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And, in the distance, the baying of creditors grows louder.
Dear Word Detective: I was remembering a sermon a friend of mine delivered which described a certain biblical royal procession. Building to a glorious climax, he accidentally referred to the event as being full of “pomp and circumcision.” I don’t think he achieved the intended effect. This remembrance does have me wondering, though, what the origin is of the phrase correctly, albeit less humorously, rendered, “pomp and circumstance”? Would you be so kind as to inform us? — Father Paul Edgerton.
Well, that’s one way to see who’s paying attention. There’s probably a case to be made for slipping that sort of zinger into, say, every third sermon, enough to keep the flock on its toes but not so much as to spawn rumors of enfeeblement. After all, publishers of encyclopedias and dictionaries use a similar tactic to detect plagiarism, usually including at least one fictitious entry, commonly known as a “Mountweazel,” in their reference works. If the bogus entry later turns up in another publisher’s product, it’s lawyer time. The term “Mountweazel” (you know you want to know) comes from just such a “gotcha” entry in the 1975 edition of the New Columbia Encyclopedia for a certain “Lillian Virginia Mountweazel” (supposedly born in Bangs, Ohio, a master photographer of rural mailboxes, and tragically killed in an explosion while on assignment for “Combustibles Magazine”).
“Pomp and circumstance” as it is usually used means, of course, a great display of ceremonial grandeur and ornate formality of the sort commonly seen at coronations, the funerals of heads of state and, usually (but not always) on a somewhat smaller scale, high school graduations. For most people, the phrase “pomp and circumstance” invokes the musical piece of the same name, a staple of graduation ceremonies in the US and more properly known as March Number One of Sir Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance Military Marches, Op.39.” The phrase “pomp and circumstance” was popularized (and thus preserved) by Shakespeare in his play Othello, Act III, scene iii: “Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th’ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!”
The “pomp” in “pomp and circumstance” is familiar to most of us, and means “a display of magnificence and splendor.” The root of “pomp” is the Latin “pompa,” meaning “procession,” based on a Greek root meaning “to send.” “Pomp” can be used in a negative sense as well, meaning “an ostentatious display of wealth or ceremony,” which gave us the useful adjective “pompous,” which originally meant simply “characterized by pomp” but now means “self-important or arrogant.”
The puzzle in “pomp and circumstance” is “circumstance.” We use “circumstance” today, usually in the plural form “circumstances,” to mean the context or conditions surrounding something, the place, time, causes and effects, etc., of an action or state of being. That makes perfect sense, since the Latin root of the word, “circumstare,” meant literally “to stand around.” But a dull noun like “circumstance” seems a weird companion for glamorous “pomp.” However, beginning in the 14th century, “circumstance” was also used to mean specifically “the ceremony or fuss made about an important event,” in the sense that such things happened “around” the event. This sense is now considered archaic, although, thanks to Shakespeare, we still have “pomp and circumstance.”
You’ve probably noticed that, given the above explanation, “pomp and circumstance” is more than just a little redundant, amounting to something close to “pomp and pomp.” But as the parent of any graduating college senior can attest, when the bank account is drained and the third mortgage looms, there had better be plenty of “pomp” at the finish line.
You’re it.
Dear Word Detective: I read in a Superintendent Gently novel by Alan Hunter published 1964 a reference to two ladies being “oonch-fanciers.” I think it is possibly connected to the dialect of East Anglia in the UK. It is also possible that the term has an unsavory meaning. I tried the publishers amongst many other places of reference but so far have been unable to find any meaning or indeed repeat use. Unfortunately Alan Hunter died some years ago. — Fred Mitson.
Oh boy, a mystery. A mystery about a mystery, in fact, since Alan Hunter (1922-2005) was a very prolific English mystery writer who churned out almost fifty books, most of them mysteries featuring Chief Inspector George Gently, and most of those set in Hunter’s native East Anglia. Hunter managed to concoct titles for almost all his Inspector Gently novels that included the word “gently” in them, often in a punning or playful sense (e.g., “Gently to a Sleep,” “Gently Floating”). Hunter’s obituary in the Telegraph (UK) mentions that he was a great admirer of Georges Simenon’s Inspector Maigret mystery novels, as am I, so I really ought to give his books a shot.
“Oonch-fancier” is (as I suspect Hunter knew it would be) a genuine mystery to those of us who are used to looking up obscure terms in very large dictionaries. The Oxford English Dictionary doesn’t even acknowledge the existence of “oonch,” let alone folks who fancy whatever it might be, and no dictionary of slang I own contains it either. But I have found two possible sources for “oonch,” and everyone likes something, so if we can pin down the “oonch,” the “fancier” may not be far behind.
Our first lead on “oonch” comes courtesy of the Dictionary of American Regional English (DARE). DARE actually has an entry for “oonch,” and defines it as a term meaning “to push, generally with the shoulder,” usually in the form “oonch along” or “oonch over” (“For me, the natural way to ask someone to move over without getting up is to say ‘oonch over,’” 1993). This “oonch” sounds a lot like the “scooch” I grew up with, but I find it hard to believe that “oonch” has actual “fanciers,” so I’m going to rate it as a false alarm.
The other lead is based on the fact that the book you read was published in 1964, which makes it almost certainly Hunter’s “Gently Sahib.” The Urdu word “Sahib” (“master”) was, of course, a common form of address for European men during the British colonization of India. But Hunter’s story takes place in a small town in England, where someone has been devoured by a tiger that had escaped from a private zoo owned by a local collector. I’m going to take a small leap and assume, based on that tiger and “Sahib” in the title, that there is at least a tangential connection to India or Pakistan somewhere in the story. If so, then “oonch” may begin to make sense.
It turns out that a children’s game called “Oonch Neech” (Hindi for “up and down”) is very popular in India and Pakistan. Apparently the game is similar to “tag” as played in Europe and America, with the complication that the child designated “It” has to remain either uphill or downhill of the other players.
Fortunately for Hunter’s heirs, but unfortunately for the rest of us, “Gently Sahib” is not available online, and the publisher’s brief summary of the book gives no clue as to how “oonch” might apply to those ladies. My guess is either that Hunter meant that the women played a metaphorical form of “tag” in their social dealings, or that he was using “oonch” (“up” or “higher”) as an oblique reference to some social-climbing behavior on their part. That’s about three guesses in a row for me, but I hope it sheds some light on your “oonch” mystery.
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