“Hoi toide” is, supposedly, how the term “high tide” is said to sound when spoken by a native of Ocracoke Island, North Carolina. Because of the island’s isolation – to this day, one must take a ferryboat ride from the N.C. mainland, or from Hatteras Island, to reach Ocracoke – speech patterns from older times have persisted on the island, sometimes drawing comparisons with the Elizabethan English of William Shakespeare’s time. Yet the fine points of Ocracoke dialect are much subtler and more nuanced than popular belief might have it, as Walt Wolfram and Natalie Schilling-Estes make clear in their 1997 book Hoi Toide on the Outer Banks: The Story of the Ocracoke Brogue.
Both Wolfram and Schilling-Estes are eminent linguists. Wolfram, of North Carolina State University, founded the North Carolina Language and Life Project, and Schilling-Estes is the project’s coordinator. And their book, written in a spirit of respect for the people and culture of the people of Ocracoke, makes clear that Ocracokers are very much aware of their island’s reputation for having a “quaint” way of speaking.
A chapter titled “Sounding Like a ‘Hoi Toider’” starts with an anecdote about Wolfram being introduced around among island residents at a party, shortly after arriving on the island to conduct linguistic research. Because he was introduced in those terms, as “an obvious outsider”, Wolfram felt uncomfortable and self-conscious, until a friendly Ocracoker named Rex O’Neal rescued him by saying, “So you’re here studyin’ speech. Well, it’s hoi toide on the saind soide. Last night the water far, tonight the moon shine. No feesh” (p. 50).
Wolfram and Schilling-Estes subsequently learned that O’Neal’s statement constituted a “performance phrase” (p. 51) that Ocracokers could deploy at will, anytime an outsider wanted to hear their “colorful” speech. The story, while humorous, conveys a serious reality – that regional dialect, even in the case of a region that is isolated, is bound to affect, and be affected by, the surrounding society.
In the encounter described above, the authors say that Wolfram felt “discomfort as an intrusive dingbatter” (p. 50) until O’Neal stepped in to help him. If the term dingbatter is new to you, then you should be advised that dingbatter is a good example of an Ocracoke-specific term. The chapter “What’s in an O’Cocker World?” has a helpful vocabulary list, from which one can learn that dingbatter means “A non-native of Ocracoke or the Outer Banks. Sometimes used somewhat negatively to refer to someone who is ignorant of island life (“The dingbatter kept getting his fishing line tangled with mine)” (p. 41).
At the same time, Wolfram and Schilling-Estes, as conscientious linguists, remind the reader that any regional dialect is ever-changing. In a chapter aptly titled “No Dialect Is an Island,” the authors point out that the word dingbatter, for instance, “has come into use only in recent years as a replacement for the older generation’s term for outsiders, foreigner or stranger. Middle-aged and younger speakers know and freely use dingbatter, but the oldest speakers may not have heard the word” (p. 100). An older Ocracoker might look at an island visitor and say, “There’s a foreigner,” and a younger Ocracoker might conclude that the visitor is from Chile or Romania rather than Charlotte or Raleigh.
Good academics that they are, Wolfram and Schilling-Estes even offer the reader the chance to take a quiz on Ocracoke dialect, based on what the reader has learned by reading the book. Titled “How to Tell a Dingbatter from an O’Cocker,” the multiple-choice quiz is great fun. For example, does the term quamash on page 150 refer to an upset stomach, a fearful feeling, a bad headache, or an excited feeling?
My copy of Hoi Toide on the Outer Banks shows that I took the quiz, in pencil, on some long-ago trip to Ocracoke Island. Looks like I got 18 out of 20 correct (hey, 90% isn’t that bad); and I will remember, in future, that fatback, on Ocracoke, refers to the oily fish menhaden (not bacon), and that goaty means “smelling foul, like a goat,” not “silly.” By the authors’ “Rate Your Ocracoke IQ” ratings scores for the quiz, I am supposedly “an island genius”; but I feel more like “an educable dingbatter” at best.
Hoi Toide on the Outer Banks provides a delightful and life-affirming look at the people, the culture, and the language of a particularly beautiful American island. If you once thought that there’s no way a book about linguistics could be fun, read Hoi Toide on the Outer Banks, and you may change your mind.