Bibliosmia

Bibliosmia (pronounced bib-lee-oz-mee-ah)

(1) The pleasant aroma issuing from (usually older) books.

(2) The smell of books, pleasing or not (contested).

2014: A compound word, the construct being biblio- + -osmia, bibliosmia was a neologism coined by English academic Dr Oliver Tearle and released into the wild in a (since deleted) tweet on X (then called Twitter) on 24 February 2014; the original definition was “the act of smelling books”.  Biblio was (via an uncertain path) from the Ancient Greek βιβλίον (biblíon) (small book) which originally was a diminutive of βίβλος (bíblos) (book), from βύβλος (búblos) (papyrus) (the name from the ancient Phoenician city of Byblos, which manufactured and exported papyrus to be used as writing material).  In Esperanto (the most widely used of the IALs (international auxiliary language), construction of which began late in the nineteenth century) Biblio meant “Bible” and thus was always capitalized.  The constructed suffix –(o)smia was from the Latin osmia, nominative, accusative & vocative plural of osmium, from the Ancient Greek ὀσμή (osmḗ), (stench, stink), referring to the smell of its tetroxides (any oxide containing four oxygen atoms in each molecule).  Deconstructed, bibliosmia translates as “booksmell” which sounds less than compelling and is an indication why Dr Tearle turned to Ancient Greek for a veneer of linguistic respectability.  He risked the wrath of the purists who don’t approve of mixing Greek with Latin when forming neologisms but doubtless would note the constructed suffix came ultimately from the Greek.  Bibliosmia is a noun.  Because it remains a neologism not yet acknowledged even by descriptive dictionaries (ie those which document language as it’s used rather than listing “standard words”), there are no derive forms but plausibly some could be constructed as needed including:

Bibliosmiaphile: One who loves the smell of old books (or all books if one accepts the more recent, wider definition of bibliosmia).

Bibliosmiaphilia: The love of the smell of books.

Bibliosmiaphobia: An aversion to the smell of books which really would be a thing because many have heightened sensitivity to odors; theis neen not have anything to do with a dislike of books.

Bibliosmic: The adjectival form.

Bibliosmatous: Another adjectival form.

Bibliosmiac: A noun which could be used of those with the predilection (or re-purposed as an adjective).

Dr Tearle is a lecturer in English at Loughborough University in the English county of Leicestershire and curates the blog Interesting Literature: A Library of Literary Interestingness.  His neologism bibliosmia has (to a small but appreciative audience) proved a popular addition to the tongue but bibliophiles are a tough crowd to please and there has been only restrained enthusiasm for his offering colygraphia (writer's block).  The construct of colygraphia was coly- +. graphia.  Coly- (which is used also as “cœly-”) was not a standard Greek prefix; it was a phonetic constructed from the Ancient Greek κολύω (kolýō) (I hinder, prevent, obstruct, forbid) which was related to κόλυσις (kólysis) (hindrance, prevention).  The suffix -graphia (which Latin picked up as –graphia) was from the Ancient Greek –γραφία, from the noun γραφή (graphḗ) (writing, drawing, description, or representation) from the root verb γράφω (gráphō) (to write, to draw, to inscribe).

Noted bibliosmiaphile Lindsay Lohan with books.

The different fates of bibliosmia (which has been embraced) and colygraphia (which has been ignored except by sites listing it as a word which has been ignored) illustrate how words are little different from memes or pop songs: some catch on and some don’t.  Bibliosmia had the advantage of being a word which evoked in many a fond memory and when defined, probably summoned in the senses a memory of such a smell (even one imagined) and smell is a powerful trigger.  By contrast, for most, “writer’s block” wouldn’t have a positive association.  The book fiends might have been impressed more by a construct like laudagraphia or porlocgraphia (allusions to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s (1772-1834) now discounted excuse for bouts of writer’s block) and while neither exactly stick to the conventions of word construction, the respectability of the literary connection will be compensation.

Aroma Retail explains the chemistry of the smell of books, old & new.

It’s the interaction of chemical processes over time which lends old books the characteristic smell so many seem genuinely to enjoy.  Because there are regional and historic variations in the ways books have been produced, the fragrances which waft from the leaves can vary and this is something subject also to the environment in which the volumes are stored (temperature, light, air quality, humidity etc).  Because books contain a mix (which as technology evolved became more complex) of VOCs (volatile organic compounds), as materials (paper, ink, binding adhesives) fragment and degrade, tiny particles of solids are separated and microscopic volumes of gas are trapped; when a book is opened, some of these fragments some of the gas is released, propelled into the surrounding atmosphere by the pressure created by the movement of the pages.  Mildew or mold (found especially where storage conditions are less than ideal (especially regarding exposure to moisture)) can contribute their own musty or earthy odor but mostly it’s a product of slow chemical decomposition and can be thought a kind of olfactory record of time, materials, and conditions.  The mechanical processes which produce the scent includes:

(1) Lignin breakdown. Lignin is a natural polymer in wood pulp and was once commonly used in the production of paper; as it degrades, it produces vanillin (the same compound that gives vanilla its smell), along with phenols and other aromatic compounds.  Among the most significant of the compounds contributing to the palette of “old book smells” are toluene which produces sweet aromas & furfural which adds almond and coffee overtones.  Combined with the vanilla-like emanations from vanillin, what emerges is a sweet aroma and this is part of the appeal, our fondness for the sweet pre-dating even the emergence of the human species and related to our eternal quest for fat, salt & sugar.

(2) Cellulose degradation: Paper is composed largely of cellulose and this breaks down into compounds like furfural and acetaldehyde (both of which contribute to sweet, almond-like or grassy smells).

(3) Acetic and other acids: These give off a slightly vinegar-like tang, something exacerbated by being stored in places with high humidity.

(4) Binding glues and leather: Before the development of modern, mass-produced synthetics, most glues were animal-based (the origin of the nickname “glue factory” for the knackeries where “slow racehorses” were sent for “processing”) and these typically, over time (and again influenced by environmental conditions) released a musty or slightly sweet odor.  Leather bindings contribute aldehydes and other organic compounds, each with a distinctive scent.

Bibliosmia (n.) The smell and aroma of old or good books (2022) by Kendaric Imahso & Mirana Imahso.  A journal of 110 pages, it's described as a Reading Log, Bookworm Journal, Book Review, Book Lovers Organizer & Bibliophile’s Logbook Paperback.

