You’re right. As a general thing, the English language seems reluctant to begin words with vowels… apart from the great exception of prefixes. These prefixes start, alphabetically, with a- (see Amazon) but the most frequent is probably un-. Hodge has represented the vowels with three words using prefixes (Amazon, Emancipate, Infant) and two Latinate medical terms (Ovary and Uterus). The preponderance of prefixes amongst words beginning with vowels means that the vowels take up more room in dictionaries than they are apt to do in surname-based indexes (such as the GAI, or General Author Index, of my library days).

No doubt there is some correlation between vowels and consonants, and initials.

I seem to remember from my own primary school history lessons that Henry VIII’s lift up mechanised bit was so he could go for a wee on the battlefield. I kid thee not.

Sometimes it’s strange how things tie up.

My thoughts on the letter B link with my comment on this post:

http://www.badreputation.org.uk/2011/03/15/found-feminism-when-your-rock-n-roll-idols-take-notice/

“There are some letters in the dictionary that are more Latinate than others. In consequence, u, v and, to an extent, o are largely dominated by medical terminology…”

reminded me of some things to which I’ve given some thought.

There’s a mismatch between how frequently letters occur in the English language, and how frequently they occur as initial letters. O is a letter with which comparatively few English words begin, allowing a disproportionately high representation of Latinate/Medical terms. Yet, according to Poe’s “The Gold Bug” (which I do not doubt), O is the third most common letter in the English language. By contrast, B is sufficiently uncommon to count for a hefty 3 in Scrabble, but (in a library catalogue I recall surprisingly well) was second only to M as an initial letter.

My interest in this stems partly from experience of arranging things in alphabetic order. My first job was in a library — all but the first month spent in the cataloguing department. Also, my reference to “The Gold Bug” shows some interest in cryptography. My youthful reading of Poe coincided with feeling that I had secrets to set down in a form nobody else would be able to read. (I think that reading Poe and having accumulating secrets are two things that must have coincided in a lot of people’s lives.)

The book I read on the topic (James Laver – Costume & Fashion: A Concise History) was fairly certain that it was originally a modesty device: c1485 – ‘the main garment was still the doublet but it could be worn extremely short, so short as to demand the use of a codpiece at times.’ Wikipedia (that source of all that is reliable) argues that it arose because of the separate legs of the hose (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Codpiece), again demanding a modesty device (much like the drawers of the c19th, except they did not require a modesty device because of the size of the skirts). It’s quite common for something that rises out of (some kind of) necessity to reach epic look-at-me proportions: cf also the crinoline, the wig, lingerie, tracksuits – even leggings.

That’s interesting. Schooled in the 1950s, no teacher would have shown me or my classmates a picture of Henry VIII’s armour.

Interesting as this is, it doesn’t resolve the question of whether the fashionable codpiece arose from armour, or whether Henry VIII’s armour followed non-military fashion.

I have some doubt whether Henry VIII would have worn that armour in battle. “Being the King in the 1500s probably means you don’t have to do much actual fighting compared to Joe Bloggs Footsoldier…” sounds about right to me. Doing a little reading (but only a little), it seems that by Henry VIII’s time, a lot of infantrymen carried firearms (specifically the arquebus). These weapons could pierce plate armour. Consequently, armour grew heavier and more cumbersome, before (gradually) being dropped. So, for a fighting soldier in Tudor times, that armour may have been of little practical use.