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In the paper I have set myself the task of trying to explain how it was that Pierce Egan's Life in London should have enjoyed such a widespread and lasting appeal during the middle years of the nineteenth century. Life in London, I want to argue, positively rejoices in the role-playing nature of modern urban existence: unlike many of the ‘bourgeois’ classics of the High Victorian period, it is more interested in viewing class society as a repertoire of possibilities – of Ins and Outs, Ups and Downs – than in putting individuals in their place. In part, Tom and Jerry's metropolitan movements can be seen to re-trace many of the well-worn paths of the aristocratic rake or roue. But in other ways they act in exactly the same ways as young ‘gents’ from the lower ranks seeking to pass themselves off as gentlemen of leisure (it is in this sense that Life in London can be seen as a truly ‘Cockney’ text, because of the way in which it re-interprets the insecurity and isolation of the lower middle-class Londoner as an invitation to overleap all bounds). That such a finesse should have been possible in the early 1820s argues that there must have been a considerable vogue during the late Regency for the various kinds of cant and slang. In Life in London this patter is absolutely incessant, irritatingly so, in the eyes of most modern readers, but one of the effects of this thick verbal texture was to create what would have been otherwise unimaginable in the context of the time, that is, a kind of classless language, a polyglot vocabulary that was not tied down to any particular social milieu. In this way Life in London succeeded in capturing the age of ‘improvement’ at its utopian moment, and the improvement it imagined was (in certain curious ways) highly inclusive and democratic in nature: the pre-Pooter fantasy of the lower middle-class.

Imagination enriches everything. ... Even brick and mortar are vivified, as of old at the harp of Orpheus. A metropolis becomes no longer a mere collection of houses and trades. It puts on all the grandeur of its history and its literature. ("On the Realities of Imagination") A map of fictitious, literary, and historical London, would, of itself, constitute a great curiosity. ("The World of Books") Leigh Hunt's career was as long as his personae were various. Child prodigy, theatrical critic, editor of the Examiner, "the wit in the dungeon," the poet of Rimini, head of the "Cockney School," Hampstead host, "friend" of Shelley and Keats, expatriate liberal, the "friendly essayist," "the Companion," the avuncular man-of-letters, model for Dickens's Skimpole, Victorian autobiographer ... the list goes on and on. Nowhere, however, is he cast as a flaneur. Or as a cartographer. Yet it is in these two related guises--principled idler of the streets and literary map-maker--that he did some of his most sustained, most characteristic, and most important work. Without Hunt's literary rambles, that is to say, the maps of both British literature and British literary history would be significantly different. Throughout the latter half of his long career, Hunt can often be found at work surveying the expanding territory covered by his maps of the metropolis as well as of the "world" of books. From the 1820s through the 1850s, Hunt wrote over 100 essays, under such headings as "The Townsman" and "The Streets of the Metropolis," in which he chronicled his musings on a London at once urban (the contemporary signs of steam omnibuses, gas illuminations, and waterworks) and pastoral (an idealized realm of literary associations, allusions, and memories). Whether walking in the City, strolling through Chelsea, or lounging in Kensington, Hunt increasingly styled himself as the sole cicerone to a London no one other than he seemed to have charted. Ultimately, this literary cartography yielded two distinctive results: most concretely, it produced the three-volume atlas or "physiology" of London comprised of The Town: Its Memorable Characters and Events (1848); The Old Court Suburb; or, Memorials of Kensington, Regal, Critical, and Anecdotal (1855); and A Saunter Through the. West End (1861). More pervasively, Hunt's promenades created him as English literature's most convivial flaneur. Hunt's idiosyncratic map consists of a seemingly inexhaustible collection of cultural, topographical, architectural, historical, and literary anecdotes, all conversationally related to the reader along the course of a promenade through a London which is equal parts evidence and evocation. Read individually or collectively, these musings inspired by the streets of London present Hunt's readers with a singular brand of British panoramic literature as well as of British literary history. Oddly enough, they have received next to no critical attention. Though these writings are amongst Hunt's least well-known, they exemplify his greatest strengths as an amateur belletrist and a professional man-of-letters. As Hunt meanders from, say, Regent's Park to Finchley or rambles through Chelsea--musing on how the streets ought to have been named, or what sort of books night-watchmen favor, or why it was that Johnson was so fond of Fleet Street--the man-of-letters effortlessly metamorphoses into the man-about-town, an unrivaled literary flaneur who assures his readers that "streets shall bud with pleasant memories, like old walls with ballads" ("The Townsman" 251). His persona in these writings is both recognizably "romantic" and conspicuously "modern": he reads London both as an elysian fairyland, populated by the spirits of departed writers, and as a modern metropolis, punctuated by its bustling crowds and industrial innovations. Hunt's highly literary flanerie conjures two writers in particular: his attention to the material details of the streets and the phenomenality of walking echoes Gay's instructions along the same lines in Trivia, or The Art of Walking the Streets of London (1716), while his cultivation of the persona of one who abandons himself to the impressions of the moment resembles Baudelaire's idler in the arcades in The Paris of the Second Empire in Baudelaire (1938). …

L'etude porte sur la creation de mots argotiques se rapportant au domaine de l'argent dans le parler londonien et particulierement a Cockney. Le champ semantique de la monnaie est un des plus fertiles en creation lexicale et en denomination argotique. Ce qui peut s'expliquer par l'influence que l'amour du gain peut provoquer a tous les niveaux de langage et sur notre vie quotidienne. L'argot londonien se caracterise non seulement par l'emploi d'un langage figure tres terre-a-terre et de jeux de mots mais surtout par l'utilisation de rimes. Les termes sources se rapportant au domaine de l'argent sont remplaces par d'autres termes ou phrases qui riment avec les premiers. Cet examen linguistique de l'argot montre comment la realite est percue et reinterpretee. L'article presente un lexique contenant une selection des termes argotiques les plus representatifs localises en Grande Bretagne, Etats Unis et Australie