This is the stuff which people smell and what aficionados call bibliosmia.  As a technical point, although there’s doubtlessly much overlap, not all bibliophiles are bibliosmists.  A bibliophile can be either (1) one who loves books or (2) one who collects books and among the latter, there are many who are interested not at all in the content, focused instead on things rarity, condition (dust jackets a fetish), publication date (first editions much sought), the presence of the author’s signature, perhaps with an inscription (dedicated ideally to someone famous or infamous) and details of construction (hardback; leather bound etc).  While there are collectors who cherish both the object and the text within, many are essentially just traders for whom the value of a book lies in the profits to be made.  Almost all probably notice the odours (there is “new book smell” and “old book smell”) but only some truly relish the experience.

Amorphous Antique Book Perfume Oil. 

Conceptually, oils and sprays which provide an "old book" or "book shop" fragrance are similar to the "leather smell" sprays now available for those with cars with vinyl upholstery.  The best of the modern vinyls are now visually indistinguishable from leather but some still long for the incomparable olfactory experience.  Those with fond memories of hours among the stacks in libraries or browsing through bookshops can at home burn Antique Book Perfume Oil in their oil burners, enhancing the reading experience. 

That experience is a construct and one valued not because of the intrinsic characteristics of the aroma(s) but because of the memories which can be triggered.  Researchers long ago determined smell is a uniquely powerful trigger of memories because of the way the brain processes olfactory information through direct and primal pathways deeply tied (hard-wired the popular if somewhat misleading term) to emotion and memory.  What the neurology community discovered was that uniquely among the five senses, smell was the only one to bypass the thalamus (the brain’s sensory “relay station”), going directly to the olfactory bulb which has intimate connections to (1) the amygdala (governing emotions) and (2) the hippocampus (memory formation).  As an evolutionary advantage, what the arrangement meant was information from a critical sensor of danger (smell) was almost immediately available to the brain’s decision-making process to (1) act upon and (2) store for future reference.  Ultimately, it meant scents can trigger emotional and autobiographical memories immediately and vividly, often before an individual identifies or describes the smell.  Many smell associations are formed in early childhood, a critical period for emotional and sensory development and the memory links remain strong because they were encoded so early in life and it’s believed much of this strength comes from smell being fully-formed long before language, meaning there early recollections remain eternally raw and unfiltered. 

Mural

Mural (pronounced myoor-uhl)

(1) A large picture painted or affixed directly on a wall or ceiling.

(2) A greatly enlarged photograph attached directly to a wall.

(3) A wallpaper pattern representing a landscape or the like, often with very widely spaced repeats so as to produce the effect of a mural painting on a wall of average size; sometimes created as a trompe l'oeil (“deceives the eye”).

(4) Of, relating to, or resembling a wall.

(5) Executed on or affixed to a wall.

(6) In early astronomy, pertaining to any of several astronomical instruments that were affixed to a wall aligned on the plane of a meridian; formerly used to measure the altitude of celestial bodies.

1400–1450: From the late Middle English mural, from the Latin mūrālis (of or pertaining to a wall), the construct being mūr(us) (wall) + ālis (the Latin suffix added to a noun or numeral to form an adjective of relationship; alternative forms were āris, ēlis, īlis & ūlis).  The Latin mūrālis was from the Old Latin moiros & moerus, from the primitive Indo-European root mei (to fix; to build fences or fortifications) from which Old English picked-up mære (boundary, border, landmark) and Old Norse gained mæri (boundary, border-land).  In the historic record, the most familiar Latin form was probably munire (to fortify, protect).  The sense of "a painting on a wall" seems to have emerged as late as 1915 as a clipping of "mural-painting" (a painting executed upon the wall of a building), a term in use since at least 1850 and derived from mural in its adjectival form.

The adjective intermural (between walls) dates from the 1650s, from the Latin intermuralis (situated between walls), the construct being from inter- (between) + muralis (pertaining to a wall) from mūrus (wall).  The adjective intramural (within the walls (of a city, building etc)) dates from 1846, the construct being intra- (within) + muralis (pertaining to a wall) from mūrus (wall); it was equivalent to Late Latin intramuranus and in English, was used originally in reference to burials of the dead.  It came first to be used in relation to university matters by Columbia in 1871.  Mural is a noun, verb & adjective; muraled is a verb & adjective, muralist & muralism are nouns and muraling is a verb; the noun plural is murals.  The adjectives murallike, muralish & muralesque are non-standard and the adverb murally is unrelated, murally a term from heraldry meaning “with a mural crown” and used mostly in the technical terms “murally crowned” & “murally gorged”.  A mural crown was a crown or headpiece representing city walls or towers and was used as a military decoration in Ancient Rome and later as a symbol in European heraldry; its most common representation was as a shape recalling the alternating merlons (raised structures extending the wall) atop a castle’s turret which provided defensive positions through which archers could fire.  The style remains familiar in some of the turrets which sometimes on the more extravagant McMansions and in the chess piece properly called the rook but also referred to as a castle.

Lindsay Lohan murals in the style of street art (graffiti): In hijab (al-amira) with kebab roll by an unknown street artist, Melbourne, Australia (left), the photograph the artist took as a template (centre) and in a green theme in Welcome to Venice mural by UK-born Californian street artist Jules Muck (b 1978) (right).  While a resident of Venice Beach, Ms Lohan lived next door to former special friend, DJ Samantha Ronson (b 1977).

In multi-cultural Australia, the kebab roll has become a fixture in the fast-food scene with variations extending from vegan to pure meat, the term “kebab” something of a generic term meaning what the vendor decides it means.  Cross-culturally the kebab roll also fills a niche as the standard 3 am snack enjoyed by those leaving night clubs, a place and time at which appetites are heightened.  After midnight, many kebab rolls are sold by street vendors from mobile carts and those in the Middle East will not be surprised to learn barbaric Australians sometimes add pineapple to their roll.  The photograph of Ms Lohan in hijab was taken during a “doorstop” (an informal press conference) after her visit in October 2016 to Gaziantep (known to locals as Antep), a city in the Republic of Türkiye’s south-eastern Anatolia Region.  The purpose of the visit was to meet with Syrian refugees being housed in Gaziantep’s Nizip district and the floral hijab was a gift from one of the residents who presumably assisted with the placement because there’s an art to a well-worn al-amira.  Ms Muck’s work was a gesture to welcome Ms Lohan moving from Hollywood to Venice Beach and the use of green is a theme in many of her works.  Unfortunately, Ms Lohan’s time in Venice Beach was brief because she was compelled to return to New York City after being stalked by the Freemasons.

