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Month: January 2024

Issue #68 is now available to subscribers

Dialects of the Internet: Memes and Virtual Bonds
By Nicole Lorenzoni

Flower Power: The captivating language of flowers
By Joana Atanasova

In the Wake of the Bounty: the Linguistic Consequences of the Most Infamous Mutiny in History
By Barbara Nykiel-Herbert

Lewis Carroll’s Linguistic Curiosities
By Samantha Steyn

I Beg Your Pardon? Egg Corns Explained
By Patricia Syner

The wonderful strangeness of the Norfolk dialect of English (with comics)
By Linden Alexander Pentecost

From Nonsense To Sense: What Text Actually Means

By Marcus Ten Low

Learning to theorise and generalise about text (which is called “textual analysis”) has become one of the greatest conveniences of my learning career. For better or worse, most of this stuff is learning that I acquired through bits and pieces, and empirical experimentation and deduction, through sheer use and experiences with language. Most poorly formulated arguments (in social media, and elsewhere in everyday life) can be most conveniently resolved by pointing the perpetrator of the argument to a closer study of the regulations of textual analysis (which are, on closer inspection, self-evident).

Primarily, textual analysis is not about spelling and grammar, but rather about meaning and the intent to communicate. Language lives, is fluid, and can have a multiplicity of meanings. As time goes on, the same expression can change in its meaning. When all is said and done, what remains is the text itself.

Not all text is equal in merit. When thinking about the efficacy of a text, we must ask whether it delivers some effect on the reader, and exactly what that is.

Mere gibberish is a text. But it is not effective at communicating meaning in the way that is usual. Gibberish can be fun, funny. When I was young we called it “gobbledegook” and found it exceedingly creative to make more and more of, and recite it. That speaks of the power of language, as well of the power of jest in childhood. Very interestingly, an unintelligible language from another culture often has the same effect as gibberish: the more different the language is in musicality from one’s own language, the more hilarious it can be. It is when another language (including, possibly, gibberish) starts to form meaning that you have the real firstlings of a communicated message. This may be aided by gesturing, gesticulation, mouthing of words, and attempts to copy the other person’s language.

Learning the spirit of fun and hilarity in nonsense actually engenders a very important lesson in language and relations more generally. That lesson is that we should always attempt to honor the intention of a communicated message more than the face value of that message. Some language philosophers have referred to this as the method of “charitable interpretation”. This principle is not to suggest that we cannot have an opinion (good, bad or neutral) on the sender of that communication. We can honor their desire to communicate, but still be unimpressed with their character, for example.

However, taking the literal interpretation of a message is often a good way to ground any conversation and encourage all its participants to be careful with their use of language (whatever language is used). In this way, the literal interpretation is perhaps the best starting point for assessing any enquiry, discussion or debate. This tactic must also be balanced with the understanding that sometimes, people do not say or write exactly what they mean or intend. Herein lies the ongoing complexity of language-usage.

From gibberish come many neologisms, but these are eventually left by the wayside rather than being appropriated by tradition, or regular usage. Even so, there is a famous poem that uses gibberish with such skill that people can claim to understand exactly what it means. That poem is Lewis Carroll’s ‘The Jabberwocky’.

The arch enemy of users of gibberish and gobbledegook are spelling- and grammar-nazis. These are people who believe that they have been taught the “rules” of grammar at some stage in their schooling career and feel threatened with something terrible if they or anyone should waiver from these. I think that grammar nazis’ only usefulness is really only ever against those who are sloppy with their use of language when trying to communicate in plain language. The need for precision in language is only a need when there is a desire for clarity of meaning, intent and purpose. And that in turn teaches us (the sender of the message) to be able to think clearly. However, that being the sole reason for learning to be precise, insisting on precision to the point of obsession or aggression is usually excessive. There is scope to be very careful in structuring an argument, or an essay or thought-piece, et cetera. The way you communicate should be logical and effectively structured. But if at any time, sometimes, you decide to do away with the rules altogether, all you are doing is exercising a fundamental right to use language in your own way—not according to those rules. And sometimes, ambiguity and ambivalence of thinking is a skill in itself. Use of puns, word-play, deliberate ambiguity, innuendo, sarcasm, irony and more: all these are tools that can be used variously, for better or worse, at different times.

