We Need to Teach the Children the Old Words

Summary

The text emphasizes the importance of preserving and teaching children traditional regional words that describe the natural world, suggesting that these terms enrich our connection to the land and offer a sense of continuity and hope amidst contemporary environmental concerns.

Abstract

The poem and accompanying glossary advocate for the transmission of "old words" to younger generations, arguing that these specific and evocative terms for natural phenomena and landscapes—such as "brabble," "grubble," and "moonbroch"—enhance our perception and emotional bond with nature. It posits that such language, rich in history and local lore, provides a counterbalance to the stark and distressing vocabulary of modern ecological crises, like "planetary dysmorphia" and "megafire." By teaching children these words, the author suggests we offer them a "living map" that can guide and comfort them in a world facing environmental turmoil. The text acknowledges the influence of Robert MacFarlane and Jelly Julieda in shaping the author's perspective on the interplay between language and landscape.

Opinions

The author believes that teaching children traditional words is crucial for maintaining a connection to the natural world and for understanding the value of our environment.
There is an opinion that the "old words" have a magical quality that can make the wilds seem both fearful and enchanting, imbuing the landscape with a sense of wonder and possibility.
The text suggests that the current environmental lexicon is insufficient and that the old words can provide a more intimate and nurturing relationship with nature.
The author expresses a concern that without the old words, children might feel lost in a world overwhelmed by negative environmental terminology.
The poem implies that the old words are a form of cultural and ecological heritage that should be preserved and passed down, much like a storybook where every element has its place.
The author encourages readers to explore and value the unique linguistic heritage of their own locales, hinting at a broader movement to revive and celebrate regional dialects and nature-related vocabulary.

A poem

“Words are world-makers”

— Robert MacFarlane

We need to teach the children the old words, words like brabble and grubble, twitter-light and clinkerbell; words which dance and trip and slip and drip like honey off the tongue

Teach them that a hazy halo of cloud around the moon is called a moonbroch and that swiftly moving clouds are named cairies; how a vixen’s wedding is a sunny shower of rain, and that a single sunbeam breaking through thick cloud is known as a messenger

Teach them to know the seasons and scents of queen of the meadow and bride of the sun, how to tell Jupiter’s staff from fairy fingers and which roses bloom with the strawberry moon

Teach them to spot pricklebacks in the tottlegrass, how to recognise a smeuse or a bishop-barnaby, when to watch the sky for flittermice and yaffles, and to pay attention to the dumbeldore and mousearnickle as she graces the lazy leahs of summer

Teach them a few of the old Sussex words for mud, like gubber and slub and stodge and pug, so they know that the precious soil beneath their toes is anything but worthless dirt

Teach them to be users and keepers and makers of the words which bring the land alive: a storybook, where everything has its rightful place, including us; where the wilds are fearful and filled with magic and people do noble things, and nothing is impossible

In this world of harsh new words — words like planetary dysmorphia and solastalgia, extinction debt and grief mitigation, megadrought and megafire, anthropogenic, pyrocene, words which alarm and get stuck in our throats describing a world which our hearts cannot grasp — we need to teach the children the old words, so that if they should feel lost, the old words might colour for them a warm and breathing, living map, a light to guide them safely home.

Glossary

brabble — to argue loudly about matters of no importance grubble — to grope around in the dark for something that you can’t see clinkerbell — icicle twitter-light — twilight queen of the meadow — meadowsweet bride of the sun — calendula Jupiter’s staff — mullein fairy fingers — foxglove *prickleback — hedgehog *tottle grass — high grass smeuse —the gap in the base of a hedge made by the regular passage of a small animal *bishop-barnaby — ladybird *yaffle — green woodpecker *flittermouse — bat *dumbledore — bumblebee *mousearnickle — dragonfly leah — meadow, clearing *gubber — black mud of rotting organic matter *pug — a kind of loam, particularly the sticky yellow Wealden clay *stodge — thick puddingy mud *slub — thick mud

Note: I owe the title and first line of this poem to my friend, Jelly Julieda, who has graciously granted me permission to use her words here. I have also been hugely inspired by the work of Robert MacFarlane, and urge you to read his wonderful book Landmarks if you are interested in the relationship between landscape and language.

The words marked with an asterisk are native to my home in the Sussex Weald.

Which words colour the land where you live?

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