I’m not sure how to spell this word, and am open for alternative suggestions.  For those who don’t know, it’s the common Southern vernacular pronunciation for the word “children.”

I suppose it’s the way some Southerners actually say the word, though in my experience, it was more often used as a term of affection.  Mama, a precise-speaking English major and high school English teacher before motherhood, would say it when addressing her children in masse, in a variety of circumstances.  “Chillun,” she might say in a light and fun moment, ”how’d y’all like to make a churn of ice cream?”   In an ordinary, hum-drum comment, she might say, “Chillun, jump in the station wagon.  It’s time for piano lessons.”  On occasions when our behavior was taxing her patience, she might say, “Chillun, I’m'o sell y’all to the gypsies if you don’t behave.”

Mama obviously knew (and knows) that the word is both spelled and pronounced “children,” but reverting into “chillun” as a term of affection and endearment has long been an accepted way of relaxing in the language.  And that’s what Southerners do best — relax in the language.  

Wouldn, couldn, and shouldn are common Southern pronunciations for the contractions wouldn’t, couldn’t, and shouldn’t.  “Wouldn” rhymes with “wooden,” as do “couldn” and “shouldn.”  Most of us, when relaxing in the language, feel no need to pronounce the terminal “t’s.”  Naturally, we’d write them correctly, but why go to the effort of saying it so precisely?

 We probably shouldn drop letters like that, and wouldn if it made a bit of difference.  It dudn (there’s another one - for “doesn’t”), so what’s the harm?  I couldn care less, could you?

I’m not sure how to spell this expression, but I’ve heard women say it all my life.  Men use it on occasion, but generally default to “I swear!”, which I suppose in the genteel South seemed a bit harsh for women to say.  Both phrases mean the same thing — some combination of amazement or disgust or frustration — as in, “I swannee, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that boy!  I can’t think of enough things to tell him not to do!”   Very rarely one would hear, ” I swannee to God,” which would indicate that the phrase’s origin was in an oath of some kind.

A marvelous website (www.word-detective.com) provides a perfectly plausible answer to the very reasonable question of where this odd but often-heard phrase came from.  It seems that in old England, folks said “I shall warrant you,” instead of “I swear;” both being said in the more traditional sense of swearing to tell the whole truth.  In the north of England, the dialectic pronunciation of the phrase “I shall warrant you” was something like “I s’wan ye,”  which goes a long way toward clarifying where this funny old phrase comes from.

I swannee, it’s amazing what one can find on the internet, isn’t it?

I heard a parishioner after church yesterday saying to another, “Bless your biggol heart.”  Hearing that warmed mine, for there are two good Southernisms in a single phrase. 

First is “Bless your heart,”  which is used as an expression of empathy or sympathy, and which I believe is distinctly Southern.  If you doubt me, ask yourself a simple question: can you imagine somebody from Brooklyn, Los Angeles, or Peoria saying it? 

The other is that wonderfully descriptive adjective, “biggol.”  Something may be humongous, huge, large, or merely ample; but sometimes in speech those don’t quite impart the right degree of emphasis.  “Biggol” will usually do the trick in such cases.  We might write, “Stone Mountain is the largest piece of exposed granite in the world,” but that would sound rather stuffy if spoken.  We’d be more liable to say, “That’s a biggol rock right there.”

The moral of this story is to keep on blessing hearts.  You’ll have a biggol reward for it someday.

Many Southerners drop lots of their R’s in speaking.  Hollywood, in portraying Southerners, never seems to get this right, a fact brought to my awareness in my recent viewing of two old movies — JFK and Forrest Gump.  In the former, the show’s star character, New Orleans D.A. Jim Garrison, is continually referred to as “Mistuh Gahhison,” or some abomination like that.  The “Mistuh” part is fine, but the butchery of the surname is unconscionable. In the latter movie, the main character is referred to again and again as “Fahhest” or “Fawest,” both of which are ludicrous.  Both words are pronounced just as they are spelled — Garrison and Forrest.

Simply put, we don’t drop R’s that begin words, those that follow most consonants (such as in “ludicrous” and “travel”), or those upon which syllable changes hinge.  Most if not all other R’s get dropped by those who are R-droppers.  Robert might be “Robuht,” Martha might be “Mahtha,” were is often “wuh,” cedar is usually “ceduh,” and Hardy might be “Hahdy.”  Harry, just one letter different, is always “Harry.”  That’s the catch Hollywood can’t seem to get right.

Here’s a phonetically-written sentence that may help illustrate the difference:

Pita (Peter) Harrison and Morris Hahcoat (Harcourt) wuh (were) half-brothuhs (brothers), who had the same muthuh (mother), but different fahthahs (fathers).

The R’s in “Harrison,” “Morris,” and “different” are all necessary — the others (othuhs) are (ah) not, and are often dropped.  Hollywood would have us saying “Ha-isson,” “Ma-iss,” and “diffent,” which is nothing more than carnage visited upon our lilting manner of speech.