dubnium / rutherfordium / kurchatovium / hahnium

The flags of the United States and the Soviet Union superimposed over a pastiche of symbols: the flag of the People’s Republic of China, the logos for NATO and the United Nations, a shield presumably representing the Warsaw Pact, and a stylized mushr

14 July 2023

Of all the chemical elements, the histories of the names of elements 104 and 105 are perhaps the most complex. The naming of these elements was mired in Cold War competition between the Soviet Union and the United States. Both elements are synthetic, not found in nature, and with short half-lives which makes them unsuitable for purposes other than pure research.

Element 104 was first created in 1964 by scientists at the Joint Institute for Nuclear Research (JINR) in Dubna, Russia, and they proposed the name kurchatovium for it, after nuclear physicist Igor Kurchatov. But the Soviet claim was not widely accepted in the West.

Six years later, an American team at the Lawrence Radiation Laboratory in Berkeley California synthesized element 104 and proposed the name rutherfordium and the symbol Rf, after the chemist Ernest Rutherford. But because of the competing Soviet claim of discovery, the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) did not give the element an official name for several decades.

In 1968 scientists at the JINR synthesized element 105. They published the finding in 1971 but did not propose a name for the element at that time. In 1973, the JINR team proposed the name bohrium, after physicist Niels Bohr, later changing their proposal to nielsbohrium to avoid confusion with boron.

Meanwhile, an American team at the Lawrence Radiation Laboratory independently created element 105 at about the same time. They published their discovery in 1970, proposing the element be named hahnium, after the chemist Otto Hahn who had recently passed away.

That’s were things stood until the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War in the 1990s. Element 104 was called either kurchatovium or rutherfordium and 105 either nielsbohrium or hahnium. But the problem of the names would not be resolved easily and would become even more confusing in the 1990s.

In 1994 IUPAC attempted to end the naming controversy, proposing the following naming scheme for elements 101–09:

This proposal pleased no one, especially the Americans because their proposal for element 106, seaborgium, was dropped because its proposed namesake, chemist Glenn Seaborg, was still living, and the IUPAC decided that element should not be named for living persons.

The controversy dragged on for three more years, until in 1997 the IUPAC came up with a proposal that was acceptable to all (names altered from the 1994 proposal are in bold):

  • 101: mendelevium

  • 102: nobelium

  • 103: lawrencium

  • 104: rutherfordium (née kurchatovium and dubnium)

  • 105: dubnium (née hahnium, bohrium, and nielsbohrium)

  • 106: seaborgium (née joliotium)

  • 107: bohrium (née nielsbohrium)

  • 108: hassium (née hahnium)

  • 109: meitnerium

The names the names hahnium, kurchatovium, and joliotium were dropped. Perhaps these names will be revived if heavier elements are created.

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Sources:

Browne, Malcolm W. “Element Is Stripped of Its Namesake.” New York Times, 11 October 1994, C12. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

Flerov, G.N., et al. “On the Synthesis of Element 105.” Nuclear Physics A, 160.1, January 1971, 181–92.

Flerov, G.N. et al. “Synthesis and Physical Identification of the Isotope with Mass Number 260 of Element 104.” Atomnaya Énergiya, 17.4, October 1964, 1046–48. English translation at SpringerLink Historical Archives Physics and Astronomy. DOI: 10.1007/BF01116295.

Ghiorso, A., et al. “261Rf; New Isotope of Element 104.” Physics Letters B, 32.2, 8 June 1970, 95–98. DOI: 10.1016/0370-2693(70)90595-2.

Ghiorso, Albert, et al. “New Element Hahnium, Atomic Number 105.” Physical Review Letters, 24.26, 29 June 1970, 1498–1503.

International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC). “Names and Symbols of Transfermium Elements (IUPAC Recommendations 1997).” Pure and Applied Chemistry, 69.12, 1997, 2471–73.

