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"Mullocking":
We are, we believe, justly proud of our heritage in general but
particularly of the slang word we gave to the idiom of our industry
here. "Mullocking" what does it mean? Slang is never easy to define its
value to the language rest in brevity. This word came into use on
Limerick Dockside in the days of heavy physical stevedoring labour in
all weathers, fair and foul alike, to describe the effort required with
ample honest sweat to get the job done with speed and efficiency. Lest
it should ever be forgotten we record here, that provided the "full
whack" was paid, that often unjustly maligned worker, the Limerick Docker, when appreciated by "The Boss", was a "Mullocker non pareil".
Some further insight as reported by "Irish Times" columnist on the 25th & 28th May 2011
FRANK McNALLY 25th May 2011
An Irish Mans Diary
'When Jonny Sexton scored his second try, even though Leinster were still trailing, my neighbour's vindication was already complete. Northampton were in for a hammering now, he predicted. Then he delivered the ultimate insult: "They're only a bunch of mullockers".
IN A Cardiff bar on Saturday, I noticed a picture of the first team ever to represent Wales in a rugby international. It was in 1881, versus England, and the Welsh lost heavily: 81-0 by modern scoring values. So it seemed apt that among those pictured, as the team’s bowler-hatted selector, was a man whose name continues to reverberate wherever sport is played badly. Take a bow “R Mullock” Esq.
I have no idea whether it was Mr Mullock – or any of his relations – who gave their name to the English language. I’m not even sure what the verb “to mullock” means exactly: except that it’s never used as a compliment of a player’s skill levels.
But as chance would have it, a few hours later, I was sitting in the Millennium Stadium alongside an excited Kerryman who – without prompting – illustrated both the general sense of the word and its continued popularity.
During the first half of that extraordinary game, my neighbour was mystified as to how Leinster’s thoroughbreds could underperform so badly. After all, he thought, Northampton were cart-horses by comparison. Thus, as the famous comeback got under way, he was triumphant, while insisting that the turnaround was purely logical.
When Jonny Sexton scored his second try, even though Leinster were still trailing, my neighbour’s vindication was already complete. Northampton were in for a hammering now, he predicted. And then he delivered the ultimate insult: “They’re only a bunch of mullockers.”
EVEN IF he didn’t lend his name to the language, the man in the bowler hat seems to have been a bit of a mullocker himself, on and off the pitch.
For one thing, his selection policy was heavily criticised after the England match. It had reputedly been less influenced by players’ ability than by their geographic origins and attendance at certain colleges. Communication also appears to have been a problem: two selected players failed to turn up on the day and had to be replaced by spectators.
Later, as secretary and treasurer of the Welsh (Rugby) Football Union, Mullock proved an equally poor accountant, although he survived a series of financial controversies. What did for him, eventually, was an incident in a club game for which England’s rugby union demanded and received an apology. Then as now, grovelling to the English was a treasonable offence in Wales and he lost his WRU job soon afterwards.
Mullock also served time as an international referee in the early days of what is now the Six Nations. Here too there was controversy. He is said to have been of Anglo-Irish stock, but when England played Ireland in 1886 and won narrowly, the Irish blamed him for the result. It was the second year running England had edged victory in the tie, with Welsh referees implicated both times. Such was the bad feeling, Ireland refused to play Wales in either season.
Poor Mullock. He was a man of energy and of some organisational ability, if not quite enough. As a professional printer, he must have seen the writing on the wall long before he was declared bankrupt in 1893. He was later rumoured to have emigrated to Africa. But he died in both London and obscurity, circa 1920, by which time the team he had set on its way was establishing itself as a rugby powerhouse.
EVEN IF the hostility between Munster and Leinster is exaggerated, the aforementioned spectacle of a Kerryman exulting in Saturday’s victory may need some explanation. And had the man himself been asked, which he wasn’t, he might have it attributed to the innate fairness, lack of chauvinism, and love of sport for which Kerry people are famous. But I have an alternative theory, based on his enthusiasm for the aforementioned Jonny Sexton, in particular.
As the Leinster No 10 led the comeback – having made a stirring speech in the dressing room at half-time – my neighbour was telling anyone who listened that Sexton was the “best out-half in the world – better than [Dan] Carter!” Man-of-the-match or not, this seemed a slightly extravagant claim. But then I remembered there might be some tribal pride involved. Although Jonny is officially from Dublin, it’s well-known that he is an honorary Kerryman, thanks to his paternal roots and many holidays in Listowel.
Whatever he is, he is also surely the very opposite of a mullocker. In fact, in a general sense, even his surname may be a contrast with Mullock’s, in that it derives from an English word rather than giving rise to one. As such, it’s not an inapt name. Sexton’s facial features are frequently said to be of the kind you might see in a church, albeit on an altar boy or a member of the junior choir.
There was a time when a church sexton’s job included digging graves. I know this from the famous scene in Hamlet , involving Yorick’s skull. Because even though Shakespeare introduces this blackly-comic interlude via the stage direction “enter two clowns with spades and picks”, he later has one of them tell Hamlet : “I have been a sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.” The Leinster outhalf has not been a Sexton for nearly that long, yet. But he’s learning the job fast. He certainly dug a few holes in the opposition’s half on Saturday, burying their hopes in the process. You could even say that alas, poor Northampton, he knew them well. And they were only a bunch of mullockers.