ALTHOUGH VICTORIAN REVIEWERS uniformly praised Elizabeth Barrett Browning for the “sincere” poetic voice of Sonnets from the Portuguese, they often blamed her for faulty craft. In structure and rhyme scheme the poems in the sequence recall the Petrarchan tradition, suggesting the idealized love that accompanies it, yet their varied syntax and diction seem more conversational than ideal. Enjambment usually destroys the integrity of octave and sestet. Then in the Sonnets Barrett Browning continued her use of odd rhymes, which had been raising critical eyebrows since earlier poems. For example, in the most famous sonnet — XLIII, “How do I love thee?” — Barrett Browning rhymed the noun phrase “put to use” (9) with the infinitive “to lose” (11) and rhymed “faith” (10) with “breath” (12). Victorian reviewers, somewhat disoriented, offered a variety of explanations for these apparent technical lapses. Some attributed them to a defective ear for music (“Review of Poems” 278; [Massey] 517).1 George Saintsbury — taking the lead from the controversy over the “cockney school” of poetry — reproved Barrett Browning, born to the educated classes, for relying out of laziness on vulgar pronunciation to force rhymes instead of taking the time to discover correct ones (280–81). Even her poet-friend and correspondent, Mary Russell Mitford, wondered if isolation at Wimpole Street had led to an overly narrow experience with proper pronunciation of English (reported in Horne 458; see also Hayter 38–39). Victorian reproofs and anecdotes like these followed Barrett Browning’s work into the formalist twentieth century.

(1999). The Cockney and the Prostitute: Dickens and the literary market, 1836–37. Journal of Victorian Culture: Vol. 4, No. 2, pp. 171-196.

At the end of his novel Gruppenbild mit Dame (1971) Heinrich Boll describes a humorous episode in which his heroine, Leni, is defended by a convoy of refuse carts in a "Mull-Happening" led by her Turkish immigrant lover Mehemet. Those considered to be outsiders, the dross of society – here, literally those whose daily work is with what the world sees as "Abfall" – are preserving and maintaining their values in helping to save Leni from eviction. They are reacting against those who represent the establishment in the materially successful, vigorously capitalistic West Germany of the 1960s and 1970s. Boll is developing an idea here that he first proposed in the Frankfurter Vorlesungen of 1963 where, as he argues, "die Menschlichkeit des Abfalls" forms the core of his so-called "Asthetik des Humanen" as a writer (Boll 82f.). This is an aesthetic view that informs, too, the fictional world of Wilhelm Raabe, as Horst Denkler has suggested (10). The concern for the poor, the isolated, for those who do not seem to fit in, is a basic one in Raabe's works. This is particularly so in the novel Im alten Eisen (1887), one of the key later works that has received relatively little critical attention (however, see Lensing; Jolles). This essay has two aims: first, to indicate that this relatively neglected work in its characterisation, intensity and range should stand with Das Odfeld or Stopfkuchen or Die Akten des Vogelsangs as a prime indicator of Raabe's achievement in the final mature phase of his work; second, the essay is a contribution to the ongoing debate about the nature of Raabe's realistic enterprise, in that it takes account of the "realism" of Im alten Eisen, whilst suggesting also how in some key respects the work goes beyond consistent realism. In 19th century London, Cockney scrap-iron dealers would push their carts through the East End plying their trade as they called for "any old iron." Raabe deals in "iron" in the novel in question here, but as this essay will indicate, his is very carefully selected, not just "any old iron." Im alten Eisen is a fiction that is both realistic and anti-realistic.

Multicultural London English (henceforth MLE) represents the ‘state of the art’ of London ‘youthspeak’ for many young people, a substantial proportion, but by no means all of them born to Caribbean or Asian immigrant families. First noted by Kerswill (2005: 50-1), it was seen as transcending many previous forms of youthful speech by incorporating elements of a number of cultures, and by 2008 was billed as a ‘new transcultural idiom’ (Abley 2008: 11). It is perhaps impossible to measure, but the cultural crossover extends not merely between races but also classes, and MLE can also be found among young middle-class white speakers. To outsiders its accent sounds ‘black’ (i.e. West Indian or specifically Jamaican)and as such it is distinguishable from its London-based predecessor, ‘Estuary English’, a modified form of cockney, the traditional language of (mainly white) East Enders which flourished in the 1980s and since. Among the differences noted by Kerswill (2011) is that MLE speakers ‘talk proper’; in other words, unlike their Cockney or Estuary peers, they do not drop the initial /h/. MLE speakers see it simply as ‘slang’ because its lexis is predominantly composed of slang terminology, and they consider it to be a separate linguistic phenomenon to ‘cockney’, which is seen as the ‘slang’ of an older generation. MLE may move with its speakers as they grow older, but at the moment it does not exist outside the young.

