THERE are many worthy questions that one might ponder concerning the Liberal Democrats, but surely none is more confusing than the correct pronunciation of the name of their acting leader.

Whether they are a party of the left or a party of the right pales into insignificance compared to the conundrum of how you say "Sir Menzies Campbell". Is it "men-zees" or "ming-is"?

This makes all the difference. Are you are supporter of Sir Menzies Campbell, a pro-Menzi-ite? Or are you a minger?

Sir Menzies is one of the last victims of the lost letters of the English language. Once, our alphabet contained a (a thorn), a (an edh) and a funny thing called a yogh that looks like a flouncy z that people with flourishy ink-pen handwriting hang beneath the line.

The was originally the symbol for the voiceless th at the start of words like thorn and thistle; the was the symbol for the voiced th at the beginning of this and that (try saying thorn, thistle, this and that out loud and you will find a: if you are reading this in a hospital waiting room you will get an immediate transfer to the psychiatry department, and b: you don't use your voice in the first two, but you do in the second two). And the yogh was something inbetween a y and a g.

When the Normans came over in 1066, they didn't like these peculiar old English letters and began doing away with them. This process became complete with the invention of the printing press which didn't have a yogh (pronounced "yogh") on it. Instead, the early printers slapped in a z which looked a little like a yogh.

Most of the country was quite happy about this, but some Scots clung to their yoghs as if they were going out of fashion. The TV detective programme Dalziel and Pascoe is unpronounceable because the yogh in Dalziel turns the word from "dalzell" into "dalyell". And so Menzies should really be "ming-is".

Perhaps this confusion is what Tony Blair was trying to stamp out this week when he launched his anti-yogh policy.

Such yoghery may even have touched your lives already this morning because about a quarter of today's Echo's will have been handled by the wholesale newsagent John Menzies. John formed his printing shop in Edinburgh in 1832 but soon realised the potential of railway station bookstalls.

On Menzies' website is a lovely little limerick about the company's mispronounciation:

A lively young damsel named Menzies

Inquired: "Do you know what this thenzies?"

Her aunt, with a gasp,

Replied: "It's a wasp,

And you're holding the end where the stenzies."

Unfortunately for Sir Menzies' supporters, though, a "minger" has since 1970 been an unpleasant slang word. My seven-year-old daughter says anything that has a nasty smell is a "minger" that is "minging"; male teenagers say an ugly woman is a "minger" who is "minging".

My daughter's probably on the right scent because until the 1920s, Scots used the word "ming" to mean "human excrement".

And this in turn probably comes from a 14th century verb "to ming", which meant "to mix or mingle ingredients" - particularly when creating a mixture to smear on your sheep to keep off the ticks and the lice. Sheep smear was a mingle of tar and salt and after a few weeks on a sweaty sheep's back was undoubtedly minging.

Published: 14/01/2006