Mural montage: Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) osculating with Mr Putin (Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin; b 1952; president or prime minister of Russia since 1999), Benjamin Netanyahu (b 1949; Israeli prime minister 1996-1999, 2009-2021 and since 2022), Boris Johnson (b 1964; UK prime-minister 2019-2022), Francis (1936-2025; pope 2013-2025) and “Lyin’ Ted” Cruz (b 1970; US senator (Republican-Texas) since 2013).

Probably not long after the charcoal and ochre of the first cave paintings was seen by someone other than the artist, there emerged the calling of “art critic” and while the most common fork of that well-populated profession focuses on the aesthetic, art has also long been political.  The mural of course has much scope to be controversial because they tend to be (1) big and (2) installed in public spaces, both aspects making the things highly visible.  Unlike a conventionally sized painting which, even if large, a curator can hang in some obscure spot or put into storage, the mural is just where it is and often part of the built environment; there it will be seen.  In art history, few murals have more intriguing tales than Michelangelo’s (Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni; 1475–1564) ceiling and frescos (1508-1512) in the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel but although there were at the time of the commissioning and completion few theological or political squabbles, there were the Vatican’s usual personal and institutional tensions, cardinals and bishops with their own agendas (some financial) peeking and poking into why Julius II (1443–1513; pope 1503-1513) had handed the juicy contract to someone thought primarily a sculptor rather than a painter.

Sistine Chapel, The Vatican, Rome.

The political stoush came later.  At the time, the nudity had been noted and while some voices were raised in opposition, there was no attempt to censor the work because during the High Renaissance, depictions of nudity (on canvas, in marble etc) were all around including in the Vatican but decades later, during the sittings of the Council of Trent (1545–1563), critiques of “nakedness” in art became more vocal.  That was especially the case after the Counter-Reformation (circa 1550–circa 1670) produced a more severe Church, a development with many repercussions, one of which was the “fig-leaf campaign” in which an artist was commissioned to paint over (especially male) genitalia, the traditional “fig leaf” the preferred device.  Perhaps curiously, despite the early appearance of the motif in the art of Christendom, for centuries the fig leaf wasn’t “obligatory” although they appear often enough that at times they must have been at least “desirable” and in other periods and places clearly “essential”.  The later infamous “Fig Leaf Campaign” was initiated by Pope Paul IV (1476–1559; pope 1555-1559) and continued by his successors although it was most associated with the ruling against “lasciviousness” in religious art made in 1563 by the Council of Trent.  It was something very much in the spirit of the Counter-Reformation and it was Pius IV (1499–1565; pope 1559-1565) who commissioned artist Daniele da Volterra (circa 1509–1566) to paint over the genitalia Michelangelo had depicted on his ceiling, extending his repertoire from strategically positioned leaves to artfully placed draperies or loincloths; Romans to his dying day nicknamed Volterra “Il Braghettone” (the breeches maker).  As late as the nineteenth century Greco-Roman statues from antiquity were still having their genitals covered with fig leaves (sometimes detachable, a trick the British Museum later adopted to protect Victoria’s (1819–1901; Queen of the UK 1837-1901) delicate sensibilities during her infrequent visits).  Another example of practical criticism was the edict by Pius IX (1792–1878; pope 1846-1878) that extant male genitalia on some of the classical statues adorning the Vatican should be “modified” and that involved stonemasons, sculptors and other artisans receiving commissions to “modify or cover” as required, some fig leaves at the time added.  It is however a myth popes sometimes would be seen atop a ladder, chisel in hand, hammering away for not only did they hire "the trades" to do their dirty work, what was done was almost always concealment rather than vandalism.

Then a work in progress, this is one of the few known photographs of Diego Rivera's mural in New York City's Rockefeller Center.  According to the Workers Age of 15 June, 1933, the image was "...taken surreptitiously by one of Rivera's aides..."  

Still, no pope ever ordered Michelangelo’s creation painted over but not all artists were so fortunate.  On 9 May 1933 (by coincidence a day when the Nazis publicly were burning books), New York’s very rich Rockefeller family ordered Mexican artist Diego Rivera (1886-1957) to cease work on his mural depicting "human intelligence in control of the forces of nature", then being painted in the great hall of the 70-storey Rockefeller Center in New York City.  Taking photographs of the mural was also prohibited.  What incurred the family’s wrath was the artist's addition of a depiction of Bolshevik revolutionary comrade Vladimir Lenin (1870–1924; head of government of Russia or Soviet Union 1917-1924) against a background of crowds of unemployed workers.  Comrade Lenin had not appeared in the conceptual sketch (entitled Man at the Crossroads Looking with Hope and High Vision to the Choosing of a New and Better Future) the artist had provided prior to the commission being granted.  Nelson Rockefeller (1908–1979; US vice president 1974-1977 and who earned immortality by having "died on the job") genuinely was a modern art fan-boy and attempted to negotiate a compromise but it was the nadir of the Great Depression, marked by plummeting industrial production, bank failures and an unemployment rate approaching 25%; other family members, knowing there was in the air talk of revolution (the Rockefeller family had much to lose), didn’t want unemployed getting ideas.  To them, Lenin was close to being the devil incarnate and "the devil makes work for idle hands".  The mural was covered by a canvas drape until February 1934 when, under cover of darkness, it was broken up and carted off to be dumped, the family dutifully having paid the artist his US$21,000 fee.

Pavlova

Pavlova (pronounced pav-luh-vuh, pahv-loh-vuh, pav-luh-vuh or pah-vluh-vuh (Russian)).

A meringue cake, topped typically with whipped cream and fruit or confections.

Circa 1930: Named after Russian ballet ballerina Anna (pronounced ah-nuh) Pavlova (1885-1931).  Pavlova is a transliteration of the Russian surname Па́влова (Pávlova), the feminine variant of Па́влов (Pávlov).  Pavlova is a noun and Pavlovian is an adjective; the noun plural is pavlovas.  The standard short form (of the cake) is "pav" and if used as a proper noun, there's an initial capital.

Julia from Pampered Menial (1975) by Pavlov’s Dog.

