I am a great advocate of the word Fuck. Its versatility is pretty much limitless. Both a verb and a noun. An expression of elation and disappointment. A call to action and a decision to sit it out. Having been endowed with the rather fanciful title of post-graduate professional researcher at a leading UK University my professional work has been exclusively engaged with investigating matters of criminology and security. Both areas are hugely fascinating but anything you do on a repetitive basis can sometimes become as boring as fuck so I decided to delve a little deeper into the ancestry, application and notoriety of this four letter word which, as I have advanced in age, has become a constant verbal companion. For example, nowadays I employ my own commentary on the mundane activities of life. For instance, rising from the sofa, “Oh Fuck!”, stretching out in bed, “Fuck yes!” and the multifunctional, “For Fucks sake!” The latter can be conveniently used in text messages in the truncated version ‘FFS!’.
Yet before I venture into any critical analysis I would like to explore some anecdotal evidence first. Where did my mastery of this word originate? According to my parents this wasn’t the first word that I uttered as a baby so there had to be a source, a moment in time that, no doubt, I thought, “Fuck, that’s a good word!” Without the fuck because on that glorious moment of first contact I didn’t know what I now know, if you can follow that fucking logic.
If my memory serves me right the location was Grove Cranes, Bicester in Oxfordshire circa August 1979 when I was working my second summer job after leaving school and before starting college in nearby Banbury. I had been brought up to think that ‘bugger’ and ‘bloody’ were the main swear words. Then from apparently nowhere and with no warning some old guy, face contorted with venom, simply delivered the epic one-liner, “Who the fuck did that?’ The ‘who’ and the ‘what’ were irrelevant. That word simply hung in the ether. I was captivated! In terms of naughtiness it left my earlier two curses in the realms of playground banter. This was elite swearing! And that word so simple in construction but with a reverence and guttural twang that had me positively hooked!
Around the same time this newfound knowledge changed my life as I suddenly realised that I could weaponise this keyword.
My Dad had introduced me to one of my life passions: Speedway. My other obsession is Notts County football club. My late Dad has a lot to answer for! Three years earlier I had seen my first meeting at Sandy Lane, Cowley in Oxford. I was immediately enthralled by the all action honesty of four riders belting around an oval track inside a compact stadium which on this occasion was packed to the rafters with excited spectators. When I later learnt that a Speedway motorcycle has no brakes and only one fixed gear I was even more attracted to the heroism of the athletes that wrestled their steeds around the corners with the unique power slides. To be associated with this level of testosterone, albeit from the relative safety of the terraces, gave a very shy kid with bucked teeth vicarious confidence. I fell in love with Speedway and I loved my Dad, my best mate, too.
Our regular patronage to Oxford Speedway on a Thursday night became the highlight of my week. Dad also took me to the odd away meeting at nearby Coventry, Reading and Swindon. Then one evening on the third bend my little piece of joyful pilgrimage came under attack. I had been used to being called Goofy at school. However, as I had matured my height was enough to make most of the other school kids a little apprehensive in calling me this name, so I got used to the infrequent jibe. On this occasion three kids mustered close to my Dad and I and the sniggering started. I am fairly sure that Dad didn’t suspect a thing, yet my radar was alerted. Things got progressively worse over the ensuing weeks with overt, yet clumsily covered by a hand across the mouth, references to my tombstone front teeth that began to flow whenever my Dad went to get a drink or visit the loo. “Neeer, what’s up Doc?” was particularly gut wrenching when standing in a crowd.
I began to wonder if I should continue to badger my Dad to go. Ego at whatever age can often be fragile and I guess more so during those tricky adolescent years. I felt positively ill. My love for my passion and my Dad was huge, yet I couldn’t untangle the fear I had of being subjected to what I perceived to be public humiliation. The synchronicity of finding my best new buddy of a word changed all of that in an instance.
For a change, my Dad had decided that we should stand in the covered stand close to the starting gate. If I was expecting that a change of location would lessen the likelihood of the three tormentors from finding me, I was wrong. At the interval, my Dad went to the bar whilst I remained in situ within a healthy crowd but feeling at that precise moment alone and vulnerable. Sure enough the first volley of piss-taking erupted. On this occasion I was ready. Like a mad despot armed with an arsenal of nuclear weapons I launched the biggest one that I had to hand.
“FUCK OFF!”
The ferocity of the delivery, its tone, volume, and brutality even surprised me as it dominated the space for a delicious moment in time. I am convinced that the Earth stopped spinning and the whole of the stadium jerked their necks round to watch those three parasites rapidly and meekly stumble away never to be seen again. That was my beautiful Plan A. I had no back up plan so fuck knows what I would have done if this had failed but it didn’t. From that day forward that little word changed more than just creating a safe space to watch Speedway with my Dad. It gave me a precious belief in myself that I could stand up to bullies. With this newfound confidence, a brace, and my height I became more excited about my future and perhaps my choice of career as a police officer was spawned from that isolated experience. To this day I can smell out a bully and I sincerely owe it all to that one little word.
So where did it originate?
According to the domestic literary bible, The Oxford English Dictionary, the historic beginnings of the word are somewhat uncertain although there is a high probability that it is Germanic in nature, emerging in the 16th Century, unsurprisingly, relating to sex.
Detailed linguistic research by Walsh & Leonard (1974) in their book ‘Archives of Sexual Behavior (volume 3, number 4), suggest that males prefer the word ‘fuck’; females prefer the word ‘screw’. Males in comparison with females were more prone to approve the use of ‘fuck’ and ‘screw’ in same-sex or mixed-sex company. Females had a fondness for using the phrase ‘make love’, which may be related to the strong emphasis that females place on love in the context of sexual intimacy.
Now the act of sex should not be ambiguous. If you want it and the other person doesn’t then you could be heading for a whole heap of trouble! This is where the word fuck can come to our rescue. I would contend that in our present age of global migration some alternative terms, such as ‘screw’, could be somewhat problematic. For example, as passions rise with your foreign lover the statement, “I want a screw” may have them rummaging around in the toolbox!
There also remains a need to differentiate between ‘love making’ and ‘sex’. The former carries the allure of pure emotions and a connection between those involved, a meaningful act. Yet sex can be mechanical too. Sudden and earthy and not necessarily an expression of feelings. The word fuck offers that distinction. It is helpful, unequivocal, and pretty much, in my field trials at least, universal.
But is it offensive? With the onset of 24/7 live TV fuck has littered a number of high-octane interviews, especially within the annals of sport, only for some righteous commentator to conclude, “Sorry for any offence caused to our viewers.” But in reality isn’t this a tad unfair? Is it really that rude or offensive?
According to academic research it is only ranked ninth in terms of obscenity. Not even a rostrum place! So far behind the others that it is a mere dot on the landscape.
(Baudhuin, E. Scott. (1973) Obscene language & evaluative response: An empirical study. Psychological Reports: Volume 32, pp. 399-402.)
Why the fuck the authors listed the words from least to most offensive is fucking confusing!
In conclusion and in my humble opinion, it is certainly not as acrid as the nuclear option (in the UK, number 19 on the chart) and the one that has my Mum denouncing me immediately and threatening to eliminate me from her will. Fuck is an all-rounder! A champion! A legend amongst words! If you don’t agree then I suggest you just fuck off!
© Ian Kirke 2020
Photo by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash