Tag: Eighteenth Century

Madeira Mondays: Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (A to F)

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Do you know what it means to be a ‘dog in a doublet’? Or how you can become ‘The Admiral of the Narrow Seas’? If not – you’re not alone! These are obscure late 18th and early 19th century slang words that I discovered in Francis Grose’s 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue!

So what is The Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue?

The British Library explains it thus:

Francis Grose’s ‘Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue’ was first published in 1785, and is a dictionary of slang words. Grose was one of the first lexicographers to collect slang words from all corners of society, not just from the professional underworld of pickpockets and bandits.

The words in this ‘dictionary’ range from the obscene to the mild. Some are creative and colorful, some are nonsensical (to us and perhaps even to people at the time!). Some are derogatory and cruel (especially many of the words describing women) and some are kind of sweet. Many of the phrases in it have to do with men’s leisure activities (e.g. drinking and card playing) or they are about sex. But there are various terms to do with practical jokes, games and a whole host of other topics too.

I found this book an entertaining read and have picked out a few choice words to share with you! But you can also have a read through the entire thing yourself here! It’s definitely NOT a suitable read for children (these are swear words, after all!) but for the adults who want a glimpse behind the curtain of propriety into the rowdier reality of 18th century language and life, it’s worth a look!

dictionary of the vulgar tongue

There were so many great words that I’ve had to split this up into several different posts, so these are my favorite slang words from The Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, Letters A through F! I’ve included a few of my own comments (in italics) as well, because I could not resist.

So how do you swear like an 18th century person? Read on…

ADMIRAL OF THE NARROW SEAS. one who from drunkenness vomits into the lap of the person sitting opposite him. SEA PHRASE.

AMBASSADOR. A trick to duck some ignorant fellow or landsman, frequently played on board ships in the warm latitudes. It is thus managed: A large tub is filled with water, and two stools placed on each side of it. Over the whole is thrown a tarpaulin, or old sail: this is kept tight by two persons, who are to represent the king and queen of a foreign country, and are seated on the stools. The person intended to be ducked plays the Ambassador, and after repeating a ridiculous speech dictated to him, is led in great form up to the throne, and seated between the king and queen, who rising suddenly as soon as he is seated, he falls backwards into the tub of water. (Something I learned from reading this book was that men at sea had a lot of time on their hands and loved playing tricks on each other. There were other sea games listed and they were all just as silly.)

TO AMUSE. To fling dust or snuff in the eyes of the person intended to be robbed; also to invent some plausible tale, to delude shop-keepers and others, thereby to put them off their guard.

ANKLE. A girl who is got with child, is said to have sprained her ankle.

APRIL FOOL. Any one imposed on, or sent on a bootless errand, on the first of April; which day it is the custom among the lower people, children, and servants, by dropping empty papers carefully doubled up, sending persons on absurd messages, and such like contrivances, to impose on every one they can, and then to salute them with the title of April Fool. This is also practised in Scotland under the title of Hunting the Gowke. (So they had April Fools’ Day!)

ARSY YARSEY. To fall arsy varsey, i.e. head over heels.

BEDFORDSHIRE. I am for Bedfordshire, i.e. for going to bed. (This one was perhaps my favorite phrase I encountered. I am going to start saying this.)

BOTTLE-HEADED. Void of wit.

CAT CALL. A kind of whistle, chiefly used at theatres, to interrupt the actors, and damn a new piece. It derives its name from one of its sounds, which greatly resembles the modulation of an intriguing boar cat. (So this word was already around, but its meaning has shifted in the last few centuries. Also, what is an ‘intriguing boar cat’?)

DEVIL DRAWER. A miserable painter. (How often was this used?)

DOG IN A DOUBLET. A daring, resolute fellow. In Germany and Flanders the boldest dogs used to hunt the boar, having a kind of buff doublet buttoned on their bodies, Rubens has represented several so equipped, so has Sneyders.

DOODLE. A silly fellow, or noodle. (More on this word in a later blog post about the history of the song ‘Yankee Doodle’.)

FIRING A GUN. Introducing a story by head and shoulders. A man wanting to tell a particular story, said to the company, ‘Hark! did you not hear a gun?—but now we are talking of a gun, I will tell you the story of one.’ (I love that there used to be a phrase for this, when someone brings up a topic only so that they can talk about it more e.g. ‘Did I smell food? Speaking of food, when are we going to have dinner?’)

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I hope that you enjoyed these antiquated slang words, and let me know if you manage to squeeze any of them into conversation! Be on the lookout for the next round of ‘vulgar’ phrases in a future post.

Madeira Mondays is a series of blog posts exploring Early American history and historical fiction. I’m not a historian, but an author and poet who is endlessly fascinated by this time period. I am also currently writing/researching a novel set during the American Revolution and recently finished a Doctorate of Fine Art looking at how creative writers access America’s eighteenth-century past. Follow the blog for a new post every Monday and thanks for reading!