Although coined at much the same time, the adjective Pavlovian is unrelated to the Russian ballerina or meringue cakes.  It refers to the theories & experimental work of Russian physiologist Ivan Petrovich Pavlov (Ива́н Петро́вич Па́влов; 1849-1936), especially in connection with the conditioned salivary reflexes of dogs in response to the mental stimulus of the sound of a bell (in the West, his work was in 1911 originally referred to as the “Pavloff method” because of a misunderstanding by editors).  His work was a landmark in experimental behavioralism, inducing a dog associatively to link a biologically potent stimulus (food) with a previously neutral stimulus (a bell).  The phrase “Pavlov’s dog” entered English to describe a conditioned response (reacting to a situation on the basis of taught behavior rather than reflectively).  One interesting aspect of comrade Pavlov’s career is he made no secret of his opposition to many aspects of communism in the Soviet state built by comrade Stalin (1878–1953; leader of the USSR 1922-1953), on occasions making his views plain even to the general secretary himself.  Despite that, no action appears ever to have been taken against him and after he died (at 86 of natural causes), he was granted a grand funeral.

Anna Pavlova with Jack.

Anna Pavlova was famous for her interpretation of The Dying Swan, a solo dance choreographed by Mikhail Fokine (1880-1942) to Camille Saint-Saëns's (1835-1921) Le Cygne (The Swan) from Le Carnaval des animaux (The Carnival of the Animals (1922)), commissioned as a pièce d'occasion (an artistic work produced for a special event) for the ballerina who performed it on some 4000 occasions.  It's a short, intense piece which follows the last moments of a swan and for years Ms Pavlova kept a pet swan called Jack.  That she lent her name to a light, meringue-based dessert with a crisp crust and soft, marshmallowy centre was a consequence of the impression she made on tours of Australia & New Zealand during the 1920s.  Such was her elegance, lightness, and grace on stage, the meringue’s airy texture was seen as the culinary expression of her ethereal dancing style, chefs seeking to create something which was at once a thing of swirling style yet also ephemerally fragile.

Rendered by Vovsoft as cartoon character: Lindsay Lohan with a pavolva she'd just whipped up.

New Zealand is a small country in the remote South Pacific which has over the years produced some notable figures such as (1) Lord Rutherford (1871–1937) who, although a physicist who regarded other branches of science as mere applications of engineering which worked within the laws of physics, was awarded the 1908 Nobel Prize in chemistry and is most remembered for his work which led to the atom being split in 1932, (2) Sir Edmund Hillary (1919–2008) who, with the Sherpa mountaineer Tenzing Norgay (1914–1986), was the first to ascend Mount Everest and (3) Sir David Low (1891–1963) who was among the most noted and prolific political cartoonists between the troubled 1930s and the early Cold War years.  The country has also for more than a century fielded what has been usually the world’s most successful rugby union side (the recent inconsistency of the All Blacks not withstanding) and memories are long, the try disallowed by a Scottish referee in a 1905 test against Wales at Cardiff Arms Park (Wales 3, All Blacks 0) still a sore point.

Mango, passion fruit & limoncello pavlova.

Less bitter but no less contested than the matter of the disallowed try is the origin of the pavlova, the invention of which is claimed by both Australia and New Zealand.  What all agree is the cake is a mixture of egg whites and sugar, topped usually with cream and fresh fruit, named after the Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova who toured both countries during the 1920s.  Researchers on both sides of the Tasman Sea (referred to by locals as “the ditch”) have long trawled cook books and newspapers to find the earliest entry but according to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), New Zealand appears to hold the evidential advantage, a recipe from there having been verified as published in 1927 while the oldest claimed entry from Australia dates from 1935.  That however resolves only the use of Ms Pavlova’s name as the description, pastry chefs adding cream to meringue known even in the nineteenth century and the 1927 recipe in the book Davis Dainty Dishes, published by the Davis Gelatine company, was a multi-colored jelly concoction.  New Zealand’s historians of food concede the culinary point but cite recipes from 1928 & 1929 which are definitely of meringue, cream and fruit.  Strangely perhaps, the OED remained on the lexicographical fence, listing the origin as an ambiguous "Austral. and N.Z."

Espresso martini pavlova

Preparation: 1 hour

Cooking: 2 hours:

Serves: 10-12

Ingredients

8 egg whites
Pinch of cream of tartar
1 tablespoon ground coffee powder
430 gm (2 cups) caster sugar
2 tablespoons of corn-flour
1 teaspoon white vinegar
600 ml (l carton) thickened cream
125 ml (½ cup) coffee liqueur
2 teaspoons cocoa powder
Chocolate-coated coffee beans (to decorate)
Dark chocolate curls (to decorate)
Coffee vodka syrup
2 tablespoons vodka
2 teaspoons arrowroot
100 grams (½ cup, firmly packed) brown sugar
125 ml (½ cup) prepared espresso coffee

Instructions

(1) Preheat oven to 120^o C (100^o C fan forced) (250^o F (210^o F fan forced).  Draw a 200 mm (8 inch) circle on 2 sheets of baking paper.  Place each sheet, marked side down, on a baking tray.

(2) Use an electric beater with a whisk attachment to whisk the egg whites and cream of tartar in a clean dry bowl until firm peaks form.  Gradually whisk in the coffee powder.  Add the sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, whisking constantly until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is thick and glossy.  Beat in the corn-flour and vinegar.

(3) Divide meringue mixture among the 2 marked circles on the prepared trays. Use a palette knife to spread mixture into 2 evenly shaped discs.  Bake for 2 hours or until meringues are dry and crisp.  Turn off oven. Leave meringues in the oven, with the door slightly ajar, until cooled completely.

(4) Meanwhile, to make the coffee vodka syrup, combine the vodka and arrowroot in a small bowl.  Combine the sugar and coffee in a small saucepan.  Bring to the boil over high heat, stirring, until the sugar dissolves. Reduce heat and simmer for 3 minutes or until the syrup has thickened slightly.  Stir in the vodka mixture and return to the boil, boiling for 1 minute or until thickened.  Remove from heat and transfer to a small bowl and set aside to cool.  Place in the fridge until required.

(5) Use electric beaters to beat the cream in a bowl until soft peaks form. Beat in the coffee liqueur and cocoa until firm peaks form.

(6) Place 1 pavlova disc on a serving plate. Top with half the cream mixture. Drizzle with a little coffee vodka syrup. Scatter with coffee beans and chocolate curls.  Repeat with the remaining disc, cream mixture, syrup, coffee beans and chocolate curls.  Serve.

