Ruddle.

I received in today’s mail a copy of Charles F. Haywood’s Yankee Dictionary: A Compendium of Useful and Entertaining Expressions Indigenous to New England (available for borrowing at the Internet Archive), which frequent commenter cuchuflete had offered me, saying:

Was going through books, for planned donations […]. Found one you might enjoy, whether or not useful for The Hattery. Entries include Pindling, Stivver, Throw a Tub to the Whale, and more mirthful stuff. This is not the work of a linguist or scholar of any stripe; he loves the expressions and describes them reasonably well.

It is indeed both entertaining and instructive; here’s the entry for ruddle:

The attic of a house. In New England the ruddle or attic, is the place for things not presently needed but which may be useful someday, somehow, somewhere. Here one may expect to find anything from a genuine Benjamin Franklin signature to a suddenly needed chamber pot. The uniformed fireman who calls for the annual inspection never approves of the multitude of items of possible future value stacked in the ruddle and often gives a lecture, but does not have the slightest notion that these treasures are going to be thrown out.

(Note that “notion” here = ‘expectation.’) The interesting thing is that the OED is unaware of this pleasing word, and I find few mentions of it elsewhere; it is, however, in Crescent Dragonwagon’s Bean by Bean, p. 219:

The students collected the reminiscences of then-octogenarians (now all deceased, of course) and transcribed them, creating a paperback book called The Ruddle (an old New England word for an attic or garage, a place where you store old things you don’t use but that just might come in handy some day).

As lagniappe, here’s the entry for “Everything’s drawing”:

A Yankee mariner’s reply to the common question ‘How are you,” if it so happens life is using him well just now. The expression originally referred to a ship with all sail set and a following breeze filling all of her canvas. It came to be used not only as to a ship for which all was going well, but for a man who was functioning to the very best of his capabilities. But a true Yankee will reserve this answer for a friend he judges really wishes to know how the world is using him. As for those who say “How are you” without sincerity and for want of something intelligent to say, he does not venture to commit himself.

Thanks, cuchuflete!

Comments

  1. The Dictionary of American Regional English put out a query in the ADS newsletter, v. 30, no.1, January 1998 (here):

    ruddle—A 1963 Yankee Dictionary, published in Lynn MA, gives this in the sense “attic.” We got one example in response to the DARE questionnaire—from an informant in Lynn MA. Is this known anywhere else? Can anyone supply an earlier citation, or a convincing etymology?

    This is what was eventually published in DARE, v. 4 (2002), p. 662:

    ruddle n [Etym unknown]
    The attic of a house.
    1963 Haywood Yankee Dict. 133, Ruddle—The attic of a house. 1967 DARE (Qu. D4, The space up under the roof, usually used for storing things) Inf MA72, Ruddle. 1999 NADS Letters neMA, I have heard ruddle, very infrequently, but I’m from Beverly, MA, 2 towns away from Lynn… well, maybe 3 towns away. But still very close by. And I’ve only heard it once or twice.

  2. Thanks! A useful reminder that there are such micro-words, used only by a group so small as not to make it into even so capacious a work as the OED.

  3. cuchuflete says

    With absolutely no documentation to support the following guess, I offer
    scuttle, as an attic storage space mispronounced by our Massachusetts neighbors who are known to talk funny.

    “ Simply put, a scuttle attic is a small, often accessed area above the ceiling of a home, typically entered through a hatch or a small door. In essence, it serves as a space for additional storage…”

    source: https://trapx.io/blogs/news/what-is-a-scuttle-attic

  4. Apart from also being a variant of riddle, ruddle can mean “a red ochre used to mark sheep” – variant of reddle, which I remember from my early obsessive reading of Thomas Hardy. Forms and derivatives of reddle occur 161 times in The Return of the Native (1895):

    When he drew nearer he perceived it to be a spring van, ordinary in shape, but singular in colour, this being a lurid red. The driver walked beside it; and, like his van, he was completely red. One dye of that tincture covered his clothes, the cap upon his head, his boots, his face, and his hands. He was not temporarily overlaid with the colour; it permeated him.

