Slang in a Nursery Rhyme...
I can't help it. I went by the campus library yesterday for a non-study reason and came out with three books.
One is Darkest Desire by Anthony Schmitz. It's a small book in the point of view of the wolf from the minds of the Brother's Grimm. I've just read a couple of pages, and for any of you into the delicious dark stuff, this is one to read. We'll see how it goes from there.
The second is a translation of Grimm's Tales for Young and Old. It's supposed to have the entire collection, but I'll get to it next week.
The third feels like a stepping off point into the historical relativity of nursery rhymes, called The Nursery Rhyme: Remnant of Popular Protest.
Sort of like the Dead Poet's Society, a group of guys got together at the turn of the century (20th) and made fun of their professors by researching odd/silly things and presenting them in a serious manner. This guy, Albert Mason Stevens, did some digging into where nursery rhymes come from. It only covers eight rhymes in essay form, but the info is pretty complete. Stevens did a lot of historical research and it's a very interesting read just for the synopsis of historical events.
However, every once in a while he touches on historical linguistics. For instance, the first rhyme covered is:
Goosey, Goosey Gander, wither dost thou wander?
Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber. There I met an old man who would not say his prayers: I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.
Stevens places this in the first year of the reign of Mary (1553) after Henry VIII’s son Edward and the eight day reign of Lady Jane Grey. Mary is “my lady,” Stephen Gardiner (Bishop of Winchester) is the Gander and the “old man” is Thomas Cramner.
All of which I found totally interesting. Especially, since in this book he shows how he came to each conclusion – the path of his research.
But the fun part of this rhyme is the “Goosey, Goosey” part:
“The London seat of the bishops of Winchester was a stately house in Southwark, beyond the Thames. All the neighboring region was under the jurisdiction of the bishops of Winchester; but much of Southwark, especially the district known as Bankside, was a wretched slum, occupied by the most degraded characters, notorious for vice and disease. A venereal swelling contracted in this quarter of the town came to be known as a “Winchester goose.”
“Naturally, there could be no viler insult to a man of Winchester than to call him a goose.” (23-24)
So, back then, saying “You silly goose” was like cussing?
A part of me now wants to research what liberals have done to nursery rhymes and fairy tales to make them more child-friendly.