What in Heaven’s name does this interjectory phrase mean?  Where did it come from?

I wish I knew.

My late grandmother, Kathryn Crawford Langford (1905-1995), who died in the house next door to the one in which she had been born in Brooks, Georgia, said it right often, in a variety of situations.  She might say it to mean, ”Get over it and move on.”  Or “I don’t believe what you’re telling me.”  Or “No way!”  Or “That’s just nonsense!”  Sometimes it denoted surprise, as in “My goodness!”  It’s a pretty useful phrase, but I have no idea where it comes from.

I know my grandmother is not the only one who said it; I heard it often in my youth from many different old ladies in Middle Georgia.  The late Olive Ann Burns, in her classic novel Cold Sassy Tree, has the protagonist’s mother (who would have been a generation older than my grandmother and from an entirely different part of the state — northeast Georgia) saying the same short phrase in the same exact usages.

That leads me to my second question about this elusive phrase:  was it a woman’s phrase only?  I can’t for the life of me recall ever hearing a man say it, but I’ve heard plenty of old women use it over the years.  Never anymore, but often years ago.

There is the interjection, “pshaw,” which Webster’s online says dates to 1656 and is used to express irritation, disapproval, contempt, or disbelief.   I’ve seen that in writing many times, and suppose it must be the root from which my phrase of the day springs.  I don’t know for sure, but that’s my guess.  If I’m right, then my grandmother’s (and Miss Burns’s grandmother’s) usage would simply be a matter of regional idiom and pronunciation.

Ah, shah!  I don’t reckon it really matters, but it makes me wonder just the same.

By DAN LANGFORD

Have been hibernating like a bear for the last several weeks, but the pretty weather this past weekend caused me to stir from my den, stretch, and begin to get active again.  Noticed Friday’s calendar heading, and saw that date marked the vernal equinox, or, what most call the beginning of Spring.  Only in most places in Georgia, it’s pronounced “Sprang,” both as to the season, the noun, and the predicate.  Conjugating the verb “to spring” was always interesting in the Georgia classrooms of my youth.  Spring, sprang, (have) sprung — except everyone always pronounced it “Sprang, sprang, (have) sprung.”

Flowers have sprung forth from the ground, buds are springing from the trees, sneezes are springing from noses due to the annual pollen coating on everything — a sure sign that “Sprang” is upon us.  Enjoy the beauty of the season!

By DAN LANGFORD

In visiting with some non-Southern friends over the holidays, I was reminded over breakfast one morning of yet another difference in regional pronunciation.  Syrup — that wonderful elixir most often in the South made from ribbon cane, but from sorghum cane when a thicker, more pungent syrup is wanted.  Maple syrup imported from the North is also considered a delicacy here.  We just pronounce it differently.  Everyone I’ve ever noticed who is from the South says “SUR-up,” the first syllable of which rhymes with  “Yes, SIR!”    Many other folks say “SEAR-up,” the first syllable of which rhymes with “Sears” or with “Cyrano de Bergerac.”  I’ve never heard anyone from the South say it the second way, which makes me think ”SUR-up” is a regional pronunciation.

It’s not terribly important in the scheme of things, I suppose — what’s important is to get a piping hot home-made biscuit, butter it, and slather it with your favorite syrup.  It’s so good it’ll make you slap your grandma away from the table.

By DAN LANGFORD

As we enter this Christmas season, I want to comment on typical Southern (or at least Georgian) pronunciation of two words — hoof and roof.  The letters “oo” have two distinct pronunciations in English — a short, clipped pronunciation like in “foot” or “cook,” and a deeper, drawn-out pronunciation like in “loot” or “boot.”   I’ve heard a few people over the years (none of them native Georgians) who pronounced hoof and roof with the short clipped sound of the double-o.  That just sounds funny to Southerners.  I’ve never met a Georgian yet who didn’t use the “loot” or “boot” sound when pronouncing the two words.

Both, as it turns out, are correct.  Webster’s online gives both pronunciations for both words.  Interestingly, it prefers the “loot” sound for “roof,” but the “foot” sound for “hoof.”   I don’t suppose it really matters, but I personally prefer what sounds right to me — the “loot” sound for both.  Regardless, the important thing is that you be asleep when hoof sounds clatter across your roof the night of the 24th of this month, or Santa might not stop.

By DAN LANGFORD

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?

By DAN LANGFORD

Aunts are wonderful people to have in one’s life.  Depending on whom one is talking to, though, pronunciation of the word can vary greatly.  So far as I know, the three most common pronunciations are “ant,” “ont,” and “aint.”

I was raised using the first and the last of those pronunciations — the first, if I was talking about my aunt; the second, if I was talking to her.  “You need to meet my “ant” Helen,” I might tell someone.  When I introduce the two, I would say, “Aint Helen, this is my friend _____.”   Don’t ask me why — that’s just how most native people of good standing used the pronunciations in Fayette County, Georgia during my youth, and yet today.

In my experience, “aint”  is used as the only pronunciation of the word in upland regions of the state.  There, you may hear, “I need to talk to my aint about it.”  That sounds substandard to my own ear, but it’s perfectly acceptable in many places.  Standard pronunciation, after all, in many cases depends solely on where you’re from.

As for “ont,” I really couldn’t say.  Growing up, we thought it was solely an African-American pronunciation, but I’ve learned since that many Northerners say it that way, too.  Furthermore, I’m relatively certain that’s the orginal British pronunciation.  So, while “ont” may be the most correct pronunciation to most English-speaking people,  I personally never will be convinced that the usage I grew up with isn’t the highest and best.  If you don’t believe me, just ask Aint Helen, my favorite aunt.

By DAN LANGFORD

I was reminded at a family gathering yesterday of a funny old rural pronunciation I haven’t thought of in years.  My younger brother’s little boy was out playing in the yard, and got scared about a flying insect.  He called to his daddy, who saw the bug and proclaimed, “It’s a wawst!”

My brother speaks impeccable English, but he, like I, often gets so tickled by various mispronunciations that he’ll incorporate them into his speech for fun.  Wawsts, for those who may not have figured out what I’m talking about yet, are wasps; but our late daddy used to laugh about how everyone around Brooks, GA called them “wawsts” during his growing-up years.

Wawst season is about over, but when the weather begins getting warm next spring, be mindful of them when you’re outdoors.  Few things hurt worse than a wawst sting.

By DAN LANGFORD

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.

By DAN LANGFORD

I saw a friend of mine last week who came to Georgia 20 years ago from the Midwest to work in the construction industry. He had read my inaugural posting and wanted to know why I hadn’t mentioned “winders,” which he said he heard all about in home-building when he first came to Georgia. I told him that nobody with any class or breeding would ever say “winder” — the correct pronunciation of the word “window” for any native Georgian of good social standing is “win’-duh.” We could, of course, say “win’-dow,” but that would sound uppity. Who wants to sound like an accent-less TV talking head? “Win’-der,” on the other hand, just goes way too far toward the other extreme.

“Win’-duh” sounds just right — not uptight and not hillbilly. So let’s all open our “win-duhs” now and enjoy the fresh spring breezes.

Dan Langford