The FT headline said: ‘Man Group orders quants back to office five days a week.’ I didn’t know what quants were and all my husband could say was: ‘Complete quants’, as though it were funny.
Of course I kept thinking of Mary Quant, and I suppose her name was French in origin. There was a Hugo le Cuint in 1208 and a Richard le Queynte in Hampshire in 1263. The name would relate to quant or quaint, meaning ‘clever’ or ‘cunning’, and derived from Latin cognitus. The varied spelling overlapped with the word Chaucer used for a woman’s private parts, which comes from a completely different Latin word.
Such is the elasticity of language, where words of distinct meaning can have exactly the same form, that another word quant has been in use for 600 years to mean a sort of punt pole with a flanged end to avoid being caught in the mud of the Norfolk Broads. The same pole-like element called a quant is found in windmills to transmit drive to the upper millstone. This all sounds like something from Call My Bluff, but the funny thing about the pole-like quant is that in Latin, as Thomas Shadwell noted in his translation of Juvenal, contus means a bargepole, as kontos does in Greek. Yet today’s etymologists refuse to fall for the casual resemblance. I would like to imagine that, in the context of the FT headline, City workers were to be punted by quant-power down the river every working day. But the City quants are nothing but quantitative analysts, no doubt given to fits of quantitative easing. Quant as an abbreviation of quantitative was first observed among chemical scientists in the 19th century, but was applied to financial analysts only in the late 1970s. The abbreviation has something of the flavour of cit, popular from the 17th century as a name for an inhabitant of a city – ‘in an ill sense’ as Samuel Johnson put it, ‘a pert, low townsman’. But be they never so high, they’ll be coming in five days a week.
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