FRANK McNALLY 28th May 2011
An Irish Mans Diary
It appears we can rule Richard Mullock out of our inquiries, at least if reader Cathal McCarthy is to be believed. The place we should look to for the word's origins, he says, is the city where later today, Munster will host the new European champions.
I WAS speculating earlier in the week (Irishman’s Diary, May 25th) about the origins of the word “mullocker”. As in: “They’re only a bunch of mullockers”, a phrase heard from a Leinster-supporting Kerryman in Cardiff last weekend, to disparage the skill levels of the Northampton opposition. One possible suspect in the case, I thought, was Welshman Richard Mullock, a colourfully incompetent
figure from rugby’s founding days.
Well, it appears we can rule that Mr Mullock out of our inquiries, at least if reader Cathal McCarthy is to be believed. The place we should look to for the word’s origins, he says, is the city where later today, Munster will host the new European champions. In Cathal’s words: “As with most interesting terminology [in Irish rugby], the mildly abusive term ‘mullocker’ comes from Limerick.” I’ll let him explain: “The firm of stevedores Mullock and Sons have been present on the docks there for aeons and their casual employees – recruited as business warranted – were known for their ability to hump, drag and manhandle huge amounts of cargo by hand. Limerick people still use ‘mullock’ as a verb in precisely this fashion, ‘pulling and mullocking’, to denote unskilled physical labour.”
Cathal adds: “Your Kerry pal’s familiarity with the phrase might arise from the fact that Mullocks had branch offices in Tarbert and Foynes and so, in this fashion, the term spread from Limerick into Kerry in the same way as did soap and the use of knives and forks.” A slightly controversial note to end with there, Cathal. But we’ll leave the question of how soap and cutlery reached Kerry to social anthropologists, if you don’t mind: it’s only words we’re concerned with here.
And sure enough, no sooner had that e-mail arrived than it was followed by one from the MD of Mullock Sons, a Mr John Dundon. He referred me to the company website. Which not only details the firm’s long history in Limerick, where it was founded by John Mullock in 1778, but also has a short section devoted to “mullocking”.
Claiming the term with pride, Mullock Sons take pains to suggest that it may not always be an insult, even a mild one. Certainly, its application in a rugby or GAA context is rarely flattering. Even so, the company insists it can used to praise a good worker, who may even be deemed a “mullocker non-pareil” by his grateful boss.
ALL OF WHICH seems to secure Limerick’s authorship of the term, just as surely as the city’s other famous gift to rugby-speak: “Garryowen”. But wait. Curious to know if that great guardian of the English language, the OED, had recognised the word’s ownership, I delved into the vast depths of its online edition. Where, as often happens, the situation rapidly became murky.
Yes, “mullocker” is there. And yes – if not to Limerick, exactly – the word is credited to Ireland, as well as to Australia and New Zealand. But of the meanings attributed – “A person who clears away refuse in a mine. Also, depreciative , any manual labourer; a careless or inept labourer”, only the second half of the definition fits the reputed Limerick origin.
The plot thickens with the verb “to mullock”, which the dictionary insists is of English ancestry, meaning “to be in the way, to idle, to loiter or trail around aimlessly”. Going back to the mines, the OED also mentions an Australian variant meaning “to make (a thing dirty), to block up or litter (a place), especially with mining refuse”.
And staying in Australia, it mentions a third sense: ie to do something roughly or carelessly, especially sheep-shearing. Here, the dictionary quotes an example from the Melbourne Age newspaper: “No man could shear 321 sheep in eight hours, although I will admit he might . . . what we shearers call ‘mullock over’ that number.” In short, the OED appears to suggest that the Irish “mullocker” derives from the English “mullock”. It even cites a “mullock” from this newspaper, in 2001, as one of the English verb’s character references. And if we think Mullock Sons’ Limerick history is impressively long, the OED can hit us with a “mullok” from Chaucer, circa 1390.
By the way, and unusually for a word ending with “ck”, none of the meanings attributed to “mullock” have sexual undertones. But “mollock” is given by the OED as one of mullock’s variant spellings. And further to confuse the picture, “mollock” is listed in the separate Oxford Dictionary of Slang as an intransitive verb meaning “to copulate”.
The upshot of all this is that I’m now not sure whether “mullocker” is a pure Limerick invention, or an older English word that, in this country, became entangled with a shipping company, just as another branch of the word emigrated to Australia and got involved in mining. I await further enlightenment, pending which, the issue could go either way. A bit like today’s match.
I hope it’s a good game, anyway. No doubt Munster will roll out the red carpet for the heroes of Cardiff (and while it’s still in roll form, beat them up with it); so at least it should be a great occasion. A slight concern, as always in Limerick, is the weather. Let’s hope it’s not “mullocky”, to use an adjective I’ve just learned.
This, according to the OED , means “dirty, untidy, rotten”. It comes from the English midlands. And among the places you’re most likely to hear it, apparently, is Northamptonshire.
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