Miśkowiec, Pawel. “Name Game: The Naming History of the Chemical Elements—Part 3—Rivalry of Scientists in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries.” Foundations of Chemistry, 12 November 2022.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, March 2012, s.v. dubnium, n., March 2011, s.v. rutherfordium, n.; second edition, 1989, s.v. hahnium, n., kurchatovium, n.

Image credit: anonymous artist, 2008. Wikimedia Commons. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.

kick the bucket / bucket list

12 July 2023

Photo of a man’s leg positioned to deliver a kick to a metal bucket

Actor Jimmy Durante about to kick the bucket in the 1963 film It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World

While we have a fairly good record of the phrase’s early appearances, the metaphor underlying kick the bucket is uncertain. The phrase, of course, means to die, and it came into use in the late eighteenth century. It is still commonly used today and has generated at least one other common phrase, bucket list.

This sense of bucket probably comes from the Old French buquet, meaning a trébuchet or balance. The more familiar sense of pail is likely from the Old French buket, meaning a tub or pail. Shakespeare uses the buquet sense of the word, less familiar to us today, in Henry IV, Part 2 (III.ii.261):

Wil you tel me (master Shallow) how to chuse a man? care I for the limbe, the thewes, the stature, bulke and big assemblance of a man: giue me the spirit M. Shalow: heres Wart, you see what a ragged apparance it is, a shall charge you, and discharge you with the motion of a pewterers hammer, come off and on swifter then he that gibbets on the brewers bucket: and this same halfe facde fellow Shadow, giue me this man, he presents no marke to the enemy, the fo-man may with as great aime leuel at the edge of a pen-knife, and for a retraite how swiftly wil this Feeble the womans Tailer runne off? O giue mee the spare men, and spare me the great ones.

The imagery of on the brewers bucket here is of someone hanging pails or casks of beer or ale on a yoke on another person’s or persons’ shoulders. A gibbet is a gallows or a post on which a criminal’s body is hung following execution; Shakespeare here is verbing the noun. The line is in the context of Falstaff describing Thomas Wart, a recruit to the army, saying his thin and death-like appearance is ideal for the army because in the speed and heat of battle, he is too thin for a musketeer to actually hit.

So by the end of the sixteenth century we have the literary metaphor of a bucket being associated with death by hanging.

And at around the same time, the following entry appears in John Florio’s 1598 A Worlde of Wordes, an Italian-English dictionary:

Dar de'calci a Rouaio, to be hang'd, to kicke the winde.

The Italian literally means to kick the north wind, rovaio being a dialectal word for the north wind. While the Oxford English Dictionary, in an old entry in desperate need of revision, includes this as an English usage, it seems that Florio was simply translating the Italian phrase, rather than recording an English one. And other than appearing in a few other eighteenth-century Italian-English dictionaries translating the same phrase, the phrase kick the wind, or something similar, does not appear in English again until the nineteenth century.

We do, however, see kick the bucket in the late eighteenth century. The following passage appears in Edward Thompson’s 1775 History of Edward and Maria:

My old mess-mate, Tom Bowline, met me at the gangway, and with a salute as hearty as honest, damn’d his eyes, but he was glad I had not kicked the bucket; while another swore roundly, that I had turn’d well to windward, and left death and the devil to leeward; and a third more vociferously exclaimed, I was born to dance upon nothing.

Not only is this the first instance of kick the bucket that I’m aware of, but the passage also includes dance upon nothing, yet another example of a metaphor relating to the flailing and kicking of a hanging man’s legs.

Five years later, the same magazine published the following in its May 1780 issue:

I should have been at a loss also to have known the significance of kicking the bucket, but am told it is an expression used to inform us of a person’s death, although I should no sooner apprehend it to be so than if I were told he had let fall his watch, or rapped at my door.