When William Butler Yeats thought of Keats, he imagined a Cockney schoolboy, ‘nose pressed to a sweet-shop window’.2 In his poem, ‘Ego Dominus Tuus’ (1917), Keats is the ‘coarse-bred son of a livery-stable keeper’, shut out due to his class and non-university education from ‘all the luxury of the world’, who peers longingly in at the shop window.3 Yeats’s Keats stops short, however, of smashing the glass. The situation in London was very different during a furious week in August 2011, when unrest spread through the capital and into the Midlands. The critic and restaurateur A. A. Gill dismissed the riots — some commentators prefer ‘uprising’ — as a ‘rant without reason’, a thoughtless ‘bonfire of consumer vanities’.4 In similar vein, Justin McGuirk labelled the disorder a ‘venting of consumer spleen’, which, he insisted, lacked ‘any articulated aims or ideology’.5 In a Channel 4 News interview, Paul Bagguley, researcher in the sociology of protest, remarked that ‘there used to be food riots in Britain’ — the summer’s disturbances, he added, were ‘like a consumer version of that’.6 Bagguley’s allusion to historical food riots, which we discussed in Chapters 1, 3 and 4, was perhaps more pertinent than he realized. It is worth pausing to remind ourselves that the first premises to be looted at the outbreak of the riots on 8 August was not a sportswear store, nor an electrical retailer, but the Clarence Convenience store in Hackney.

One of the titles I thought about giving this chapter is this: ‘Can the Sinophone Speak Singlish?’ Singlish is a popular way of referring to the variety of English that is commonly spoken in Singapore. It is a creolized form of English with a grammar closer to Hokkien than to English — it also has the reputation for being ‘ungrammatical’ — and with a vocabulary derived from Hokkien, Malay, Cantonese, other Sinitic or Chinese languages, Tamil and English. Yen Yen Woo and Colin Goh, the creative husband-and-wife team behind TalkingCock: The Movie (2002) describe Singlish in this way: Singlish is Singaporean vernacular English, a polyglot of English, Malay, Tamil, and various Chinese dialects. Closer to Cockney and Creole than to pidgin, Singlish is often characterized by humorous wordplay that cuts across multiple languages. Extremely popular, it may be the only uniquely Singaporean cultural identifier. (2007, p. 104)

The iconic BBC comedy series Dad’s Army set on the home front during the Second World War has over its title credits the song ‘Who Do You Think You Are Kidding, Mr Hitler?’ performed by Bud Flanagan. This song includes the lines: ‘[w]e are the boys who will stop your little game/We are the boys who will make you think again’. Many believe it to be a song from the 1940s, due no doubt to the authentic musical arrangement, and the voice of Flanagan, a singer who did indeed have a number of hits during the war with his partner Chesney Allen.1 In fact, it was co-written in 1968 by Jimmy Perry (one of the writers on the show along with David Croft), and regular composer for the BBC Derek Taverner. A song, then, about standing up to ‘kidding’ is itself presented as an authentic artefact from a war that in 1968 was over twenty years in the past. The song introduces a show that playfully mocks several English and/or British archetypes: the bumptious middle-class little Englander (Mainwaring), the public-school educated philanderer (Wilson), the old soldier (Jones), the mummy’s boy (Pike), the canny and miserly Scotsman (Frazer), the effete aesthete (Godfrey), the cockney spiv (Walker), and the officious job’s worth (Hodges), whilst simultaneously celebrating the freeborn and collective spirit of the English (and occasionally Scottish) everyman in the face of the threat of foreign, totalitarian domination from across the sea.

This paper attempts to account for the synchronic representations and surface distributions of the long low vowels (particularly of [ɔː] and [ɔə]) in present-day RP and Cockney, as well as to map in detail the twentieth-century developments that have given rise to them. It is argued that the long low vowels must still be underlyingly centring diphthongs in modern RP (as they were at Henry Sweet's time), now synchronically monophthongized by a spread-and-delink rule, while the corresponding underliers in Cockney must since have been restructured into monophthongs. The theoretical framework for this analysis is a version of Lexical Phonology that assumes an English lexicon comprising two levels, where the first level is characterized by cyclic rule application and the presence of the Strict Cycle and Structure Preservation Conditions (Giegerich, 1988; Kiparsky, 1982), and the second level by noncyclic rule application as well as the presence of neither condition (Borowsky, 1989).

Coined by David Rosewarne in 1984, the term “Estuary English” describes the trendy usage of the younger generations in the South-East of England, socially ranging from the upwardly mobile to the traditionally educated and linguistically situated in the “middle ground”, between Cockney and RP. Sociophonetic convergence not only characterizes the variant’s South-of-London origin and its geographical spread to the North but also determines its social functions and accounts for different judgements on its current role and future prospects.

John Gibson Lockhart’s connection with Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine is frequently associated with a number of controversial articles in the first year of the reconstituted Maga, both in terms of his role as author and in terms of the speculation at the time on the extent of his role as the magazine’s ‘veiled editor’.1 Lockhart is most commonly maligned and vilified by critics for what are considered his ad hominem attacks in the series of articles ‘On the Cockney School of Poetry’, a damning assessment of Leigh Hunt and other writers linked to Hunt’s name.2 Especially galling to many readers is the fourth article in the series, on the poetry of John Keats, which asserts that Keats was a talented young man whose training for a career in medicine had been disrupted by the ‘poetical mania’ of the age, resulting in the ‘calm, settled, imperturbable drivelling idiocy of “Endymion”’, and which concludes, ‘for Heaven’s sake, young Sangrado, be a little more sparing of extenuatives and soporifics in your practice than you have been in your poetry’.3 Ironically, some modern critics, passionate about their own subjects, occasionally have been guilty of the same personal attacks that they have criticized in Lockhart’s writing and, consequently, have seriously misrepresented Lockhart’s character. For example, Duncan Wu, in his otherwise excellent biography of William Hazlitt, writes that ‘Lockhart was a proud, spiteful, vengeful man, indifferent to the feelings of others… He was a cold fish and malign with it… Both Wilson and Lockhart possessed the kind of cleverness that coexists with sadism and arrogance, qualities they possessed in spades’.4

