Performance by the Harvard Krokodiloes
Tuesday, 30 June 2026
Government House
Her Excellency the Honourable Margaret Beazley AC KC
As is my tradition, I greet you in the language of the Gadigal, Traditional Owners of these lands
Bujari Gamarruwa
Diyn Babana, Gamarada Gadigal Ngura
In doing so, I pay my respects to Gadigal Elders past, present, and emerging.
Lieutenant-Governor[1]; President of the Legislative Council[2]; Speaker of the Legislative Assembly[3]; Chief Justice of Australia[4]; former Justice of the High Court[5]; Justices of the Supreme Court, current[6] and former[7]; Deputy Chief Judge of the Local Court of NSW[8]; members of the Harvard Club of Australia; distinguished guests, friends all,
One of the wonderful things about being Governor is, every day, I learn something new – oftentimes several somethings.
Today’s titbit[9] is the etymological origins of the word ‘crocodile’, something I had never really thought about until musing on what to say by way of introduction to tonight’s performance.
According to Herodotus, whose 5th-century BC Histories includes one of the earliest written descriptions of the reptile,[10] the name he gives them – in Ancient Greek krokodeilos[11] – came not from the Egyptians, who, he says, called them Champsae, but from the Ionians, who thought the Nile crocodile looked like a particular lizard they had at home that lived amongst the stones of their walls, and which they called krokodeilos, or, more properly in the plural, krokodeiloi.[12]
As to Herodotus’s description, I was a bit sceptical about his claims that Crocodiles was blind in the water and had no tongue.[13] My scepticism was well-placed; the crocodile actually has a transparent third eyelid – a nictitating membrane – that protects its eye under water and allows it to see.[14] It also has a tongue, but a membrane sticks it to the bottom of its mouth so it can’t stick it out.[15]
There is also a theory that the name Krododeilos may be a compounding of the Ionic krokē for ‘pebbles’ and drilos for ‘worm’ to make ‘pebble-worm’… perhaps referring to the crocodile’s love of basking on riverbank stones. The noted etymologist Robert S P Beekes, however, says this is explanation is fanciful and “should be forgotten,”[16] advice much of the internet seems to have ignored.[17]
In any case, the name krokodeilos – wherever it came from – stuck… at least amongst Europeans… albeit with variations,[18] for instance with the ‘r’ swapped around in Italian (coccodrillo) and Spanish (cocodrilo).[19]
Fast forward more than 2,000 years from Herodotus to 1946 and Harvard University. Four members[20] of the Hasty Pudding Club had met to discuss forming an a cappella group.
Now, for those not in the know, the Hasty Pudding Club – or more simply ‘the Pudding’ – is possibly the oldest collegiate social club in the US, extending as far back as 1795.[21] Its name stems from the early tradition of members taking turns, alphabetically, to provide the others with a meal of hasty pudding,[22] so called not because it was quick to cook (it wasn’t) but because it was easy.[23]
To further spice up the early meetings, mock trials were held, which became increasingly elaborate roasts; then, in 1844, several members hijacked one meeting and performed a surprise musical… and so was born Hasty Pudding Theatricals, the US’s oldest still-thriving theatrical organisation.[24]
Anyway – back to 1946 and the meeting of the four Pudding members who wanted to concentrate, instead of burlesque and musical theatre, on a cappella singing… in terms of the name they chose to call themselves… there are a couple of stories[25]… one is that they were inspired by the stuffed crocodiles – purportedly shot by Club alumnus Teddy Roosevelt himself[26] – hanging above the fireplace in the Pudding’s Upstairs Bar.[27] To add a touch of sophistication they used the ancient Greek – quoting, in a sense, Herodotus – and thus were born the Krokodiloes.[28]
According to one of the founders, David Binger, they weren’t very good as a quartet and so they became a sextet, and then an octet, and then a group of 12… soon (well, by 1988) they were playing at the Carnegie Hall.[29]
This evening, 80 years after its foundation, we are privileged to experience the latest incarnation of this Harvard institution… 12 Harvard students, replete with traditional tuxedos, virtuosic singing, and amazing choreography.
They will be singing songs not only from the great American songbook, but also, in closing, Australia’s informal national anthem, Waltzing Matilda.
Australians have been singing Waltzing Matilda with gusto for over a century, knowing who a swagman was, mostly knowing what a billabong was, perhaps knowing a jumbuck was a sheep – but, as I have found – and have to admit myself am one – have never asked about 'Matilda'. That all changed last week with a visit to the Gulgong Pioneers Museum, when I spied an old poster on the wall that revealed all. ‘Matilda’ was the name swagmen gave to their swag. It went – ‘waltzed’ – with them as they went from station to station looking for work.[30]
Whether it is a phrase developed as poetic allusion, through rhetorical meiosis,[31] to the brutal loneliness of the swagmen’s lot… or literal description of an actual incident some claim to have occurred in Gulgong in the 1870s, when gold miners were taught to waltz with their swags hung from the ceiling of the local opera house as their partners,[32] I will leave for others to decide.
For the moment… that is enough words – at least unsung. To co-opt the motto of the Harvard Krokodiloes: Nunc Est Cantandum! ‘Now is the time to sing!’[33].
