All words are interesting to an etymologist, just as all children are supposedly equally dear to a parent. Yet especially intriguing are the words surrounded by numerous lookalikes, so that, in a way, a single etymology may cover them all. One such example was hunk, discussed in the post for September 18, 2024. An even more instructive case is the origin of lump, a word that, incidentally or not, looks a bit like hunk. While unraveling the etymology of lump, we again end up running into a host of similar forms and wonder whether their similarity should be taken seriously. Characteristically, in this case, even the most conservative sources hint at symbolism (I, of course, refer to sound symbolism all the time).
According to our records, lump first surfaced in an early fourteenth-century (that is, Middle English) poem, and there it already meant what it means today. We may probably assume that the word did not exist in Old English (or if it did, it failed to turn up in any of the extant texts). The word does not look like an import from Romance. Hence, the predictable conclusion is that it was borrowed from a neighboring Germanic language, such as Dutch or Scandinavian. The problem is that words like lump are numerous, and it is hard to decide whether we are dealing with similarity or affinity. Consider clump (evidently borrowed, but an Old English cognate existed), hump (discussed last week), bump (possibly from Scandinavian), dump (imitative?), thump (imitative), stump (imitative?), rump (borrowed?), and plump (borrowed). As we can see, none of them are early, and few seem to be native. Only trump does not belong to this group: it is an alteration of triumph; thus, an artificial formation. We probably have enough reason to believe that lump, wherever it was coined, is a word of symbolic origin.

Image: John Quick as Tony Lumpkin in “She Stoops to Conquer” by P. Audinet and S. De Wilde via Wikimedia Commons. Public domain.
German dictionaries do not know much about the etymology of Lumpen “rag,” a close relative of English lump. Quite possibly, it reached today’s German from its Low (northern) German neighbor. Dutch lomp means the same and is equally obscure. But just as hunk seems to be related by ablaut to the German verb hinken “to limp,” lump is related to Old English (ge)limpan “to happen, occur, exist” and amusingly (considering the post referred to above), to Middle High German limpen “to limp.” Our story of hunk, it will be remembered, began with limping. The Scandinavian look-alikes appear to have the same northern German source. Yet not all the recorded senses match well. They begin to belong together only when we remember that the basic verb (ge)limpan meant “to happen.” Obviously, an event may have a good or a bad outcome. Though limping is not good, the Old High German verb (gi)limphan (gi– is a prefix) meant “to be proper,” and its modern cognate (the adjective glimpflich) also has positive connotations. Oliver Goldsmith knew why he called the rash but endearing protagonist of his comedy She Stoops to Conquer Tony LUMPKIN. Lumps, we should admit, are ambiguous.
Every time we deal with the origin of a common word, the ghost of s-mobile (movable s, an erratic, unpredictable prefix) rises to haunt us. Perhaps lump is related to slump? Slump was mentioned above and dismissed as perhaps imitative or borrowed. But there also is English slim, whose oldest form ended in b or p (Old High German slimb “crooked; slanting”). Today, German schlimm means only “bad.” Lump, limp, slimb… We also know that words with m and n in the middle may have cognates without those nasal infixes. Consider Latin fingo ‘to form, produce’, whose past participle is fixit. English lap, as in lap up, goes back to Old English lappian. Any connection with lump? Latin lambere, Greek láptein, and French laper mean approximately the same but may be independent imitative words.
It follows that lump enjoys an ambiguous status. As far as English is concerned, it is rootless. Yet it is surrounded by a well-adjusted similar-looking etymological crowd. Though ragtag and bobtail they all are, in some way, they may belong together. Semantic bridges can be drawn between practically any two words (concepts), given enough intermediate stages. Long ago, it was noted that such a process may, with some effort, connect “inkwell” and “the freedom of will.” One temptation is to rely on the entire web surrounding a word, and the opposite approach advises us to exercise caution. Words certainly interact and have always interacted, but for an etymologist it is hard to know where to stop. Most likely, lump is a rather arbitrary creation, whose structure (for some reason) suggests something compact but shapeless. Tony Lumpkin (note the diminutive suffix) may have been such a capricious but steady creation. The Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology (1966) begins the entry on lump with the verdict: “Of unknown origin.” Perhaps this conclusion should be modified, even if slightly.
Haven’t we also been invited to lunch, another suspicious relative of lump? Yes, indeed. Wait until next week. Since the paucity of comments and questions I receive made me abolish monthly gleanings, I’d rather answer the few questions I have right now. To a few letters I have responded privately.
◄ What is the origin of hunky-dory? The Japanese origin of this word has been suggested many times, and the literature on hunky-dory need not be reviewed here. I’ll only quote without any changes part of the most recent note I have in my database: “During the years following Admiral Perry’s opening Japan, many ships stopped at Japanese ports and the sailors on shore leave trooped into the town and up into the surrounding hills looking for entertainment and perhaps companionship of sorts. The problem was how to return to the ship: having negotiated soberly the branching of narrow streets into narrower passages in the distant reaches on the outward trip, the return trip in an alcoholic fog was less certain. Nonetheless, once one reached the main street all was well, for that led straight to the wharf in many of the coastal towns, and Yokohama [see the header] in particular. The street in question is, of course, honcho dorii, or ‘main street’.” (Verbatim XIII, 1987, p. 12.) A similar etymology (folk etymology?) has been offered before. The competitive explanation returns us to Dutch hunk.

Image by George E. Koronaios via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 4.0.
◄ Moggy, a British word for “cat.” Of the several etymologies of moggy, the one deriving the word from mongrel is so unlikely that it should be discounted, while the derivation from a proper name (Maggie) is plausible. There is also a good precedent. From the opening scene of Macbeth, we know the word Grimalkin, that is, “gray Matilda.” Grimalkin, a witch, was a cat. Using personal names for animals and outcasts is common. Think of tomcat. Molly (Mary) is a widely used word all over Great Britain for various disreputable creatures, including prostitutes and scraggy animals. Hence Molly, the titular heroine of Defoe’s Moll Flanders. Moggy may well be a variant of Maggy. Such variants are hard to account for. Margaret becomes Peggy, Robert is Bob, while John and Jack are interchangeable.
◄ Don’t miss the comments on the idiom it is raining cats and dogs (the post on bootless cats, September 25, 2024) and the note on macaroons, following the most recent post on macaroni.
Featured image via Pixabay. Public domain.
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