Sexland.

Ryan Starkey, whose map of British English dialects was seen here a couple of years ago, had a clever post back in 2019 called England Could Have Been Sexland (and its speakers called Saxophones). It amused me and I hope it will amuse you.

Comments

  1. David Eddyshaw says

    Engah-land swings like a pendulum do …

  2. Says the Cumlander.

  3. David Marjanović says

    Surely Cumberland would simply have been extended? Or the name could have drifted, like Saxony* did back home.

    * adjective: yes, sächsisch

  4. David Eddyshaw says

    I don’t think so; after all, Cymry/Cymru is etymologically “fellow-countrymen”, and thus, by implication, specifically “Not-Saxon.” The name really only makes sense as a self-definition in contrast to the people who have temporarily occupied Lloegr.

    I’m not dead certain, but I suspect that the name Kombrogī only came into use after the English invasion.

    I suppose its generic vagueness also reflects the fact that the Brythons never got round to actually uniting politically in defence against the English.

  5. David Marjanović says

    Very good points.

  6. J.W. Brewer says

    The denizens of the shire of Cumberland did eventually get Anglified (or Sexified/Jutified, if you prefer). “Cumberland” is not uncommon as an American toponym but it seems to mostly relate not to the actual shire but (directly or indirectly) to the Duke of Cumberland who floruit in the 1750’s and who is generally not thought of as a Celtophile, what with having crushed the Picts at Culloden. The American toponym was reintroduced to the mother country early in the Downing Street tenure of Harold Macmillan, when Lonnie Donegan had a #1 UK hit with a skiffle version of the trad. Appalachian song “Cumberland Gap.”

  7. denizens of the shire of Cumberland

    But whence the strong influx of spices into Whitehaven during the eighteenth century?

  8. David Eddyshaw says

    @JWB:

    Sadly, most of the Cymry have been Saxonicated too now.*

    In older and less enlightened Welsh usage, Cymry meant Welsh speakers, a di-Gymraeg Welshperson being a Sais (or Saesnes, as the case may be.)

    “Sassenach”, similarly, is primarily a Lowland Scot. (And as late as James IV’s time, “Scots” meant “Gaelic”, and Scots was called Inglis “English.” Logically enough.)

    * I was talking to my good friend the erstwhile Plaid Cymru candidate, who (as always) was trying to get me to join his gang; I told him that I was not an ethnonationalist. He was rightly miffed: Plaid is certainly not ethnonationalist nowadays. (It was, in Saunders Lewis’ day. He had some pretty repellent racist, indeed quasi-fascist views.)

  9. J.W. Brewer says

    Of course the remote ancestors of both Gaelic-speakers and Inglis-speakers in so-called “Scotland” may have instead spoken something Brythonic, since both of those other tongues are imports – although in both cases perhaps imported by invaders who then also made a certain contribution to the ancestry of the present population.

  10. J.W. Brewer says

    And not to get all Etymological-Fallacy, but re Plaid Cymru, “ethnos” is just a fancy Bible word for “nation.” A “nation” that is the subject of a nationalistic movement yet is not currently perceived as an “ethnicity” has, I would say, pretty good odds of becoming one if the relevant nationalism ends up prospering. Obviously all “ethnic” identities involve fictive kinship at the conceptual level, and maybe sometimes you need to lean harder into the fictive angle than other times.

  11. David Eddyshaw says

    Quite so; the genetics (I’m told) don’t at all support the traditional tale of massive immigration of pagan Germanic types with extermination and/or wholesale displacement of the aborigines. (It’s a linguistic mystery why the English can’t speak the Welsh of their ancestors. Social climbing?)

    Scotland, of course, is so named because of all the Irish who came there in mediaeval times.

    Re the praiseworthy emancipation of present-day Plaid Cymru from the “race”-oriented ideology of its founders:

    During the last general election, I was distributing leaflets for the Labour party (a task which greatly increases your respect for postmen) when I was accosted by two lads emerging from our local mosque who spontaneously exhorted me to vote for Plaid. (They presumably didn’t notice my lapel stickers.)

    The whole tendency of Plaid (and the ScotNats) over many years now has been away from concepts of nationhood based on “race.”