Shot entirely in high-definition digital, premiered at the Cannes film festival and subsequently released in DVD format with a 12-page booklet and extra material, Alexander Fodor’s experimental low-budget adaptation of Hamlet (2006) blatantly presents itself as some kind of “Shakespeare in the extreme.”1 And, indeed, Fodor’s film contains many elements that could be classified as “extreme” when compared to Shakespeare’s Hamlet: Polonius becomes Polonia (Lydia Piechowiak), a scheming femme fatale who would not be out of place in a film noir, and goes as far as to seduce a Reynaldo-turned-Reynalda with luscious cherries and red wine; Ophelia (Tallulah Sheffield) is a drug addict who relies on her elder sister Polonia for her drug supply; Horatio (Katie Reddin-Clancy) switches gender; Laertes (Jason Wing) is a vicious Cockney thug; the Ghost (James Frail) is omnipresent. Yet, if by “extreme” one means a drastic distance from Shakespeare’s language, Fodor’s version can hardly be said to be so radical: it does not alter the lines from the play it keeps, except when it needs to meet the changes it introduces in terms of gender and kinship. (For instance, Polonia is referred to by Ophelia and Laertes as “sister.”) This chapter explores the double-edged notion of “Shakespeare in the extreme” in Fodor’s film. It argues that this is a strategy of remediation that predominantly insists on the “out-of-jointedness” of time and space, and that it articulates itself as a process that frequently evokes ghosts, including, as the film performs a series of self-allegorizing moves, the ghost of the “original” and, more generally, the ghost of a (Shakespearean) textual corpus that refuses to stay put.

In the first scene of Eugene O’Neill’s stunning play, Brutus Jones, the powerful and self-elected emperor of an island empire, looks down from his scarlet throne at the Cockney trader, Smithers, and reminds him who has the power in this kingdom.

Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine in its early decades - like many of the British monthly magazines from the period - risked the practice of generic impurity and revelled in anomaly, even as it published articles and arguments that worked to fight off the monster of undifferentiated discourse. From the early Blackwood’s attacks on the Cockney poets launched by John Gibson Lockhart, William Maginn, and John Wilson, to the parodies and stimulating narratives about lyric poets exchanged by the revellers of the Noctes Ambrosianae, one fairly consistent characteristic of Blackwood’s poetry criticism during the 1820s and 1830s was its inclination to experiment with formal fusions of the discursive categories of poetry and prose. The present chapter explores this characteristic of Blackwood’s criticism within the context of the broader trend in the early 1830s to attempt to distinguish poetry from other modes of discourse and to discuss it in terms of its intrinsic value. While the conception of poetry as a transcendent and universally felt experience ‘whatever the medium of expression’,1 transmitted as a perfectly realized and practically unmediated (immediate) aesthetic encounter of presence is not necessarily absent from the pages of Blackwood’s, it is hardly ever articulated there without either comedic exaggeration, or some other gesture that acknowledges the mediating factors and situational qualifications that must, inevitably, pertain to a definition of poetry as a discursive mode.

This thesis deals with an experimental approach to language in a novel called A Clockwork Orange, it tries to express esthetic, social and psychological backround of this linguistic experiment from Anthony Burgess, while trying to compare original language with Czech translation, especially influence of Russian language to the original and the translation (with connection to London slang ? Cockney)

“I only have one language; yet it is not mine,” reads the controversial thesis of Jacques Derrida’s lecture on Monolingualism of the Other (2). Throughout the lecture, Derrida critiques the very idea of possessiveness inherent to this statement—ofhaving a language—because it sets up the failure of the second sentence: language always belongs to somebody else and belonging—in both of its meanings—connotes exclusiveness. Anna Morgan, the protagonist of Jean Rhys’s 1934 novel Voyage in the Dark, has two or maybe even three languages, yet none of them is hers. She speaks English, French, and possibly also French Creole, yet she feels excluded from each of them: the ladylike sharp edges of her stepmother Hester’s English (57), the French of the Swiss woman who performs her abortion (176), and the Creole of her childhood friend and household servant Francine (72). Like many texts written by transnational migrants, Voyage in the Dark adopts an experimental multilingual form that includes untranslated Welsh, French, French patois as well as several varieties of English: West Indian, King’s, and cockney. Attention paid to these instances of foreign and accented language in the novel points to new foci within the text; multilingualism here not only mimics the linguistic diversity of Dominica, where the protagonist grew up, but also forces languages to coexist comparatively. The novel’s preoccupation with language and accent leads to a critique of the idea of linguistic ownership that depends on standards and discernment in any comparative situation. While many critics have commented on the racial tensions inherent to Rhys’s work, my chapter will focus on the linguistic and accentual exclusions, because telling the difference between nations, languages, and accents here always connotes exclusion and privileging of one of the pair as uniquely better in a way reminiscent of racial hierarchies in colonial societies.

