Why Isn’t It “Platinium”?

The majority of chemical elements have names ending in “-ium”. In British English, we also have “aluminium” as opposed to the American “aluminum”, but we also have “tantalum” and “platinum”, so oddly the usual “-ium” ending has a couple of exceptions, as is common with spelling, grammar and word formations. The periodic table generally shows the order of discovery in how the names are formed. The older elements tend to have less regularly-formed names such as “phosphorus” and “antimony”, then after a certain point several half-hearted attempts to regularise them (e.g. “hydrogen”, “nitrogen”, “oxygen”) ensued, but it’s all rather haphazard.

The individual groups sometimes have some kind of order imposed on them. All the halogens, even the transuranic tennessine, end in “-ine” and no other element does. All the noble gases except helium end in “-on”, but this is rather spoilt by the names “carbon” and “silicon”. In a way, it makes sense that helium should have a different ending because it isn’t a typical noble gas, having only two electrons in its sole orbital as opposed to eight, as the others have. Incidentally, the noble gases are easy to contemplate in physical terms because they all consist straightforwardly of single atoms with regularly increasing weight. Oganesson, which is a transuranic noble “gas”, has a melting point of 52°C, but it can’t really exist in bulk. It would, I’m guessing, be a non-metal and therefore an oddity being so heavy and yet not a metal.

There have been two systems of nomenclature for elements which are either not yet discovered or unfamiliar. One of them imposed Sanskrit numeral prefixes, though only “eka-” and “dvi-“, i.e. one and two. This was where there were gaps in the periodic table, so for example gallium was originally called “ekaäluminium”, or perhaps “ekaäluminum” because the predicted metal hadn’t been discovered yet. This system is obsolete as all the holes in this portion of the table have now been filled. There is also the issue of what happens towards the end of the periodic table, where new elements have been discovered on a semi-regular basis. This system uses Greek and Latin numerals as prefixes for “-ium”, as in “ununoctium” for oganesson, but the numbers are chosen so as not to produce ambiguous abbreviations. They consist of the atomic number in decimal and yield three-letter symbols rather than the more usual two- or one-letter ones, which makes sense because these elements don’t meaningfully participate in chemistry owing to their instability. It would of course be possible to name all the elements in this way, producing a word like “nulnulhexium”, or possibly just “hexium”, for carbon, and “septoctium” for platinum, but this is unnecessary. One thing which somewhat bothers me about these names is that they use the decimal base rather than something which seems more fundamental such as hexadecimal or binary, or perhaps a base which matches the length of the sequences in the periodic table itself, which would give the elements systematic names matching their groups. They’re not as neat as they might villa .

The ending “-um” is clearly straightforwardly from the Latin neuter second declension, and there are also the “-on” endings from the same Greek declension. It seems to have connotations of “inanimate thing” in this context, so for example gallium is “Gaul thing”, i.e. the thing named after the country of France. There doesn’t seem to have been the kind of drive to neutrality which exists in astronomical naming. For instance, the constellation Scutum used to be called Scutum Sobieskii, but the second part was dropped, I presume because it refers to Poland, but polonium is still called that. This location naming business has led to the Swedish village of Ytterby, population 3 000, giving its name to no fewer than four elements (ytterbium, terbium, yttrium and erbium) due to the discovery of a dark, heavy rock in the area. Other elements are named after Stockholm and Scandinavia in their own way (holmium and thulium) for the same reason, and there’s also scandium. This seems disproportionate.

You will be aware though that the majority of elements ending in “-um” have an I before that ending, so the question arises of why there are exceptions. Aluminium is the oddest one of these because it varies according to American and British usage. The metal was discovered by Humphry Davy by electrolysis from alumina, which is aluminium oxide, and he originally called it “alumium”. In 1812, he changed the name to “aluminum” but this was difficult to maintain because of its lack of conformity. It got adopted by the general public in the US but not by American chemists, whilst in the Commonwealth it was uniformly “aluminium”. Canada, though, uses “aluminum”, as it’s generally more American than the rest of the Commonwealth, and also more American than Ireland come to think of it. The International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) recommends “aluminium”.

Even so, there are four other elements like this, namely molybdenum, lanthanum, tantalum and platinum, and these always use that form. All of the other “-iums” always use that form too. Platinum was the first element to be given a name ending in “-um” officially after discovery, so it could be that the convention of inserting an I was yet to be established. All of the elements discovered prior to it ending in “-um” in Latin have no I: plumbum, aurum, argentum, ferrum, hydrargyrum. However, “zinc” is cadmiæ. Hence there are two other questions. Firstly, why did they start sticking an I in in the first place? Following that, why are there later discoveries without an I? Molybdenum was discovered before they started putting it in, and the first one with an I is tellurium. Tantalum was named long after it was discovered and lanthanum was discovered quite late. It’s distinctive in that like actinium it’s the name of a whole series of similar elements. Tantalum is presumably called that because Tantalus wasn’t called “Tantalius”.

