Notes & Queries, 20th November, 2013: Is 'Ha-haaar!' the right response to a pirate?

 

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Fishguard Latin was the spoken language of English pirates (and a great many pirates from other nations) between the mid 1400s and the early 1700s. Its rise and fall mirrored the sweeping arc of that disreputable profession's golden age.

Despite having common Latin roots, the tongue bears only a fleeting resemblance to its cloistered ancestor. Fishguard is a lively, tonal language where a single word can have wildly different meanings, depending upon cadence and where the emphasis is placed. It is near impossible to speak it without coming across as floridly poetic. Waves become “the flexing sinews of the ocean,” while surf is described as breaking on the shore in “sheering strophes.” Many attempts have been made to produce a written version of the language, which suffers under the restraint of captivity on the printed page, where its bright light dims.

The nuance which lies at the heart of Fishguard, is evident in the traditional pirate greeting – a hearty “Ha-haaar!” A listener with a keen ear, or one who is fluent in the language, will be able to clearly discern the 'a's in the “har” as individual syllables. Non-speakers are likely to hear only a continuous “aaar” sound.

The number of 'a's uttered corresponds to the seniority of the person who is being addressed, with drawn-out salutations being reserved for pirates of high rank.

Curiously these titles are hereditary, with one 'a' being removed with each successive generation. Families such as my own who have distant pirate ancestry, but where there has been no pirate activity for many generations, are still recognised as part of the brotherhood of sea-faring rogues. An appropriate greeting in my case would be “Ha-haar.” If I have children then they should be met with a curt “Ha-har!” Unless any further acts piracy are undertaken by members of my immediate family, my grandchildren will have no pirate rank and should not addressed in this manner. At this point our surname and lineage will be struck from the pirate register, which is held in the library of record at Lord Nelson House in Eastcheap. Henceforth a colourful and bloody era in my genealogy will draw to a muted conclusion and pass without comment into history.

Fishguard Latin played an influential role in the structure of pirate society: The traditional greeting, described above, was both a reflection and a reinforcement of the pirate caste system. This determined the type of vessel that one could command, the number of crew that could be hired and the nature of the ships that could be plundered.

There are words in Fishguard, usually crude insults, which can only be pronounced while in a state of advanced drunkenness, when they spring readily from the tongue. Were you to find yourself in a situation in which these vulgarities were being slurred in your direction, you would be aware of your antagonist’s level of inebriation and able to make allowances for their behaviour, perhaps withholding violence until absolutely necessary. In this manner pirates were able to maintain relatively harmonious relationships with one another and with crews from other vessels, with their common language acting as a social scaffold, uniting what was otherwise a disparate band of sea-faring cut-throats.

A common punishment in pirate society was the branding of parts of the tongue or the mouth, thereby limiting the ability to pronounce certain words in Fishguard. By placing limitations on speech, one was also able to stifle influence: A pirate might be branded in such a way that he or she could no longer form the words necessary to command a ship, and thereafter would be unable to rise above a certain rank. In extreme cases the branding was so extensive that the victim was effectively struck dumb and rendered sub-human, able to utter only the brutish, primitive noises necessary for requesting food or water.

By the end of the 1600s the British navy were aware of the strong influence that Fishguard Latin had upon the conduct and social structure of pirate crews. The language was formally banned from England and its colonies in 1699, with severe punishment being meted-out to anyone who was caught speaking it, or teaching it to others. Removal of the tongue was not uncommon. The language gradually slipped in antiquity, with its decline in use going hand-in-hand with the decline in rampant piracy.

In the 21st century Fishguard Latin is a dead language. The exception is in the Cornish settlement of Royndra where it remains in common use among the fishing community. The town is famed for its wheat pier - a temporary coastal structure made from living brine wheat. When the swaying heads of this salt-water cereal crop break the surface of the waves in the early spring, they are woven into an improvised, living jetty, rooted to the seabed, and strong enough to allow the docking of small fishing vessels and the unloading of catches.