    Plaid just now saw off the far-right “Reform” Party in the Caerphilly Senedd by-election by being forthrightly opposed to xenophobia and bigotry. (I texted my Plaid friend to congratulate him.)

  12. I heard or read somewhere that *kombrogī is supposed to have originally basically meant “citizen”, i.e. Roman. I have no idea whether there’s anything to that.

    On the population dynamics of early medieval Britain, I think we’re very far from having a comprehensive picture, but it seems like there’s no generalization that will do for all the anglicized regions. Some areas (especially along the eastern coasts) may have seen fairly extensive replacement, while others may have seen far, far less. That wouldn’t exactly be an astonishing pattern, of course, and is also reasonably consistent with onomastic evidence (not that this is exactly an infallible guide). But as far as I know, all aDNA studies conducted so far are based on pretty small samples from a few particular areas, and (like many such studies) may give the illusion that we know a lot more than we really do.

    (I hope I’m remembering the studies in question right. It’s been a rough week of sleep, due to certain small household humans, and a while since I’ve read them. But this is the impression I have at the moment.)

  13. the Brythons never got round to actually uniting politically in defence against the English.

    Presumably in part because for a long while there were no „English“ to unite against. The various Germanic peoples probably didn’t like each other much either, if human behavior is any guide. I would assume various indigenous folk teamed up with various Germanic immigrants in different combinations for a while seeking local advantage. Much like Native Americans teamed up with or against various immigrant groups.

  14. David Eddyshaw says

    I would assume various indigenous folk teamed up with various Germanic immigrants in different combinations for a while seeking local advantage

    Very much so. Gwrtheyrn/Vortigern is famous/notorious for this.

    Urien, king of Rheged, and patron of the poet Taliesin, was prevailing against the Northumbrians before he was assassinated at the behest of a rival British king.

    There seems to be reason to think that the Wessex royal family itself was of British origin:

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerdic_of_Wessex

    And if you were a peasant farmer (like most people) you probably didn’t much care whether your overlord spoke English or Welsh/Brythonic. (You’d probably have been more exercised about whether he was Christian or pagan.)

  15. David Eddyshaw says

    I heard or read somewhere that *kombrogī is supposed to have originally basically meant “citizen”, i.e. Roman

    Sounds plausible. Like “Welsh”, in fact …

    John James

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_James_(writer)

    best known for Votan, also wrote the very different historical novel Men went to Cattraeth*; the British narrator (Aneurin) consistently calls his own people “citizens.”

    * Gwŷr a aeth Gatraeth, constant refrain of Y Gododdin.

  16. David Marjanović says

    I heard or read somewhere that *kombrogī is supposed to have originally basically meant “citizen”, i.e. Roman.

    Oh, that makes even more sense.

  17. as late as James IV’s time, “Scots” meant “Gaelic”

    Dunbar (to Kennedy) called it “Irish”, as I noted here eight years ago:

    Thow lufis nane Irische, elf, I understand;
    But it schuld be al trew Scottis mennis lede:
    It was the gud langage of this land,
    And Scota it causit to multiply and sprede;
    Quhill Corspatrick, that we of tresoun rede
    (Thy fore fader), maid Irisch and Irisch men thin,
    Throu his tresoun broght Inglis rumpillis in;
    Sa wald thy self, myght thou to him succede.

  18. I meant Kennedy to Dunbar, of course.

  19. I’ve kind of given up on this blog, or at least the comments, since they became so political. I come here to get away from politics.

  20. Come, come, there’s really very little politics here; it’s an occasional garnish, not a main course. Just skip past the comments that bother you. I promise you, there’s still plenty of good stuff!

  21. David Eddyshaw says

    I am told that there are many videos of cute kittens on YouTube.

  22. Erse usually means Scottish Gaelic rather than Irish Gaelic, but it is unclear to me whether this is a matter of statistics or definition.

    When (or whether) the “English of Ireland” became “Irish” is a difficult question. The bare term “Irish” was sufficiently ambiguous for the Tudors to use qualifications like “mere Irish” which have not aged well.

  23. David Eddyshaw says

    I think “Erse” is to “Irish” as “Scots” to “Scottish” and “Inglis” /ɪŋgl̩s/ to “English”, i.e. specifically a Scots form rather than English. So it wouldn’t be surprising to find that in practice it normally referred to Irish as She is Spoke in North Britain.