Hence it does make sense, historically, that platinum has no I. Platinum has strong symbolic value compared to the other platinum metals, which are relatively obscure, being used, of course, for the platinum anniversaries and the jubilee, the only one in the history of any of the home nations, so it’s appropriately rare. It also turns up in platinum discs and platinum blond hair. There is, however, no “Platinum Age” or a platinum medal. The latter is easy to understand, since it would involve disrupting an established system and render previous gold medals invalid, and the older version of the age system was thought up before platinum was known in the Old World. It was, however, known in the New, being found in river deposits in South America before the Christian Era. It’s one of the densest and least reactive metals, has a very high melting point and is very hard. In spite of all these qualities, pre-Columbian artifacts made of platinum do exist, such as a mask and jewellery, occurring in present day Columbia and Ecuador.

Platinum is actually the most widespread platinum metal. Osmium and iridium, the heaviest elements of all, are not widely found on the surfaces of planets because they sink to the centre during their worlds’ molten phases. However, being an even-numbered element, platinum is more abundant than some of the others by virtue of that alone. Palladium is considerably rarer and osmium and iridium are mainly associated with their density rather than their use as precious metals. Osmium is the rarest precious metal of all, and also the densest, and is used in alloys to make pen nibs and in electron microscopy. It slowly oxidises in air and the fumes it gives off can cause blindness and lung damage. Iridium is well-known as the sign that non-avian dinosaurs were wiped out by the Chicxulub Impactor, as small celestial objects do not exhibit the stratification of larger ones due to their low gravity and often low temperature. Ruthenium, rhodium and rhenium are also platinum metals. They’re all useful as catalysts, famously in the case of platinum itself. The anticancer drug cisplatin contains it, and works like most anticancer drugs by interfering with DNA replication.

It may be just me, but I consider platinum blond hair as gendered in this culture. I’ve never been a fan of fair hair, on me or others, in æsthetic terms, but the technique for producing the effect is academically interesting.

Of course, the reason I’ve chosen to blog about this today is the fact that it’s the Jubilee, but I wanted to do so in a way which didn’t partake of any controversy between royalist and republican sentiments, so here it is.

English English

What if the Norman Conquest hadn’t happened? How would people on this island be speaking now? What would’ve happened to the nation of England?

Although English is technically a Germanic language, it can sometimes be very hard to detect that aspect of it. This is less true of Scots. Thisses causes are ultimately the influence of Norman French and the Great Vowel Shift. The first created a precedent for the adoption of other words into English and also eroded some of the inflections. The other took the pronunciation of long vowels, later diphthongs, far, far away from its origins compared to most other European languages with the possible exceptions of French and Portuguese. I previously dashed over the five or six centuries of history between the departure of the Latin speakers and the arrival of the new Latin speakers, and an early discernible cause of the Norman invasion was that Edward the Confessor was raised in Normandy, because his mother Emma of Normandy fled England and Sweyn Forkbeard, and the reason she’d married into the Saxon royal family in the first place was to pacify Normandy, and so it goes back and back as usual, and the real problem with proposing these scenarios is whether anything other than the current state of affairs is feasible. Of course it is, but maybe a lot of what we imagine to be real counterfactual timelines only seem to be so because we don’t know enough, maybe even can’t know enough, about the ultimate causes of events. When truly acausal events have a major influence on history, the situation is different, so for example it’s possible, though amazingly improbable (and that measures the distance that universe is from this one) that Rutherford’s photographic plate didn’t become clouded by radioactivity from pitchblende, and consequently there are timelines where radioactivity wasn’t discovered until much later or at all, along with ones where Chernobyl didn’t happen, Hiroshima didn’t happen and so on, all independently of Rutherford’s discovery, but in fact all these events are practically certain. This raises the question of what improbable event of this nature has occurred in our timeline, and that may be the existence of the nuclear reactor in Gabon two thousand million years ago, or perhaps that’s failure to become a runaway nuclear explosion.

Nonetheless, I shall imagine a scenario resulting from some nebulous tenth century event in the English monarchy, or perhaps something else such as conflict between the Danes and their brethren the Normans, which prevented the Norman Conquest or any other successful invasion of this island by Romance-speaking nations. What would English be like today?

