A friend in Mauritius
recently wrote to me of his reminiscences of the days when we both lived in
Blighty. Blighty, or “dear old
Blighty,” as it’s most commonly known, is an affectionate name for England
primarily used by expatriates as they long nostalgically for the joys of home.
The word originated in Victorian India under the British Raj and became widely
used during the Boer War and especially in World War I, when it showed up in
poems about homesickness on the battlefield by Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred
Owen.
According to most
sources, the origin of the word is the Urdu vilāyatī, and a regional variation, bilayati, which apparently meant
“courage,” but came to be used as a synonym for “foreign” or “European” and
later, specifically, “English.” During World War I, the British War Office
published a magazine called Blighty,
with material written by men on the front lines. From this came the term
“Blighty wound,” which was an injury severe enough to get a man sent home, but
not bad enough to be life-threatening. (It was not unknown for such “Blighty
wounds” to be self-inflicted.) In the 1950s there was a racy humor magazine called "Blighty."
The Bard of Buffalo
Bayou sometimes thinks about his days in dear old Blighty, where fish and chips
were only a shilling and a half-pint of bitter could be had (in one of the less
fashionable pubs) for eightpence. That was before the Bard had established his
reputation as purveyor of execrable verses of questionable taste, such as:
There
was a young lass from Old Blighty,
Who
fancied herself Aphrodite.
It
set off alarms
When
she flaunted her charms
By
parading around in her nightie.
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