    I believe it can refer to the Irish of Ireland, though I don’t recall ever actually having encountered that. But then, you don’t come across it much at all now. Very much deprecated.

  24. Yes. And call me eald-fashioned, but for me the Scottas are indeed the citizens of the Land of Ire, not those of the land north of the Land of Lust – known as Sexland, by the wyse. (The geographically challenged aren’t ablE to tell their Erse from their Elba.)

    – But do you know what a nation means? says John Wyse.
    – Yes, says Bloom.
    – What is it? says John Wyse.
    – A nation? says Bloom. A nation is the same people living in the same place.
    – By God, then, says Ned, laughing, if that’s so I’m a nation for I’m living in the same place for the past five years.
    So of course everyone had a laugh at Bloom and says he, trying to muck out of it:
    – Or also living in different places.
    – That covers my case, says Joe.
    – What is your nation if I may ask, says the citizen.
    – Ireland, says Bloom. I was born here. Ireland.
    The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him right in the corner.

  25. David Eddyshaw says

    (An excellent and highly apropos citation, N. Sadly, the Cyclops is increasingly loud in these dark days.)

    Scotland is so called because of all the Irish who moved there, of course. And a good thing too: otherwise we would indeed be reduced to calling the place “North Britain.” I think we can all agree that that would be unaesthetic. (“Albania” is already taken. Twice. And “Caledonia” really only means the bits that Agricola failed to conquer.)

  26. J.W. Brewer says

    Surely the old-fashioned “Albany” would be better than “Albania”? Although it does tend to steer one toward “Albanian” as the demonym.

  27. David Eddyshaw says

    It’s just occurred to me that the Gaelic Alba, which is the same etymon as “Albion”, i.e. the whole of the big island east of Hibernia, must have come to mean just “Scotland” because it was the bit of the Big Island that the Dalriadic Scots colonised. Like USA persons calling their country “America.”

    It doesn’t explain why the Welsh for “Scotland” is yr Alban, though. Maybe that was borrowed from Irish? It certainly doesn’t look like a regular development from Celtic *albiyū, at any rate. (Contrast Iwerddon “Ireland”, from the oblique form of *īweriyū.)

  28. J.W. Brewer says

    FWIW we were already called “Americans” (w/o further specification) by at least some Britons even before there was a USA. E.g., Pitt the Elder, speaking in the Commons on January 14, 1766: “The Americans have not acted in all things with prudence and temper. They have been wronged. They have been driven to madness by injustice. Will you punish them for the madness you have occasioned?”

  29. David Eddyshaw says

    Same principle, though: “the bit (of the continent/island) that our people have colonised.”

    Welsh actually does have the regular reflex of *albiyū, as I realised just now on mentally running the expected sound changes: elfydd “world, land.”

  30. David Eddyshaw says

    Yes, the Irish etymon does seem to be the same:

    https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Albu#Old_Irish

    https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/elbid#Old_Welsh

    That actually implies a rather different etymology for “Albion” from what I’ve always vaguely thought, viz that it was something to do with the White Cliffs of Dover. (In hindsight, that was never very plausible.)

    It suggests a more megalomaniac (or at least, highly parochial) attitude in my forebears, though. I mean, calling your remote island “the (Upper) World” …

  31. DE:

    Sadly, the Cyclops is increasingly loud in these dark days.

    With all that surreal or dada rage over “citizens” versus “non-citizens” from the president alien, yes.

    My antipodean advice to those finding themselves ruled by a one-eyed king (whose polyfamous name can be construed to suggest loud-trumpeting boastfulness as readily as much-storiedness) is to consider, as a matter of urgency, how they had earlier become a Land of the Blind.

    And now we see ill-guided missiles cast against possibly innocent seafarers. Will Nobody survive?

  32. Oo, ’tis Outis!

  33. David Eddyshaw says

    “the (Upper) World”

    In an English version of the Manding epic of Sundiata that I once read, the kenning for the savanna was “the bright land.” (This actually makes perfect sense if you’ve experienced both the savanna and forest zones of West Africa.)

    In other words, Albion. William Blake would have understood immediately.

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerusalem:_The_Emanation_of_the_Giant_Albion

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