It’s sometimes claimed that English is the richer for the Normans. Whereas I think it’s true that it has led to greater flexibility which allowed the language to acquire loan words more easily during the imperial era, and also gave it a particular character, this is to malign other Germanic languages unfairly. Old Norse in its modern form as Icelandic has a fine literary tradition, as has German, and they certainly didn’t need to be propped up by another language. Hamlet’s “To be or not to be? That is the question. . .” was recast as “To be or not to be? That is what is mooted. . .” by someone like David Starkey, and seen as clumsy and impoverished, but this assumes that no other changes would’ve taken place in English as a result of the absence of Norman French influence and is therefore quite artificial. English sans French is not English with one arm tied behind its back, because a language is unlikely to remain restricted in this way but will develop into the space left by the non-existent French influence. For instance, the Germans call a printing press a Druckpresse and the Icelandic name is Prentvél, so they did adopt a Latinate term but we could’ve ended up calling it something like a “throngtram”, and we’d be fine. Nobody would be disadvantaged by that and we wouldn’t know the difference. Hamlet’s speech, and of course there would’ve been no Shakespeare but let’s ignore that for now because there would’ve been someone else, could’ve started as something like “To be or not to be, that is the fray”, from the Old English “frignan” – to ask, or perhaps “. . . that is the asking”. Something would’ve come along to fill the gap.

Henceforth I shall rid this writing of words from other tongues, although I know some will slip through. However, although this may well show that English can get along without those other words, it shouldn’t be taken as the way it would’ve been without Norman French on the grounds I went into above. In truth, I have been writing and speaking like this, on and off, for years since I hated French so at school that I sought to take out all of the words that stemmed from French in my speech, and also Latin. Nowadays it comes straightforwardly to me and has done for years, although the hatred I once felt is now gone as I’m now aware that it’s widely spoken in the Third World, such as Afrika. Though I know some French words will leak through, even Icelandic and German, while unkeen on words thence, do have some, as can be seen in the above “Druckpresse” and “Prentvél”.

Anoðer þing French did to English was to write it in its own spelling and ðis meant þrowing out some of þe alphabet. Þorn, eð, æsc and ƿynn all went, and sundry methods, often with H, arose instead. Moreover, French spelling was also foisted upon the vowels (ðere goes an un-English word!) as wið “OU” for “U”. So, from now on I scal be writing Englisc wið þe older spelling too, at þe risk of becoming hard to follow. Ðis also means getting back to my small “i” for “I”, since Englisc did ðat once too, before þe Normans.

Ðen ðere’s þe vowel scift. Ðis cannot be seen in writing on þe whole, but it means ðat the way words are said is no longer hu we have been saying ðem in þe last few hundred years. Yu can also take it as read ðat spellings like “know” and “ðoght” will have everything spoken raðer ðan just being a series of scapes which are most unlike þe way ðey are spoken. I am beginning to find it hard to write ðis nu wið ðese new meþods and I þink I will be making some mistakes.

Alðoh only Englisc underwent þe Great Vowel Scift, two oðer tongues had þe same þings happen to ðeir vowels in oðer ways. Englisc spelling was once marked by making boþ Y and I do þe same work. Þis arises from ðem having been unlike each oðer at first but becoming more alike later. Þe same happened in Icelandic. Both nu make what we wuld call a short I. In Englisc ðis has gone furðer owing to our vowel scift, so we nu have an “eye” for it too. Ðerefore we can believe ðat ðis melding, which happened for us about nine hundred years after Christ, would have happened anyway. Moreover, German has had þe same þings happen to its long U and I as we have to ours, and nu spells ðem “AU” and “EI”. Hence anoðer set of spellings comes to liht: Y is only written in words from oðer tongues such as Greek, and þe long I and U are spelt “AI” and “AU”, which i scal do here fortþwiþ.

Our speech was overshadowed for hundreds of years by French, and in ðat time it became somewhat rotten. Ðere was no highflown kind of Englisc – it was spoken by þews and þe loest of þe lo. Ðerefore its grammar was not given heed, and it grew downfallen. Once it was raised again into þe liht, it had taken on a niu scape. No more did it have “she”, “it” and “he” for words which named things, and no more did words betokening þe marks of a named þing end in vauels scowing which of þese holes þey belonged in. Had þat not happened, we wuld in all laiklihood stil have such þings to þink abaut when we spoke.

