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My father passed away unexpectedly in September last year.
My loss is still raw and painful, but I take some comfort in the fact that my father appears in my dreams and in my thoughts. I was reminded recently that he also appears in my language.
One morning I was driving when I heard yet another unidentifiable “clunking” sound in my vehicle.
“As Dad would say, this car’s got more rattles than a millionaire’s baby,” I remarked to my husband.
Australian English is unique. It features a distinct dialect and accents, and it is characterized by creative idioms and slang. (Here are just a few examples.) Australian English has a fondness for informality, which is especially evident in its diminutives. These are abbreviations for words that are then given a vowel-sound ending, such as sunnies for “sunglasses,” arvo for “afternoon,” and footy for “football.” The origins of this variety of English are fascinating, and that is a topic we can delve into in another post.
My father was a time capsule of older Australian English. Between his thick Aussie accent and his colorful language, it was often difficult for English-speaking people from other countries to understand what he was saying. Sometimes the words and phrases he used didn’t make sense to younger generations of Australians either.
Like some rural or older Australians, my father spoke with a broad Australian English accent. This is a stereotypical accent that people associate with Australia, and especially celebrities like Steve Irwin with his catchphrase “Crikey!” and Paul Hogan putting “another shrimp on the barbie.” (Ironically, Australians say “prawn," not “shrimp.”) This way of speaking is colloquially known as “Strine." The name is a pronunciation of “Australian” with a strong accent, based on a speaker’s tendency to run words together. Some speculate that this iconic accent arose from the need to keep one’s mouth closed when speaking, in order to keep out the flies.
My father often spoke an old-fashioned dialect of Australian English too. He’d use the word cobber to refer to a good friend. He’d lament that a lazy person wouldn’t work in an iron lung, referring to the artificial respirator that was used during the 19th-century polio outbreaks to keep patients alive by ‘breathing’ for them. If someone was sick, Dad would say they were crook, but if they were seriously ill they were Crook as Rookwood; Rookwood being the oldest and largest cemetery in Australia. A ratbag was a person he considered to be disagreeable or silly, although he could also use this insult in an affectionate way. Sheila was a slang term he’d occasionally use for “woman,” derived from the name that was common among female Irish immigrants. Cocky’s joy was the name he gave to golden syrup, a kind of molasses or treacle that is apparently also enjoyed by Australian cockatoo birds. And if someone had Buckley’s chance at something, they had only a very small chance, or no chance at all. The term arose from William Buckley, a convict who was transported to Australia from England in the nineteenth century, but upon arrival he escaped. Buckley was given up for dead, although he lived in an Aboriginal community for years before he returned to Western society and was granted a pardon.
Hundreds of other Aussie slang words and phrases are still around, but my father’s language is slowly vanishing. The rich vocabulary he used is important because it reflects the history and experiences of an older generation of Australians.
I had always meant to record my father’s language for posterity, to document his distinctive way of talking. Sadly, about 12 years ago he began to show signs of dementia. His condition degenerated quickly and affected his language.
As we lose our older generations, we also lose unique words and phrases from our language. Unfortunately, this is normal, because language is changing constantly. In particular, slang is ephemeral and colloquial terms usually fall out of use over time.
When we lose friends and family members, it’s comforting to remember the expressions they used when they were alive. It’s a wonderful way to preserve the memories of our loved ones.
I am the author of the new book On the Offensive: Prejudice in Language Past and Present.
