This week I have chosen a poem that is more a loose collection of limericks, titled “Nomenklaturik”. The perpetrator(s) have chosen to remain anonymous…

The bridegroom’s first cousin, young Belvoir,
Whose dad was a Lancashire welvoir,
Arrived with George Bohun
At just about nohun
When excitement was mounting to felvoir.
Anonymous

Poem 326. Nomenklaturik

There was a young fellow named Cholmondeley,
Whose bride was so mellow and colmondeley
That the best man, Colquhoun,
An inane young bolqufoun,
Could only stand still and stare dolmondeley.

The bridegroom’s first cousin, young Belvoir,
Whose dad was a Lancashire welvoir,
Arrived with George Bohun
At just about nohun
When excitement was mounting to felvoir.

The vicar – his surname was Beauchamp –
Of marriage endeavoured to teauchamp,
While the bridesmaid, Miss Marjoribanks,
Played one or two harjoripranks;
But the shoe that she threw failed to reauchamp.

The Baron of Fawsley, Lord St John,
Had a fine buckskin coat with a frt john.
He said, ‘It was guthven
Me by Viscount Ruthven,
Who thinks I’m a cowboy, or t john.’

A colonel by name Leveson-Gower
Mixed gin, rum, stout, lime jeveson mower
In a drink for Miss Featherstonehaugh
Who said to him, ‘Meatherstonehaugh,
This stuff might have some yeveson wower.’

A Frenchman residing in Mousehole,
Whose consumption of wine was a pousehole,
Caused his wife to say, ‘Yves,
I just don’t belyves
How much of the stuff you can gousehole.’

A lion-tamer living in Beaudesert
Kept a lioness, whom he called Eaudesert.
On the boat to Dun Laoghaire,
Feeling hungry and waoghaire.
She ate him, then took Alka-Seaudesert.

In the river, an angler named Dalziel
Was horribly mauled by an alziel.
All tattered and tachan,
He told his pal Strachan,
‘You have no idea how I falziel.’

This poem is so much fun—it lampoons the often convoluted pronunciation of English names by deliberately mangling the spelling of ordinary English words that rhyme with the names, thus giving us a key to how the names should be pronounced.

There are several instances of the limericks online, some of which are more ribald than those presented here, but the first three stanzas are connected and I found them originally in The Oxford Book of Comic Verse as “Nomenklaturik” and attributed there to Harry Hearson, although that’s the only place I’ve ever found such an attribution and the list of acknowledgments at the end of that book makes no reference to Hearson, who is a mysterious figure. I can’t find anything about him apart from some book reviews apparently written by him in John O’London’s Weekly magazine in the early 1960s which don’t give much of an idea of this shadowy writer. These limericks might be his, or he might have presented them in one of the columns in John O’London’s and so their source must remain anonymous.

Each limerick appears at first glance to be completely incomprehensible—what are all these strange words? Colmondeley, felvoir, teauchamp—these are all nonsense, or are they? A little thought shows us that they are really common English words in disguise. The English surname Cholmondeley can be pronounced as written, but more often it is rendered as “Chumley” Since these are limericks, we know that the second and fifth lines must rhyme, and they do rhyme as written, although the words don’t make sense until we pronounce them the same way as Cholmondeley. The same process works for the third and fourth lines, where the name Colquhoun is pronounced “Cah-hoon”:

There was a young fellow named CHUMLEY
Whose bride was so mellow and COMELY
That the best man, CAH-HOON
An inane young BUFFOON
Could only stand still and stare DUMBLY

The second limerick relies on Belvoir being pronounced “Beevor” and Bohun as “Boon”:

The bridegroom’s first cousin, young BEEVOR
Whose dad was a Lancashire WEAVER
Arrived with George BOON
At just about NOON
When excitement was mounting to FEVER.

In the third limerick, the vicar’s surname is pronounced “Beach ‘em” and the bridesmaid’s name is one of the English language’s most obscure pronunciations: for Marjoribanks, read “Mary-banks”:

The vicar, whose surname was BEACH ‘EM
Of marriage endeavoured to TEACH ‘EM
While the bridesmaid, Miss MARY-BANKS
Played one or two HAIRY PRANKS
But the shoe that she threw failed to REACH ‘EM

And so it goes on—the remainder of the limericks follow a similar pattern. Limerick four plays on the surname St John being pronounced “SINJUN” allowing the author, whoever they were, to produce a particularly obscure fifth line.

I like this poem (or series of poems) because they play cleverly with the language in a way that looks indecipherable but can be worked out with some thought and an awareness that in English names, things are often not what they seem.

I can’t find a YouTube video for this poem which is just as well, because speaking them out loud ruins the joke.

Here’s a pronunciation key for those who are struggling—good luck! 😉

Beauchamp = BEACH ‘EM
Beaudesert = BELZER
Belvoir = BEEVOR
Bohun = BOON
Cholmondeley = CHUMLEY
Colquhoun = CAH-HOON
Dalziel = DEE-YELL
Dun Laoghaire = DUN-LEERY
Featherstonehaugh = FANSHAW
Leweson-Gower = LEWSON-GORE
Marjoribanks = MARYBANKS
Mousehole = MUZZLE
Ruthven = RIVEN
St John = SINJUN
Strachan = STRAWN
Yves = EVE

Excitement Was Mounting to Felvoir

Poem 326. Nomenklaturik

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