Saturday 22 August 2015

Nautical Metaphors

I must go down to the sea again

As I read the Patrick O'Brian series of novels for the third or fourth time, I am astounded at the number of nautical metaphors that have passed into our language from sailing ships and the sea. I suspect that this aspect of British history is the richest source of idiom and expression after Shakespeare and the King James Bible.

As a youth I sailed through the Hornblower novels by C. S. Forester, but by and large gave lesser imitators a wide berth. Forester had left little leeway for competitors. Then I came upon Patrick O'Brian and his series about Captain Jack Aubrey and Doctor Steven Maturin, chock-a-block with nautical detail and set, like the Hornblower books, in the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. I was committed, hard and fast.

Master and Commander, the first in the series, was no mere flash in the pan. Eighteen more novels followed, each one meeting initial expectations with flying colours, and I continued reading them until the bitter end. Elements of the stories were often unresolved, leaving me high and dry until a new novel appeared in the offing. Nothing else would tide me over. I was left in the doldrums. Without an O'Brian book to read, I was all at sea. 

Reading has always been a mainstay of my existence, and on cold winter nights on the prairies, I would batten down the hatches, tell everybody else to pipe down, get under way, and read long into the night, sipping my scotch until I was three sheets to the wind.

I was taken aback when a seafaring friend of mine, and medical man to boot, let slip that he was making heavy weather of one of the novels. These were dangerous waters indeed, and he was sailing too close to the wind. I could not turn a blind eye. He had better take a different tack! I nailed my colours to the mast and sent a shot across his bows, telling him that I couldn't fathom his attitude and didn't like the cut of his jib. I was ready to tackle him at close quarters: there was no way he could cut and run. I told him to toe the line, to get on an even keel, to steer clear of small fry, and to strive with might and main to sound the depths of this great novel, or our friendship would go by the board. He acknowledged my signal, and from then on, it was plain sailing. We were no longer at loggerheads.

Wednesday 22 July 2015

The quick and the dead


As you leave the ferry terminal at Mayne Island and venture onto the vast network of roads, you are duly warned to watch out for deer. As in Greater Victoria, controversy rages over what to do about these gentle creatures, and here the problem is more serious, for without predators they have multiplied far beyond the capacity of the island to support them.

They are so hungry that they have stripped the island of young arbutus trees and the wildflowers that old timers remember from long ago. They will eat almost anything, including many deer-resistant plants. They have even taken to eating the pink insulation batts underneath our cabin. A serious problem indeed, and no solution is at hand. Unlike their rich cousins in Oak Bay, Mayne Islanders cannot afford to buy contraceptives for the deer at $250 a pop, or should I say "non-pop"?

So when driving on Mayne Island you should be on the lookout for deer. But I always chuckle when I pass the sign, for I imagine a sudden manifestation of deer on all the roads at the same time. Wherever they are, through some paranormal means of communication they must know when to leave the forest for the roads. And how well organised they must be to ensure that no street or lane is left unattended! In more precise language, the sign would have read:

Deer: On any road at any time

And here's another example of careless language. I don't want to seem insensitive, and I wouldn't write about this if I thought that anybody remotely connected with the tragedy would read it. Indeed, I have waited until the event is no longer current. Some time ago I noticed a headline in the newspaper which read:

Man killed at metal depot turned his life around

How could he could he turn his life around if he was dead?

The problem arises in the original headline because, reading the two verbs in the past tense, we assume that the actions happened in order. What we need here is a tense to show that one of the actions happened further back in the past, i.e., the past perfect or pluperfect tense:

Man killed at metal depot had turned his life around.

Now it makes sense.



Sunday 14 June 2015

The Rain on Mayne is mainly on the Wane

I wait in vain for rain on Mayne. We islanders are not permitted to use our community water for the garden, so I have rigged up a number of 55-gallon barrels, eight in all, beneath the gutters, connected by flexipipe to every spout I can find. And I sit and wait for the next shower, ready to redirect the flexipipe, or pump water from one barrel to another, all the water eventually to flow to my parched garden.

I watch the weather forecast every day. Sometimes it shows rain about a week ahead, but when the day arrives the rain is always falling somewhere else. I even have an ironic acronym for this phenomenon: ARDOM, Another Rainy Day on Mayne, that is, one of those days when rain is forecast but doesn’t fall.

Apparently, the average water consumption in Canada is 60-70 gallons per person per day. How much of that water is wasted! But I am saving every drop for the garden: bathwater for the vegetables, washing-up water for the plants, rinsing-water for the tomatoes on the deck. And if I sometimes rinse a little too liberally, I compensate by not flushing the toilet. One non-flushing of the toilet is equivalent to one filling of the watering can.

I have added a couplet to the old Australian water-saving, selective-flushing ditty:

If it’s yellow, 
Let it mellow.
If it’s brown, 
Flush it down.

And even then, just bide your time,
Don’t flush it down unless it’s prime!

Wednesday 3 June 2015

Fewer and Less

A friend asked me to explain the difference between "fewer" and "less". Here is the short answer.

Use "fewer" with number: fewer marbles.
Use "less" with quantity: less sugar

”Less” is often incorrectly used with number: There are less people here today than yesterday. It should be: There are fewer people here than yesterday

And the longer answer: "Fewer" is the comparative form of the adjective "few". "Less" is the comparative form of the adjective "little". We don't confuse these two words.

There are only a few marbles left. There is only a little sugar left.

"Fewest" is the superlative form of the adjective "few". "Least" is the superlative form of the adjective "little". We sometimes confuse these two words, but the error is less common: John has the least marbles. It should be: John has the fewest marbles.

In case you're wondering about the terms comparative and superlative, adjectives come in three forms: positive (regular), comparative, and superlative. Comparatives and superlatives are typically formed by adding the suffixes "er" and “est"to the word, or using "more" and "most" if the word has more than two syllables.

Tall, taller, tallest
Comfortable, more comfortable, most comfortable 

A few adjectives have irregular comparatives and superlatives.

Good, better, best
Bad, worse, worst
Far, farther, farthest

And, of course,

Little, less, least
Many, more, most
Much, more, most


And there, I think, is the reason for the confusion between "fewer" and "less". I may have fewer marbles but less sugar than Tom, but he has more marbles and more sugar. If "more" will denote either a greater number or greater quantity, why doesn't "less" denote either a smaller number or smaller quantity? Particularly when we have the phrase "more or less", which will do for either number or quantity, won't it? There were a hundred people in attendance, more or less. Only the most extreme grammatical fundamentalist would say "more or fewer". So it's easy to see why the error is so common: "There are less people here today than there were yesterday." No, there are fewer people here today than yesterday.

And since we've strayed a little from the original question, what about the comparative and superlative forms of adverbs? If the adverb ends in "ly", and most do, then the comparatives and superlatives are formed with "more" and "most", not the suffixes "er" and "best".

Simply, more simply, most simply

Grammarians across the country were shocked in the seventies when the Federal Government came out with a fitness advertisement which contained the slogan: "Breathe easier!" It should have been: "Breathe more easily!

Adverbs which don't end in "ly", usually have similar comparatives and superlatives to the  corresponding adjective.

Hard, harder, hardest
Well, better, best
Badly, worse, worst

By the way, be careful with the word "badly". You can't feel badly unless you have damaged nerve endings. If you upset someone, you will feel bad about it, not badly, in the same way that you would feel sad, not sadly. The adjective "bad" is modifying the person feeling, not the verb "feel". Just remember, when it comes to "feeling", use the word "bad" in the same way that you would use the word "sad".

"I feel sad that you will have to go alone. I feel bad about letting you down."