Dot Wordsworth

The genteel roots of dunking

iStock 
issue 20 January 2024

When I was a girl, it was bad manners to dunk a biscuit. Then I went abroad and found that Italian biscotti could scarcely be consumed in any other way. Back home, dunking a ginger nut seemed less criminal. Now I hear people using dunk and dump indifferently. Can this be right? After all, words of similar pronunciation, such as bought and brought, are often misused, one for the other, though the meaning is very different.

I’m not sure what word people used before dunk turned up, which was little more than 100 years ago. Did they say sod, seethe, soak? I was surprised to find that dunk is a borrowing from Pennsylvania German. This is often called Pennsylvania Dutch, but is a form of Palatine or southern German. So dunk derives from the same Indo-European origin that gave us Latin tingere, ‘to moisten’. Anyway, the earliest citation recorded in the OED is from the New York Tribune in 1917: ‘The first person we see dunking we shall apprehend as a German spy.’

US basketball players used dunk to describe thrusting the ball down into the basket ‘much like a cafeteria customer dunking a roll in coffee’ in the words of a New York Times journalist in 1936. It wasn’t until the late 1960s that slam dunk appeared. But now I find in English papers sentences like this in the Guardian: ‘Fossil fuel companies don’t need to dunk on nuclear power because many environmentalists have done it for them.’ I think basketball people do talk about dunking on opponents. But the usage spreading in Britain must derive from dump on. In 1967 the journal American Speech noticed the use of be dumped on with the meaning ‘to have one’s arguments continually defeated by a particular opponent’.

GIF Image

You might disagree with half of it, but you’ll enjoy reading all of it

TRY 3 MONTHS FOR $5
Our magazine articles are for subscribers only. Start your 3-month trial today for just $5 and subscribe to more than one view

Comments

Join the debate for just £1 a month

Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.

Already a subscriber? Log in