Slots

I didn’t think there would be many meanings or origins for slots but I was surprised. Here are a few:

a) The oldest is from the 14th century means a bolt or bar that secures a door.

b) Slots means the tracks of an animal, from the same Old Norse root that gave us sleuth.

c) A third slot means castle, but it’s obsolete.

d) Again from the 14th century it was the slight depression or hollow running down the middle of the breast, especially the hollow at the base of the throat.

e) An Old French word that gave us slot was ‘esclot’, which meant literally ‘hoofprint of a horse.’

f) By the 15th century slot had begun to develop its more familiar modern sense, beginning with an elongated depression or hole in a piece of lumber wood where another piece is inserted. From there it is clear to see the way to it being used for the opening in a machine into which one places coins for (alleged) coffee, tea or soup.

Or even worse in the gambling industry where on line slots offer so much. When I put the word ‘slots’ into Google the first five pages were devoted to gambling. I gave up after that.

g) And then there is slot as in ‘a position in a list, hierarchy, system, or scheme; a position to be filled; a category; a place or division in a timetable, especially in broadcasting’. Apparently this meaning started being used quite recently, in the 1940s, which was a surprise.

This is the meaning that struck a chord for me as I have in the past been responsible for creating lists, mainly for poetry events, and thus having to give some thought to positions on those lists and who would fill them.

For instance, there was a recent World Poetry Day event (which was fantastic) in which poets from Preston collaborated with the University’s Confucius Institute. There were poets from all over the world reading. There were 30 of them. Each to be allocated a five minute slot. A balance on languages needed to be achieved as well as some other considerations such as age, gender and experience. Thirty sounds a lot but many people were only reading one poem. Or in two cases signing using British Sign Language to an English poem and a Chinese poem. That was one of the highlights for me.

It seems pretty obvious to me what a five minute slot is but not to a person about four years ago at a previous World Poetry Day when this person continued for fifteen (15) minutes before he was stopped. I well remember wanting to slot (slang to kill and put into a grave) him.

As an aside, I think it can be quite tricky allocating the length of a reading slot at a poetry event. Five minutes is the usual for an open mic but the problems arise when the event has a Guest Poet as a headliner. Do you give them 10 minutes, 12, 15? Leave it to them? Poetry is not like a play with a structure or plot to follow to keep your concentration (hopefully). And I’m talking about, for want of a better word, Page poetry rather than Performance poetry. And when it goes wrong it can be awful. Some of us still have nightmares about a Rapper at the Continental in Preston a couple of years ago. Half an hour. Someone told me afterwards that they had lost the will to live half way through the reading (if that’s what it was).

h) I’ve only found one reference to this meaning for slots ‘now obsolete, meant a muddy place.’ But it enables me to segue (how I have wanted to use that word) seamlessly into my poem whilst also using references to a), b) and e) above:

Hunt Monitoring

we were cold and wet
and tired and empty
and hungry and late
and silent and what

we didn’t need right then
was a Land Rover blocking
the narrow lane ahead
and what we really didn’t need

were two women slamming doors
striding towards us
rain glinting off green Hunters
hands thrust into old Barbours

stopping ten yards away
while we waited for it
not caring any more
as the attack began

So sorry for stopping you
but we just wanted to say well done
We’re so pleased you’re doing something
People don’t understand
Hunts don’t give a damn about horses
they’re cruel and brutal
The wounds we’ve seen
cuts to bellies from thorns
And barbed wire and branches
Fetlocks bleeding
I saw a twisted spine last year
Their ligaments are ruined at ditches
You’ve been up in those bogs
they ruin a horse’s tendons
They fall over stone walls
And as to their poor mouths
Sorry we do get a bit angry
and you need to get home
Keep up the good work

and off they went
and so did we

First published in Voices for the Silent, an anthology for the League Against Cruel Sports, Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2022

Thanks for reading, Terry Q