    The old man knew the meaning of this. The traveller with the cart was a reddleman—a person whose vocation it was to supply farmers with redding for their sheep. He was one of a class rapidly becoming extinct in Wessex, filling at present in the rural world the place which, during the last century, the dodo occupied in the world of animals. He is a curious, interesting, and nearly perished link between obsolete forms of life and those which generally prevail.


    Reddlemen of the old school are now but seldom seen. Since the introduction of railways Wessex farmers have managed to do without these Mephistophelian visitants, and the bright pigment so largely used by shepherds in preparing sheep for the fair is obtained by other routes. Even those who yet survive are losing the poetry of existence which characterized them when the pursuit of the trade meant periodical journeys to the pit whence the material was dug, a regular camping out from month to month, except in the depth of winter, a peregrination among farms which could be counted by the hundred, and in spite of this Arab existence the preservation of that respectability which is insured by the never-failing production of a well-lined purse.

    Reddle spreads its lively hues over everything it lights on, and stamps unmistakably, as with the mark of Cain, any person who has handled it half an hour.

    A child’s first sight of a reddleman was an epoch in his life. …

    Hatters will remark the use of epoch to mean “turning point” as opposed to “period”.

    This PDF article analyses the theme of concealment in Return, sometimes associated with besmirchment by reddle-ruddle-raddle (“false colours”?).

    (Heh, all of these are attested: raddle, reddle, riddle, roddle, ruddle, with various uses.)

  5. Like Noetica, I first thought of Thomas Hardy’s reddleman.

    Then I thought of Ruddles beer (no longer in existence as an independent brand).

    But not attics.

  6. David Eddyshaw says

    Yes, Hardy’s novel was my first thought too. (Man, I hate that book … “perversely memorable”, though. Like Maud.)

  7. Man, I hate that book

    You and me both. I love his poetry, but spare me from the novels.

  8. Ruddles beer (no longer in existence as an independent brand)

    Oh, shame! After a long battle by CAMRA, it seems boutique breweries are succumbing to the booze megabarons. (Or becoming very peculiar, like Samuel Smith.)

  9. David Eddyshaw says

    I love his poetry, but spare me from the novels

    Me too.

    I was actually first pointed at Hardy’s poetry by the mother of my then girlfriend, after she heard me moaning about the novels. She was absolutely right.

    (Formidable woman: I’ve mentioned her before, as having very much liked C S Lewis’ lectures when she was at Oxford.)

  10. “Before Life and After”: the last of eight settings of Hardy poems: Britten’s Winter Words, Op. 52, 1953. Some apt commentary:

    The cycle concludes with one of Britten’s most impressive songs, ‘Before life and after’. The impassively repeated triads in the pianist’s left hand coupled with the bare octaves above seem, on the face of it, to be a crudely unsophisticated device, but Britten uses this studied simplicity to symbolise a state of uncorrupted, primeval innocence ‘before the birth of consciousness, when all went well’. In this final song, Britten’s favourite theme of the conflict between innocence and experience seems to be powerfully and movingly distilled.

    His novels? I don’t know what impelled me as a youth to read so many of them, but they did help to form my literary sensibility – despite doing time at a government high school where one was supposed not to develop such things, under pain of bullying and summary exclusion.

  11. spare me from the novels

    I remember wading through the grimness that is Jude the Obscure a long time ago. It did provide one laugh-out-loud scene, when Jude comes home to his meager dwelling place to find that Little Father Time has hanged himself and his sisters in a clothes closet. I think I may have put the book aside at that point, unless I trudged on out of a youthful sense of duty.

  12. it was definitely my worst high school english teacher (“…’tossed’! it’s such a casual word! ‘he tossed the dead baby out the window’…”) who assigned us Tess of the d’Urbervilles. i’ve never felt a need to follow it up with more hardy (which might mean that it was successful pedagogy, but certainly was not the intent).

  13. cuchuflete says

    As we seem to have established that ruddle is limited to a small slice of New England—in my experience it hasn’t crossed from Mass. through New Hampshire and up into Maine—I turned my attention to throw a tub to the whale. I’ve never heard it spoken among my lobstermen friends, but it appears to be real, if antiquated.

    The earliest known reference to this maritime technique is in the introduction to Jonathan Swift’s satire A Tale of A Tub of 1704.

    https://www.worldwidewords.org/qa-thr3.html

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