This essay examines Leigh Hunt’s attitude towards sport, a subject about which he had mixed feelings. On the one hand Hunt strongly denounced violent and death-dealing sports such as boxing, shooting and angling, and on the other he idealised those pastimes which seemed to him to call back a lost world of ‘Merry Old England’: cricket, quarterstaff and bowls. Hunt saw sports as ethics-in-action; to him they offered moral lessons, some malign (the corrupting effects of pugilism) others benign (the healthy influence of the sports of the village green). The essay also examines how Hunt’s examination of sport was made in gendered terms of ‘manliness’ and ‘effeminacy’, and concludes by arguing that Blackwood’s attack on Hunt and the so-called ‘Cockney’ school might usefully be read in the context of the contemporary satirical tradition of the ‘Cockney sportsman’.

It seems fairly certain that Liverpoolese is of comparatively recent origin. (Richard Whittington-Egan, ‘Is Liverpool Dialect Dying Out?’, 1955) The previous chapter illustrated the local interest in language in Liverpool in the early to mid twentieth century together with a number of the problems associated with its categorization. The account also presented evidence from the early 1950s onwards of an emerging link between a representation of the language of the city and the ‘Scouser’ (a cultural category that had existed for a considerable period but that was not in common use at the time). The connection was exemplified in Liverpool , the book marking Liverpool's 750 th anniversary, which was written by the city's official historian (and librarian) George Chandler. Noting the importance of popular culture as a medium in which representations of the language and inhabitants of Liverpool were propagated, Chandler commented that ‘the speaker of the Liverpool dialect is through Music Hall fame widely known as a scouser’ (Chandler 1957: 423). And yet, as demonstrated earlier, one of the most striking things about the use of the term ‘Scouse’ to refer to the language of Liverpool is how recently it was coined. According to the lexicographical record at least, ‘Scouse’ in the sense of ‘the dialect of English spoken in Liverpool’, is a coinage of the 1960s. In fact, as the analysis in the last chapter began to show, ‘Scouse’ as a term used to denote the language of Liverpool started to appear in the 1950s in the correspondence, articles and features that focused on language in local newspapers and journals.

A Victorian CSI-style crime scene, dancing graphs in maths, a virtual field trip and a cockney guide to apostrophes make up just some of the free teacher-made videos available via O2 Learn. Anna Pedroza explains.

IT could be said that since the Cuban crisis of 1962 the Caribbean region as a whole has been in a vacuum. Despite the Communist control of Cuba the West Indies are directly involved in the Cold War. Equally, they are not strong enough to pursue a positive policy of neutrality (though their insulation from world stresses has, I believe, encouraged the flowering of a distinctive West Indian culture, particularly in literature). The Americans are unlikely to allow any further Soviet penetration of the area; but appear to regard its many component parts as too small and poor to be either profitable or dangerous, except for the Dominican Republic and Haiti. The British, French and Dutch West Indies are thus left with the need to work out their own future.

A literary source text demands the translator’s approach for each process of translation. This approach involves a complex and multifaceted analysis of the source text. As Pinter’s novel The Dwarfs provides rich ground for such analysis, I present a selection of translation issues against the backdrop of a more general problem of translatability. Pinter is a master of English dialogue, which makes its translation a truly daunting task. The conversations between the characters are filled with expressions from cricket, dated British cultural references, puns, literary and Biblical allusions, phrases and formulaic expressions characteristic of Cockney, and numerous allusions to Shakespeare as well as his own earlier plays. I examine the translatability of The Dwarfs by discussing three translation codes: lexical-semantic, cultural and esthetic. Although these are closely interconnected and interdependent, I present a choice of issues within each code in order to submit for consideration the challenges facing a Pinter translator as well as to show the complexity of Pinter’s artistic vision in one of his earliest works.

Introduction 1. They Think It's All Over...It Isn't Yet! The Persistence of Structural Racism and Racialised Exclusion in Twenty-First Century Football Daniel Burdsey Racialised Exclusions and 'Glocal' Im/mobilities 2. 'Dark Town' and 'A Game for Britishers': Some Notes on History, Football and 'Race' in Liverpool John Williams 3. Is Football the New African Slave Trade? Colin King 4. Football, Racism and the Irish David Hassan and Ken McCue Contested Fields and Cultural Resistance 5. Racisms, Resistance and New Youth Inclusions: The Socio-Historical Development and Shifting Focus of Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic Football Clubs in Leicester Steven Bradbury 6. What is Rangers Resisting Now? 'Race', Resistance and Shifting notions of Blackness in Local Football in Leicester Paul Campbell 7. British Muslim Female Experiences in Football: Islam, Identity and the Hijab Aisha Ahmad 'New' Ethnicities and Emergent Communities 8. Flying the Flag for England? National Identities and British Asian Female Footballers Aarti Ratna 9. Mixing Up the Game: Social and Historical Contours of Black Mixed Heritage Players in British Football Mark Christian 10. 'Tough Talk', Muscular Islam and Football: Young British Pakistani Muslim Masculinities Samaya Farooq The Cultural Politics of Fandom 11. The Limits to Cosmopolitanism: English Football Fans at Euro 2008 Peter Millward 12. 'Wot, No Asians?': West Ham United Fandom, the Cockney Diaspora and the 'New' East Enders Jack Fawbert 13. 'They Sing That Song': Sectarianism and Conduct in the Informalised Spaces of Scottish Football John Flint and Ryan Powell Equity, Anti-Racism and the Politics of Campaigning 14. Negative Equity? Amateurist Responses to Race Equality Initiatives in English Grass-Roots Football Jim Lusted 15. Football, Racism and the Limits of 'Colour Blind' Law: Revisited Simon Gardiner and Roger Welch 16. Marrying Passion with Professionalism: Examining the Future of British Asian Football Kuljit Randhawa

In the 1990s and 2000s Kenny Lynch remains Britain's most long-standing black entertainer. The statement I use in the title of this article, spoken in a broad cockney accent, comes from the 1965 film, 'Dr Terror's House of Horrors', in which Lynch plays Sammy Coin - pronounced like the Jewish Cohen', referencing another group problematically positioned in British society - a calypso and jazz singer who has a contract to work in a club in Haiti. Like his character, Lynch is a cockney. He was born in Stepney in 1939 just a few months before the start of the Second World War. He is, then, as his character suggests, not a part of the West Indian migration to Britain that is now conventionally considered to have begun with the docking of the Empire Windrush at Tilbury in June 1948. In this article I want to think about some of the ways that British racism influenced Lynch's reception. Given the constraints of length I shall confine myself to a limited selection of examples, concentrating on chart positions in the UK and US as a way to construct some preliminary conclusions about Lynch's reception in the UK.