A century-odd on, an issue still: Auckland Airport, New Zealand, December 2023.

Cosmopolitan

Cosmopolitan (pronounced koz-muh-pol-i-tn)

(1) One free from local, provincial, or national ideas, prejudices, or attachments; an internationalist.

(2) One with the characteristics of a cosmopolite.

(3) A cocktail made with vodka, cranberry juice, an orange-flavored liqueur, and lime juice.

(4) Sophisticated, urbane, worldly.

(5) Of plants and animals, wildly distributed species.

(6) The vanessa cardui butterfly.

(7) A moth of species Leucania loreyi.

1828:  An adoption in Modern English, borrowed from the French cosmopolite (citizen of the world), ultimately derived from the Ancient Greek kosmopolitēs (κοσμοπολίτης), the construct being kósmos (κόσμος) (world) + politēs (πολίτης) (citizen); word being modeled on metropolitan.  The US magazine Cosmopolitan was first published in 1886.  Derived forms (hyphenated and not) have been constructed as needed including noncosmopolitan, subcosmopolitan, ultracosmopolitan, fauxcosmopolitan, anticosmopolitan & protocosmopolitan.  Because cosmopolitanness is a spectrum condition, the comparative is “more cosmopolitan” and the superlative “most cosmopolitan”.  Cosmopolitan is a noun & adjective, cosmopolitanism & cosmopolitanness are nouns, cosmopolitanize is a verb, cosmopolitanist is an adjective (and plausibly a noun) and cosmopolitanly is an adverb; the noun plural is cosmopolitans.

An aspect of Soviet Cold War policy under comrade Stalin

The phrase rootless cosmopolitans was coined in the nineteenth century by Vissarion Belinsky (1811-1848), a Russian literary critic much concerned about Western influences on both Russian literature and society.  He applied it to writers he felt “…lacked Russian national character” but as a pejorative euphemism, it’s now an anti-Semitic slur and one most associated with domestic policy in the Soviet Union (USSR) between 1946 and Stalin's death in 1953.  Comrade Stalin (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953) liked the phrase and applied it to the Jews, a race of which he was always suspicious because he thought their lack of a homeland made them “mystical, intangible and other-worldly”.  Not a biological racist like Hitler and other rabid anti-Semites, Stalin’s enemies were those he perceived a threat; Leon Trotsky (1879-1940), Grigory Zinoviev (1883–1936) and Lev Kamenev (1883–1936) were disposed of not because they were Jewish but because Stalin thought they might threaten his hold on power although the point has been made that while it wasn’t because he was Jewish that Trotsky was murdered, many Jews would come to suffer because Stalin associated them with Trotsky.

Comrade Stalin signing death warrants.

It was the same with institutions.  He found disturbing the activities of Moscow’s Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee (JAC) and did not approve them being accepted by Western governments as representing the USSR.  Further, he feared the JAC’s connections with foreign powers might create a conduit for infiltration by Western influences; well Stalin knew the consequences of people being given ideas; the campaign of 1946-1953 was thus more analogous with the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) opposition to the Falun Gong rather than the pogroms of Tsarist times.  Authoritarian administrations don’t like independent organisations; politics needs to be monolithic and control absolute.  In a speech in Moscow in 1946, he described certain Jewish writers and intellectuals, as “rootless cosmopolitans” accusing them of a lack of patriotism, questioning their allegiance to the USSR.  This theme festered but it was the creation of the state of Israel in 1948, fostering as it did an increased self consciousness among Soviet Jews, combined with the Cold War which turned Stalin into a murderous anti-Semite.

Rootless cosmopolitan Comrade Trotsky, murdered with an ice axe on comrade Stalin's orders.

Before the formation of the state of Israel, Stalin's anti-Semitism was more a Russian mannerism than any sort of obsession.  For years after assuming absolute power in the USSR, he expressed no disquiet at the preponderance of Jews in the foreign ministry and it was only in 1939, needing a temporary diplomatic accommodation with Nazi Germany, that he acted.  Having replaced the Jewish Foreign Commissar, Maxim Litvinov (1876–1951; People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs of the Soviet Union 1930–1939) with Vyacheslav Molotov (1890-1986; USSR Minister of Foreign Affairs 1939-1949 & 1953-1956), he ordered him to purge the diplomatic corps of Jews, his memorable phrase being "clean out the synagogue".  Concerned the presence of Jews might be an obstacle to rapprochement with Hitler, Stalin had the purge effected with his usual efficiency: many were transferred to less conspicuous roles and others were arrested or shot.

Meeting of minds: Joachim von Ribbentrop (left), comrade Stalin (centre) and comrade Molotov (right), the Kremlin, 23 August 1939.

Negotiations began in the summer of 1939, concluding with German Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893–1946; Nazi foreign minister 1938-1945) leading a delegation to Moscow to meet with Molotov and Stalin.  It proved a remarkably friendly conference of political gangsters and agreement was soon reached, the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact (usually called the Nazi-Soviet Pact or Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact) being signed on 23 August.  The pact contained also a notorious secret protocol by which the two dictators agreed to a carve-up of Poland consequent upon the impending Nazi invasion and the line dividing Poland between the two was almost identical to the Curzon Line, a demarcation between the new Polish Republic created in the aftermath of World War I (1914-1918) and the emergent Soviet Union which had been proposed by Lord Curzon (1859–1925; UK foreign secretary 1919-1924).  At the Yalta Conference in 1945, during the difficult negotiations over Polish borders, Molotov habitually referred to "the Curzon Line" and the UK Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden (1897–1977; thrice UK foreign secretary & prime minister 1955-1957), in a not untypically bitchy barb, observed it was more common practice to call it the “Molotov-Ribbentrop line”.  "Call it whatever you like" replied Stalin, "we still think it's fair and just".  Comrade Stalin rarely cared much to conceal the nature of the regime he crafted in his own image.  When asked by Franklin Roosevelt (FDR, 1882–1945, US president 1933-1945) if Molotov had been to New York during his visit to the US, Stalin replied: "No, he went to Chicago to be with the other gangsters".

Whatever the motives of Stalin, rootless cosmopolitans has joined the code of dog-whistle politics, a part of the core demonology to label the Jews a malign race, a phrase in the tradition of "Christ killers", "Rothschild-Capitalists and Untermenschen (the sub-humans).  Despite that, there are always optimists, Jewish writer Vincent Brook (b 1946), suggesting the term could convey the positive, a suggestion the Jews possess an “adaptability and empathy for others”.  It’s not a view widely shared and rootless cosmopolitan remains an anti-Semitic trope although it's not unknown for Jews to use it ironically.

