Head spun! š¤Æ
The other day I found out that the transitive verb āto farewell [someone]ā is uniquely Australian.
Yes, really!
Mignon Fogarty aka Grammar Girl, one of the most famous grammarians on the net, recently asked whether Australians actually use āfarewellā as a verb, because in North America they definitely donāt.
And I can confirm: Aussies absolutely do!
In Australian English, āto farewell [someone]ā means to say goodbye to someone for a long time in a meaningful, emotional or ceremonial way. So youād farewell a work colleague whoās starting a new job elsewhere but you wouldnāt farewell that colleague if theyāre just popping out to the shops.
Essentially, itās the Aussie equivalent of the rather formal āto bid farewellā ā just that we drop the ābidā (how on-brand for us!).
Example:
We farewelled Bruce from work today as heās moving to Canada start a new life as a ski instructor.
Australians also farewell someone when they die. Again, itās the same sentiment as before in that this farewell also has a meaningful, emotional and/or ceremonial element to it. So itās common when someone dies to read or hear this in the Australian media:
Today we farewell a great Aussie hero!

But it doesnāt end there. Australians use another āfarewellā when someone dies, just that itās from Latin:
Vale
Now here itās not the poetic word for āvalleyā ā though Australia certainly has its fair share of places with āvaleā in their name, such as the world-famous wine region of McLaren Vale in my home state of South Australia.š·
In many parts of the world, including Australia, youāll see: RIP [Name]
But in Australia, youāll more often see: Vale [Name]
For example, hereās the AFL website with its farewell to iconic Australian Football commentator Dennis Commetti, who died earlier this month. And legendary Sydney drag queen Maxi Shield, who unfortunately died of cancer in February this year.
You'll also see Aussies use āvaleā like this in social media comments.
Interestingly, āvaleā only became mainstream in Australia after the death of former Prime Minister Gough Whitlam in 2014. Prior to then, āvaleā would only be used in this context primarily in university-related texts (particularly alumni correspondence) and community or social club newsletters when announcing the death of a prominent former member. Since then though, it has become a distinctly Australian way to mark someone's passing ā respectful and, above all, non-religious.
So what makes āvaleā non-religious? This is a topic of much debate on social media sites such as Reddit and Facebook.
āRIPā is only half the phrase, which in full is ārest in peace and rise in gloryā, so explicitly Christian in its implication of an afterlife. Now that doesnāt fit well in modern Australian society, where according to the 2021 census 38.9% of Australians have no religion.
And how do Aussies pronounce āvaleā?
Well, strictly speaking it's āva-leyā... but you'll get a few Kath & Kim types pronouncing it like āveilā. OK, I admit that I have at times unwittingly said āveilā instead of āvalĆ©ā.
Now this doesnāt mean that all Australians have adopted usage of āvaleā. As what one fellow Aussie commented when I originally posted this on social media:
āAs an Aussie who hasn't lived in Australia since the early 2000s, this linguistic quirk is actually quite annoying to me. Not because I don't get the sentiment, but it comes across to me as insincere. As in, it is the equivalent of someone just writing RIP without any other sentiment. I find both equally lacking in sincerity.
And when used by Australian media outlets who target international audiences, it shows a lack of understanding of language and cultural nuance.
I am sure that if I had been living in Australia when it gained traction, my thoughts would be different, but from an outside in perspective, it has had this impact on me.ā
Considering Latin terms in English are usually the sole domain of public school toffs in the UK (think Boris Johnson and co), Brits in particular find the Australian usage of āvaleā intriguing. An English friend of mine asked whether this Australian āvaleā is then bookended by its counterpart, āaveā. Just as āRIPā has been replaced with āvaleā, imagine if birth announcements instead of beginning āWe're delighted to welcome to the world little baby Prunus Minimus...ā, simply read āAve Prunus Minimusā (insert alternative name as appropriate).
Sorry to say, Aussies havenāt reached that level as yet, but who knows what can happen. Hey, letās make āaveā happen! But then again, with my Aussie sunnies (sunglasses) on, āaveā reminds me of that classic Australian joined word āavagooodweekendā (āhave a good weekendā), which for years was the main slogan in ads for the insect repellant Aeroguard.
For more about the origin of āvaleā, check out this witty interaction Q&A on the Australian Writersā Centre site.
Language evolves, cultures adapt and sometimes even a borrowed Latin word becomes part of national identity.
Discovering what makes Australian English unique has been and will be an ongoing journey for me. Just when I least suspect it, I find out something new. The quirks are endless ā and thatās exactly what makes all languages, and not just Australian English, so fascinating.
To make sure you don't farewell your Australian clients forever, best to have your text and copy checked by a dinky-di Aussie who knows his stuff ā me!Ā Email me at info@nicknasev.com for more info.





























































































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