Francis Grose includes kick the bucket in his 1785 Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. And the following entry appears in the 1811 Lexicon Balatronicon, a later update of Grose’s dictionary:

TO KICK THE BUCKET. To die. He kicked the bucked one day: he died one day. To kick the clouds before the hotel door; i.e., to be hanged.

So, kick the bucket was in common use by the 1780s.

Again, we see the collocation of both kick the bucket and another similar metaphor, kick the clouds. But the original metaphor underneath kick the bucket is unclear to us today. There are two plausible explanations. The first is that it might have originally referred to a suicide standing upon a bucket or pail and then kicking it away, allowing themself to drop. Supporting this explanation is this item from the London Chronicle of 26 September 1788:

Last week, John Marshfield, a labouring man, hanged himself in an out-house in Avon-street. He had very deliberately just before bought a piece of cord, which he put round his neck, and by standing on a bucket fixed it to the beam; he then kicked the bucket to a considerable distance from under him, and was found soon after.

Note that kick the bucket was already an established phrase by the time this incident occurred, but similar incidents could have inspired the phrase, or it could simply be coincidence. Militating against this explanation are the earlier citations of the phrase’s use which are unrelated to suicide.

The other plausible explanation is that it is conflation of a literary reference to Shakespeare’s brewer’s bucket with kick the wind or kick the clouds. We just don’t know, nor are we likely to know. It would seem to be lost to the ages.

Two other explanations are commonly proffered, which we can dismiss. One has the phrase referring to a hanged person kicking at the post from which they were hanged, but this seems unlikely as this would be impossible on a typical gallows where the person would be suspended from a crossbeam. The other is that bucket refers to a gibbet on which a dead person or animal might be strung upside-down, but in that case, they would be dead already and highly unlikely to be kicking anything.

Jumping forward to the twenty-first century, we see kick the bucket give birth to the phrase bucket list. This phrase is one of those that was invented by the movies. It comes from the 2007 Rob Reiner film The Bucket List. While the film was released in 2007, the phrase starts appearing in the press the previous year in anticipation of the movie’s release. Here is a United Press International report from 29 June 2006:

Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman are set to star in “The Bucket List,” about two cancer patients who break out of a hospital and head for Monte Carlo.

The two terminally ill men make a wish list of things they want to do before they kick the bucket—called the bucket list—then take a road trip. Their adventures include racing cars, eating massive amounts of caviar and playing high stakes poker, Daily Variety reported.

And like kick the bucket, one will occasionally see the underlying metaphor of bucket list being reanalyzed into a less morbid one where the bucket is a pail or container for the things one wishes to accomplish in life. As in the earlier phrase, the bucket was originally associated with death.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

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Sources:

Florio, John. A Worlde of Wordes. London: Arnold Hatfield, 1598, 96.1. Early English Books Online (EEBO).

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2023, s.v. kick the bucket, v.

Grose, Francis. A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. London: S. Hooper, 1785, 20. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

London Chronicle, 26 September, 307. Gale Primary Sources: Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Burney Newspapers Collection.

Lexicon Balatronicon. London: C. Chappel, 1811, Sig. I2v. Wellcome Collection.

“Observations on the Errors and Corruptions that Have Crept into the English Language.” The London Magazine, May 1780, 202. HathiTrust Digital Archive. https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=hvd.hxueqk&view=1up&seq=220

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. bucket, n.2, kick, v.1., gibbet, v., gibbet, n.1.; draft additions September 2013, s.v. bucket list in bucket, n.2.

Quinion, Michael. “Kick the Bucket.” World Wide Words, 5 March 2016.

Shakespeare, William. The Second Part of Henrie the Fourth (quarto). London: Valentine Simmes, 1600, sig. F2v. London, British Library, C.34.k.12.

Thompson, Edward. “The History of Edward and Maria.” The London Magazine. Or Gentleman’s Monthly Intelligencer. August 1775, 408–09. Eighteenth Century Collections Online (ECCO).

Tréguer, Pascal. “The Authentic Origin of the Phrase ‘To Kick the Bucket.’Wordhistories.net, 3 January 2017.

United Press International. “Nicholson, Freeman Team Up in Reiner Film.” UPI.com, 29 June 2006. Nexis-Uni.

Photo credit: Clip from a still frame from Stanley Kramer, dir., It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, United Artists, 1963. Fair use of a portion of a single frame from the film to illustrate the topic under discussion.

hip hip hooray / hurrah

Painting of a garden party—a table set with bottles and glasses is in a bower; seven men stand at the rear of the table raising their glasses in a toast; three women and a small girl are seated in the foreground; all are in late 19th-century dress

Hip, Hip, Hurrah! Artist’s Party, Skagen, oil on canvas painting by Peder Severin Krøyer, 1888.

10 July 2023

The cheer, also commonly hip hip hurray/hurrah, as we know it today, dates to the early nineteenth century, but its components go back further. The cheer is often delivered with the hips as a call and hooray or hurrah as a response.

The Oxford English Dictionary has a citation from the London and Provincial Sunday Gazette of 6 June 1819 that reads:

Down with Popery—Pitt for ever—his Majesty’s Ministers—Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!

But the use of the standalone hip as a cry to attract attention is recorded by 1735 and as a cheer by 1811. The hip is probably just an echoic term, a sharp sound to attract attention with no other underlying meaning.

The hurrah portion is even older, recorded as early as 1686. Even earlier is the cry of huzza, which is recorded by 1573. The shift from the / z / to the / ɹ / sound may simply be random variation, or it could reflect the influence of other languages. Various other Germanic languages as well as Russian have cries similar to hurrah. Again, this cry has no specific meaning, it’s just a combination of sounds that are easy to yell.

There is a persistent myth that the cry hip hip hooray has an antisemitic origin. Like most myths, there is a grain of truth at its core, but that truth is distorted beyond all recognition. There were a series of antisemitic riots and pogroms in Germany in 1819, in which the protesters took up the rallying cry of hep hep. The riots subsequently became known as the Hep Hep Riots. But the German cry is unrelated to the English language cheer, which as we have seen predates the German riots. Another part of the myth is that hep is a Latin acronym for Hierosolyma est perdita (Jerusalem is lost), allegedly a crusader’s cry. This is certainly not true as acronymic word origins were almost nonexistent prior to the twentieth century and there is no evidence that the Latin phrase goes back to the Crusades. Like the English hip, this antisemitic cry is simply a sound that is easy to yell.

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Sources:

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, March 2018, s.v. hip hip hooray, int. and n., hip hip hooray, v., hip, int. and n.3; second edition, 1989, hurrah | hurray, int. and n., huzza, int. and n.

Image credit: Gothenburg Museum of Art, Sweden (F 62). Wikimedia Commons. Public domain work as a mechanical reproduction of a public domain work.


fuck

Black-and-white photo of a portion of a fourteenth-century manuscript page containing the name Roger Fuckebythenavel

The name Roger Fuckebythenavel appearing in the Cheshire County Court Rolls (TNA CHES 29/23), c.1310 CE

3 July 2023 (Updated 8 July 2023 to add the appearance in Florio’s dictionary.)

Tracing the origin of fuck has been a difficult one for etymologists and lexicographers. Because it has been a taboo word for many centuries, there is little record to go on. But modern etymologists have pieced together the history, albeit with some gaps still existing here and there.

We know that fuck is of Germanic origin, with a root that means to strike or to move back and forth. Note that is Germanic and not German—an important distinction. It does not come from the modern German verb ficken. Instead, these two words probably share a common root. Fuck also has cognates in other Northern European languages: the Middle Dutch fokken meaning to thrust, to copulate; the dialectical Norwegian fukka meaning to copulate; and the dialectical Swedish focka meaning to strike, push, copulate, and fock meaning penis. And both French and Italian have similar words, foutre and fottere respectively. These derive from the Latin futuere. The relation between this Latin root and the Germanic ones, if any, is uncertain.

As to exactly how English got its word, we don’t know. There are no likely candidates in the Old English corpus, so fuck presumably was borrowed into English from a Germanic language either late in the Old English period or shortly after the Norman Conquest. Possibly, it may have come from Old Norse, introduced into northern England during Danish rule of the region in the ninth through eleventh centuries. Another possible route could have been through trade and contact with what is now the Netherlands. Other routes of entry are possible too.

We have instances in the record from the fourteenth century that we can say with high confidence are variations on fuck, and it absolutely is in place by the end of the fifteenth century.  Most of the early known usages of the English word come from Scotland and the north of England, leading some scholars to believe that the word comes from Scandinavian sources. Others disagree, believing that the number of northern citations reflects that the taboo was weaker in Scotland and the north, resulting in more surviving citations of use. The fact that there are citations, albeit fewer of them, from southern England dating from the same period seems to bear out this latter theory.

Collocations of the four letters can be found in medieval surnames dating to the thirteenth century, and less experienced word sleuths, and occasionally expert ones, often point to these as examples of fuck, but in most cases these collocations of letters represent a different word. For example, Carl Buck’s 1949 Dictionary of Selected Synonyms in the Principal Indo-European Languages contains a reference to a personal name, John le Fucker, from the year 1278. But this citation is questionable. No one has properly identified the document this name supposedly appears in, and if it is real, the name is likely a variant of fuker, a maker of cloth; fulcher, a soldier; or another similar word. Other examples use the root in its sense of to beat or to strike, rather than the sexual sense. Jesse Sheidlower’s The F-Word (the authoritative source for all things fuck and a must-read for anyone seriously interested in the word) points to the name Ric Wyndfuck appearing in a 1287 manuscript, but this is most likely an early variation on windfucker, a name for the kestrel. That name almost certainly comes from the repetitious beating of the bird’s wings and not any sexual sense.  Also from 1287 is the surname Fuckebeggar, but again this is probably not a sexual reference but rather a calque of the Anglo-Norman surname Butevillein, literally meaning strike the churl. There are other examples of similar surnames, and pretty much, with one or two exceptions, not conveying any sexual sense.

One exception is the name, discovered by Paul Booth of Keele University, Roger Fuckebythenavele. That name appears seven times in the Chester County court plea rolls between 3 November 1310 and 28 September 1311 as part of a process to have the man declared an outlaw. The name, which literally means “fucked through/upon/next to the naval,” could have multiple meanings: it could signal Roger’s sexual inexperience and incompetence, attempting to penetrate the wrong place; it could refer to a practice of contraception by “pulling out”; or it could refer to a penchant for frottage. Many of us have embarrassing nicknames from our youths, but to have one this unfortunate remembered seven hundred years later is a special form of hell.

As with those other fuck-names, it’s possible that Fuckebythenavele referred to an incident or incidents where Roger struck someone or was struck himself in the belly, but the idea that the name is some kind of reference to sexual intercourse is the more parsimonious hypothesis. Another exception, although this one is less certain, is the placename Fockynggroue (Fucking-grove) found in a Bristol charter from 1373. This may come from a personal name like Focke or Fulk (Focke’s/Fulk’s grove), but it seems more likely that it comes from its use as a place for people to meet and surreptitiously get it on, a medieval lover’s lane of sorts.

The next known use of fuck is from c.1475 and is from a macaronic poem written in a mix of Latin and English and entitled Flen flyys. The relevant lines read:

Fratres Carmeli navigant in a bothe apud Eli,
Non sunt in caeli, quia gxddbiv xxjxzt pg ifmk.

(The Carmelite brothers sail in a boat near Ely; they are not in heaven because they fuck the wives of Ely.)

The words gxddbiv xxjxzt pg ifmk are enciphered, where each letter stands for the one preceding it in the alphabet, indicating that the word was taboo. The decoded words are fuccant uuivs of Heli. Fuccant is a pseudo-Latin word, an English root with a Latin inflectional ending. Ely is a town near Cambridge.

Interestingly, variants of the poem, without the offending word, were still circulating as school-boy rhymes as late as the nineteenth century:

Tres fratres caeli navigabant roundabout Eli;
Omnes drownderunt qui swimaway non potuerunt.

(Three brothers of heaven sailed roundabout Eli; all drowned who could not swim away.)

Fuck was not common prior to the 1960s, at least not in published use; informal, spoken use was much more frequent. Shakespeare does not use the word, although he did hint at its existence for comic effect. In Merry Wives of Windsor (IV.i) he gives us the pun “focative case.” In Henry V (IV.iv), the character Pistol threatens to “firk” a French soldier, a word meaning to strike, but commonly used as an Elizabethan euphemism for fuck. And earlier in the same play (III.iv), Princess Katherine confuses the English words foot and gown for the French foutre and coun (fuck and cunt, respectively) with comic results—the existence of the English equivalent words meant that those in the audience who didn’t speak French would get the joke.

Other poets and writers used the word, although it was far from common. Robert Burns, for example, used it in an c.1800 poem (the stanzas in question were not published until 1911):

John Anderson my jo, John,
   You can f—k where’er you please,
Either in our warm bed,
   or else aboon the claise;
Or you shall have the horns, John,
   Upon your head to grow;
That is a cuckold’s malison,
   John Anderson my jo.

So when you want to f—k, John,
   See that you do your best,
When you begin to sh—g me,
   See that you grip me fast;
See that you grip me fast, John,
   Until that I cry Oh!
Your back shall crack, e’er I cry slack,
   John Anderson my jo.

Prior to the 1960s, the taboo was so strong that most general dictionaries did not include an entry for fuck. John Florio’s 1598 Italian-English dictionary, A Worlde of Wordes, however, did include fuck in some of its definitions, although not as a headword. (Florio’s dictionary did not contain English-Italian entries.) One section reads:

Fottarie, iapings, sardings, swiuings, fuckings.
Fottente, occupying. Also an occupier.
Fóttere, fotto, fottei, fottuto, to iape, to sard, to fucke, to swiue, to occupy.
Fotterigia, a crampe fish.
Fottisterij, baudie or vauting houses. Also occupyers or baudie fellowes.
Fottitrice, a woman fucker, swiuer, sarder, or iaper.
Fottitore, a iaper, a sarder, a swiuer, a fucker, an occupier.
Fottitura, a iaping, a swiuing, a fucking, a sarding, an occupying.
Fottiuenti, windefuckers, stamels.
Fottura, as Fottitura.
Fottuto, iaped, occupied, sarded, swiued, [f]uckt.

That last word actually reads suckt, but that is almost certainly a misprint given the preceding definitions. (The letters <s> and <f> are almost identical in the typeface used.)

Another exception was Nathan Bailey’s 1721 dictionary, but even there the definition was given in Latin, presumably to keep schoolboys and other churlish figures from tittering at its inclusion: “Foeminam Subagitare” (to subdue a woman). As late as 1948, the publishers of The Naked and the Dead persuaded Norman Mailer to use the euphemism fug instead, resulting in the delightful, but apocryphal, tale that Dorothy Parker (or maybe it was Talullah Bankhead, the various tellings differ) commented upon meeting Mailer: “So you’re the man who can’t spell fuck.” By the late 1960s, the taboo started to break down and fuck began to appear more frequently in print.

Finally, we can certainly dispense with a few of the more egregious legendary etymologies of the word. It is not an acronym for either Fornication Under Consent of the King or For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge or for anything else. Acronyms such as these are unknown before the late nineteenth century and not at all common until the twentieth. And the elaborate explanation concerning the archers in the Battle of Agincourt and the phrase Pluck Yew! is a joke. It was not intended to be taken seriously, although some people proved Poe’s Law correct by doing so.

