Notes and queries

Is an orange called an orange because it's orange, or is orange orange because of the orange? Which came first, the fruit or the colour?

The fruit came first. The English word "orange" has made quite a journey to get here. The fruit originally came from China – the German word Apfelsine and the Dutch sinaasappel (Chinese apple) reflect this – but our word ultimately comes from the Old Persian "narang". Early Persian emperors collected exotic trees for their landscape gardens, which may well have included orange trees. Arabs later traded the fruit and spread the word all the way to Moorish Spain; the Spanish word for orange is "naranja". In Old French, the fruit became "orenge" and this was adopted into Middle English, eventually becoming our orange, fruit as well as colour.

Anna Alberda Ellis, Huddersfield

As the instance of "pume orenge" in a 13th-century Anglo-Norman manuscript indicates, orange was in fact first used as an adjective. Yet, the Persian word from which "orange" is derived did not refer to the colour of the fruit, but to the bitterness of its skin. Orange as a colour adjective dates from the early 16th century; therefore we can say that the orange is called orange because it is orange, as well as orange is orange because of the orange.

Wilfried Heinz, Tübingen, Germany

There are very few pure colour names like black, white, red, blue, green or brown; most of the hundreds of words we use for colours come from things such as fruit, flowers, precious stones and other objects, eg cerise, turquoise, indigo, violet, amber. Witness a recent Simon Hoggart's sketch (Guardian, March 19): "His [Sir Hayden Phillips's] face, normally the colour of terracotta, went through plum tomato, to brick red and on to tomato."

Ormond Uren, London NW5

A new film, Centurion, suggests that a Roman legion (the 9th) was wiped out in Scotland in AD117. Did this really happen?

The film Centurion is not based upon the book The Eagle of the Ninth, beyond the idea of the disappearing ninth legion (N&Q, 24 March). Award-winning novelist Rosemary Sutcliff's story is of a young Roman who goes on a quest with his slave Esca to discover the fate of his father's lost ninth legion, restore his father's reputation, and retrieve the lost eagle. It is the basis of the film The Eagle of the Ninth, being made by Kevin Macdonald. My evidence for this? I look after Rosemary Sutcliff's books and legacy, as her onetime godson and cousin..

Anthony Lawton, Leicester

I would be very surprised if a Roman legion would have been destroyed as it slept in camp (N&Q, 24 March). A Roman legion in enemy territory would have built a marching fort, which would have prevented it being rushed by an attacking force. Sentries would have been placed to give early warning of an attack.

Also, a night attack is very difficult to organise. An interesting parallel is the attempted night attack by the Jacobite army on the government army before the battle of Culloden in 1746. Despite being on home ground and having local guides, the Jacobites got lost and the attack had to be abandoned. The difficulties facing a tribal chieftain in the Roman period would, if anything, have been greater. So it is very unlikely to have happened that way.

Andrew Tampion, Hinckley, Leics

What is there in a song that makes someone like it? I love key changes, but no one else seems to – why is this?

I think that musicians regard a key change as a cheap method of creating emotion in a song: the shift in key is a very functional way of seeming to make the song "soar". A song such as Oasis's All Around the World illustrates this; the chorus is simply too dull without the key change, which gives it the feel of being anthemic. Compare this to, say, Blur's Tender (to reopen mid-90s wounds), which stays in one key and has a hook that is repeated a lot: it stays interesting because of subtle changes in lengths of chorus, guitar line and backing vocals.

Keith Williams, London

Any answers

Sally Howel, London SW2

Is any research going on into a depilatory to replace shaving? There is something a bit bronze age about scraping one's face with a razor.

Alan Rooks, Leicester

Send questions and answers to nq@theguardian.com. Please include name, address and phone number.