En esta tesina trataremos el doblaje español de la película Green Street Hooligans y mediante una investigación cualitativa estudiamos cómo las elecciones generales, entratar el habla de los personajes, y las elecciones específicas, cómo se han manejado los saludos, han afectado la percepción de dos personajes escogidos y la película en sí. Los resultados que han sido revelados es que los rasgos tanto dialectales como idiolectales han sido normalizados a un español estándar y esto ha contribuido en crear un estilo, en la versión española, que es menos vívido, más formal, y menos conectado con los personajes que la versión original. Por eso, la vista que pueden tener los espectadores españoles al ver la película se diferencia mucho de la que pueden tener quienes que venla película en inglés. Esto ya que no van a poder sobreentender la pertenencia a una clase social, origen espacial y el estilo personal de los personajes solamente viendo la versión doblada de la película.

This paper gives a full description of the phonetics and phonology of Traditional Cockney and Popular London speech, treating these varieties as constituting a continuum rather than two separate dialects. Exemplification of the vowels, diphthongs and consonants is provided, both in isolate words and in connected speech, along with their range of variation. The frequencies of the vowels have been charted on the basis of the pronunciation of three elderly male speakers. Regarding the consonants, there are detailed observations on the features typically associated with the linguistic varieties examined: strong aspiration of unvoiced plosives, glottalization, H-dropping, L-vocalization and TH-fronting. A section on prosody provides coverage of lexical stress, rhythm and intonation. The paper takes into account up-todate research on these phenomena, but does not deal with the most recent vowel shifts, some of which form part of Multi-cultural London English., El presente artículo proporciona una descripción detallada del “Cockney” tradicional (TC) y del habla popular londinense (PLS), que, para nuestro propósito, se consideran constituyentes de un continuo lingüístico, diferenciado al máximo de la así llamada “Received Pronunciation” (RP), antes que dos variedades distintas. Se ofrece abundante ejemplificación de la articulación de las vocales, los diptongos y las consonantes, tanto en palabras aisladas como en la cadena hablada, junto con explicaciones sobre la gama de variación que estos segmentos presentan. Las frecuencias vocálicas que se registran se han calculado a partir de la pronunciación de tres hombres mayores, todos oriundos de Londres. Con respecto a las consonantes, se incluyen observaciones pormenorizadas acerca de los rasgos más típicos de las variedades sometidas a estudio: una fuerte aspiración de las oclusivas sordas, glotalización, caída de la [h], vocalización de [l] y anteriorización de las fricativas dentales. La sección consagrada a los aspectos prosódicos trata de la acentuación de la palabra, el ritmo y la entonación. El presente trabajo tiene en cuenta la investigación más reciente en torno a estos fenómenos, sin ocuparse de los cambios vocálicos de los últimos años, algunos de los cuales son más bien característicos del inglés londinense multicultural.

For any student of popular culture, it is instructive to notice how quickly a trend can pass, or at least descend into the realms of exhaustion and self-parody. Of course, such a progression is often mirrored by the fall from grace of key progenitors of such trends — and nothing illustrates this sobering thesis more lucidly than the example of the British director Guy Ritchie and the movement he was instrumental in launching: the streetwise, comedically-inclined hyper-violent London gangster movie of the late 1990s, invariably featuring either wisecracking Cockney wide-boys out of their depth or massively cruel, stone-faced psychopathic killers (often in the same films, the former relentlessly pursued by the latter). It’s a film trend which is still producing a variety of examples today, but the kind of acclaim and audience enthusiasm which accompanied the early work in the field now largely seems a distant memory.

In 1848 SC wrote two long reviews for the Quarterly Review. The first, on Tennyson’s The Princess, was published in the March 1848 issue (vol. 82, pp. 427–53). The second, on two collected editions of Beaumont and Fletcher, followed in September 1848 (vol. 83, pp. 377–418). As SC said in a letter to Mrs Townsend, she was in some respects not intellectually suited to writing reviews: “I am carried away by my subject, and cannot help going too deep into it and travelling too widely all about it.”* She had great difficulty in keeping to a reasonable length, and both articles were shortened. In the case of the Tennyson review, this was at least partly for reasons of literary politics, as SC complained, with the Quarterly of the 1840s continuing the hostility toward the “Cockney” poet Keats expressed in J. W. Croker’s notorious review of Endymion in 1818 (Quarterly Review 19 April 1818, pp. 204–208); even such judicious and qualified praise of Keats as as SC included in her article was unwelcome in the pages of the Quarterly Review. The extracts in this section include some of the phrases and passages that Lockhart cut from her manuscript; these are printed in square brackets in italic script. Even more offensively, Lockhart added some misogynistic passages and phrases of his own (see the footnote on p. 108, for instance).

