To L And Back

Architecturally speaking, sandwiched as it is between the sleek, Bauhaus machine-age modernity of K and the sun-kissed, classic Augustean villa overlooking the Caprisian bay that is M, the letter L seems rather like an austere and featureless warehouse down by the docks; the sort of place where a grim-faced longshoreman might keep leaky oil drums and empty cargo crates.
And yet there is a slight whiff of the Pythagorean about L: it is the right-angled letter, forever frozen at ninety degrees.
The Egyptians must have been impressed by L, since they pictured it as a lioness in their hieroglyphical system. The Hebrews, meanwhile, called it "lamed" - not a very promising name - but it apparently meant "ox goad"; and if you know your Bible you will be aware that someone called Shamgar slew six hundred Philistines with an ox-goad, although it was, in fact, actually a tool employed by olden ploughmen to guide their beasts along the correct furrows.
L is obviously also the Roman numeral that signifies 50 of something. For example, a Centurion fighting the Iceni might report: "Half my soldiers have been killed so I've only got L left, and they're all wounded." .... and it is from their amazement at just such a victory that the ancient Britons derived the exclaimation "Bloody L!"

Comments

[MsRandom]

While I do enjoy the alphabet lesson, I must express my concern for the lack of anything else from your blog these past few days. If the alphabet research is taking up so much of your time that you are no longer able to entertain us with the adventures of Mr. Snagglypuss and friends, than I could happily live with knowledge of only A - L. I ca' ge' bi wib... ok, I can't actually write a sentence without the rest of the alphabet, but gosh darn it, they are killing your creativity!