The new Scottish book, The Women Who Wouldn’t Wheesht, is a strapping contribution to the debate on biological versus elective gender – but hopefully also an ad for the treasure trove that is Gaelic slang.
Translation pending, but the feminists the book chronicles, including author JK Rowling, mostly grew up with “wheesht” ringing in their lugs but decided to be gallus about a career-threatening issue, whatever skelping might come.
Wheesht, as in “Haud yer wheesht”, is Scots for “shut up”. It’s often said after someone has been “gallus” (bold) or “havering” – rabbiting on/talking rubbish. Any haverer who doesn’t take the hint risks “skelping” – a physical riposte – or the withering diagnosis, “Yer erse is oot t’windae (your bottom is out the window).”
The non-Gaelic world tends toward a corny, Disneyfied view of Scots and Irish argot, fancying Celts are all “Och aye the noo” and “Top of the mornin’ to yer”. They absolutely wouldn’t, even at knife point, blether such mince when there are so many common daily words that would do wonderful service abroad.
Scots Gaelic slang is often onomatopoeic. A bad-tempered person is “crabbit”. A sly one is “sleekit”. Grey, overcast weather is “dreich”. A ratbag is a “scunner”, as is a grudge.
Could there be a more apt suggestion, when something’s stuck, blocked or otherwise unresponsive, than “gae it a shuggle”? “Shuggle” packs shake, wobble and nudge into one terrific word.
“Wheech” – finished with a back-of-the-throat, barely-there “k” – means to zoom, abruptly and at great speed, or (transitive verb) to whip something off someone or away from somewhere in a flash.
Anything grubby in Scotland is “clarted” – in mud, grime or whatever – and if truly revolting it might induce “the dry boak” (retching).
Scatological Gaelic idiom is encyclopaedic and not readily printable, but a wee sample insult: “He’s a fart as thinks he’s a jobbie.”
Irish slang is often less intuitive to Sassenachs. “Acting the maggot” is being silly. A “yoke” is neither ovine, related to harnesses nor a corruption of “joke”, but something inspiring distrust or uncertainty. “Yer’ll want to be careful of yer AI yoke.”
Subtle scepticism is a feature of Irish communication. When people say “yer man”, as in “Your man is looking for you,” it’s n/ot intended to convey ownership or responsibility, but a degree of wry assessment of the man – that, or the speaker can’t remember his name and possibly couldn’t see why they should bother. “Your wan” is the equivalent for a third-party woman. “Your one”, however, freights a tinge of hostility. And if a name is inserted, as in “Your Katy one,” the speaker has formed a very adverse view indeed of Katy. Perhaps Katy has “notio //ns” – a grievous sin against the national character of not taking oneself too seriously.
There’s also playful Irish overkill. Things are seldom just bad, but “desperate!” The grumpy are never just complaining but raging or roaring. “Fierce” is a common modifier.
It’s advisable to know the difference between a “dote”, an adorable person or animal, and a “dose”, a noxious individual.
As insults go, being called a “langer” isn’t too bad but to cop the description of a “messer” means you’re making someone decidedly tetchy; any woman hearing herself called a “wagon” can take it she’s caused serious offence. You’re a “shitehawk”? Best leave town.
Some of the best expressions are anglicised but still lack the wider audience they deserve. An Irish person who’s over-reacted might apologise that “I lost the run o’meself for a bit dere.” A Scot with a bruised face might explain, “Ah wuz talkin’ when ah shoulda bin listenin’.”
A specially handy phrase hereabouts is “mar sin e?” (maw shin eh?), theoretically meaning “is that so?” It’s yeah/nah’s Gaelic cuzzie bro.