This idea of precision against imprecision in language can be generalised more broadly as the difference between concrete and abstract thinking. There is much to learn from both of these types of thinking. Concrete thinking presumes little, but tends to lack imagination. Many people who prefer concrete thinking would argue that abstract thinking is too airy and vague, because abstract thinking uses figures of speech, metaphors, and the like. In most interactions, depending on the degree of success we are having with our fellow communicants, we should have a mix of concrete and abstract thinking, without ever assuming that our chosen mode (or the mix) is a perfect way of expressing what we really intend. Language is not perfect; it is always an alive thing, that has its own faults and problems and beauties and fascinations. One theory argues that language’s effectiveness is dependent on its functionality and utility–and it is good to keep that idea in mind.

Even the word “language” has a variety of meanings. Computer programming, and mathematics, for example, are both examples of language. On the scale of functionality and utility, they rate highly, but only for their specified purpose. Like any language, they appear rather special and miraculous too, and have their own sometimes exotic and delightful expressions to discover and use.

At advanced levels of common language use, there is much to discover too, and some of it is decidedly negative. As a good example, politicians often use language in twisted ways and with the intent to persuade, often against careful and caring reasoning. Investing your time and effort to understand them can often be a waste. This leads us to an important point: No matter how interesting language can be, there is another element to consider: that of the character, or personality, of the person who delivers the message. This is otherwise known as the “ad hominem” analysis, which means analysis “of the person”. Using the knowledge that you have about a person’s character is of course relevant to anything that that person might say. This is despite the fact that some have suggested that attacks on personal character are “completely irrelevant” to a discussion. Of course they are! One thing to be mindful of, though, is that many ad hominem beliefs can never be fully proven. So be careful. If someone appears to you to be wasting your time, it is your decision to make to abandon communicating with them.

So. We have in some strange way come full-circle. Always remember where language comes from: gibberish, or nonsense, and remember the (too often unspoken) rules and regulations that come with the use of language.

MARCUS TEN LOW is an empirical analyst of languages, life and his own highly varied experiences.

Occitan misrepresentation: the French identity conundrum

Occitan misrepresentation: the French identity conundrum

By Linguipixie

Occitan is the Romance language that was spoken indigenously in the South of France (around 1/3 of the current mainland territory) from the collapse of the Roman Empire and the development of a variety of languages from Vulgar Latin up until relatively recently (think, the World Wars). It is now still spoken in the South of France (though very little and all Occitan speakers also speak French, as their native language for most of them), as well as in some Alpine Valleys in Italy, and in a valley in the Pyrenees in Spain called Val d’Aran – although Val d’Aran is very small, Occitan thus became the 3rd co-official language of the autonomous community of Catalonia (within the Spanish state), alongside Spanish and Catalan, in 2008.

Based on the last sociolinguistic study (OPLO, 2020), Occitan has approximately 780,000 (potential) speakers in France (meaning there are 780,000 people with a more or less proficient Occitan language skill, whether they actually speak it on a regular basis or not). Yet, the language is quite mysteriously unknown to most French people – and by “unknown”, I don’t just mean that they can’t speak it (obviously they can’t, there’s almost 68 million French…) but that they don’t even know it exists, or barely do, or very incompletely. This can be partially explained by the history of language policies in France, but a brief comparison with the other so called “regional languages” of France hints at there being something more to Occitan that particularly hinders its recognition by the general public… So without further ado, let’s dive – briefly – into the collective psyche of the French Nation to try & understand this conundrum.

In the Middle Ages, Occitan was the language of daily life, as well as of the administration and literature in the South of France. Charters and other official documents were written in Occitan, and it was the language of the troubadour, who were noblemen (and noblewomen called the trobairitz) who turned to composing and singing songs at court after peace settled and war stopped being a daily activity in their lives (obviously, I’m grossly caricaturing, but you get the gist). Then, (what would become) French, a dialect of the Oïl Romance language that had developped in the northern half of France, being the language of the king’s court and administration, gradually began to spread to the higher classes of society in the whole country and to be learnt in order to climb the social ladder. When the French Revolution broke out, the Revolutionaries were, at first, friendly to the language diversity of the country’s people.

