Place names in Australia 2
bu Ira Maine
Place names are odd things altogether.
There’s a place near Macedon (Vic.) on the Calder Highway where there used to be a hugely successful sausage factory. In the end the place was closed down because the authorities found that the management were adding sawdust to bulk out the recipe. In the sample tested, one end of the sausage was found to be entirely made up of sawdust. The management’s defence was that it was hard to make both ends meat. Believe it or not, that town is now called Woodend.
Then when one of the maintenance crew slipped and had a section of his buttocks sliced off, customers immediately began to complain that they were getting behind in their orders.
Slightly South West of Ballarat, before anywhere in the district had a properly recognised European place name, there was a French butcher making a good living creating wonderful pates and ketchups for the diggers. What he would do, not being familiar with English, was simply roll up to a farm with his horse and cart and call out “Mort?” (the French for ‘dead’) and offer his butchery services. At least half of his fees, and sometimes much more, were paid in meat, which he would promptly take home and turn into salamis and ketchups. He would then sell these gourmet creations at the Linton Market. People loved these creations so much that they couldn’t wait to taste them. In order to prevent them being nibbled by kids on the way home, the Frenchman would always give each child a nice rib or chop bone to nibble on. The kids would instantly take off down the road to where a huge old rusty tank lay discarded by the roadside. The remarkable thing about this tank was that, if hit, not with a piece of wood or a stone, but with a suitable piece of bone, it gave off this extraordinary ringing sound which went on and on reverberating in a most entertaining fashion. To this day the whole area is still called “Pittong” in memory of that sound. Oh, and the place where the Frenchman made his ketchups? Why, Mortchup, of course.
Before I conclude, there is just one other odd place name I feel is worth mentioning which might serve to point out how language changes. Walking out with a young lady, until quite recent times was referred to as ‘courting’. This usage of course has now fallen out of fashion. But when I was a country kid in post war Ireland this word was pronounced, not as ‘court’ but as ‘coo-ert’. Country people are much slower to change than city slickers so old ways of pronouncing words remain.
Commonly too, a neighbour might come to the door and ask; “Have you e’er a cup of sugar to spare?’
And the reply might be; ‘Sorry, I’ve ne’er a bit in the house.at all.’
Again,18th century English in 1950’s Ireland!
In the 19th century when young Irishmen found themselves carving out lives in the Western District of Victoria, their biggest problem was the almost complete absence of women. The Government had promised boatloads of pretty girls to whom the lads might ‘pay court’. None arrived. ‘Going courting’ was impossible. There was ne’er a girl to be had. In absolute frustration, a deputation of the lads marched out to the big wooden sign on the outskirts of town and tore it down. Nobody remembers what the old name was. Everybody remembers the new name the lads nailed up in its place:
‘NE’ER A COORT’.
The local council was hugely embarrassed by this and tried to pull the sign down. Every morning, miraculously it reappeared. Good Christian respectable citizens were appalled and insisted that something be done. Pressure was brought to bear and a seemingly intractable situation became, overnight, tractable. In a matter of weeks ladies of the most exquisite refinement began to be seen about the place. With the young men placated, another attempt was made to reinstate the old town name, but by then the name itself had gained some reputation and tourists had begun to flock there to see it. In a last ditch attempt at respectability, the Council, at its wit’s end, begged to be allowed at least to ‘gentrify’ the sign. Grudgingly this wish was granted and to this day that gentrified town is known as Naracoorte.