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Plague in the house of Sir Jordan Fitz-Eisulf Part 3, Stained glass window听 听 听Photo听漏 Julian P Guffogg

Dr Eyhab Bader Eddin brings to life the fascinating story of how the English language rose to power from the ashes of the Black Death

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In the centuries following the Norman Conquest of 1066, the English language languished in obscurity, its stature eclipsed by the prestige of Norman French and the sanctity of Latin. French became the idiom of power, spoken in royal courts, legal chambers, noble households, and institutions of learning, while English remained tethered to the speech of commoners, devoid of influence or refinement.

Even as over ninety percent of the population spoke English in one form or another, their tongue was dismissed as coarse and provincial. Writers such as Robert of Gloucester captured this disdain, lamenting that a man who did not speak French was scarcely regarded. Yet, in a remarkable turn of history, it was not linguistic advocacy or royal decree that rebalanced this hierarchy, but rather catastrophe.

The Black Death, which swept through England between 1348 and 1351, upended every aspect of social order. Among its many unintended legacies was the revitalization, and eventual ascendancy of the English language.

It鈥檚 strange, isn鈥檛 it, how calamity can become a catalyst for change? As a linguist, I find myself constantly struck by the irony that tragedy, not conscious reform, gave English its second chance. It reminds me that language isn鈥檛 just a tool; it鈥檚 a survivor, shaped by human vulnerability and resilience.

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This shift, however, cannot be fully appreciated without acknowledging the linguistic context prior to 1066. Old English, also known as Anglo-Saxon, had enjoyed a rich literary and administrative tradition, exemplified by texts such as Beowulf, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, and the homilies of 脝lfric. King Alfred the Great had actively promoted English as a language of learning and governance.

However, the Norman invasion imposed a new linguistic order: French for governance and culture, Latin for religion and academia, and English for the hearth and village. For nearly three centuries, English persisted without prestige or institutional presence.

The cultural and political power associated with French meant that the native tongue became invisible in written records and public life. The English language was kept alive primarily through oral transmission and regional dialects. It would take a seismic social event to break this entrenched hierarchy and that disruption came with the Black Death.

I can鈥檛 help but think of other 鈥渋nvisible鈥� languages today, languages spoken in homes, whispered in markets, but never appearing in courtrooms or classrooms. I think of how many mother tongues are waiting, patiently and quietly, for their moment.

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The bubonic plague, arriving on English shores via merchant ships from continental Europe, is believed to have killed between one-third and one-half of England鈥檚 population within a few short years. Its symptoms, including painful buboes, fever, vomiting, and blackened skin were horrific, and its spread terrifyingly swift. Towns and villages were emptied. Whole families vanished. Monasteries lost so many of their clerics that religious life nearly collapsed in some areas.

The death toll among the French-speaking ruling class was especially consequential. With bishops, judges, scribes, and royal officers among the dead, the machinery of government was left adrift. It was within this administrative vacuum that English-speaking commoners began to rise, filling roles once reserved for the elite. This transformation was more than logistical, it had linguistic implications. For the first time in centuries, English was required to function in formal, professional, and legal contexts.

What speaks to me most here is the quiet dignity of ordinary people stepping into spaces once closed to them鈥攂ringing their language, their worldview, their accent. It鈥檚 a reminder that when we open up spaces linguistically, we open up humanity. And I wonder, what languages today are locked out of opportunity simply because they're 鈥榰nofficial鈥�?

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One of the most consequential responses to this change came in 1362, when Edward III鈥檚 Parliament enacted the Statute of Pleading. This statute decreed that all court proceedings must be conducted in English because 鈥渢he French tongue is much unknown in the realm.鈥� The statute, however, maintained that records would still be entered in Latin, revealing the transitional nature of the period.

Yet symbolically, the law marked a decisive moment in English history. No longer was English confined to the speech of peasants or folklore 鈥� it had entered the courtroom, the very heart of medieval power and order. The Statute was not merely a bureaucratic adjustment; it was a public recognition of a language reasserting itself in national life.

Interestingly, this reform came at a time when the legal profession itself was undergoing Anglicization, as many young lawyers trained without ever learning French. Though French legal terms remained: plaintiff, defendant, larceny, trespass, the structure and sound of justice increasingly echoed in English.

This moment feels almost cinematic. The language of the people stepping boldly into the echoing chambers of justice. As someone passionate about legal language and translation, I often wonder what it feels like to walk into a courtroom where your own language holds power and precision. It鈥檚 something we still wrestle with globally, especially where multilingualism intersects with law.

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Alongside this administrative evolution, economic and cultural shifts further advanced the cause of English. The catastrophic loss of life brought on by the plague sparked a labour crisis that irrevocably altered feudal dynamics. As workers became scarce, surviving peasants, artisans, and tradesmen found themselves in unprecedented positions of leverage. Their rising social mobility was mirrored by a linguistic one: the language of the labourer was now the language of the marketplace, the manor, and eventually, the pulpit.

The 1351 Statute of Labourers, though an attempt to freeze wages and restrict movement, unintentionally highlighted the growing political and economic power of the English-speaking majority. The Lollard movement, too, championed the use of English in religious life, culminating in John Wycliffe鈥檚 English Bible translation of 1382, a watershed moment that made scripture accessible to laypeople.

Educational trends soon followed suit. By the 1380s, grammar schools had largely abandoned French as the medium of instruction, and Latin, the academic mainstay, was increasingly rendered into English. Literary developments bore witness to this transformation: Chaucer鈥檚 Canterbury Tales, composed in the East Midland dialect, demonstrated that English could not only carry the weight of governance and instruction but also of art and satire. Chaucer, along with contemporaries like William Langland (Piers Plowman) and John Gower (Confessio Amantis), infused English with new literary prestige.

What I love here is the blossoming of English from so many angles: faith, school, market, literature. As someone who studied Chaucer late at night with a dictionary in hand, I remember the thrill of hearing voices across time, not lofty or distant, but earthy and alive. It reminds me why translation, and retranslation, is such a human art.

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The elevation of English was not merely a product of internal development, but also of external disassociation. Political and military tensions, most notably the protracted Hundred Years鈥� War, rendered France less an object of cultural emulation and more one of political opposition.

The loss of Normandy in 1204 and the erosion of cross-Channel ties meant that many noble families could no longer sustain bilingual identities. French, once a symbol of aristocratic refinement, began to seem anachronistic and artificial.

Even within noble circles, English gained ground. Satirical portrayals, such as Chaucer鈥檚 Prioress speaking 鈥淔rench of Stratford-at-Bow,鈥� underscored the growing disconnect between true French fluency and affected imitation. Meanwhile, the East Midland dialect, spoken in and around London, gained prominence through its association with trade, governance, and the universities of Oxford and Cambridge.

Dialectal variation persisted: the Northern dialect was characterised by its Norse influences, the Southern by its conservatism, and the Western by distinct phonological patterns. Yet the East Midland dialect gradually prevailed. Texts such as The Ormulum and administrative documents from London showcase its expanding influence.

This convergence of scribal, commercial, and academic authority culminated in William Caxton鈥檚 adoption of the dialect for his printing press in 1476. Caxton鈥檚 decision not only spread literacy but also stabilised spelling and vocabulary, forging the foundation of Standard English.

I often think about how arbitrary 鈥渟tandard鈥� can be. One dialect, by circumstance and commerce, gets a printing press and a legacy. It makes me more mindful of whose voices are still waiting to be heard; not just in historical texts, but in modern publishing, media, and education.

Let鈥檚 take a moment to appreciate that the 鈥榮tandard鈥� form of English was essentially chosen by one very practical printer who, like the rest of us, just wanted to stop rewriting things ten different ways. I often joke that Caxton didn鈥檛 鈥渟tandardise鈥� English, he just got tired of spelling 鈥榯hough鈥� seven different ways before lunch.

And even then, bless his heart, he wasn鈥檛 quite consistent, so we inherited a language where 鈥渢hrough,鈥� 鈥渢ough,鈥� and 鈥渃ough鈥� are pronounced completely differently but look like they were designed by the same chaos-loving committee.

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The Black Death did far more than claim lives 鈥� it claimed assumptions, hierarchies, and inherited norms, including those of language. It inadvertently cleared the stage upon which English would rise; not simply as a tool of everyday speech, but as the voice of the nation鈥檚 conscience, intellect, and authority.

What had once been the tongue of serfs and shepherds became, over the course of a century, the language of courts, sermons, literature, and identity. This transformation did not occur overnight, nor without resistance. Yet the combination of demographic collapse, legislative reform, educational evolution, and cultural flourishing conspired, ironically through the hand of tragedy to elevate English to a position it had not held since before the Norman Conquest.

From the ashes of pestilence emerged a linguistic phoenix: a language tempered by history, enriched by contact, and destined to carry the soul of a people into modernity. There鈥檚 something deeply emotional in watching a language re-emerge like this 鈥� scarred, yes, but not silenced. For me, it鈥檚 a reminder that language is not a neutral system; it鈥檚 our memory, our resistance, our imagination. In today鈥檚 world, where globalisation threatens linguistic diversity, this story gives me hope that even suppressed voices can rise again.

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In conclusion, the Black Death served as a turning point that reshaped the linguistic landscape of England. Its toll was immense and it destabilised the social and institutional structures that had marginalised English for centuries. The plague not only enabled English-speaking commoners to rise in status but also rendered English indispensable in law, governance, religion, and literature.

Legislative milestones such as the Statute of Pleading, combined with literary achievements and educational reforms, firmly entrenched English as a language of power and prestige. The emergence of a standardised dialect further unified the nation under a single linguistic banner. Ultimately, from the devastation of the Black Death arose a revitalised English, resilient, ascendant, and poised to become the dominant language of Britain and, eventually, much of the world.

As someone who works between languages every day, I find this story humbling. It shows that language is never 鈥渏ust鈥� language, it鈥檚 politics, emotion, survival. It also makes me ask: how do we champion linguistic equity today, in our classrooms, courts, and communities?

If history teaches us anything, it鈥檚 that languages, like people, deserve second chances.

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Dr Eyhab Abdulrazak Bader Eddin is an accomplished Assistant Professor of Translation and Linguistics with over two decades of academic and professional experience across the Middle East. A member of 暗网猎奇, Chartered Linguist and MITI translator, he has held key roles at prestigious institutions such as Dhofar University, Kuwait University and King Khalid University. His research interests include translation theory, Quranic linguistics, and stylistics. Committed to educational innovation and community service, he continues to shape future translators and contribute to intercultural understanding.

You can contact Dr Bader Eddin on .

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Views expressed on 暗网猎奇 Voices are those of the writer and may not represent those of the wider membership or 暗网猎奇.

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