The Cosmopolitan cocktail

A brace of Cosmos.

The Cosmopolitan was based on the "Cosmopolitan 1934" cocktail, a mix from inter-war New York which included gin, Cointreau & and lemon juice, raspberry syrup lending the trademark pink hue.  The modern Cosmopolitan was also concocted in New York and seems to have appeared first in the Mid-1980s although it was appearances in the HBO (Home Box Office) television series Sex and the City (1998-2004) which made it as emblematic of a certain turn-of-the-millennium New York lifestyle as Manolo Blahnik’s stilettos but, the implications of that connotation aside, the enticing pink drink survived to remain a staple of cocktail lists.  Cosmopolitans can be made individually or as a batch to be poured from a pitcher; just multiply the ingredient count by however many are to be served.

Ingredients

2 oz (¼ cup) vodka (or citrus vodka according to taste)

½ ounce (1 tablespoon) triple sec, Cointreau (or Grand Marnier)

¾ oz (1½ tablespoons) cranberry juice

¼-½ ounce (1 ½-3 teaspoons) fresh lime juice

One 2-inch (50 mm) orange peel/twist

Instructions

(1) Add vodka, Cointreau, cranberry juice, and lime juice to a cocktail shaker filled with ice.

(2) Shake until well chilled.

(3) Strain into a chilled cocktail glass (classically a coupé or Martini glass).

(4) An orange or lemon twist is the traditional garnish.

Notes

(1) As a general principle, the higher the quality of the vodka, the better the Cosmopolitan, the lower priced sprits tending to taste rather more abrasive which for certain purposes can be good but doesn’t suit a “Cosmo”.

(2) The choice of unsweetened or sweetened cranberry juice (the latter sold sometimes as “cranberry juice cocktail”) is a matter of taste and if using the unsweetened most will prefer if a small splash of sugar syrup (or agave) is added because tartness isn’t associated with a Cosmopolitan.

(3) There is however a variant which is sometimes mixed deliberately to be tart.  That’s the “White Cosmo”, made by using white cranberry juice.

(4) Of the orange liqueur: Most mixologists recommend Cointreau but preference is wholly subjective and Cointreau & Grand Marnier variously are used, the consensus being Cointreau (a type of Triple Sec) is smoother, stronger and more complex.  Grand Marnier is also a type of Triple Sec, one combined with Cognac so the taste is richer, nutty and caramelized which some prefer.

(5) Of the lime juice: It really is worth the effort to cut and squeeze a fresh lime.  Packaged lime juice will work but something of the bite of the citrus always is lost in the processing, packaging, storage and transporting the stuff endures.

(6) Art of the orange peel: The use of the term “garnish” of suggests something which is merely decorative: visual bling and ultimately superfluous but because cocktails are designed to be sipped, as one lingers over ones’s Cosmopolitan, from the peel will come a faint orange aroma, adding to the experience as the fumes of a cognac enhance things; spirits and cocktails are “breathed in” as well as swallowed.

(7) Science of the orange peel: When peeling orange, do it over glass so the oil spurting (viewed close-up under high-magnification, it really is more spurt than spray) from the pores in the skin ends up in the drink.  For the ultimate effect, rub the rim of the glass with the peel, down a half-inch on the outside so lips can enjoy the sensation.

The presidential “parade convertible” 1950 Lincoln Cosmopolitan, parked outside 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington DC.

In the US, the Ford Motor Company (FoMoCo) produced the Lincoln Cosmopolitan between 1949-1954 but only in its first season was it the “top-of-the-range” model, “designation demotion” something which would over the decades become popular in Detroit.  Political legend has it Harry Truman (1884–1972; US president 1945-1953) personally selected Lincoln to supply the presidential car fleet as an act of revenge against General Motors (GM), the corporation having declined to provide him with cars to use during the 1948 election campaign.  It’s assumed GM’s management was reading the polls and assumed they’d need only to wait to wait for a call from president elect Thomas Dewey (1902–1971) but as things turned out, Mr Dewey never progressed beyond president-presumptive so GM didn’t get the commission, the keys to Cadillacs not returning to the Oval Office until the administration of Ronald Reagan (1911-2004; US president 1981-1989).  While it wouldn’t much have consoled the GM board, there was some of their technology in the Lincolns because, FoMoCo was compelled to buy heavy-duty Hydra-Matic transmissions from Cadillac, their own automatic gearbox not then ready for production.

The presidential “parade convertible” 1950 Lincoln Cosmopolitan with “Bubbletop” fitted.

The White House leased ten Lincoln Cosmopolitans which were modified by coach-builders who added features such as longer wheelbases and raised roof-lines.  Nine were full-enclosed limousines while one was an armoured “parade convertible” (a “cabriolet D” in the Mercedes-Benz naming system) which was an impressive 20-odd feet (6 metres) in length.  The car used a large-displacement version of the old Ford flathead V8 (introduced in 1932) and weighing a hefty 6,500 lb (2,900 kg), performance wasn’t sparkling but given its role was slowly to percolate along crowd-lined boulevards, it was “adequate.  In 1954, during the administration of Dwight Eisenhower (1890-1969; US president 1953-1961), the parade convertible was fitted with a Plexiglas roof (a material the president would have been familiar with because it was used on some World War II (1939-1945) aircraft and in this form the Lincoln came to share the aircrafts’ nickname: “Bubbletop”.  The “Bubbletop” Cosmopolitan remained in service in the White House fleet until 1967.

The Glossies

Lindsay Lohan, Cosmopolitan, various international editions: April, May & June, 2006.

Cosmopolitan Magazine was launched in 1886 as a family journal of fashion, household décor, cooking, and other domestic interests.  It survived in a crowded market but its publisher did not and within two years Cosmopolitan was taken over by another which added book reviews and serialized fiction to the content.  This attracted the specialist house founded by John Brisben Walker (1847-1931), which assumed control in 1889, expanding its circulation twenty-fold to become one of America’s most popular literary magazines.  The Hurst Corporation acquired the title in 1905, briefly adding yellow-journalism before settling on a format focused on short fiction, celebrities and public affairs.  The formula proved an enduring success, circulation reaching two million by 1940 and this was maintained until a decline began in the mid 1950s, general-interest magazines being squeezed out by specialist titles and the time-consuming steamroller of television.

