Bernard Waddingham of Bedford wishes to know, “What is the world coming to when The Times refers to gin and tonics rather than gins and tonic?”
Bernard might have logic on his side, but a recent interview with the chef Tom Kerridge contains a good enough illustration of why The Times nowadays prefers “gin and tonics”. Discussing Kerridge’s early career as a major drinker, we said that “he would drink a pint of negroni, six pints of lager and vastly generous gin and tonics at home”. Just try moving that “s” from tonics to gin. The clumsiness of the construction vastly outweighs Bernard’s grammatical purism.
Curiously, we used “gin and tonics” and “gins and tonic” side by side until relatively recently. This is despite Fowler’s advice (1965 edition) that “Our compounded drinks we usually think of as a single entity, and are likely to ask for two whisky-and-sodas, two gin-and-tonics, etc; if we make an exception in asking for two gins-and-French, it will only be because of the awkwardness of Frenches”.
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Gin and French was my father’s tipple of choice, half and half and taken at room temperature, no ice or fancy lemon twist required, thanks. Two of those would be enough to flatten most people. The French, of course, refers to vermouth. When the vermouth is Italian, the drink is a gin and It, but Fowler doesn’t divulge how to refer to several of those, presumably with an “s” and, I trust, no apostrophe.
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In June 1914, during that giddy last summer before the world fell apart, The Times published a long, facetious essay entitled “Thoughts on drinks”. The anonymous writer noted: “A wise man of the world has laid it down as a law of universal application that ‘Whenever you want a drink and don’t know what drink it is that you want, what you want is vermouth’.” Our writer thoroughly approved of this theory, and I can see its attraction.
A few weeks ago our food and drinks editor Tony Turnbull treated us to recipes for the latest in cocktail fads, including ketchup margaritas and Marmite negronis. It’s fair to say that the response suggested people would prefer their gin, vermouth, martini — and their Marmite — left unscathed. “Why, just why?” asked Pol Murphy, while Mrs Anthony Bohan wrote, “Just one word — No.”
Perhaps it would be safer to stick to the tried and tested. Our drinks writer of 1914 concluded with a useful story heard from a friend in America. A man burst into his club with the stirring announcement: “Say, you fellows, I have just invented the greatest cocktail that ever was!” “‘What’s in it?” demanded a chorus of voices. “The same as in any other cocktail, only twice as much.”
Haitch crimes
The Times being a text organ, for the most part, Feedback is not the place for discussions about pronunciation. I’m happy to stand aside and let others vent about prime ministers saying “fif” instead of fifth, or newsreaders talking about the “pri’minister”. We have challenges of our own.
This week has been a bit of an exception, however, thanks to Jack Malvern’s story in Monday’s news section about Amol Rajan caving in to criticism of the way he says aitch with an h. Apparently myriad University Challenge viewers have had their viewing blighted because, as Rajan put it, he’d been getting it wrong. He promises to do better in the next series.
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Except that he hasn’t been getting it wrong. In the same breath he pointed out that the OED and the BBC’s pronunciation unit were happy with haitch as a variant. Several Irish readers were puzzled to learn that they’d apparently been saying it “wrong” all their lives. In a comment below the story, one reader pointed out that “In Northern Ireland this is a true shibboleth. Protestants say ‘aitch’ while Roman Catholics say ‘haitch’. South of the border it’s all ‘haitch’.”
Nowadays, shibboleth means an out-of-date or irrelevant custom or catchword that distinguishes a particular group. The reader’s “true” shibboleth refers to its original meaning of a tell or giveaway — something that shows you don’t belong. This comes from the Old Testament story of Jephthah, who slaughtered everyone from a rival tribe after they betrayed their identities by the way they said shibboleth, a word for corn.
Perhaps Rajan got off lightly.
Not so Shaw
Introducing his story, Jack said that Rajan “proves George Bernard Shaw’s observation that ‘It is impossible for an Englishman to open his mouth without making some other Englishman hate or despise him’.”
Christopher Goulding of Newcastle upon Tyne objected. “By convention, authors are referred to in the style by which they choose to be known. Hence, we refer to TS, rather than Thomas Eliot, and it would raise eyebrows to write about Pelham Wodehouse or PA Larkin. The name George does not appear on the cover of any works by Bernard Shaw. He loathed his first name, growling ‘Don’t George me!’ at anyone who addressed him thus.”
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Fair enough, but what are we supposed to put — GBS, G Bernard Shaw? Both rather odd. Anyway, he’s not still around to object, is he?
Cross examination
Roger and Elizabeth Marcuson are 87 and 81, and have been married for 57 years. Roger writes, “We compete daily to finish the Concise crossword on our iPads and sorely miss the Congratulations report and the stopping of the clock so that we know the time it took each of us to complete it. Please can you restore marital harmony?”
We do hope so. There seems to be a bug affecting iPad users, which we’re looking into now. We’ll get the marriage back on track asap.
Write to Feedback by emailing feedback@thetimes.co.uk or by post to 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF
