Re: help CES-ENG zasilatelska smlouva
- --- In Czechlist@yahoogroups.com, James Kirchner <jpklists@...> wrote:
> In a formal contract on shipping that is read by peopleJamie, I think you underestimate the average American or Brit.
> who are used to reading formal contracts on shipping,
> "consignee" is a perfect good word to use.
> On a shipping label intended to be filled out by average people,
> "consignor" and "consignee" would be a spanelska vesnice for
> nearly everyone, and we use "from" and "to". The last time I
> filled out an international FedEx form (which was a few days ago),
> it did not have the word "consignee" on it.
The word "consignee" _is_ on the FedEx international air waybill, in the first sentence of the "customs clearance" paragraph. And it doesn't use "From" and "To" to designate any information field; those are mere labels for general areas--the actual _information fields_ to fill in are named "sender's name" and "address" and so on.
Your labeling my examples as formal contracts is not accurate. Some texts were meant for end customers.
But the sheer accident of having seen one use in Bryson's book encouraged me to go looking. Consider the following quotes, from novels by Brm Stoker, Charles Dickens, Bret Harte, and others unknown to me. The books quoted from were obviously not highly formal or specialized, and were meant to be read by everyday folks. Indeed, there's a fair bit of dialect in them; kind of fun, whether accurate or not.
I don't disagree that the words "addressee" or "recipient" might be preferable to "consignee," because a form arguably should be fillable even by someone with below-average vocabulary. But the original question was about the _contract_ name, not the specific word "consignee"; and the original Q wasn't about the preferred term for an American filling out a form, but was about UK acceptability. At least, I seem to recall so; but maybe my memory is failing.
To properly credit the UK side of the Q, Stoker and Dickens were Brits (well, Irish for Stoker I guess), and Bryson was a UK resident for a couple of decades, as for that matter was Harte in later life, and I simply have no basis for saying that they mis-spent their youth so as to have ended up with overly gussified or too highly formal writing. (Well, Bryson may have mis-spent bits of his youth, but not with that result. :-) )
Anyway, for your reading amusement (it was a bit of fun looking these up):
Dracula, by Bram Stoker:
"You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form the consignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of the house and marked 'A' on rough diagrams enclosed.
. . .
After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room, and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them.
= = =
Mugby Junction, by Charles Dickens:
About this time--it will be remembered that I speak of the days when Mat and I were on the bright side of thirty--it happened that our firm contracted to supply six first-class locomotives to run on the new line, then in process of construction, between Turin and Genoa. It was the first Italian order we had taken. . . . The six locomotives were not only turned out to time, but were shipped, despatched, and delivered with a promptitude that fairly amazed our Piedmontese consignee. I was not a little proud, you may be sure, when I found myself appointed to superintend the transport of the engines.
(I'll confess, having been a French lit major, that I had no idea there even _was_ a work by Dickens of this name.)
= = =
Cressy, by Bret Harte:
It was one afternoon at the end of his usual solitary lesson, and the master and Uncle Ben were awaiting the arrival of Rupert. Uncle Ben's educational progress lately, through dint of slow tenacity, had somewhat improved, and he had just completed from certain forms and examples in a book before him a "Letter to a Consignee" informing him that he, Uncle Ben, had just shipped "2 cwt. Ivory Elephant Tusks, 80 peculs of rice and 400bbls. prime mess pork from Indian Spring;" . . . and Uncle Ben was surveying his work with critical satisfaction when the master, somewhat impatiently, consulted his watch. Uncle Ben looked up.
"I oughter told ye that Rupe didn't kalkilate to come to day."
"I reckon because I told him he needn't. I allowed to--to hev a little private talk with ye, Mr. Ford, if ye didn't mind."
(Admittedly, the lesson subject is meant to contrast with their daily life; but Harte expected his reader to know what was going on.)
= = =
Trail's End, by George W. Ogden:
There was not a little disappointment, but more relief, in the public mind when it became understood that Craddock was not to be shot. As a mockery of his past oppression and terrible name, he was to be nailed up in a box and shipped out like a snake. . . .
Judge Thayer wrote the address on the shipping tag, the undertaker tacked it on Seth Craddock's case, and then the amazed people of Ascalon came forward surrounding the case, and read:
Chief of Police,
Kansas City, Missouri.
That was the consignee of the strangest shipment ever billed out of Ascalon.
Meantime Seth Craddock, with the blood of eight men on his hands, was making more noise in the coffin box than a sack of cats.
= = =
"Pigs is Pigs", by Ellis Parker Butler:
Mr. Morehouse wrote to the Claims Department. He wrote six pages of choice sarcasm, vituperation and argument, and sent them to the Claims Department.
A few weeks later he received a reply from the Claims Department. Attached to it was his last letter.
"Dr. Sir," said the reply. "Your letter of the 16th inst., addressed to this Department, subject rate on guinea-pigs from Franklin to Westcote, ree'd. We have taken up the matter with our agent at Westcote, and his reply is attached herewith. He informs us that you refused to receive the consignment or to pay the charges. You have therefore no claim against this company, and your letter regarding the proper rate on the consignment should be addressed to our Tariff Department."
. . .
The head of the Tariff Department put his feet on his desk and yawned. He looked through the papers carelessly.
"Miss Kane," he said to his stenographer, "take this letter. 'Agent, Westcote, N. J. Please advise why consignment referred to in attached papers was refused domestic pet rates."'
Miss Kane made a series of curves and angles on her note book and waited with pencil poised. The head of the department looked at the papers again.
"Huh! guinea-pigs!" he said. "Probably starved to death by this time! Add this to that letter: 'Give condition of consignment at present.'"
He tossed the papers on to the stenographer's desk, took his feet from his own desk and went out to lunch.
When Mike Flannery received the letter he scratched his head.
"Give prisint condition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Now what do thim clerks be wantin' to know, I wonder! 'Prisint condition, 'is ut? Thim pigs, praise St. Patrick, do be in good health, so far as I know, but I niver was no veternairy surgeon to dago pigs. Mebby thim clerks wants me to call in the pig docther an' have their pulses took. Wan thing I do know, howiver, which is they've glorious appytites for pigs of their soize. Ate? They'd ate the brass padlocks off of a barn door I If the paddy pig, by the same token, ate as hearty as these dago pigs do, there'd be a famine in Ireland."
To assure himself that his report would be up to date, Flannery went to the rear of the office and looked into the cage. The pigs had been transferred to a larger box--a dry goods box.
"Wan, -- two, -- t'ree, -- four, -- five, -- six, -- sivin, -- eight!" he counted. "Sivin spotted an' wan all black. All well an' hearty an' all eatin' loike ragin' hippypottymusses. He went back to his desk and wrote.
"Mr. Morgan, Head of Tariff Department," he wrote. "Why do I say dago pigs is pigs because they is pigs and will be til you say they ain't which is what the rule book says stop your jollying me you know it as well as I do. As to health they are all well and hoping you are the same. P. S. There are eight now the family increased all good eaters. P. S. I paid out so far two dollars for cabbage which they like shall I put in bill for same what?"
Morgan, head of the Tariff Department, when he received this letter, laughed. He read it again and became serious.
"By George!" he said, "Flannery is right, 'pigs is pigs.' I'll have to get authority on this thing. Meanwhile, Miss Kane, take this letter: Agent, Westcote, N. J. Regarding shipment guinea-pigs, File No. A6754. Rule 83, General Instruction to Agents, clearly states that agents shall collect from consignee all costs of provender, etc., etc., required for live stock while in transit or storage. You will proceed to collect same from consignee."
= = =
Getting Together, by Ian Hay (1917):
"Open your mails? Yes, I'm afraid we do. And we find a good lot inside them! Do you know, there is a great warehouse in London filled from top to bottom with rubber, and nickel, and other commodities for which the Hun longs, disguised as all sorts of things--rubber fruit, for instance--taken from the most innocent-looking parcels--all dispatched from the United States to neutral countries in touch with Germany? But we are most punctilious about it all. Every single article retains its original address-label, and will be forwarded direct to its proper consignee, directly the war is over. Can you beat that?
= = =
Mike Flannery On Duty and Off, by Ellis Parker Butler:
Flannery looked at the tag that was nailed on the side of the box. "Ye'd betther git th' waggon, Timmy," he said slowly, "an' proceed with th' funeral up t' Missus Warman's. This be no weather for perishable goods t' be lyin' 'round th' office. Quick speed is th' motto av th' Interurban Ixpriss Company whin th' weather is eighty-four in th' shade. An', Timmy," he called as the boy moved toward the door, "make no difficulty sh'u'd she insist on receiptin' fer th' goods as bein' damaged. If nicissary take th' receipt fer 'Wan long-haired cat, damaged.' But make haste. 'Tis in me mind that sh'u'd ye wait too long Missus Warman will not be receivin' th' consignment at all. She's wan av th' particular kind, Timmy."
In half an hour Timmy was back. He came into the office lugging the box, and let it drop on the floor with a thud.
"She won't take no damaged cats," said Timmy shortly.
= = =
Afloat at Last, by John Conroy Hutcheson:
Captain Gillespie came off to the ship again, with a gang of coolies . . . sent by the consignees to help discharge the cargo into a lot of small junks that they brought alongside; but the Chinamen made a poor show, contrasting their work with that of our stalwart able-bodied tars, one of whom thought nothing of handling a big crate as it was hoisted out of the hold which it took ten of the others merely to look at.
= = =
My Native Land, by James Cox:
[Flags as markers] were, rather, reminders of the fact that a great majority of the rank and file of river workers could read little, and write less. To tell a colored roustabout twenty or thirty years ago to fetch a certain cargo, labeled with the name of a particular boat or consignee, would have been to draw from the individual addressed a genuine old-time plantation grin, with some caustic observation about lack of school facilities in the days when the roustabout ought to have been studying the "three Rs," but was not. It was, however, comparatively easy to locate a cargo by means of a flag, and identification seldom failed, as the flags could be varied in color, shape and size.
= = =
The Forty-Niners, by Stewart Edward White:
In each mining-town was at least one Yankee storekeeper. He made the real profits of the mines. . . . Often his consignments were quite arbitrary and not at all what he ordered. The story is told of one man who received what, to judge by the smell, he thought was three barrels of spoiled beef. Throwing them out in the back way, he was interested a few days later to find he had acquired a rapidly increasing flock of German scavengers. They seemed to be investigating the barrels and carrying away the spoiled meat. When the barrels were about empty, the storekeeper learned that the supposed meat was in reality sauerkraut!
. . .
Every single commodity of civilized life, such as we understand it, had to be imported. As there was then no remote semblance of combination, either in restraint of or in encouragement of trade, it followed that the market must fluctuate wildly. The local agents of eastern firms were often embarrassed and overwhelmed by the ill-timed consignments of goods. One Boston firm was alleged to have sent out a whole shipload of women's bonnets--to a community where a woman was one of the rarest sights to be found! Not many shipments were as silly as this, but the fact remains that a rumor of a shortage in any commodity would often be followed by rush orders on clipper ships laden to the guards with that same article. As a consequence the bottom fell out of the market completely, and the unfortunate consignee found himself forced to auction off the goods much below cost.
= = =
But with that, I _consign_ myself to abandon the subject. :-)