The Irish, noted a French traveller in 1644, ‘se nomment Ayrenake’. Is it all that noteworthy that those whom the traveller questioned should denote themselves as ‘Éireannach’ or Irish? The answer must be a cautious ‘yes’ because if the same question had been posed some forty years earlier the reply would most likely have been either ‘Gael’ or ‘English’ depending on the respondent's racial identity. This new patriotism which centred on love of one's native land and religion had been created over the preceding sixty years by the ‘Old’ (i.e. of pre-Reformation settler stock) English who found themselves increasingly estranged from Protestantism as espoused by the crown and by ‘New’ English officials and settlers. A more immediate impulse towards the fashioning of a new Irishness was the Protestant device of lumping all Irish Catholics together regardless of putative ethnicity. In the 1680s an Irish Protestant spokesman briskly summed up the outlook of his group; ‘If the most ancient and natural Irishman be a Protestant, no man takes him for other than an Englishman; and if a cockney be a Papist, he is reckoned in Ireland to be as much an Irishman as if he was born on Slevelogher.’ By then what had been a self-serving rhetorical commonplace was indisputably a reality. So, the ‘faith and fatherland’ patriotism was to an extent thrust on the Old English and was not necessarily hostile to the crown in general or to the Stuarts in particular. Far from it, the motto of the Confederation of Kilkenny (1642–9) ‘pro Deo, pro Rege, pro patria Hibernia unanimis’ shows how an earlier generation had tried to square this circle.

The aim of this thesis has been to investigate phonological variation and change in the variety spoken in the traditional East End of London, traditionally referred to as Cockney. The main focus has been on the social group with which this area is traditionally associated, namely the white Anglo working class. This project is a sociolinguistic apparent time study where the accents of two different age cohorts have been investigated. The sample consisted of six adults (one female and five males) and eight adolescents (five females and three males). A quantitative analysis of six phonological variables has been conducted. Five of the phonological variables are considered traditional Cockney features, while the sixth, R-fronting, is a feature that for the last decades has established itself as a feature found in non-standard varieties of young people in the south-east of England, including East-London. This thesis has also investigated some external mechanisms behind accent change, of which the most important ones are geographical diffusion and speech accommodation with accent levelling as a result. Levelling is explained as reduction or attrition of marked variants that are replaced by variants with a wider geographical currency. The hypotheses underlying this thesis are as follows: 1. The data will reveal that the accent spoken in the East End has changed from traditional Cockney by showing more occurrences of the traditional Cockney features among the older speakers than the younger speakers. 2. Female adolescents will lead the accent change in terms of using more of the new' features. 3. The accent of East London is taking part in the Regional Dialect Levelling process of south-east England by showing convergence with other varieties. The results reveal that those features that have experienced spread as a result of geographical diffusion from London and south-east England have higher distribution with the adolescent speakers than the adult speakers, this applies to T-glottalling, TH-fronting, L-vocalisation and R-fronting. The results for H-dropping and MOUTH-monophthonging might suggest that these particular features are on the retreat with the younger speakers. This applies particularly to H-dropping where the quantitative analysis showed surprisingly high usage of [h] with the adolescent speakers. The results concerning the correlation between the phonological variables in correlation with gender were overall quite inconclusive. Only with MOUTH-monophthonging the results revealed significant difference between the genders, where the adolescent girls showed overall lower distribution of the monophthongal realisation. With all the variables considered in this study, perhaps with the exception of MOUTH-monophthonging, the adolescents in the traditional East End can be seen as taking part in an accent levelling process due to the massive spread of these features. However, there are a number of other features that are still characteristic of the accent in East-London, and there are no indications from the results in this study that the innovation in London is stagnating. ABSTRACT Denne oppgaven har hatt som mål å undersøke fonologisk variasjon og endring i varieteten som er brukt i Øst-London, tradisjonelt kalt Cockney. Hovedfokuset har vært på den sosiale gruppen som denne delen av London tradisjonelt har blitt assosiert med, nemlig den hvite anglikanske arbeiderklasse. Prosjektet er et sosiolingvistisk studie der talemålet til to forskjellige aldersgrupper har blitt undersøkt. Utvalget bestod av seks voksne (en kvinne og fem menn) og åtte ungdommer (fem jenter og tre gutter). Analysen er en kvantitativ analyse av seks fonologiske variabler i korrelasjon med de sosiale variablene alder og kjønn. Fem av de fonologiske variablene er tradisjonelt betegnet som karakteristiske Cockney-trekk, den sjette, R-fronting er et språktrekk som i de siste tiårene har vokst hyppig frem blant unge mennesker i store deler av England., også i Øst-London. Avhandlingen undersøker også noen eksterne mekanismer bak språkendring. Hovedfokuset når det gjelder språkendring er på geografisk spredning og taleakkomodasjon med nivellering som resultat. Nivellering er forklart som bortfall eller redusering av geografisk eller sosialt markerte former som erstattes av former som har en bredere geografisk valuta. De underbyggende hypotesene for denne oppgaven har følgende ordlyd: 1. Den empiriske dataen vil avsløre at talemålet i Øst-London har endret seg fra tradisjonell Cockney ved å vise høyere distribusjon av de tradisjonelle Cockney-formene hos de eldre informantene enn de yngre. 2. De unge kvinnene vil lede talemålsendringen ved å lede an i bruken av de nye‟ formene. 3. Talemålet i Øst-London tar del i en nivelleringsprosess ved å vise konvergens med andre varieteter i Sør-Øst England. Resultatene viser at de språktrekkene som har opplevd spredning som resultat av geografisk diffusjon fra London og Sør-Øst England har høyere distribusjon hos de yngre informantene enn de eldre, dette gjelder T-glottalisering, TH-fronting. L-vokalisering og R-fronting. Resultatene for bortfall av /h/ og monoftongering av MOUTH kan antyde at disse trekkene er på retrett hos de yngre språkbrukerne. Dette gjelder spesielt bortfall av /h/ hvor den kvantitative analysen viste hyppig bruk av /h/ hos de yngre informantene. Resultatene for distribusjonen av de lingvistiske variablene i forhold til kjønn var stort sett tvetydige. Kun med monoftongering av MOUTH viste resultatene tydelig forskjell mellom kjønnene, der ungdomsjentene scorer lavest for monoftongering. Med alle variablene som ble undersøkt i dette prosjektet, kanskje med unntak av MOUTH, kan det sies at ungdommen i Øst-London tar del i en nivelleringsprosess da disse variablene viser vesentlig utbredelse. Det er imidlertid mange andre språktrekk som fremdeles er særegne for London, og det er mye som tyder på at nyvinningen i London fortsetter. Master i Engelsk MAHF-ENG ENG350

