Sometimes only cockney rhyming slang will do. But get it wrong and you can end up looking a berk
Among the hundreds of languages and dialects spoken in east London, there is one that should have a preservation order slapped on it. Spoken by a small and dwindling minority, surely it must be eligible for some kind of EU funding to ensure its longevity and survival. I refer of course to Cockney Rhyming Slang.
Originating in the East End in the mid-19th century and used primarily by stallholders, costermongers and the criminal classes, its usage spread throughout east London in the 20th century, giving the cockney dialect a unique richness, colour and playfulness; a linguistic tool bringing everyday speech to life.
It is thought that CRS was devised as a cryptolect – a language designed to confuse and exclude others (in this case customers, the police, non-locals). The question is why East Enders and the Essex diaspora continue to use this archaic and at times ridiculously confusing wordplay.
Probably for some of the reasons I do. It reminds me of my working-class East End roots and my grandparents, it is a way of bonding with schoolmates, and above all it is a fabulous weapon to have in one’s linguistic arsenal.
Sometimes only rhyming slang will do: it lends your speech a certain piquancy, a sense of urgency and a dash of wit and chutzpah. In certain situations, it has no equal, particularly when it comes to issuing a reprimand, an insult or a compliment.
For example, nothing will have you speed-dialling your hairdresser quicker than the classic “What is going on with your Barnet [Fair]?” The same goes for someone criticising your Hampstead Heaths (teeth) or passing comment on a dodgy boat (race).
Similarly, it gives a compliment extra weight. Should you be told you’re wearing a nice kettle (watch) or a lovely whistle (suit), it means that much more. A kettle can only really apply to a premium brand such as a Cartier or a Rolex – otherwise it’s just a watch – and you wouldn’t comment on someone’s whistle were it from the high street: that would merely be a suit. A whistle would be of the Tom Ford variety.
Most people know a bit of CRS, wherever they’re from in the UK – for some reason everyone seems to be familiar with apples and pears for stairs. However, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a real cockney use this expression. I think that was one we made up, a red herring to sniff out interlopers or closet northerners.
For a start, any cockney worth their salt would never use the full rhyme, so it would only ever be apples for stairs, almonds for socks (not almond rocks) or Alans (Alan Whickers would never do when describing one’s undergarments).
Some might even use CRS without ever knowing they’re doing so. I wonder how au fait the Milk Marketing Board was with the idiosyncrasies of London dialect when it coined the slogan “Milk’s Gotta Lotta Bottle”. When a cockney talks about having a lot of bottle, he is referring to his bottle and glass (arse) and the ability to maintain its contents when the going gets tough.
Or how about calling someone a berk – the gentlest of insults, reminiscent of 70s sitcoms, something that Terry or June might have called the vicar in the eponymous TV show. Once you know it refers to the (Berk)eley Hunt, it suddenly carries a bit more punch and would certainly make you look at June Whitfield in a different light.
On the subject of Terry and June, this unlikely duo give us a cracking example of how this slang entered the lexicon of rave culture in the late 80s and 90s.
The scene exploded in east London and Essex and CRS provided the perfect argot with which to organise illegal parties and trade illicit substances, taking it right back to its original usage as a cryptolect.
So, the youth of East London danced to Terry and Junes (tunes) while ingesting Jack ‘n’ Jills (pills) and sniffing Boutros Ghali (charlie). I remember being invited to a secret cabbage – a nice link back to the original patter of East End greengrocers shouting their wares: “Cabbage all hearty” (party).
Sometimes CRS gets so cryptic that only the cockney elite can unscramble it (I imagine a super-cockney such as Ray Winstone is brought in at this point to decipher it). Aris (again used to describe one’s derrière) is a case in point – an abbreviation of Aristotle, which rhymes with bottle … and glass. Imagine the mental agility the crafty cockney has to employ to decode that one when he could just use the word bottom.
So what does the future hold for my cherished mother tongue? My hunch is that it will disappear for good in the East End within a generation, unless the Hoxton hipsters decide to revive it and make it, like, totally ironic.
My hope is that it will continue to flourish and move with the times, along the corridors of the A12 and A13 and beyond zone 4 of the eastbound Central line. Occasionally it will appear in a script destined for Albert Square or in a movie vehicle for Danny Dyer and it may even have a starring role in the next big counter-cultural explosion – albeit one that starts in Basildon or Billericay.
Twitter: @dinky75
via Media: Mind your language | theguardian.com http://www.theguardian.com/media/mind-your-language/2013/feb/22/mind-your-language-cockney-rhyming-slang
