(c) Eon Productions
I have at least one seriously silly thought every day and I’ve decided to share today’s seriously silly thought with you. What would the titles of all the James Bond movies sound like if they’d been formulated not in Standard English, but in Scots? Well, maybe like this:
Dr No Dr Naw
From Russia with Love Frae Russia wi Winchin’
Goldfinger Gauld Pinkie
Thunderball Thunner Baw
You Only Live Twice Ye Onie Bide Twa Times
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service On the High Heid-Yin’s Secret Service
Diamonds are Forever Diamonds are Firiver
Live and Let Die Bide an’ Let Dee
The Man with the Golden Gun The Gadgie wi the Gaulden Gun
The Spy Who Loved Me The Spy Whae Winched Me
Moonraker Moon Howker
For Your Eyes Only Fir Yer Een Onie
A View to a Kill A Shuftey tae a Malky
The Living Daylights The Bidin’ Daylichts
Licence to Kill Licence tae Malky
(c) Eon Productions
Goldeneye Gaulden Ee
Tomorrow Never Dies The Morra Nivir Dees
The World is not Enough The Wirld isnae Eneuch
Die Another Day Dee Anither Day
Casino Royale Ceilidh-Hoose Royale
Quantum of Solace Smeddum o Solace
Skyfall Sky Cowp
All right, some poetic licence – as opposed to a licence to kill – has been deployed here. Certain Scots words I used because I liked the sound of them, not because they captured the exact shade of meaning.
For example, I know that the Scots noun ‘pinkie’ refers to your little finger only, not to any old finger; and the verb ‘bide’ means ‘live’ as in ‘reside’, not ‘live’ as in simply ‘be alive’. Also, I don’t know of any direct Scots equivalent of ‘Her Majesty’; so for the title of the sixth Bond movie (the only one to show 007 wearing a kilt) I used the term ‘high heid yin’, which means the boss, the person in charge of an organisation. Although if you believe the rumours about what people living near Balmoral Castle — which since 1852 has been the Royal Family’s private residence in Scotland — call the Queen and her kin, maybe ‘the auld German wifie’ would have sufficed. As for Ceilidh-Hoose Royale, well, that’s me being really daft.
Incidentally, by penning this post, I risk incurring the wrath of fulminating wee columnist John Macleod, who in the most recent Scottish edition of the Mail on Sunday lambasted the fad for translating literary works — especially works for children — into the Scots tongue. He cited one of Hergé’s Adventures of Tintin, The Black Island, as an example of the horrors that happen — in 2013 Susan Rennie had the temerity to translate it, as The Derk Isle, into the frightful devil’s gobbledygook that is Scots. As the learned Macleod knows, Tintin should only be read in the civilised eloquence of Hergé’s native Standard English.
Anyway, I’m sure this man would approve…
By the way — happy belated 85th birthday, you grumpy auld bugger.