It has become hard to go on writing þis owing to what i have taken on board and i still feel þat þere is a bit to go into, so instead of grinding awai at it, i scal scow iu where we mai have ended up wið a sketch of our speech as it wuld be spoken todai. Bi þe wai, þe awkwardness of the wording here is not laike hau þe true speech wuld come over.

It sculd bee born in mind ðat ðee French swai upon Englisc writing no wuld haaven happened. In his stead weere ðer ongoinde spellings from ðee Olde Englisce taimes. On ðee whole, ðee tunge weere laik unto Middle Englisc mid oone oðer two oddnesses. Ic no can undertaaken ðat ic write ðis wel.

Ic scal beginnen aniu:

Ðat alphabet is sumhwat laik unto aur oȝen but for twein stafs ðat sinden offwesend: ðer sinden no Q oðer Y. Hwen one wuld wraiten ðo laudes, moate one “KW” and “I” forwenden, and one mote eek munen, ðat ðer be no laud “Y” auttaaken “I”. Ðer sinen eek sume more stafs not faunden in todais Englisc:

A, B, C, D, Ð, E, F, G, Ȝ, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, R, S, T, Þ, U, V, W, X, Z.

“Д, hwilc as an smale staf is “ð”, is laik unto aur unwhisperede “TH”. “Þ” oðer “þ” is ðat ilk whisperede oan. So firn so ic woat, “Ȝ” is onli in Englisch founden, hwer it is nau “GH” writen, and her it haþ þree lauds: als “CH” in “loch”, “H” in “humour” oðer ðee unwhisperede aforesaide “CH”. R is als in Italian oðer Scots. Ðer is no “Q” forðai most of ðee words mid “QU” in hem sinden fro French oðer Latin and ðee Olde Englisce words ðermid weren mid “CW” spelt. Forðai C is onli said als “CH” als in “curc” nauadais, ðis is nau spelt “KW”. “WH” is spelt “HW” als it was in Olde Englisc.

Ðee vowels worken ðus:

A – als in Norðern “man”

E – hwen laudli spooken, als in “when”. Hwen not, als in “mother”.

EA – als above but lenger.

I – als in “this”.

O – als in Scots “pot”.

OA – als above but lenger.

U – als in “put”.

AA – als in “barn”.

EE – als in Norðern “they”.

II – als in “machine”.

OO – als in Norðern “gnome”.

UU – als in “soon”.

Nouns

Ðis is hwer ðis Englisc straieþ fro true Englisc moste. Amung ðee Teutonike tunges spooken in Europe , Anglik aloan haþ but grammatical kin akin to ðee sexes of ðee þing oðer folk at hand. Of ðee oaðer, German, Aislandisc and Norn aloan haaven þree kin. Ðee oather al haaven twein: neuter and amainscap. Ðerfor we cunen taaken it ðat Englisc doo laikwaise. Herfor haave ic taken Englisc twein kin to haaven. Ðee formere waiflie and mannlie kin sinden becumen oan amainscap kin and neuter is jet neuter. Ðus alðoȝ a waif bi name klept scal “hee” klept be, ðat word “waif” itself is “it” klept. Ðer sinden but two þride pronomia personale. Laikwaise, “stoan” is amain – “ðee stoan”, not “ðat stoan”. “Stoan” is “hee”, not “it”.

Ðee ofteste kind of noun by fere is ðat hwilch has “-(e)s” for ðat manikind. Ðo eek forwenden ðat ilk for ðee genitivum. Ðer sinden ðoȝ sume nouns ðat haaven zero manikinds, swic als folk, þing, jear, swain, hors, sceep, deer, neat, weapen, faul and fisc. Sum herof sinden eek ðus in aur oȝene Englisc. Ðer sinden eek “-en” kinds, bilaiend oxen, eyen, breðren, cildern, lambren, kain, koalen, treen, meaten, steaden, sunen. Ðen ðer sinden sundrie nouns ðat haaven manikinds hwer ðee vowel is unlaik unto ðe oankind: foot – feet, man – men, goos – gees, maus – mais, laus – lais, kau – kain. Oaðere zero manikinds sinden “freend”, “feend”, “niȝt”, “faðer” and “breec”. Words borroȝed from Latin and Greek haaven ðee Latine nominative ending but not ðee Greek.