However, after a member of parliement, Abbé Grégoire, wrote an infamous report on “the necessity and the means to anihilate the patois and universalise the use of the French language”, France’s view on internal linguistic diversity drastically changed. Sure, it was only almost one century later that a patois anihilation plan was put into action, but it proved extremely effective: as school became free and compulsory for all children thanks to the Jules Ferry laws in 1881-82, the only language authorised in the classroom was French, and teachers used methods such as humiliation and denunciation to make sure their pupils would hate their mother tongue so much they would stop using it and would not speak it later to their own children. This is how, in less than 3 generations, a very linguistically diverse population achieved the monolingual unity it has today: through pain, suffering, and literally washing children’s mouths with soap as a punishment for committing the atrocity of speaking their native language.

No wonder, then, that regional languages almost died in France in the past century! Nowadays, France still has around 80 “regional languages” (50 of which in its overseas territories). For instance, Alsacian has 550,000 speakers, Breton 200,000, Corsican 130,000, Basque (in France) 74,000 and Catalan (in France) 30,000. As I’ve stated earlier, Occitan is technically the most spoken one, with an estimated 780,000 speakers. Yet, it is much less known than the other languages I just mentioned, and I make the argument that it is due, between other factors, to: its internal diversity; the size of its territory and the political management of the French territory; and the self-representation of the French Nation and its History.

  1. The internal diversity

Occitan is usually divided into 6 main dialects (Gascon, Lemosin, Langadocian, Auvernhat, Provençau and Vivaroaupenc), which can then be subdivided into smaller dialectal areas (for instance, within Gascon, one can find Bearnés, Landés, Bordalés, Gersés, Medoquin, etc). Occitan thus forms a dialectal continuum (meaning that people from two close locations in the Occitan space will always understand each other but people from distant locations might find it much more difficult).

The language also has two main spellings or spelling families: the modern spelling, which is basically based on the French phonographematics (meaning that in the modern spelling, you more or less write Occitan as if you were transcribing the words in French, if that makes sense); and the classical spelling, which is based on the spelling used by the troubadours in their poems, and is quite a departure from the French spelling. For instance, here’s the beginning of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in Gascon in the modern spelling and in the classical spelling:

  • Modern spelling: “Toutes las persounes que vaden libres e egaus en dinnitat e en dret. Que soun doutades de rasoû e de counsciencie e qu’ous cau agì ente eres dap û esperit de fraternitat.”
  • Classical spelling: “Totas las personas que vaden libras e egaus en dignitat e en dret. Que son dotadas de rason e de consciéncia e que’us cau agir entre eras dab un esperit de fraternitat.”

To add to the general confusion, some Occitan speakers, and a few linguists as well though they are a minority in the field, claim that some idioms considered by most as Occitan dialects, especially Provençau and Gascon, are, in fact, distinct languages (the Bearnés even often tend to say they speak Bearnés, not even Gascon, and even less so Occitan, and the same goes for the Nissart within Provençau). Moreover, these claims are often associated with the use of a different spelling: Provençau is therefore mostly written using the modern spelling (though some use the classical spelling) and this spelling is actually mostly used to write Provençau; on the other side of the map, some Gascon users use a classical spelling with a Basque twist, for instance transcribing “sh” with an “x”, to emphasise the importance of Gascon’s Proto-Basque substrate.

So the first reason why Occitan is quite invisible on its own territory is because there is no absolute concensus, even within the speaker community, on what Occitan is and how it should be called and written. Also, because regional languages were designated as “patois” for a long time during the anihilation period, a lot of speakers just know their language as “patois” and because of its proximity to French and of how they were taught in school that it’s not a proper language, they often think it’s just the way people speak in the village, some sort of broken language that’s just used to speak within the community but that’s not worth much in the broader world. Finally, perhaps, just like the Oïl languages or dialects, the linguistic proximity to French is more of a handicap when it comes to being recognised as a true independent language; Basque, Breton or Alsacian sure don’t have that kind of problem!

  1. The territory

According the the latest linguistic study (OPLO, 2020), around 7% of the population of the South of France has Occitan language skills. As we have seen, that amounts to a lot in absolute numbers, but those speakers are spread out over one third of the national territory, which makes them an invisible minority. Indeed, Occitan is spoken in 32 départements, whereas Basque and Catalan are respectively spoken in only half a département, Corsican in 2 départements (which form a région), same as Alsacian, and Breton in 4 départements (which also form a région). This means that each of the other languages cited is spoken on a much smaller territory than Occitan and contained within at least one territorial administrative entity. The Occitan territory, on the other hand, never ever formed a political entity in the past and is only subsumed by the national territory. 

