Whimsy columnist CLIVE WILLIAMS reveals some talking inconsistencies in English – including the natural morphing or switching of sounds, called “metathesis”. 

 “If one could only teach the English how to talk and the Irish how to listen, society would be quite civilised.”– Oscar Wilde

Moving on from Oscar Wilde, this week I’m going to examine some talking inconsistencies in English – including the natural morphing or switching of sounds, called “metathesis”. 

An example is “Feb-you-wary” instead of “February”.

First though, I want to focus on some odd pronunciations and adaptations of written words, such as “St John” and why it’s sometimes pronounced “Sinjun”. 

It’s a prime example of how English has assimilated and adapted foreign names over centuries. The name “St John” was originally French, deriving from the Old French form “Seint Johan”, which itself is a variant of the Latin name “Johannes”. 

The Norman Conquest of England in 1066 brought a significant influx of French influence, including linguistic changes. Over time, the pronunciation evolved in English, leading to the peculiar “Sinjun” pronunciation in English.

Another apparent oddity is the name “Siobhan”, pronounced “Shiv-awn”. The reason is that Siobhan is an Irish name and the “bh” in Irish is pronounced as a “v” sound.

An example of metathesis is the pronunciation of “Magdalen”, as in Magdalen College, Oxford. 

I was embarrassed the first time I went to Oxford and asked the way to “Magdalen” College – one of the more than 30 colleges at Oxford University. I was soon told that Magdalen is pronounced “Maudlin”. “Magdalen” takes its name from the Greek “Magdala”, the name of the town on the Sea of Galilee from which Mary Magdalen originated. In the Middle Ages its pronunciation became anglicised to “Maudlin”.

Metathesis is not uncommon in the evolution of languages, and has contributed to many changes in the English language. For instance, the word “bird” was originally “brid” in Old English, but the “r” and “i” switched places over time. 

Another example of metathesis is the English word “thrill”, which was “thyrlian” in Old English and “thirlen” in Middle English. By the late 16th century, native English speakers had changed the placement of the “r” to form “thrill”.

Sometimes words have become abbreviated. “Ask” was once “ascian” in Old English, but the ending got dropped, resulting in the modern pronunciation.

There’s a lot more to be said about words and I will continue about them in my next Whimsy, but I wanted to close this time on a moralistic note given Donald Trump’s well-known moral flexibility and the global downturn in moral standards.

While this story is apocryphal, Socrates’s views on morality are just as relevant today as they were in his day. In ancient Greece (469-399 BC), he was widely lauded for his wisdom. 

One day, an acquaintance strode up to him excitedly and said: “Socrates, do you know what I just heard about Diogenes?” 

“Wait a moment,” said Socrates. “Before you tell me, I’d like you to pass a little test. It’s called the triple filter test.” 

“Triple filter?” asked the acquaintance. 

“That’s right,” Socrates continued. “Before you talk to me about Diogenes, take a moment to filter what you’re going to say. 

“The first filter is truth. Are you sure that what you are about to tell me is true?” 

“No,” the man said. “Actually, I heard it from someone else.” 

“All right,” said Socrates, “So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now let’s try the second filter, the filter of goodness. 

“Is what you are about to tell me about, Diogenes, something good?” “No, quite the contrary…” 

“So,” Socrates said. “You want to tell me something about Diogenes that is not good – and you’re not certain it’s true?” 

The man wilted, somewhat embarrassed. Socrates continued: “You may still pass the test though, because there’s a third filter, the filter of usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about Diogenes going to be useful? 

“No, not really.” 

“Well,” said Socrates, “if what you want to tell me is not true, good or useful, why tell me at all?” 

The man walked off, bewildered and ashamed.

You can see now why Socrates was regarded as a great philosopher and held in such high esteem. It also explains why no one ever told Socrates about his wife’s infidelity.

Clive Williams is a Canberra columnist