The word ‘pill’, like a lot of other words in English, has its origins in Latin, deriving from ‘pilula’, meaning ‘little ball’ which then evolved into ‘pille’ in Middle German before achieving its English four-letter status.
Pill started out being exclusively a medical term before evolving and lending itself to other meanings. Hence, a pill-box, which used to at one time only refer to a box for storing prescribed medication, also came to mean, after about 200 years, ‘a small, round concrete nest’ for machine guns (used in the First World War) and by 1958 a pill-box was also a type of hat.
If someone said, ‘That’s a hard pill to swallow’, the person would in most cases not be alluding to bitter medicine (quinine being one of those that springs to mind immediately). No, the person would be referring to a piece of news or information that is difficult to accept.
And sometimes, we actually do read stories in the media, the details of which are terribly hard to swallow. Occasionally, the swallowing is done by the leading star in the story itself. Which brings me to that other word: tongs.
Interestingly, this one has its origin in the phrase ‘that which bites’ and so derives from the Old English ‘tang’ and ‘tange’ referring to ‘tongue’. All of us (who have spent a modicum of time in the kitchen and the dining room) have at some time or the other handled a pair of tongs. Salads are what spring to mind first, I think. Tongs and salad make a good match when it comes to serving the stuff neatly onto a plate.
And so on to the star of the show, whose name is Winston. Winston being a python, and a pet. Two words that somehow don’t sit cozily in my own mind but it’s not for me to be judgemental about people’s pet leanings.
Anyhow, it was dinner time for Winston and his owner brought out the tongs. Now anyone who’s reading deductively would guess that it was not salad that the owner was going to force down poor Winston’s gullet. Somehow the notion of a python subsisting on salad is... well, let’s say that the concept has the elements for another science fiction movie.
No, what was dangling at the end of the tongs was a rat! And I’m certain that those who bet on Winston’s eyes lighting up with delight would have won a tidy sum. In fact, long story short: Winston was hungry. No, ravenous — which is like ten times more hungry than hungry. So, not content with the rat, he (Winston) wanted the tongs as well.
‘A bitter pill to swallow,’ some might say, but try telling that to a ravenous python! It was having none of it, and although the owner struggled to pull the tongs away, in a tug-of-war with a hungry python there’s usually going to be one winner. And those who bet on Winston swallowing both the rat and the tongs would have doubled their winnings as well. A good day for betters, it would seem. Not a good one at all, though, for the hapless owner, or for Winston.
Man and snake suddenly found themselves in a bind, so to speak. Tangled up in the coils of a dilemma which necessitated a call to the veterinary university where images showed the tongs clearly with the metal clip at the far end and their two metallic arms loose enough to spread wide inside the snake.
A delicate operation followed (an incision between the scales, according to the doctor) approximately where the big end of the tongs was. Once that was accomplished the removal of the entire pair of tongs was made easy. Winston was given a clean chit and sent home to recover with an owner relieved to have both his snake and his tongs back.
(This account, though embroidered for humour, is strangely true and based on an actual occurrence in Adelaide not long ago.)
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.