Linguistic Occitània is therefore only a linguistic territory, and bearing in mind that not all Occitan speakers actually agree on its linguistic unity, it makes Occitan very difficult to locate on a map for non Occitan speakers, for they have no known territory subdivision that they can associate it with. Moreover, to add to the confusion, a reform of the régions system implemented in 2016 created an administrative région called Occitanie, in the very heart of linguistic Occitània, which means that now, people tend to wrongly associate the language, Occitan, with this known territory, which only comprises a (large) third of the linguistic area it was named after. The Ofici public de la lenga occitana (OPLO), which ordered and coordinated the sociolinguistic study I mentioned early, a linguistic policy administration formed (only) of two régions out of the four in which Occitan is spoken, Nouvelle-Aquitaine and Occitanie, and therefore implement linguistic policies in only 22 départements out of the 32 in which Occitan is spoken.

  1. The “National Myth” of the Hexagon

I don’t know if it’s a thing in English, but in French, (mainland) France is sometimes referred to as the Hexagon because of its shape. And if you look at that Hexagon, you can see that each corner is actually the territory of one of the better known regional languages, and these cornered languages are actually vastly spoken on the other side of the border: in the North, there’s Picard and Flemish, which are vastly spoken in Belgium; in the North-East, Alsacian is a dialect of German; in the South-East, Corsican is originally a dialect of Italian; in the South, Catalan is massively spoken in Spain, same as Basque in the South-West; finally, in the North-West, Breton is a Celtic language from the Brittonic family and was actually introduced on the continent by Welsh immigrants a long time ago.

So, there you have it: regional languages that survived the anihilation policy, but somehow don’t really mess with the “National Myth” that all French nationals speak French, as it is in the natural order of things. Indeed, those languages are only spoken in small areas, all on the outskirts of the national territory, and their existence and survival can easily be excused by the size of their cross-border territory and vitality. They are therefore cute little local cultural oddities, quite charming when you think of it.

However, when it comes to Occitan, well… it doesn’t fit the pretty picture of French being an almost uncontested master on its national territory. And this is perhaps one of the many reasons why French people don’t really know what Occitan is: because somehow, it doesn’t fit the representation they have of themselves as an all-time French-speaking nation. On the other hand, Occitan, when it is made visible, tells a very different story: that of what Occitan and Catalan sociolinguists called internal colonialism, or how the language and culture of those in power was forced onto indigenous populations, so much so that they even sometimes forgot that they didn’t use to speak the coloniser’s language in the first place.

Soothsayer

Some compound words in English seem weird because the first part of the compound has disappeared from the language, but the compound lives on. What does the word “sooth” in “soothsayer” mean? “sooth” comes from Old English sōþ, from Proto Germanic *sanþaz and they both mean “true, real”.

Soothsayers were basically truth-tellers, they would tell the future and people trusted that the future they were being told would become true. Proto Germanic *sanþaz became “sannr” in Old Norse, and “sann” in Swedish. So “sann” and “sooth” are actually cognate. “soothe” is derived from “sooth” and this word still exists in the language.

“soothe” meant “to verify” in Middle English before going on to mean “to calm”. “soothe” is cognate with Swedish “sanna” which means “to verify”.

WANTED LATIN : DEAD OR ALIVE ?

WANTED LATIN : DEAD OR ALIVE ?

By Joana Bourlon

What are the words for pizza, vodka and vip in Latin ?

Here are some suggestions to match with each word : amplíssimus vir; placenta compressa; válida pótio Slávica. For now, try to guess (you’ll find the answers at the end of this article). 

One of my Christmass gifts this year was a book on language named “Parler comme jamais”. In it, two French linguists – Laélia Véron and Maria Candea – discuss a plethora of language related subjects by taking into account multiple points of views and confronting what we know and what we think we know of language. 

One segment of this book is on the subject of dead languages and one of the questions it tries to answer is “How dead is Latin ?”. Most of the information you’ll find in this article is taken from Chapter 6 of the book “Parler comme jamais” (which, if you are a French speaker I cannot recommend enough; if not – hopefully one day it will be translated into other languages). 

