I'll go t'foot of our stairs
Most of those who hail from the north of England will be familiar with this expression, reserved for some surprising but not Earth-shattering news.
You would not, for example, go to the foot of your stairs for a sudden death but you might well do so if you have just discovered that your Uncle Frank has had a sex change and has asked henceforth to be known as Wendy.
For that piece of news you would go to the stairs and sit on the bottom step all morning.
But why would you go to the foot of your stairs in the first place? I was having this conversation with a fellow northerner earlier this week. She wondered whether it had something to do with the positioning of the door in many houses at the foot of stairs. You would go to the door to find news, some of which would be surprising.
A Valentine's card, a telegram from your new Auntie Wendy, a bunch of flowers or a premium bond win would all arrive at the foot of the stairs. So you might rush to the door in anticipation if there was someone knocking.
In the days before telephones you might well open your door to a group of relatives, visiting for the day. This was certainly true in my home as a child where there was no phone in the house. Then you would truly be moved to say that you'd gone to the foot of your stairs (after the fact)in a mixture of happy surprise and anxiety about whether or not you had enough to feed them.
Of course, if you were a Yorkshire housewife, you always had. There was always a tin of ham or tuna. Besides, the visit would often be on a Sunday and there would have been fresh stuff from the Saturday trip to the market.
But what about those households - and there were so many - who had someone in the forces during the first and second world wars? Hours on end must have been spent at the foot of stairs by fearful mothers and wives, dreading a knock at the door. There would have been nothing of the mild surprise implicit in such an expression then.
Whatever its origins, whether seated in grief or simply a sarcastic remark from some household wag that "caught on," I do seem to be stuck with the phrase. Not much surprises me any more. But when it does, you know where to find me.
More on dialect here.
You would not, for example, go to the foot of your stairs for a sudden death but you might well do so if you have just discovered that your Uncle Frank has had a sex change and has asked henceforth to be known as Wendy.
For that piece of news you would go to the stairs and sit on the bottom step all morning.
But why would you go to the foot of your stairs in the first place? I was having this conversation with a fellow northerner earlier this week. She wondered whether it had something to do with the positioning of the door in many houses at the foot of stairs. You would go to the door to find news, some of which would be surprising.
A Valentine's card, a telegram from your new Auntie Wendy, a bunch of flowers or a premium bond win would all arrive at the foot of the stairs. So you might rush to the door in anticipation if there was someone knocking.
In the days before telephones you might well open your door to a group of relatives, visiting for the day. This was certainly true in my home as a child where there was no phone in the house. Then you would truly be moved to say that you'd gone to the foot of your stairs (after the fact)in a mixture of happy surprise and anxiety about whether or not you had enough to feed them.
Of course, if you were a Yorkshire housewife, you always had. There was always a tin of ham or tuna. Besides, the visit would often be on a Sunday and there would have been fresh stuff from the Saturday trip to the market.
But what about those households - and there were so many - who had someone in the forces during the first and second world wars? Hours on end must have been spent at the foot of stairs by fearful mothers and wives, dreading a knock at the door. There would have been nothing of the mild surprise implicit in such an expression then.
Whatever its origins, whether seated in grief or simply a sarcastic remark from some household wag that "caught on," I do seem to be stuck with the phrase. Not much surprises me any more. But when it does, you know where to find me.
More on dialect here.
Labels: dialect, expressions, First World War, tuna, Valentine's card, Yorkshire
posted by Richard Donkin at
11:03 AM
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