? I am baffled by what the intrusive “r” adds to these words.
Midwesterners such as my mother might put the intrusive “r” a little earlier in the words she used. For example, there are many cases where people pronounce the name of the capital of the United States as “Warshington, DC.” There are others, such as my mother, who said that on Monday she had to “warsh” clothes. I have no idea where the intrusive “r” in those words comes from. But there it is.
On Sundays, my parents attended church where one of the favorite hymns was, “Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?” Both of my parents pronounced that word as “warshed,” which I believe would have detracted from the ecclesiastical underpinnings of that ancient hymn.
And then we have an intrusive “r” at the end of words that end in the letter “a.” There are those, particularly in the eastern sections of the United States, who might say that they saw a man from “Africer” or that he was sailing to “Americer.” John F. Kennedy was one of those who put the intrusive “r” on words like Africa and America. He also pronounced the name of the island nation 90 miles off our southern coast as “Cuber.” What I would like to know is how Mr. Kennedy would have dealt with one of my favorite vegetables which is okra. Would he really have pronounced it as “okrer”? He was a Massachusetts blue-blood who seldom saw okra on his plate, but it would intrigue me as how he would have pronounced that word. Would Eva, the gentle lady who transcribes these essays, also be called “Ever” by JFK?
These are merely cases of lagniappe which have intrigued me for years. As in the case with the physicians in the foregoing part of this essay, I can find no lexicographers who are familiar with the intrusive “r,” just as I can find no one who can fix night sweats.
Well, there you have my story about the new word, “nunce,” as well as the lagniappe story about the intrusive “r”s. I am not sure that they add much to your enjoyment in reading this essay, but I hope that they make Queen Elizabeth and her daughter-in-law smile once in a while. And for all I know, it may be that Queen Elizabeth has night sweats just as this below-the-salt Irish commoner has them. Up the Republic!
The author of the forgoing essay has a Hebrew name which Bostonians would pronounce as “Ezrer” and is married to a lady known as Ms. Chicker. Is there any more to be said about the intrusive “r”?
E. E. CARR
October 25, 2007
Essay 265
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Kevin’s commentary: I’d add that Beijingers and Bostonians have more in common than is commonly realized. The Beijing accent is famous for its semi-random use of the “r” sound in everyday words. For instance, if I was to ask where my friend was, I would ask “Wo de pengyou zai na li” with ‘na li’ meaning ‘where.’ Beijingers would ask “Wo de pengyou zi narrr?” because apparently the “li” sound is too inconvenient to make.
Similarly the first time I lived in Beijing, I lived by the North East gate to the university — the “Dong bei men.” Invariably when I told the cab drivers where I lived, they’d nod and say “ah, dong bei marrr.” So maybe there’s something just inherently appealing about appending that sound to words that don’t need it.