It was the appointment in 1965 of Helen Gurley Brown (1922–2012) as editor which signalled Cosmopolitan’s shift to a magazine focused exclusively on an emerging and growing demographic with high disposable income: the young white women of the baby boom.  In what proved a perfect conjunction, a target market with (1) economic independence, (2) social freedom, (3) an embryonic feminist awareness and (4) the birth control pill, the magazine thrived, surviving even the rush of imitators its success spawned.  Gurley Brown had in 1962 published the best seller advice manual, Sex and the Single Girl and Cosmopolitan essentially, for decades, reproduced variations on the theme in a monthly, glossy package.  It was clearly a gap in the market.  The approach was a success but there was criticism.  Conservatives disliked the choices in photography and the ideas young women were receiving.  Feminists were divided, some approved but others thought the themes regressive, a retreat from the overtly political agenda of the early movement into something too focused on fun and fashion, reducing women yet again to objects seeking male approbation.

Taylor Swift (b 1989), in purple on the cover of Cosmopolitan, December, 2014.

Still published in many international editions, Cosmopolitan Australia was one casualty of market forces, closed after a final printing in December 2018.  However, surprising many, Katarina Kroslakova (b 1978) in April 2024 announced her publishing house KK Press, in collaboration with New York-based Hearst Magazines International, would resume production of Cosmopolitan Australia as a bi-monthly and the first edition of the re-launched version was released in August, 2024.  Other than appearing in six issues per year rather than the traditional twelve, the format remained much the same, echoing Elle Australia which re-appeared on newsstands in March, ending a four-year hiatus.  Both revivals would as recently as 2023 have surprised industry analysts because the conventional, post-Covid wisdom was there existed in this segment few niches for time consuming and expensive titles in glossy print.

Amelia Dimoldenberg (b 1994) in polka-dots, on the cover of Cosmopolitan Australia April | May, 2025 (Issue 5, digital edition) which is downloadable file (96 MB in Adobe's PDF (portable document format) format.  Where digital titles have a history in print, the convention is to use the traditional cover format.  Even in the digital age, some legacy items have a genuine value to be exploited.

Ms Kroslakova clearly saw a viable business model and was quoted as saying print magazines are “the new social media” which was an interesting way of putting it but she explained the appeal by adding: “We need that 15 minutes to drop everything and actually have something tangible and beautiful in our hands to consume.  If we can present content which is multi-layered and deep and has authenticity and connection with the reader – that’s a really excellent starting point.”  She may have a point because in an age where screen-based content is intrinsically impermanent, the tactile pleasure of the traditional glossy may have genuine appeal, at least for an older readership who can remember the way things used to be done, something perhaps hinted at by her “15 minutes” reference, now regarded by many media analysts as a long-term connection given the apparent shortening of attention spans and after all, bound glossy pages are just another technology.  The revival of the print editions of Elle and Cosmopolitan will be an interesting experiment in a difficult economic environment which may get worse before it gets better.  Whether the novelty will attract enough of the "affluent readers" (what used to be called the A1, A2 & B1 demographic) to convince advertisers that it's a place to run their copy will likely decide the viability of the venture and while it's not impossible that will happen, Cosmopolitan is a couple of rungs down the ladder from the "prestige" titles (Vogue the classic mainstream example) which have maintained an advertising base. Cosmopolitan Australia offers a variety of subscription offers, the lowest unit cost available with a two-year, print + digital bundle (12 issues for Aus$105).

Lindsay Lohan on the cover of Cleo: March 2005 (left) and May 2009 (right).

Published in Australia between 1972-2016, Cleo was a monthly magazine targeted broadly at the demographic buying Cosmopolitan.  It was for decades successful and although there was some overlap in readership (and certainly advertising content), there was a perception there existed as distinct species “Cleo women” and “Cosmo women”.  Flicking through the glossy pages, husbands and boyfriends might have struggled to see much thematic variation although it’s likely they looked only at the pictures.  In the same vein, other than the paint, actual Cleo & Cosmo readers mostly probably wouldn’t have noticed much difference between Ford & Chevrolet V8s so it’s really a matter of where one’s interests lie (just because something is sexist stereotyping doesn’t mean it’s not true).  Had the men bothered to read the editorial content, they wouldn’t have needed training in textual deconstruction to detect both titles made much use of “cosmospeak”, a sub-dialect of English coined to describe the jargon, copy style and buzzwords characteristic of post 1950s Cosmopolitan magazine which contributed much to the language of non-academic “lipstick feminism”.  To summarize the market differentiation in women’s magazines, the industry joke was: “Cosmopolitan teaches you how to have an organism”, Cleo teaches you how to fake an organism and the Women’s Weekly teaches you how to knit an organism”.  As a footnote, when in 1983 the Women’s Weekly changed from a weekly to monthly format, quickly rejected was the idea the title might be changed to “Women’s Monthly”.

Martyrdom of the Saints Cosmas and Damian, oil on canvas by Fra Angelico (Guido di Pietro, circa 1395-1455), Musée du Louvre, Paris, France).  Fra was from the Italian frate (monk) and was a title for a Roman Catholic monk or friar (equivalent to Brother).

“Cleo” was a spunky two syllables but “Cosmopolitan” had a time-consuming five so almost universally it was used as “Cosmo”.  In Italy, Cosmo is a male given name and a variant of Cosimo, from the third century saint Cosmas who, with his brother Damian, was martyred in Syria during one of the many crackdowns on Christianity.  The name was from the Ancient Greek κόσμος (kósmos) (order, ordered universe), source of the now familiar “cosmos”.  Cosmas and Damian were Arab physicians who converted to Christianity and while ostensibly they suffered martyrdom for their faith, there may have been a financial motive because the brothers practiced much “free medicine”, not charging the poor for their “cures” so their services were understandably popular and thus a threat to the business model of the politically well-connected medical establishment.  The tension between medicine as some sort of social right and an industry run by corporations for profit has occasionally been suppressed but it’s never gone away, illustrated by the battles fought when the (literally) socialist post-war Labour government (1945-1951) established the UK’s NHS (National Health Service) and the (allegedly) socialist “Obamacare” (Affordable Care Act (ACA, 2010)) became law in the US.  By the twenty-first century, the medical establishment could no longer arrange decapitations of cut-price competitors threatening the profit margins but the conflicts remain, witness the freelancing of Luigi Mangione (1998).