By asking you what are the words for pizza, vodka and vip, am I implying that such words exist in Latin ? The word for pizza is documented as early as the end of the 10th century, vodka is considered to be invented in the 15th century (although there is ongoing debate and some say it originated in the 8th or 9th century), and we only started saying VIP i.e. very important person, in the 20th century. Yet, Latin has been considered a dead language since as early as the 7th century. 

So, is Latin dead or alive ?

As researcher Pierre-Alain Caltot points out in an interview for the podcast “Parler comme jamais” (parts of which are also published in the eponymous book) : “it’s complicated”. Latin is both dead and alive. It’s dead in the sense that there are no native speakers, i.e. there are no longer people born and raised in a Latin-speaking environment. But, at the same time, Latin is still used on a daily basis : it’s the official language of the Vatican State, and it’s also used as a liturgical language by the Catholic Church. That means Latin is used even today in an oral and written form.

Plus, there are remnants of Latin words in its direct descendants and beyond, e.g. i.e. “exempli gratia”, etc. The abbreviation e.g. translates to “for example”, i.e. is short for “in other words” ( “id est”), and etc. – et cetera, literally translates to “and others” or “and the rest”. There are many Latin words we use or hear regularly : agenda, per se, impromptu…  And, on top of it all, Latin left some grammatical ghosts in its daughter languages – for more on that, check out Dany Bates article on the Latin neuter in issue #39.

Answers for pizza, vodka and vip in Latin:

Pizza : placenta compressa (literally “compressed cake”)

Vodka : válida pótio Slávica (“a strong Slavic drink”)

VIP : amplíssimus vir (“the greatest/largest man”)

Source : Lexicon Recentis Latinitatis published on the site of the Vatican

The Norse presence in the Cumbrian dialect of English, and an introduction to the Cumbrian dialect

By Linden Alexander Pentecost

This article is a laal, little, introduction to the Norse elements inCumbria, and to the Cumbrian dialect. Cumbria is a mountainous region of northwest England, where there are many fells– mountains, meres–lakes (dialect spelling: meär(1)), and tarns –small upland lakes. The Cumbrian dialect of English shares its Old Northumbrian or old ‘Anglic’ roots with the Scots language in Scotland. Alongside a noticeable Norse presence in the dialect, and in the place-names in the Cumbrian landscape, this makes the Cumbrian dialect quite the linguistic curiosity.

A Herdwick sheep is a local Cumbrian type of sheep, resembling a teddy bear. The name herdwick means ‘herd settlement/bay’, the second element can be transliterated in Old Icelandic as vík, in Old Icelandic herdwick could be written *hjǫrðvík – ‘herd bay’. Often,terms in Cumbrian dialect are connected to Norse, but an Old Northumbrian English *heordwīc‘herd village/encampment’ is also possible.

Cumbrian dialect, whereand how does Norse come into it?

Thereis a range ofboth Old Norse and Old English possibilities that lie in the interpretation ofCumbrian place-names. Even though a lot of the place-names are ‘Norse’ by definition, their phonology is sometimes not consistent with Old Norse phonology, but rather with Proto-Norse phonology. For example the name Blea Tarn ‘blue tarn’ would be written in Old West Norse as blá tjǫrn. The word ‘tarn’ (upland lake)is only found, as far as I am aware, in the English and Scots West-Germanic languages, it is generally seen as a Norse word. But I feel that actually the form Blea Tarn more closely matches a Proto-Norse *blē(w)o ternō (2), which brings up some interesting questions.

Another thing about the Norse influence in the Cumbrian dialect, is that there seems to be quite a closeness to Danish, and more specifically toJutlandic, with regards to certain sound changes. For example:

Cumbrian dialect yam –‘home’, IPA: [jam], Danish and Jutlandic hjem, but Old Norse heim, Scots hame

Cumbrian dialect yan –‘one’, IPA [jan], Jutlandic jen or jæn, but Old Norse einn, Scots ane

Cumbrian dialect steean –‘stone’, Jutlandic stien but Old Norse steinn, Scots stane

Cumbrian dialect wost –‘curdles for cheese’ (1), West Jutlandic wost– cheese (3), but Old Norse ostr

Cumbrian dialect A –I, Jutlandic a or æ.

Some sentencesin Cumbrian dialect

A’z gaan yam ower t’ fells til Borrudal– I am going home over the mountains to Borrowdale

whatsta deeun (1) nuu? – what art thoudoing now? (what are you doing now?)

hesta sint’ auld huus (1) abeeun (1) t’ watter? – have you seen the old house abovethe water?

