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Aussies Cutting Lossies. Bewdy!

I was pleased to notice recently that Australian geophysicists are playing a leading role in developing data compression technology. This will be a great help for companies wanting to transmit data electronically from the field to the processing centre, or one centre to another.

When I mentioned this to an American geophysical friend, however, he quickly dampened my national pride, claiming the work was not Australian at all. Actually, ‘dampened’ is an understatement. This was more at the ‘rain on my parade’ level, and I told him so.

“That’s certainly sending ‘er down, Hughie.” I said.

“Who’s Hughie?” he asked looking all around, like a cocky on a Chrissie tree.

(John Gorter asked me that last year, I thought, and then remembered that it was John who used the expression and Steve Jensen from Nexen Calgary who asked me what it meant. We were at Agip’s office, talking about the long-overdue rain expected that afternoon. Steve’s a geophysicist and he’ll be grateful for the compression technology after the Aussies get it working.)

“It’s an Aussie prayer for rain.” I explained. “Send ‘er down, Hughie.” ¹

“Who’s Hughie?” he bellowed, now in a real hissie fit.

“The God of Rain.” I said. “Hughie the Greek. Hughie, Zeuie, Zeus. Or Hughie the Roman. Hupiter. Jupiter.”

He wasn’t convinced and I had to concede there is some disagreement about this. Even Frederick Ludowyk, Editor of the bi-annual Ozwords from the Australian National Dictionary Centre, thinks it a bit dicky. He can’t believe Australian slang from a century ago could have such classical origins!

Of course, given this attitude to Australians, Ludowyk may be a Pommie, and their equivalent expression is ‘Send ‘er down, David’ – which is about what you'd expect from that lot! It's probably an adaption of the Aussie expression during World War I, with David substituted because a) they didn’t understand Hughie, and b) as both the biblical King and the patron saint of Wales, David is associated with rain.

I told my friend that there are even Americans claiming the expression comes from the Vietnam war. The Iroquois helicopters the US Army used as gunships were built by Hughes Corporation and coded HUII. When soldiers on the ground saw their air support arrive, they would cheer ‘Send ‘em down, HUII (hu-ie)’. Thence, it came back to Australia where it was popular with surfies in the 1960s, supposedly referring to both sunshine and waves.

“A furphy!” I declared. “A total porkie. Like claiming Aussies aren’t leading the data compression research. Our calling on Hughie is documented as far back as 1912.”

My friend pointed out that the work I was referring to was by GeoEnergy Inc., in Tulsa, Oklahoma. “Not exactly the centre of Australia, is it?” he snorted, clearly in a tantie by this point.

That proved nothing, I suggested. There are Aussies all over Oklahoma. I was there for four years myself. One or more Aussies are definitely at GeoEnergy. The proof is in the names.

Data compression uses algorithms to shrink the volume of data to be stored or transmitted, thereby saving considerable disc space and transmission time. For example, 23452345 becomes s2345r, where ‘s’ marks a sequence being repeated, and ‘r’ records the repeated number(s). This becomes s2t5r by using t to mark sequential numbers.

Data (8-bit) compressed by a factor of 1.5 to 3.0 suffers essentially no data loss and processes achieving this are said, not surprisingly, to be lossless. It is the unsuccessful processes (that is, losing data during compression and transmission) that show the stamp of the Aussie fraternity: they are called ‘lossies’.

“Only an Australian would called them lossies.” I boasted. “That hypocoristic ‘-ie’ is a national shibboleth.”

He reeled back from that mouthful, I can tell you, like I’d hit him with a tinnie at a barbie.

“We even have homonymistic hypocoristics!” I declared, knowing it was a low blow to be so high brow, especially when he was in no possie to defend himself.

“A cossie is a swimsuit”, I went on, “but Kossie with a K is a mountain where you ski. A cocky is a farmer or a parrot. A pollie is a parrot or a politician. A trannie is a radio or a transparency – or a transvestite.”

(A hypocoristic is essentially a nickname, I explained, usually made by shortening the real name and adding a suffix. Most languages, including English, make hypocoristics from personal names, such as Jackie and Susie, but Australians also do this with surnames. We do this for national sporting figures (Boonie and Warnie) and even pollies (Hawkie), but it's just as common among mates.)

We also have hypocoristics for all variety of places and things, and this is what distinguishes our language more than anything.² Roland Sussex, the Professor for Applied Language Studies at the Centre for Language, University of Queensland, has recorded 2500 hypocoristics in use in Australian English, far more than any other form of the language. He is thinking about a dictionary – to be known as a dicie, of course!

Not all hypocoristics end in ‘ie’ or ‘y’ but this is by far the most common, and the most distinctly Australian. These words may communicate affection but their use also expresses identity. They are a fundamental part of our national language, and we find them natural only from ‘Australians’. We are very good at welcoming people from all nations and cultures, but we seem to expect them to settle into the landscape for a while before they belong in our language space.

“So you can only refer to Australian places this way.” I declared. “It’s not exportable. If you want to see the reef you go to Brissie and then Rocky, but OS, it Singers and Bangers or Honkers. Those are hypocoristics too, but the ‘ie’ ending is strictly Auss-ie.”

“And it’s the same with people. You have to be an Aussie to get the moniker. Or there must be special circumstances. Leyton Hewitt’s girlfriend is Swedish tennis star Kim Clijsters, and the romance contributed to her becoming so popular with Australian crowds this summer that she was accorded ‘honorary citizenship’ and papers referred to ‘our Kimie’.”

“We’re talking about people who call the hospital a hossie.” I said. “So if a seismic transmission turns up in Tulsa with half the data missing, and it gets called a lossie, you can be sure there’s an Aussie about.”

I concluded there, feeling a bit dicky to have made it back to the point.

My friend nodded, quite glassy-eyed, and I took this for an okey-dokey and assured him we weren’t claiming all the credit. We’d divvy up the pressies when bonus time arrived. That’ll be a bewdy, I’m sure.

Peter Purcell (Purcie)

¹ It’s Sunday morning, and Macka’s ABC radio show has just featured a poem about the end of the drought.
There’s water in the creeks again,
There’s laughter in the town,
And something something something,
So, Hughie, send ‘er down.
I enjoy such co-incidences, and the re-enforcement they offer.

² I’d been thinking about these words since hearing a woman on radio, during the terrible fires in Canberra, speaking about the ‘firies’ who saved her garden. My initial reaction was that she was a sheep short in the top paddock, talking about fairies that way! The front page of The Australianthe next morning had a photo of these good ‘firies’, and they were very large Australian firemen.

Peter Purcell