So, that’s it. The word fuck probably dates to the fourteenth century, if not earlier, and was definitely in place by the late fifteenth. It is likely a late borrowing into English from another Germanic language. A taboo word, it’s appearances in the written record are scarce until the late twentieth century, although we know it has been in widespread oral use for centuries.

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Sources:

Bailey, Nathan. An Universal Etymological English Dictionary. London: E. Bell, et al., 1721, s.v. fuck. Eighteenth Century Collections Online (ECCO).

Booth, Paul. “An Early Fourteenth-Century Use of the F-Word in Cheshire, 1310–11.” Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, 164, 2015, 99–102. DOI: 10.3828/transactions.164.9.

Buck, Carl Darling. A Dictionary of Selected Synonyms in the Principal Indo-European Languages. Chicago: U of Chicago Press, 1949, 279. Archive.org.

Burns, Robert. “John Anderson My Jo.” Merry Muses of Caledonia. Kilmarnock: Burns Federation: 1911, 71. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Coates, Richard. “Fockynggroue in Bristol.” Notes and Queries, 54.4, December 2007, 334, December 2007, 373–76.

“The Earliest Use of the F-Word.” Medievalists.net, September 2015.

Florio, John. A Worlde of Wordes, Or Most Copious and Exact Dictionary in Italian and English. London: Arnold Hatfield for Edward Blount, 1598, 137. Early English Books Online (EEBO).

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, June 2008, s.v. fuck, v., fuck, n., fuck, int.; second edition, 1989, s.v. windfucker, n.

Sheidlower, Jesse. The F Word, third edition, Oxford: Oxford UP, 2009.

Wright, Thomas and James Orchard Halliwell, eds. “Carmina Jocosa.” Reliquiæ Antiquæ, vol. 1. London: John Russell Smith, 1845, 91–92. Google Books. London, British Library, MS Harley 3362, fol. 47r.

Photo credit: Paul Booth, 2015.

darmstadtium

Photo of a large building with the flags of many nations; in the foreground is a chemical reaction chamber that has been placed on display

The Gesellschaft für Schwerionenforschung (Institute for Heavy Ion Research) in Darmstadt, Germany

7 July 2023

Darmstadtium is a synthetic, radioactive, transuranic element with atomic number 110 and the symbol Ds. It has no uses beyond pure research. The half-life of its most stable element is only 12.7 seconds.

Darmstadtium was first synthesized in 1994 at the Gesellschaft für Schwerionenforschung (Institute for Heavy Ion Research) in Darmstadt, Germany by a team led by Sigurd Hofmann. The discovery was announced in December 1995, but no name was given to the element at that time.

In 2001, the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) confirmed the discovery and invited the team to propose a name for the element. And on 16 August 2003 the IUPAC announced the name darmstadtium and the symbol Ds, continuing “the long-established tradition of naming an element after the place of its discovery.”

The official announcement of the name was preceded by a note in the journal Nature the day prior to the official announcement.

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Sources:

Ball, Philip. “Element 110 to Be Named Tomorrow.” Nature, 15 August 2003. DOI: 10.1038/news030811-8.

Hofmann, S., et al. “Production and Decay of 269110.” Zeitschrift für Physik A Hadrons and Nuclei, 350, 1995, 277–80. DOI: 10.1007/BF01291181.

International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC). “Element 110 Is Named Darmstadtium” (press release), 16 August 2003. 

Miśkowiec, Pawel. “Name Game: The Naming History of the Chemical Elements—Part 3—Rivalry of Scientists in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries.” Foundations of Chemistry, 12 November 2022.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, December 2013, s.v. darmstadtium, n.

Photo credit: Commander-pirx, 2011. Wikimedia Commons. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.