Metal Workers
Some metal-workers have already been mentioned in connection with Smith (Chapter IV), and elsewhere. The French Fèvre, from Lat. faber, is found as Feaver. Fearon comes from Old Fr, feron, ferron, smith. Face le ferrun, i.e. Boniface (Chapter III) the smith, lived in Northampton in the twelfth century. This is an example of the French use of -on as an agential suffix. Another example is Old Fr. charton, or charreton, a waggoner, from the Norman form of which we have Carton. In Scriven, from Old Fr. escrivain (écrivain), we have an isolated agential suffix. The English form is usually lengthened to Scrivener. In Ferrier, for farrier, the traditional spelling has prevailed over the pronunciation, but we have the latter in Farrar. Ferrier sometimes means ferryman, and Farrar has absorbed the common Mid. English nickname Fayrhayr. Aguilar means needle-maker, Fr. aiguille, but Pinner is more often official (Chapter XIX). Culler, Fr. coutelier, Old Fr. coutel, knife, and Spooner go together, but the fork is a modern fad. Poynter is another good example of the specialization of medieval crafts: the points were the metal tags by which the doublet and hose were connected. Hence, the play on words when Falstaff is recounting his adventure with the men in buckram—
Fal. “Their points being broken—”
Poins. “Down fell their hose.”
(I Henry IV., ii, 4.)
Latimer, Latner sometimes means a worker in latten, a mixed metal of which the etymological origin is unknown. The Pardoner—
“Hadde a croys of latoun ful of stones” (A, 699).
For the change from -n to -m we may compare Lorimer for Loriner, a bridle-maker, belonging ultimately to Lat. lorum, “the reyne of a brydle” (Cooper). But Latimer comes also from Latiner, a man skilled in Latin, hence an interpreter, Sir John Mandeville tells us that, on the way to Sinai-—
“Men alleweys fynden Latyneres to go with hem in the contrees.”
The immortal Bowdler is usually said to take his name from the art of puddling, or buddling, iron ore. But, as this process is comparatively modern, it is more likely that the name comes from the same verb in its older meaning of making impervious to water by means of clay. Monier and Minter are both connected with coining, the former through French and the latter from Anglo-Saxon, both going back to Lat. moneta, 1 mint. Conner, i.e. coiner, is now generally swallowed up by the Irish Connor.
Leadbitter is for Leadbeater. The name Hamper is a contraction of hanapier, a maker of hanaps, i.e. goblets. Fr. hanap is from Old High Ger. hnapf (Napf), and shows the inability of French to pronounce initial hn- without inserting a vowel: cf. harangue from Old High Ger. hring. There is also a Mid. Eng. nap, cup, representing the cognate Anglo-Sax. hnaep, so that the name Napper may sometimes be a doublet of Hamper, though it is more probably for Napier (Chapter I) or Knapper (Chapter XII). The common noun hamper is from hanapier in a sense something like plate-basket. With metal-workers we may also put Furber or Frobisher, i.e. furbisher, of armour, etc. Poyser, from poise, scales, is official. Two occupative names of Celtic origin are Gow, a smith, as in The Fair Maid of Perth, and Caird, a tinker—
“The fellow had been originally a tinker or caird.”
(Heart of Midlothian, ch. xlix.)
A few more names, which fall into no particular category, may conclude the chapter. Hillyer or Hellier is an old name for a Thacker, or thatcher, of which we have the Dutch form in Dekker. It comes from Mid. Eng. helen, to cover up. In Hillard, Hillyard we sometimes have the same name (cf. the vulgar scholard), but these are more often local (Chapter XIII). Hellier also meant tiler, for the famous Wat is described as tiler, tegheler, and hellier.
An Ashburner prepared wood-ash for the Bloomer (Chapter XV), and perhaps also for the Glaisher, or glass-maker, and Asher is best explained in the same way, for we do not, I think, add -er to tree-names. Apparent exceptions can be easily accounted for, e.g. Elmer is Anglo-Sax. AElfmaer, and Beecher is Anglo-Fr. bechur, digger (Fr. bêche, spade). Neither Pitman nor Collier had their modern meaning of coal-miner. Pitman is local, of the same class as Bridgeman, Pullman, etc., and Collier meant a charcoal-burner, as in the famous ballad of Rauf Colyear. Not much coal was dug in the Middle Ages. Even in 1610 Camden speaks with disapproval, in his Britannia, of the inhabitants of Sherwood Forest who, with plenty of wood around them, persist in digging up “stinking pit-cole.”
Croker is for Crocker, a maker of crocks or pitchers. The Miller’s guests only retired to bed—
“Whan that dronken al was in the crowke” (A, 4158)
The spelling has affected the pronunciation, as in Sloper and Smoker (Chapter III). Tinker is sometimes found as the frequentative Tinkler, a name traditionally due to his approach being heralded by the clatter of metal utensils—
“My bonny lass, I work on brass,
A tinkler is my station.”
(BURNS, Jolly Beggars, Air 6.)
The maker of saddle-trees was called Fewster, from Old Fr. fust (fût), Lat. fustis. This has sometimes given Foster, but the latter is more often for Forster, i.e. Forester—
“An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene,
A forster was he soothly as I gesse,”
(A, 116.)
The saddler himself was often called by his French name sellier, whence Sella’, but both this and Sellars are also local, at the cellars (Chapter III). Pargeter means dauber, plasterer, from Old Fr. parjeter, to throw over. A Straker made the strakes, or tires, of wheels. A Stanger made stangs, i.e. poles, shafts, etc.
The fine arts are represented by Limmer, for limner, a painter, an aphetic form of illumines, and Tickner is perhaps from Dutch tekener, draughtsman, cognate with Eng, token, while the art of self-defence has given us the name Scrimgeoure, with a number of corruptions, including the local-looking Skrimshire. It is related to scrimmage and skirmish, and ultimately to Ger. schirmen, to fence, lit. to protect. The name was applied to a professional swordplayer—
“Qe nul teigne escole de eskermerye ne de bokeler deins la cité.”
(Liber Albus.)
Notes
1 On the curiously accidental history of this word see the Romance of Words, ch. x.