Adjektiva

Jee mauen haaven merked ðat sumhwat befalleþ ðee adjektivs in sume settings, hwer ðai oan “-E” after ðee ende of sume words but not al. Ðis is laik unto ðee oaðere Teutonik speeces, ðat maaken hem unalaik jif ðai twix ðeir word for “ðee” oðer “dat” and a noun sinden, oðer oaðere tookens of bestimmedness swich als “main” oðer “ðain”, and eke befor ðe manikind, swich als “an hiȝ cild”, “ðat hiȝe cild” and “sume hiȝe cildren”. Als in tru Englisch, ðer sinden sume adjektiva ðat haaven autlandisce “-er” and “-est” kinds, laik unto aure “better” and “best”, hwilc ðai eek haaven, but ðai haaven also “laite” – “lesse” – “least” and “far” – “fore” – “first” so wel so “long” – “lenger” – “lengest” and “strong” – “strenger” – “strengest”, and “elder and “eldest” sinden spoken midaut sister and breðren. So was it hwilom in true Englisc.

Of ðee tallis, “oan” and “two” haaven kinds beyond ðee nominativa. Oan haþ “oans” for ðat genitivum and “two” “twein” for ðat objektivum and “tweir” for ðat genitivum. Hens ðee tallis for reckoning sinden:

oan, two, þree, fower, faiv, six, seven, eȝt, nain, teen, enleven, twelf (becumeþ “twelve” jif bestimmed oðer manikind), þriteen, fowerteen, fifteen, sixteen, seveteen, eȝteen, ninteen, twenti, oan and twenti . . . hundred . . . þausend. Ðen we haaven eek ðee words: first, oaðer, þrid, ferþ, fift, sixt, seveþ, eȝteþ, niȝende, tenþe.

Artikula

Ðisse sinden liȝt. “An” and “a” sinden forwent als in tru Englisc. “The” overseteþ als “ðat” for oankind neutrum and “ðee” for al els. Oaðerwaise ðer is no token of kin oaðer ðan ðe pronomina. Ic am aware ðat ic overloade ðat word “kin” bai ðe wei.

Pronomina

Ðee firste persona pronomina sinden “ic” and “wee”. Ic kan maaken a grid herabaut:

Nominativumicweeðaujee
Genitivummainaurðainjuur
Objektivummeeusðeeju

Ðee þridde personae sinden:

AmainNeutrumManikind
Nominativumheeitðei
Genitivumhishisðeir
Akkusativumhinithem, ðem
Dativumhimhimhem, ðem

Ðis scoweþ ðee startlinde þing abaut ðat pronominum “he” als in Middle Englisc. In West Saxon, ðer weren þree þridde personale pronomina: “heo”, “hit” and “he”. In Middle Englisc, ðee laud “EO” bekam “E”, and ðerfor boþe ðee waiflie and manlie pronomina weren ðat ilk. Ðis led to ðe so-callede “generic he” but ðee need was felt for a niu waifli pronomen, hens “she”. Ðis meaneþ ðat menisce sinden “he” klept, even jif ðei waifs sinden. Ðee pronomina sinden also aloan in havind ðeir oȝene akkusative and dative kinds, mid “hin” and “him”, and ðis is moreover tru of ðee pronomina for askings forwent:

AloanMani
Nominativumhwoohwat
Genitivumhwoshwos
Akkusativumhwonhwat
Dativumhwomhwom

Ðat dativum his oȝene kind havind is kind of weak forþai non-livinde þing sinden seldom þing “given”, and ðat is tru of ale pronomina. Hawever, ðat dativum in Englisc foldeþ ðat instrumentale in, and ðerfor more waideli forwent is.

Ðer sinden eek bits of ðe twofolde kin left, swic als “hweðer” hwer wee “hwilc” sayen jif ðer sinden but two þing.

Verba

It haþ oȝenscip ðat ðee stronge verba sinden waidspreader ðan in tru Englisc, and even sume words ðat weren in Olde Englisc weak sinden strong bekumen. But befor ic doo ðo, mote one þinke of þee greatere kind of verbe:

walken, to walken:

ic walke

ðau walkest

hee walkeþ

wee, jee, ðei walken.

ic walkede

ðau walkedst

hee walkedeþ

wee, jee, ðei walkeden

walkind

walked

Ðe stronge verba sinden in seven bits cloven, and mor ðerof sinden in al ðan in tru Englisc. Also, ðei haven al of ðo kinds in Middle Englisc faunden, and niu stronge verba haven arisen hwen ðat stem raimeþ.

Ic feele nau ðat ic haave ȝenuȝ said, and ðee speec made is most akin to Middle Englisc. Ðer sinden but fiwe wendings from ðee tru Middle Englisc speec herin. Oan hardness is makind niwe words for þing ðat weren not back in ðee oldene dais. Ic haave curen to forwenden words from Latin itself for ðee grammaticale words, forþai ðee laiks of ðee Germans and Aislanders haven alaik doon.