 

Madeira Mondays: Syllabub Recipe

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You probably already know that people in early America were drinking alcohol. But you might be surprised to know just how much of it they were drinking. Water wasn’t sanitary to drink, so they were boozing it up big time in the thirteen colonies with ales, ciders, wines (like Madeira!) and strong rum punches. What you drank and where you drank it varied by gender and class (an elite lady, for instance, wouldn’t be swigging pints of ale in a tavern), but alcohol was flowing very freely during this time. As food writer Corin Hirsch says in Forgotten Drinks of Colonial New England:

‘From the mid-1600s on, a New England rota looked like this: At breakfast, wash down some brown bread and sliced cheese with a pewter tankard of hard cider, the equivalent of two pints of beer. Work didn’t proceed far before a late-morning break (…) an occasion for a glass of beer or another of cider. Lunch necessitated more booze, as did the afternoon break, supper and evening socializing in the local ordinary (aka tavern). A birth? Drink. A wedding. Drink some more.’

You get the idea.

Now, as a writer and as a person, I am deeply interested in food and drink, so for the last few months I’ve been trying to recreate some 18th century recipes and that includes drink recipes. And one of the easiest and most fun drinks that I’ve made is syllabub.

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Homemade syllabub! Check out those cool layers.

If you’re living in the UK you might be familiar with this drink (which I’ve heard is still served occasionally at restaurants and I actually found this Nigella Lawson recipe for an Amaretto syllabub, bringing an Italian spin on this English drink), but if you’re in the USA or elsewhere chances are you probably haven’t. But it was a very popular drink in 18th century America and the best way that I can describe it is that it’s basically like an alcoholic Frappuccino. And as someone who personally doesn’t always love super creamy beverages, I am a huge fan of this particular drink and have made it at several parties now and it’s always a crowd pleaser. It also looks impressive but is easy to prepare and I wanted to share my recipe with you.

I think recipes are sort of like fairy tales in that there isn’t really an ‘original’, just many different iterations, but it’s useful to think about where your version comes from. The way I like to make syllabub is inspired by this video from brilliant re-enactor/YouTuber Jas Townsend on his YouTube Channel. Really worth a watch if you’re into history or cooking or both. They make 18th century recipes! He was following a recipe (or ‘receipt’, as it would have been called back then) from Eliza Smith’s The Compleat Housewife, 1739. But I have also seen a short recipe for it in Mary Randolph’s The Virginia Housewife or, Methodical Cook, 1860. As I mentioned, it was a pretty common drink/dessert.

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Recipe for syllabub from The Virginian Housewife

So I took those as inspiration, but slightly modernized it to use Prosecco instead of white wine. The reason for that is that I think the bubbles bring a nice lightness to the drink (contrasting with the heavy cream) and also it’s much easier to whip by hand if you’re using something with bubbles in it (like cider or Prosecco). Also because I love Prosecco.

Syllabub Recipe

Ingredients (for 4 glasses of syllabub):

– 1 bottle of Prosecco (or white wine or cider)

– 2 lemons

– 1/2 cup sugar

– 2 cups heavy cream

– nutmeg

Note on the measurements: these are very approximate and if you don’t have a measuring cup, you could always just use a mug for coffee or tea to measure things out.

How to make it:

  1. Fill glasses up halfway with Prosecco (or white wine or cider)
  2. In a separate mixing bowl, add one cup of Prosecco, the juice of both lemons, ½ cup of sugar and stir until dissolved together.
  3. Add the 2 cups of heavy cream to the mixing bowl and whip together until it becomes thickened like whipped cream! (NB This might take a while if you’re doing it by hand. Maybe 10-15 minutes. You could also use an electric mixer if you have one and want to save time).
  4. Spoon the foamy whipped cream topping into the glasses over the top of the Prosecco. It should float on top. If it sinks, you haven’t whipped it long enough.
  5. Add a sprinkle of nutmeg and a squirt of lemon over the top of each drink.
  6. Serve!

A great non-alcoholic version could also be made with grape juice or apple juice.

As you drink it, you can stir it up together and eat it with a spoon, more like a custard, or eat the foam and then drink the wine after – it’s entirely up to you.

I’ve heard of other ways of making this, including using egg whites, but this is my favorite way. The lemon makes everything taste bright and fresh, not too heavy, and balances out nicely with the cream. The nutmeg on top also looks cool but adds an unusual and very authentic 18th century taste to it (it was a very popular spice in the 18thcentury kitchen).

I’d serve this as a dessert drink after dinner because it’s quite sweet. Another cool thing about it is that it would be good in the winter, a bit like eggnog, or summer, like a Frappuccino. In The Compleat Housewife, 18th century writer Eliza Smith suggests it for June, but I think it would be fun for a winter holiday party too.

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Syllabub! Apologies for the slightly blurry image. Blame it on the Prosecco I was sipping as I made the drink.

Let me know if you’ve had this before or if you end up making it, I’d love to see! It really is a crowd pleaser because of its striking, layered look and is super simple to prepare. You can impress people with your knowledge of historic drinks and then booze it up like it’s 1770.

Cheers!

‘Madeira Mondays’ is a series of blog posts exploring Early American history and historical fiction. I’m not a historian, but an author and poet who is endlessly fascinated by this time period. I am also currently writing/researching a novel set during the American Revolution and recently finished a Doctorate of Fine Art looking at how creative writers access America’s eighteenth-century past. Follow the blog for a new post every Monday and any questions or suggestions feel free to get in touch.