It’s a ninja thing.

Dear Word Detective: I just discovered your articles online, and was pleased to find an explanation of the term “calf rope” (which I recently introduced to my youngest child), and also see that you at least reference the word “tump.” I grew up using both words regularly in southern Arkansas. This reminded me of another term that I’ve heard my parents use a good bit when I was growing up in the ’60s and ’70s, but never really understood the meaning. My parents would often refer to the trunk of a car as the “turtle hull.” I’ve found references online defining the term as the trunk of a car, but no explanation of how/when the term quit referring to an actual turtle, and instead to a portion of a car. Any ideas? — Greg Harrison.

It’s always nice to be discovered, and in this case your discovery produced my discovery that I have columns online (from, respectively, 2003 and 1999) that I have absolutely no memory of writing. “Calf rope” is, I remember now, a regional “surrender term” used by children in the southern US to signal that they are giving up in a fight, much as saying “uncle” has been used for centuries. I apparently came up blank back in 1999 on “tump” meaning “overturn,” as in “tump over a boat.” But the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) says, I now notice, that it’s a US dialectical term meaning “to strike a person roughly” or “to knock down or over roughly” (“I wuz gonna take a big drank of muh Arro Cee Cola until you came by and tumped it over,” Dallas Morning News, 1983), which certainly sounds like the “tump” I was looking for. The OED suggests that this “tump” arose simply as a dialectical pronunciation of “thump.”

“Turtle hull” is a new one on me, but there seem to be a lot of people asking about it online, and there is broad agreement that it’s a slightly antiquated term for the trunk of a car, again used primarily in the southern US. The cargo compartment of a passenger automobile has gone by a range of monikers over the years. In the UK, it’s generally called the “boot,” after platforms on the side of horse-drawn carriages where guards sat (and under which luggage was carried). It’s not clear exactly how “boot” connects to that “platform” sense, but it may be based on the sense of “boot” as a protective container. Back in the 18th century, the main luggage compartment was also known as the “well.” The US term “trunk” is actually relatively recent, dating back to the 1930s. This “trunk” is based on “trunk” in the sense of “chest, box or case” (as in “steamer trunk”), a use that arose because the first “trunks” were made (supposedly) from actual tree trunks. My back hurts just thinking about that.

I have yet to find a dictionary that lists “turtle-hull,” but the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) does have an entry for “turtle-back” meaning “a rounded projecting boot on a motor vehicle,” which first appeared in print in 1941. This use was by analogy to an arched structure called a “turtle-back” (or “turtle-deck”) sometimes mounted on the bow and/or stern of 19th century steamships to protect against heavy seas. Modern lifeboats on large ships often have this sort of arched canopy fore and aft (or are entirely enclosed by one) to protect passengers and prevent the craft from swamping in a storm. This seafaring “turtle-back” takes its name from its resemblance to the arched shell of a turtle, and the rounded trunks of mid-20th century cars apparently also evoked comparison to our pokey reptilian pals.

The substitution of “hull” for “back” in “turtle-hull” seems a little odd, but not really mysterious. This is “hull” in the sense of “hard outer covering of a seed,” or (given the nautical origin of “turtle-back”) “hull” in the sense of “body of a ship” (which is almost certainly based on the “seed casing” sense of “hull” anyway).

Well, it sure beats curds and whey.

Dear Word Detective: Recently, I have seen certain jobs described as “plum,” most recently in relation to Urban Meyer “resigning from his plum job as Florida’s coach” (Sports Illustrated). I have no doubt that Mr. Meyer’s past and future salaries have been and will be more than sufficient to keep him and his family very well fed, but I was curious as to why prestigious employment would be dubbed “plum.” And how did a little purple fruit become an adjective?– Charlene.

Hey, some of our best adjectives got their start as fruits. Political commentary in the US these days, for instance, would be far less insightful without the ever-useful adjective “bananas.”

OK, back to “plum.” A “plum” is, of course, the edible reddish-purple fruit of the plum tree (genus Prunus), a bit larger than a golf ball and typically very juicy and sweet. Plums are often used as dessert fruits and in puddings and wines, and, when dried for longer-term storage, are called “prunes.” (I mention that because I was in my late teens before I found out that raisins are actually dried grapes. I think I thought raisins grew on bushes.) The root of the English word “plum” is its Latin equivalent, “prunum,” which in turn was adapted from Greek, which apparently borrowed it from an unknown Asian language. “Plum” first appeared in Old English as “plume.” It’s not clear how the “pr” of its roots (retained in “prune”) became “pl,” but weird things happen over the course of centuries.

Plums are a popular fruit because of their sweetness and versatility, so it’s not surprising that long ago, when fresh fruit of any kind was regarded by the average person as a treat, “plum” became a popular figure of speech for something very good. Or very, very good. One odd figurative use of “plum” in the early 18th century was to mean “a sum of one hundred thousand pounds,” a mountain of money at the time (“An honest Gentleman who … was worth half a Plumb,” 1710).

By the mid-19th century “plum” had become slang for “a coveted prize,” “the best of a collection of things” or “the best part of a book or musical piece” (“It is only the stupid parts of books which tire one. All that is necessary is to pick out the plums,” 1825). “Plum” also was used to mean specifically “a choice job or appointment,” and, in particular, such posts awarded as political rewards (“The boys enjoying the plums will support anybody who is good for him or them,” 1887). So the use of “plum job” reflects a long history of likening a choice position to the sweet fruit of the plum tree.

Incidentally, the classic plum-centric nursery rhyme “Little Jack Horner” (“Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, Eating a Christmas pie; He put in his thumb and pulled out a plum, And said ‘What a good boy am I!’”) may be more than it seems. It’s said to have originated as a satiric comment on events surrounding the seizure of church property in England in the mid-16th century, after Henry VIII broke with the Catholic Church. According to this story, “Jack Horner” was actually Thomas Horner, dispatched by the Abbot of Glastonbury, Richard Whyting, to take deeds for several of the Abbot’s properties to King Henry. The deeds were intended as a bribe to protect the rest of Whyting’s properties from seizure by the King, and, being very valuable, were supposedly baked into a pie to conceal them on the long journey. (An actual pie is probably a bit unlikely, but they were probably concealed in some fashion.) Along the way, however, Horner pulled the deed to one of the best properties from the pie (or whatever) and kept it for himself. In the end, the bribe didn’t work, and Henry took all the Abbot’s land and had the Abbot drawn and quartered to boot. But Horner still had the deed he had taken (the “plum” from the “pie”), and the Horner family lived on that property in Somerset, in a house called Mells Manor, for several centuries. For the record, the Horner family always denied this story, maintaining that Henry gave Thomas Horner the property. Perhaps, but it’s still a great story.