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In Calling 353, a new series for The Journal, bestselling Motherfoclóir author and podcaster Darach Ó Séaghdha casts a linguistic eye on how we talk about what it means to be Irish, the signs we post to each other about Irishness – and what really lies beneath it all.
SNAKE OIL TYCOON Nigel Farage’s latest stunt – resigning as an MP and proposing to stand in the by-election as a way to show his voters don’t care about all the stuff he’s been accused of doing – appears to have backfired, with the larger British political parties refusing to play with him.
This has put him in a position where he will be left running against a novelty candidate who styles himself as Count Binface.
Novelty candidates in elections are an enduring presence in British elections. A member of parliament who loses their seat while the news camera catches their reaction will often have the additional indignity of experiencing this while standing next to a student in a Mr Blobby or Darth Vadar costume.
It’s an expensive prank (a deposit of £500 which they usually lose) and it’s hard to imagine someone finding it especially funny – it fails the “how would I feel if I bumped into my ex doing this” test with flying colours. Dustin the turkey has often added levity to Irish elections, but has never actually been an official candidate – Count Binface will definitely be on the ballot.
This by-election in another country hasn’t fully caught the attention of the Irish language media in Ireland yet, but that is likely to change following Reform UK’s obnoxious proposals regarding Irish and other minority languages recently. (In a back and forth with The Journal’s Gaeltacht correspondent on the matter, Reform appeared to blame an “administrative error” for the inclusion of Northern Ireland in the scope of its proposal.)
All told though, this means that Irish language broadcasters will have to find a way to translate the moniker Count Binface.
The obvious solution is to not translate it at all. News articles on the recent death of Anne Widdecombe left her name unchanged, and this is the standard practice for celebrities, sportspeople and members of parliament around the world. However, Binface is a count, and the practice with royalty and the royal-adjacent is to translate the title and the name.
Queen Elizabeth and her husband were known as Banríon Eilís II & Prionsa Pilib, and their son is now referred to as An Rí Séarlas III. Popes – monarchs, just not hereditary ones – also get the translation treatment, with recent pontiffs being referred to as Pápa Leo, Pápa Pronsias, Pápa Beinidict and Pápa Eoin Pól II.
On those occasions where a tribal chieftain such as Mangosuthu Buthelezi has been in the news, the title Taoiseach has been used.
Perhaps you think that our Irish translators are overly deferential to the Holy See and the British Crown. However, these are international translation practices, not something we concocted ourselves. And other countries have translated the Clacton candidate’s name and title.
In France, the candidate is known as Comte Tête-de-Poubelle (Count Bin-Head). In Italy, Il Post has explained the name to their readers as Conte Faccia-da-Bidone but continues to use the English name.
The Germans, who love a good laugh, have taken to referring to the aspiring MP as Graf Mülltonnengesicht, which translates literally as Count Garbage Can Face.
And our Spanish friends have dubbed him Conde Carapapelera (Count Wastebasket Face). There are others, but I think you get the picture.
You may have noticed that the words for Count in these European languages are broadly similar but the words for bin are quite different. This is because the history and practice of people throwing stuff out while living near other people has varied dramatically from community to community. For example, the French word “poubelle” comes from the name of the Paris official who introduced laws in 1883 preventing on-street dumping and that building owners must provide designated containers for waste for their tenants. And for wine lovers, a bin is a place where wine is left to mature.
In 1883, capitalism in Irish-speaking communities in Ireland had not yet reached the stage where designated bins for throwaway packaging and the like were widespread. Everything got used.
Bosca bruscair and araid bruscair both describe things were bruscar is stored: Fr Dinneen, in his classic Irish dictionary, defines brus as “broken straw; the lopping off of trees; small fragments; a remnant…” all very biodegradable (He added that bruscar could also mean the dregs of an army).
You could argue that the lack of a single word for a trashcan reflects the relationship between the decline in Irish and the rise in a culture of disposable consumerism.
I’m sure that the gang at Tuairisc, RTÉ Nuacht, TG4, BBC Gaeilge and Raidió na Gaeltachta will come up with something fitting when the moment arises. (Ed: We’ll have to get thinking about it at The Journal’s Gaeltacht team too!)
And it is possible that, given that Binface is not a real count, they may not follow the practices that apply to human royalty. However, just leaving the title as is not without consequence. One of the problems with not translating a word or a name is that you run the risk of that word having a different meaning in the receiving language.
Italians, for example, find great amusement in the fact that the company name BidOne means bin in their language. In Irish, binn can mean a peak (such as Binn Éadair, known as Howth in English) but can also mean sweet or pleasant. And it is that latter meaning which is used in a famous seanfhocal with applies perfectly to Count Binface’s by-election rival: is binn béal ina thost*.
Darach will be back next Sunday with more thoughts on the words and Irish cultural phenomena that unite us.
*A shut mouth is sweet.
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