Putt’ laal Christmas keeak (1) back on’tyubm afooryan ov us eits (1)it! – put the little Christmascake back onthe oven before one of us eats it!

A’z gaan til yon worchard (1) widmimarras –I am going to that orchard with my mates

she’ll tak her bwoat (1) ower t’ mere til Ammalside –she’ll take her boat over the lake to Ambleside

t’ beeuk (1) is on’t fluur (1) naar t’ yubm, tak it yam! We divven’t hev mair ruum (1) for beeuks in’t kitchen! Theär’s (1) thuusands (1) ovbeeuks in’t kitchen!–the book is on the floor near the oven, take it home! We don’t have room for more books in the kitchen! There’s thousands of books in the kitchen!

A small Cumbrian wordlist

aks –to ask

divven’t –don’t

deeu–to do (1)

efter –after, compare Swedish efter

fell –a mountain, compare Old Norse fell, Swedish fjäll

frai– from, compare Scots frae, Danish fra, Jutlandic fræ

hev– have, e.g. A hev –I have, Icelandic ég hef

hesta? – have you/hast thou? Compare Icelandic hefurðu? – hast thou?

ista? – are you, literally ‘is thou’, Icelandic ertu –are-thou, a contraction of er þú

keeak –a cake (1), Old Norse kaka –‘cake’laik –to play, Compare Old Norse leika, Swedish leka

marra –a mate or a friend

ower –over, Old Norse yfir, compare WestJutlandic øwer (3)

t’ – the

thuu (1)you singular, thou, Old Northumbrian ðu/þu, Old Norse þú

thrang –busy, connected to Old Norse þrǫngr– narrow, crowded

tleeas –clothes (1), often standard English cl- and gl- are represented as tl- and dl- in Cumbrian dialect. Compare Scots claes – clothes

Note that eeu in my spelling generally represents a variant of[iu] or [ɪu] but perhaps better described ascloser to [iɜː] or [ɪɜː]. The spelling uuis for the Cumbrian equivalent of English ‘ou’ in ‘house’ and ‘mouse’, represented in the Lorton dialect book referenced below, as having two vowels, which I suspect to be something like [ɜu], but for many speakers in Cumbria this sounds similar to [u]. Standard English ea and ee are often of a different quality in Cumbrian dialect and sometimes with a variant of[eiː], for example weil –‘wheel’ (1), tlein –‘clean’ (1). Note also thataarepresents [aː] andairepresents[ɛː]. the oo in afoor is given as [uə] in the Lorton dialect book referenced below.

Note also that the appearance of [w] after certain consonants is not found all over Cumbria, but is present for example in the Lorton dialect (see below).

References:

(1) Words given followed by (1) are spellings based upon the phonetic forms given in A grammar of the dialect of Lorton (Cumberland) – historical and descriptive with an appendix on the Scandinavian element in dialect specimens and a glossary, by Börje Brilioth, Oxford University Press. I have re-spelled the phonetically spelled examples given in this book. The realisation of diphthongs as given in this book is similar to where I have learned more common examples, like steean before. Note that the form theär’s is from the pronunciation of ‘there’ given in this book, as a long [i] followed by a schwa, also the same sound in meär. This is different from the [ia] found in words written here with eeawhere the [i] is also more often short in Cumbrian dialect. In the spellings eits I have taken the pronunciation as given the word ‘eat’in the Lorton Dialect Book.

This book is also for words such as yubm, although this was once quite a widespread pronunciation.

The spelling is based upon as found in John Campbell’s poem JOHNNY CAMPBELL’s WAA, pages 14 and 15 in New writings: In Oor Auld Dialect, A celebration of 21st century Lakeland Dialect authors published by the Lakeland Dialect Society, edited by Louise Green, Lakeland Dialect Society.

(2) – Proto-Norse reconstructions were based upon combining/using in context Proto-Germanic lemmas on wiktionary, which were not referenced but which seem accepted.

(3) – The West-Jutlandic word examples specifically given with (3) were given to me by Marc Daniel Skibsted Volhardt, a native speaker of Northwest Jutlandic.

Other examples come from more widely known information which I have learned. My interpretations and questions about the Scandinavian elements in the Cumbrian dialect are also my own interpretation and probably differ quite a lot from how this is generally described.