If you’ve been patient enough to get this far, thank you for indulging me. This has proven quite a struggle to write and I suspect there are many inconsistencies in this post, which in fact replaces a different post on the idea of a generic Germanic language. However, now it’s seen the light of day I hope it’s not too boring.

Extra Letters

The English version of the Latin script is dull. It rarely uses diacritics and my perception of it is that it only uses basic letters. That is, it adds no new letters to the basic set, but is this true? The alphabet one grows up with is always likely to seem basic, with other languages either missing out letters we see as essential or adding extra superfluous ones. The question is therefore, how common is it to use a twenty-six letter Latin alphabet? What do I mean by “how common”? Am I counting this by languages, number of speakers or number of reader and writers? Is there a relevant historical context?

The alphabet we use now is neither identical to the one the Roman empire used nor the same as the variants used to write English through history. The Roman alphabet itself was as follows:

ABCDEFGHIKLMNOPQRSTVXYZ

That’s twenty-three letters, with three at the end which were only used in foreign words, actually Greek. K was also rare because initially C was always hard. Q looks at first like a redundant letter as well, but in fact wasn’t because the Latin “QV” was simultaneously articulated, so it was a K and a W pronounced at the same time. I won’t harp on about Latin pronunciation here but V was always pronounced as U or W as English pronounced it. It is a little odd that Latin didn’t just use a Q instead of “QV”, but it didn’t for some reason, and the letter it was adapted from, qoph, is a uvular plosive which is nothing like the pronunciation of Q in Latin.

Latin itself introduced three digraphs later on: Æ, Œ and a third “AV” digraph which I can’t find the Unicode for. “AV” was, as far as I know, lost without trace with the Roman Empire and has never been used in any other language, but the first two throve. All of them seem to represent a gradual shift in the pronunciation of Latin vowels from diphthongs to pure vowels which they seemed to want to represent in spelling. The first two are common in modern English up until quite recently, and the first, known as “æsc” from the name of a rune which represented the same sound, was used in Anglo-Saxon all the way through to the Norman Conquest and beyond, since early Mercian texts in the post-Conquest period persisted with Anglo-Saxon spelling for some time. In English it represented a short “A” sound as in the Southern English English pronunciation of “pant”, and its longer counterpart as in “man”. Later on it was used to write words such as “encyclopædia” or “pæony”, but this was a Latinate approach not connected to its earlier use. There was probably a short period between the change in Midland English spelling and the adoption of Latinate words into English when it wasn’t used. As for Œ, this was used in French and was adopted into English as well, and is not as common as Æ. I’ve seen older alphabets in English-language encyclopædias and dictionaries which are not used for alphabetical order in the book itself but which place Æ, Œ and also the ampersand, &, at the end of the alphabet in that order. There’s a sense in which & is also a digraph, standing for “ET”, but it’s now perceived as an ideogram for a conjunction. Although this ordering didn’t influence alphabetical order in English, it does in Swedish, Finnish, Danish and Norwegian, which also put similar letters to these at the end of the alphabet. In the case of Danish and Norwegian, the letters are Æ and Ø, whereas Swedish and Finnish follow the German convention of using Ä and Ö. All of them follow these with Å, although in Finnish this is of only marginal use.

As a child I used to find the existence of extra letters in non-English Latin alphabets exciting and exotic, but of course had I grown up speaking, reading and writing, say, Danish, they would’ve just seemed normal to me. In fact the French use of Œ never really seemed odd or foreign so much as a mildly taunting reminder that there were stranger and more exciting languages out there than that of the people living fifty-seven kilometres southeast of me, regularly spoken by tourists on the streets of my home city and appearing in various signs and notices about the place. One of the oddities about living in East Kent is that far from being part of a gentle blending of culture and language into another milieu, the area digs its heels in and insists on being even more English than anywhere else. It’s no accident that Nigel Farage represented Thanet South (apparently the constituency’s official name is “South Thanet”). It’s a bit like Gibraltar really.

Scots is very slightly different, although not as she is spelt. It occasionally uses a Z in place and proper names such as Menzies to represent what has now become a /j/ sound, or consonantal “Y” for an English speller. This is from the letter yogh, Ȝ, which represents the “ch” sound as in “loch” and the H as in “human”, and is now written “gh”. Yogh evolved from the letter G as written in the Anglo-Saxon script known as Insular Half-Uncial, but didn’t become a letter in its own right until after the Norman Conquest. The Normans were generally unkeen on letters which didn’t exist in the French alphabet at the time, which is why it changed to “GH”. In general they tended to add an H to letters in English to create a new combination for a sound absent in French by analogy with their own “CH”.