The Mazda Cosmo

1968 Mazda Cosmo 110S (110S the export designation).

Although the Mazda corporation dates from 1920, it was another 40 years before it produced its first cars (one of the tiny 360 cm³ “kei cars” (a shortened form of kei-jidōsha, (軽自動車) (light vehicle)) so the appearance at the Tokyo Motor Show of the Cosmo Sport created quite an impression and that it was powered by a two-rotor Wankel rotary engine produced under licence from the German owners added to international interest.  Over two series, series production lasted from 1967 until 1972 but the intricate design was labour intensive to build and being expensive, demand was limited so in five years fewer than 1,200 were sold.  That makes it more of a rarity than a Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing (1,400 of those built 1954-1957) and while Cosmo prices haven’t reached the level of the German car, it is a collectable and a number are now in museums and collections.  Mazda continued to use the Cosmo name until 1996 and while none of the subsequent models were as intriguing as the original, some versions of the JC Series Eunos Cosmo (1990–1996) enjoy the distinction of being the world’s only production car fitted with a three-rotor Wankel engine (the 1969 Mercedes-Benz C111 was a Wankel test-bed). 

1975 Mazda Roadpacer (HJ model)

The Eunos Cosmo is not the only Mazda with a unique place in the troubled history of the Wankel engine, the Roadpacer (1975-1977) the only car built by General Motors (GM) ever sold with a Wankel engine.  Most Holden fans, as one-eyed as any, don’t have fond memories of the HJ (1974-1976) Premier.  Usually, all they’ll say is its face-lifted replacement, the HX (1976-1977), was worse.  With its chassis not including the "radial tuned suspension" (RTS) which lent the successor HZ (1975-1980) such fine handling and with engines strangled by the crude plumbing used in the era to reduce emissions, driving the HJ or HX really wasn’t a rewarding experience (although the V8 versions retained some charm) so there might have been hope Mazda’s curious decision to use the HJ (and later the HX) Premier as their top-of-the range executive car, complete with a smooth two-rotor Wankel, might have transformed the thing.  That it did but the peaky, high-revving rotary was wholly unsuited to a relatively large, heavy car.  Despite producing less power and torque than even the anaemic 202 cubic inch (3.3 litre) Holden straight-six it replaced, so hard did it have to work to shift the weight that fuel consumption was worse even than when Holden fitted their hardly economical 308 cubic inch (5.0 litre) V8 for the home market.  Available only in Japan and sold officially between 1975-1977, fewer than eight-hundred were built, the company able to off-load the last of the HXs only in early 1980.  The only thing to which Mazda attached its name not mentioned in their corporate history, it's the skeleton in the Mazda closet and the company would prefer were forget the thing which it seems to think of as "our Edsel".

The archbishop and the abdication

Archbishop Cosmo Gordon Lang (1932), oil on canvas by Anglo-Hungarian society portraitist Philip Alexius László de Lombos (1869–1937 and known professionally as Philip de László).  Lang was christened Cosmo in honor of the local Laird (in Scotland, historically a feudal lord and latterly the “courtesy title” of an area’s leading land-owner, most prominent citizen etc).  The noun Laird was from the northern or Scottish Middle English lard & laverd (a variant of lord).

Scottish Anglican prelate Cosmo Gordon Lang (First Baron Lang of Lambeth, 1864–1945; Archbishop of York 1908–1928 & Archbishop of Canterbury 1928–1942 was a clergyman with uncompromising views about much.  This type was once common in pulpits and although those of his faction exist still in the the modern Church of England, they tend now to exchange view only behind closed doors.  He’d probably be today almost forgotten were it not for an incendiary broadcast he made (as Archbishop of Canterbury and thus spiritual head of the Church of England and the worldwide Anglican community) on BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) Radio on 13 December, 1936, two days after the abdication of Edward VIII (1894–1972; King of the UK & Emperor of India January-December 1936, subsequently Duke of Windsor).  The address to the nation remains the most controversial public intervention made by a Church of England figure in the twentieth century, judged by many to be needlessly sanctimonious and distastefully personal, its political dimension the least objectionable aspect.

As a piece of text it did have a pleasingly medieval feel, opening with some memorable passages including: “From God he received a high and sacred trust. Yet by his own will he has abdicated” and “It is tragic that the sacred trust was not held with a firmer grip”.  That set the tone although when he said: “There has been much sympathy with the king in his great personal difficulty, and I do not forget how deeply he has touched the hearts of millions with his warm interest in the homes and lives of his people” his large audience may have thought some Christian charity did lurk in the Archbishop’s soul but quickly he let that moment pass, returning to his theme: “The causes which led to the king's decision are fully known to the nation.  But it has been made plain that the reigning sovereign of this country must be one whose private life and public conduct can be trusted to reflect the Christian ideal."

Unlike many modern Archbishops, there was no ambiguity about Lang so in his defense it can be argued be provided the Church with a moral clarity of greater certainty than anything detectable in Lambeth Palace in recent decades.  So there was that but by the 1930s the mood of opinion-makers in the UK had shifted and Lang’s text was seen as morally judgmental and the idea Edward VIII had failed not so much as a constitutional monarch but in his divine duty seemed archaic, few in the country framing things as the king’s personal failure before God.  What was clear was the point Edward’s relationship with a twice-divorced woman disqualified him morally and spiritually from being king which many critics within the church thought a bleak approach to a clergyman’s pastoral role.  In a sermon from the pulpit to the faithful it might have gone down well but as a national address, the tone was misplaced.  In self-imposed exile, privately Edward privately described the broadcast as “a vile and vindictive attack” and in his ghost-written memoirs (A King's Story (1951)), he accused the archbishop of “cruelty”.

Remembered also from the broadcast’s aftermath was a satirical verse printed in Punch by the novelist Gerald Bullett (1893–1958 (who published also under the pseudonym Sebastian Fox)).  Bullet’s included the words “how full of cant you are!”, using “cant” in the sense of “to speak in a manner speak in a hypocritical or insincere), an allusion to Lang signing his documents : “Cosmo Cantuar” (Cantuar the abbreviation for Cantuarium (Latin for Canterbury)):

“My Lord Archbishop, what a scold you are!
And when your man is down, how bold you are!
Of Christian charity how scant you are!
And, auld Lang swine, how full of cant you are!”