It has always been easy to laugh at Leigh Hunt’s Story of Rimini, a rather unusual item in the history of prison writing. Even a modern critic such as Rodney Stenning Edgecombe, writing one of the few full critical studies of Hunt, speaks of the poem’s “structural and linguistic flaws” (52). Romantic era defenders of traditional culture met Rimini’s publication with a rousing chorus of jeers. The Quarterly Review assailed Hunt’s “vanity, vulgarity, ignorance, and coarseness” (14 [January 1816]:481); Blackwood’s Magazine called Rimini “indecent and immoral,” and attacked not only its subject but its style: Leigh Hunt’s chivalrous rhymes are as unlike those of Walter Scott, as is the chivalry of a knighted cheesemonger to that of Archibald the Grim, or, if he would rather have it so, of Sir Philip Sydney. He draws his ideas of courtly splendour from the Lord Mayor’s coach, and he dreams of tournaments, after having seen the aldermen on horseback, with their furred gowns and silk stockings. We are indeed altogether incapable of understanding many parts of the description, for a good glossary of the Cockney dialect is yet a desideratum in English literature…. What, for instance, may be the English of swaling? (2 [October 1817]:198).

Examinant la convergence dans Pygmalion entre la comedie de moeurs et la parabole socialiste, l'auteur s'interesse a la critique sociale de G. B. Shaw sur le determinisme du langage

Cockney, a Southern English accent, was characteristic of all sorts of people, including craftsmen, clerks and tradesmen and it originally denoted “inferior and worthless thing” and “pampered child”. It is closely associated with East End and the church St. Mary Le Bow. Due to an old saying, a true Cockney is the one who is born within the earshot of the Bow Bells. They have borrowed words from the Empire, the gypsies, English Jews and from many others. Many famous writers discussed about Cockney in their literary works, either criticizing or praising it. Some of them are William Langland, Charles Dickens, Herman Melville and George Bernard Shaw. Regarding pronunciation, some of the most important features that make Cockney different form all other dialects are L-vocalisation, T-glottalisation, H-dropping and G-dropping. Besides pronunciation, Cockney is most famous for its rhyming slang. The meaning of the phrases used in Cockney is often surprising, e.g. Old bubble means “wife” and French loaf means four. Despite its rough past, Cockney is now fully accepted British accent; moreover, it is voted the fourth coolest British accent.

The male larrikin, or street rowdy, is a common figure in late-colonial Australian history. His female counterpart is much harder to find. Rather than presenting us with images of female larrikins, many commentators tell us that the closest equivalent to the male larrikin was the prostitute, or that adolescent girls only participated in the larrikin subculture as ‘donahs’ (meaning ‘moll’ or ‘girlfriend’). These commentators mostly reach this conclusion from reading the Bulletin and the fictional work of its contributors. This over-reliance on the Bulletin is problematic because its images of the larrikin and ‘donah’ in the 1890s were heavily influenced by Cockney vaudeville routines. In this article, I offer alternative evidence to show that there were adolescent Australian girls who acted as larrikins in their own right rather than simply as girlfriends or sexual conveniences to the boys. These girls held prize fights, got drunk on street corners, participated in attacks on police and in rare cases even formed members of pushes – all activities considered to be hallmarks of larrikinism in Australia at the time. I also suggest that these girls' relationships with each other were more significant to them than their relationships with male larrikins. It is thus time to set aside the image of the ‘donah’ in favour of the brazen larrikin girl among her female friends.

H1 very Concubine of so impure a wretch as Leigh Hunt would be to be pitied," wrote John Gibson Lockhart in the first number of the new Blackwood's Magazine in October 1817, "but alas! for the Wife of such a Husband! For him there is no charm in simple Seduction; and he gloats over it only when accompanied with Adultery and Incest."' The previous year Hunt had published his ambitious poem The Story of Rimini, based on Dante's tale of Paolo and Francesca, and he had subsequently claimed that he and his friends represented a "new school" of poets, following in the footsteps of the Lake School.2 In response, Lockhart, writing under the pseudonym "Z," had coined the phrase "the Cockney School of Poetry," and had set out to demolish Hunt in a series of articles on his poem that take to an extreme the violent personal attacks of early-nineteenth-century reviewing. Critics both then and since have tried to account for the Blackwood's reviewers' reliance on "open character assassination. Contemporaries tended to