W is more or less a foreign letter for all Romance languages so far as I know. French uses it for loanwords such as “weekend” and “waggon”, and since many of these are from German it’s often pronounced as /v/. Italian lacks quite a few letters found in our alphabet, including J, K, W, X and Y. Presumably to an Italian-language reader, English looks exotic for using these letters, but the weight of population is against this deeming them as unusual or “extra” since it isn’t a particularly widely-spoken language. Of H pronounced as an actual sound instead of an indication of a different pronunciation, only Romanian now has a strongly-pronounced version among the Romance languages, although I did once own a Spanish dictionary published in the twentieth century CE which reported that older Spanish speakers faintly pronounced it, so I presume it only disappeared from the language in the nineteenth. That might also be Castilian rather than Spanish overall.

H is more or less what English has instead of diacritics, and is used for similar purposes in Irish and Gàidhlig when those are written in the same script as English. Gàidhlig has a short alphabet compared to English:

ABCDEFGHILMNOPRSTU

(Plus the letters using a grave accent). The traditional Irish script was based on uncial and therefore differed from English in various ways:

As a dot was often used to replace H, that letter was practically non-existent in Irish, making the alphabet even shorter. English also used to use this script if you go back far enough, sans dots, although for some reason it dotted the Y but not the I. This gave Irish only seventeen letters for a time. Q-Celtic letters are named after trees incidentally.

The shortest alphabet of all, Latin or otherwise, is used by Rotokas, a Papuan language spoken on the island of Bougainville:

A E G I K O P R S T U V

Perhaps surprisingly, this includes two redundant letters as T and S can replace each other, and V is sometimes written B. The Hawaiian alphabet is also quite short:

AEHIKLMNOPUW

However, Hawaiian also has the ʻokina, ʻ, representing the glottal stop, which does count as a letter. Another short alphabet, this time in an unusual order, is used by Samoan:

AEIOUFGLMNPSTVHKR.

H, K and R are only used in foreign loanwords and R is often pronounced L. Samoan G has an odd history. When the first printing press was being sent over to Samoa, there was a storm and many of the N’s got washed overboard, so G was used for the “ng” sound which would otherwise have been spelt that way. So the story goes, anyway.

To people familiar with any of these alphabets as first languages, English would surely seem quite exotic, as our alphabet is twice as long as these, but at least in the case of Hawaiian, English is so dominant that this is unlikely to happen. Samoan is sometimes in a similar situation as it’s spoken on American Samoa.

In European languages, almost every one using the Latin script also uses diacritics, even including Welsh and Gàidhlig, although at least one orthography for Cornish doesn’t really. However, Dutch and Flemish don’t. Dutch, however, views “IJ” as a single letter and capitalises it as one, sticking it between Y and Z. Flemish just uses a Y for this. Frisian does use them, but seems to consider I and Y as variants of the same letter, and uses C only in the combination CH. Scots, as well as using Z and Y occasionally for yogh in proper names, also properly avoids apostrophes in many places where English would put them, because for Scots they’re not historically correct. Scots is descended from Northumbrian rather than Mercian and not all the letters deemed to be missing in English spelling are in fact missing in Scots, so some uses of apostrophes are culturally imperialist.

When I first started to learn German at thirteen, I was excited to be able to use a language with an extra letter, namely the Eszet, ß. However, it isn’t really compulsory, is absent in Swiss German and amounts to a digraph. It’s a long S followed by a final one, and like the ʻokina, lacks separate capital and lowercase forms, making it look a bit weird when something is written in all-caps.

Old English had three other letters it has since lost as well as æsc: Þ,ð and Ƿ. The first, þorn, represents voiceless “TH” and was a worthwhile letter of the alphabet although it’s easily confused with P. The difference is that it has an ascender and a descender. Ð, which is ð in lowercase, is often interchangeable with Þ in Old English manuscripts but is used to represent the voiced “TH” sound. Finally, ƿynn, like þorn, is an adapted rune, but represents /w/. The oddity about the two runic letters is that they were both so similar to P, and I imagine this is one reason why they stopped using them, although there was also suspicion around the use of runes as they were perceived as pagan by the Normans. Even so, the loss of Þ and Ð is unfortunate.