Please welcome to the stage… the Harvard Krokodiloes…
[1] The Honourable Andrew Bell AC, Chief Justice of New South Wales
[2] The Honourable Benjamin Franklin MLC, President of the Legislative Council, Parliament of NSW
[3] The Honourable Greg Piper MP, Speaker of the Legislative Assembly, Parliament of NSW
[4] The Honourable Stephen Gageler AC,Chief Justice of the High Court of Australia
[5] The Honourable Virginia Bell AC SC, Former Justice of the High Court of Australia
[6] The Honourable Carolyn Simpson AO KC, Judge, Supreme Court of NSW
[7] The Honourable Patricia Bergin AO SC, Former Chief Judge in Equity, Supreme Court of NSW; the Honourable John Sackar AM KC, former Judge, Supreme Court
[8] His Honour Theo Tsavdaridis, Deputy Chief Judge, Local Court of New South Wales
[9] ‘titbit’ is the British form; Americans seem to prefer ‘tidbit’: ‘Tidbit or titbit?’, Grammarphobia website, 13 March 2020, available here
[10] Herodotus, Histories Book II, ch.68-70; translation from George Rawlinson, The History of Herodotus. A New English Version, London 1880, pp.114-118, available here
[11] κροκόδειλος
[12] “In the Egyptian language they are not called crocodiles, but Champsae. The name of crocodiles was given them by the lonians, who remarked their resemblance to the lizards, which in Ionia live in the walls, and are called crocodiles”: Herodotus, Histories Book II, ch.69. Translation taken from George Rawlinson, The History of Herodotus. A New English Version, London 1880, p.117, available here
[13] “It has the eyes of a pig, teeth large and tusk-like, of a size proportioned to its frame; unlike any other animal, it is without a tongue; […] In the water it is blind:” Herodotus, Histories Book II, ch.68; translation from George Rawlinson, The History of Herodotus. A New English Version, London 1880, pp.115-116, available here
[18] e.g., in addition to the English crocodile; there is the German Krokodil; the French crocodile; the Portuguese crocodile; the Russian крокодил (krokodil): ‘Crocodile vs. cocodrile: where does the “r\” belong?’, Latin Language website, available here
[19] also the Catalan cocodril: ibid.
[20] David Binger; David Biddle; Francis Cabot; and Arthur Nichols: ‘”Kroks” to Celebrate 60 Years of Song’, The Harvard Gazette online, 23 February 2006, available here
[23] Originally an English recipe, a Hasty Pudding in a US context is a mixture of cornmeal, milk, molasses, and spices baked for an hour and a half: ‘A Maryland Favorite with a Long History: Hasty Pudding’, Preservation Maryland website, available here
[24] ‘Theatricals History: Celebrating 177 Years of the Pudding’, Hasty Pudding website, available here
[25] One is that the name came from pluralising a Pudding officer title called the Krokodilo, which itself came from the Crocodile emblem of the Institute of 1770, which merged with the Hasty Pudding Club in 1926: ‘Kroks Around the Clock’, Harvard Magazine online, n.d. (after 1988), available here
[26] ‘Fifteen Minutes: Behind the Curtain with the Kroks’, Harvard Crimson online, 14 October 1999, available here; Juan Siliezar, ‘Low temps, high spirits greet Hasty Pudding’s Woman of the Year’, The Harvard Gazette online, 31 January 2019, available here
[28] ibid.
[30] “[Waltzing Matilda:] to carry a swag; to travel the road. A matilda is a swag, the roll or bundle of possessions carried by an itinerant worker or swagman. The waltz in to waltz Matilda is a jocular or ironic way to refer to the hard slog of carrying your possessions as you travel on foot, although waltz may possibly [be] influenced by a German colloquial term, auf die Walze gehen, which means ‘to go a-wandering; to go on one’s travels:” ‘Australian Words – W’, ANU School of Literature, Languages and Linguistics website, available here
[31] “Meiosis, in literature, is a figure of speech that intentionally understates something for rhetorical effect. It’s a way of minimizing the importance of what is being described, often to create a sense of humor, irony, or to highlight the actual magnitude of the situation through contrast. It’s often used to create a subtle, yet impactful, effect. Think of it as the opposite of hyperbole, which exaggerates. With meiosis, you’re actively reducing the impact of words:” Meiosis’, Literary Devices website, available here
[32] On the Gulgong theory, for instance: “The round voice of a daintily dressed dancing instructor — cum — master of ceremonies Sounded through the hall. “Take your partners for the waltz”. From a score of smartly dressed gold diggers, seven or eight eager dancers stepped forward and did just that. However, their “partners” were most unconventional. They walked to the centre of the floor where their swags ('Matildas') were swinging from a rafter by light ropes. The gentlemen took their Matilda's into their arms in that intimate fashion which was then considered a little bit naughty. The time was the 1870's, the place the Prince of Wales Opera House, at Gulgong, central western New South Wales. A concertina, accordion, fiddle and tin whistle band struck up and the gold diggers stepped out the “one-two-three” under the guidance of their dancing master in a circular movement around the hall. This was the only way the miners could learn the new dance craze. There were thousands of men on the gold fields but only a few hundred women:” Frank Halloran, ‘How Matilda Came to Life’, Western Magazine, 16 April 1973, pp.4,10, available here