Romantic Tough's Tongue
Dictionary of American Underworld Lingo. Edited by Hyman E. Goldin, Frank O'Leary, Morris Lipsius. (Constable, 36s.)
I ONCE listened to an interminable argument between two highly qualified English thieves as to whether 'dip' or `buz' was the correct expression on this side of the Atlantic for pickpocket. It occurred to me then how bewildering must be the lexico- grapher's task when his chosen language is un- written, ever changing and subject to all sorts of local and individual variations. This is why jargon dictionaries, though always fascinating, are seldom satisfactory.
Modern English underworld jargon remains comparatively stable. It consists mainly of rhym- ing slang (the 'secret' language of the working class liberally punctuated by winks) with a dash of old thieves' cant and romany that takes you right back to the Elizabethan coney-catchers, plus a top-dressing of modern American expressions. Even so, it displays vogues and crazes as fervid and irrational as any you find among debutantes or schoolboys. For instance, the rather pleasant rhyming slang expression 'flowery' (flowery dell) for 'cell,' which used to be standard currency among Edwardian and even Georgian burglars, has now been entirely superseded by the all- inclusive 'peter,' also used in America, meaning any sealed container whether a cell or a safe. So do not, when you arrive at Wormwood Scrubs, start talking about your `flowery,' or you will be greeted with lofty disdain by the old Harrovians in the exercise yard.
The American underworld makes very little, if indeed any, use of rhyming slang. Its jargon is polyglot and multi-racial; it bears traces of the speech of very different races and communities: Yiddish with its emphasis on commerce, the racy conversation of the Harlem Negroes, full of cute sexual symbolism. Though not necessarily so much more expressive, it is a good deal richer than its homely, pithy, almost snug English counterpart, also more sophisticated, e.g., morph, meaning both morphine and a hermaphrodite. You can easily see how it becomes, in theory at
any rate, the lingua franca of the romantic tough.
Of this the Dictionary of American Under- world Lingo sets out to provide the basic vocabu- lary, some 5,000 more or less constant elements. I am not qualified to pass judgement on its scholarship, but it is comprehensive beyond doubt and I am impressed by the care with which it lists the several separate and distinct meanings of the same term, multiple usage being such a feature of underworld jargon. The editors were two long-term convicts and a prison chaplain, assisted by an advisory board of old lags. It is possible the chaplain got his leg pulled a bit but not so as you would notice. He certainly allowed few references, however cryptic, to homo- sexuality to slip through his mesh.
The treatment is explanatory rather than etymological, many entries being provided with specimen sentences, sometimes faintly egregious but mainly instructive like those you get in a Hugo's grammar : Bug-juice. (P) Ammonia or tear-gas discharge. .`Some ghee with a bum clock (bad heart) near kicked oil (died) when the screws (guards) threw that bug-juice at him.'
And as illustration of the confusion that could arise from getting your linguistic worlds mixed, you might care to take the word 'House-mother.' In England she is the matron at a progressive school. In the American underworld she is a brothel-keeper.
RICHARD LANE
Previous page