There are two diacritics which I do in fact use in English. One is the diæresis, which marks out the second vowel in a pair when they don’t form a diphthong but are pronounced as separate syllables. There was a trend in the mid-twentieth century to replace hyphenation in words which caused two vowels to be placed adjacently with this diacritic, which seems like a neater solution and also saves space, but it has gone out of fashion. The other thing I do is use a grave accent over an E in a past participle ending when I would pronounce the “-ed” as a separate syllable, which is a poetic thing rather than used in prose. I also use diacritics over some French loanwords into English. All of this is really because I find it quite sad that we don’t really use them. I kind of feel like our failure to use them is a kind of insular assertion of English, not British, identity which is pretty pathetic and spurious, and I’d prefer to join the rest of Europe and employ them. It’s notable that Irish, Gàidhlig and Welsh are all fine with them but English isn’t.

Afrikan languages which adopted the Latin alphabet have a basis for their spelling expressed as “vowels as in Italian, consonants as in English” or some such. This certainly applies to (Ki)Swahili for example, such as the word “jambo”. This is probably one cause of what I think of as the notorious “Afrika” with a K issue, which I came down on the K side of rather than the C side (“seaside”?). Because English could in theory completely abandon C were it not for its occurrence in CH, many Afrikan languages which use Latin script only use K for /k/. I’ve been into this already because although it doesn’t feel quite right in terms of its rational justification, I do it out of respect for those who claim it’s imperialist to spell it with a C because I see them as having specialised experience. Some Afrikan languages which do use the Latin alphabet, such as Yoruba, strictly Yorùbá, do use diacritics, in this case to represent tones, but also dots under the letters to indicate different pronunciations. In the case of Yorùbá, the situation is complicated. What I’ve just described is the approach taken in Nigeria, but in Benin ε and Ɔ are used instead of dotted E and O, and Odùduwà the divine king is said to have revealed a script to Tolúlàṣẹ Ògúntósìn in Benin, so that’s also used. This is typical of West Afrika in that there are more than two dozen recently invented scripts in the region.

Counting languages written using the Latin script by numbers of speakers, which may be much larger than numbers of writers, the dozen most spoken languages of this kind are:  English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, Indonesian, German, Turkish, Vietnamese, Hausa, (Ki)Swahili, Italian and Nigerian Pidgin.  Yorùbá is the fourteenth, incidentally.  That's nearly fifteen hundred million as a first language, but many of them are more widely used as second languages. Of these, English, Nigerian Pidgin, Indonesian and Swahili lack diacritics, counting the use of the hooks on implosive letters in Hausa as diacritics.  Turkish uses the dot over the I as a diacritic, so it's hard to know what to do with that because if it's accepted as one that would mean that English just does have diacritics, over I and J, but Turkish romanisation was quite unusual generally and is a bit of an anomaly.  Vietnamese uses what strikes me as an excessive amount of them.  The total number of first language speakers of English, Indonesian, Nigerian Pidgin and Swahili is 479 million, which puts English in the "unusual" category for not using diacritics.
The next question is, does English have any unusual letters by number of first language alphabet users in this group? In other words, do any of our letters count as exotic? In toto, the letters missing from at least one of these languages which are present in English, including those used only in foreign loanwords in them, are: C (only as CH in Swahili), F, J, K, Q, V, W, X, Y and Z. Vietnamese is phonologically unusual as a language, and it alone excludes F and W. Of the other letters, W is not used for native words in six of them, Q and X in three, and J and K in two. This means that over a thousand million language users in this group have no native use for W. As for the others, K is not used by 297 million, Q is eschewed by forty-seven million, J by 141 million and X by 130 million. In terms of how “European” these absences are, Q is only absent in the non-European versions unless Turkish is counted as a European language, and K is only absent in European languages.

Therefore, the best candidate for an unusual or “extra” letter in English seems to be W. This letter is not found in the majority of scripts for the twelve most spoken first languages using the Latin alphabet. Yet I can, as a native English user, look at the alphabet and not see W as exotic, even though it kind of is. In fact it’s so exotic that even the Old English alphabet lacked it.

There’s also a kind of “core” of “normal” letters, though some languages lack these too. These are: A, B, D, E, F, G, H, I, K, L, M, N, O, P, R, S, T and U. The surprises here are L and R, as many languages lack one or the other.

What, then, is English like as a written language aside from its weird orthography? Well, it’s remarkably unadorned with accents and the like, it uses one slightly unusual letter, W, and it tends to use H instead of diacritics. Don’t even get me or anyone else started on the spelling, but if someone with no reading knowledge of the Latin alphabet were to attempt to recognise written English, they should look for a language which uses C not followed by H, and also W, but lacks accents. If they did this, the chances are they would be left with a choice between English, Dutch, Flemish and Indonesian.

Writing this has made me think about West Afrika a lot, so now you’ve got something on that coming.