Cooper

Cooper (pronounced koo-per or koop-er)

(1) A person who makes or repairs casks, barrels, etc.

(2) A drink of half stout and half porter (obsolete).

1350–1400: From the Middle English couper (craftsman who makes barrels, tubs, and other vessels from wooden staves and metal hoops), which etymologists are convinced would have come from an Old English form but it has proved elusive.  Both the English words are almost certainly related to the Middle Low German kūper, the East Frisian kuperor and Middle Dutch cūper, from the Low German kupe (cask, tub, vat), from the Medieval Latin cūpārius, the construct being cūp(a) (cask or vat) + ārius. (from the The nominative neuter form -arium which, when appended to nouns, formed derivative nouns denoting a “place where things are kept”).

The meaning "craftsman who makes wooden vessels" was originally associated with the word couper, cooper a later construct of coop + er.  Coop is from the Middle English coupe & cupe, from the Old English cȳpe (basket; cask) or possibly the Middle Dutch cûpe (related to the modern Dutch kuip, Saterland Frisian kupe & Middle Low German kûpe), from the Old Saxon kûpa & côpa (cask), related to the Middle Low German kôpe, the Old High German chôfa & chuofa, the Middle High German kuofe, the modern German kufe (feminine form of cask), which most sources trace back to the Classical Latin cūpa & Medieval Latin cōpa (cask) although the OED has cast doubt on this etymology because of the mysterious umlaut in Old English cýpe.  The er agent (noun-formation) suffix is from the Middle English er & ere, from the Old English ere, from the Proto-Germanic ārijaz.  It’s thought a borrowing from the Latin ārius; cognate with the Dutch er and aar, the Low German er, the German er, the Swedish are, the Icelandic ari and the Gothic areis.  Related too are the Ancient Greek ήριος (ḗrios) and Old Church Slavonic арь (arĭ) and although synonymous, actually unrelated is the Old French or & eor (the Anglo-Norman variant is our) which is from the Latin (ā)tor, derived from the primitive Indo-European tōr.

As a surname, the name is attested from the late twelfth century, either from the unattested Old English or a Low German source akin to Middle Dutch cuper , East Frisian kuper, ultimate source the Low German kupe (which became kufe in German), cognate with the Medieval Latin cupa.  A now rare variation is hooper although it remains common as a surname.  Within the profession, a dry cooper makes casks to hold dry goods, a wet cooper those to contain liquids and a white cooper, pails, tubs, and the like for domestic or dairy use.  The surname Cowper is pronounced koo-per or koop-er everywhere except Australia which preserved the fifteenth century spelling but modified the pronunciation to cow-pah.  The Australian federal electorate of Cowper was created in 1900 as one of the original sixty-five divisions and is named after Sir Charles Cowper (1807–1875) who was on five occasions between 1856-1870 the premier of the colony of New South Wales (NSW), Australia.

The Maserati Formula 1 V12, 1956-1957 & 1966-1969

1954 Maserati 250F "short nose".

Remarkably, the three litre Maserati V12 used by Cooper to win Grand Prix races in 1966 & 1967 was an update (developed out of necessity) of a 2.5 litre engine used (once) in 1956.  Maserati’s new straight-six 250F had enjoyed a stunning start to its career, enjoying victories in the first two Grands Prix of the 1954 season but was soon eclipsed by the Lancia D50 and particularly the Mercedes-Benz W196, both with more powerful eight cylinder engines and advanced aerodynamics.

1955 Maserati 250F Streamliner.

Maserati responded and, taking note of the all-enveloping "streamliner" bodywork Mercedes-Benz used on the W196s used on the faster circuits, developed a quasi-enveloping shape, the emphasis wholly on reducing drag (downforce would attract the interest of a later generation).  For the slower tracks, there was also an aerodynamic refinement of the open-wheeler, the “long-nose” which proved such a success it would become the definitive 250F.  The more slippery shapes helped but the problem of the power deficit remained, the advanced Mercedes-Benz engine, built with the benefit of experience gained with the wartime aero engines, used fuel-injection and a desmodromic valve-train which permitted sustained high-speed operation.  Maserati’s engineers devoted time to devise a fuel injection system and borrowed an innovation from the roadsters built for the Indianapolis 500, an off-set installation of the engine in the chassis which permitted the driveshaft to be to run beside rather than beneath the driver, lowering the seat and thus improving both aerodynamics and weight-distribution.

1954 Maserati 250F "long nose".

Two grand prix wins in 1956 suggested progress was being made but, although Mercedes-Benz withdrew from racing after 1955, competition from other constructors was growing so Maserati turned its attention to both chassis and engine.  An all-new multi-tubular space-frame chassis was designed, lighter and stronger than its more conventional predecessor, it retained the double wishbone front and De Dion rear suspension and, perhaps surprisingly, the engineers resisted the more efficient and now well-proven disc brakes, the revised drums instead aided by enhanced cooling.  The new engine was not ready for 1956 so the straight-six was again fielded although the off-set layout was discarded.  The new chassis was called Tipo 2.

Maserati 250F (Typo 2), on the  carousel, Juan Manuel Fangio (1911–1995), German Grand Prix,  Nürburgring, 1957.

Developed specifically for the Tipo 2 was the V12, its twin camshafts driven by front-mounted gears with the novelty of the Weber carburetors being mounted between the camshafts.  Maintaining a Maserati tradition, a twin spark ignition system was fitted, the 24 spark-plugs fed by two sturdy magnetos, again gear-driven and linked by 24 individual coils.  In many ways the state of 1950s engineering art, the marvelously intricate 2.5 litre V12 produced 320 bhp at what was then a startling 12,000 rpm, an increase of 50 bhp over the 2.5 litre straight six.  With the V12 still being developed, the team started the 1957 season with the 250F Tipo 2 and the straight six.  The faithful six was reliable and proved powerful enough to prevail over the Ferraris and the cars which unexpectedly emerged as the most impressive competition: the British Vanwalls.  The season would be Maserati’s finest, Juan Manuel Fangio winning his fifth world championship (at the age of forty-five) and, had there been a constructors title (not awarded until 1958), Maserati would have taken that trophy too.  The season is remembered also for Fangio’s famous victory in the German Grand Prix at the Nürburgring, in which he broke the lap record ten times in twenty-two laps, the Tipo 2’s straight six clearly good enough.

1956 Maserati 250F Tipo 2 V12.

The success of the straight-six afforded the engineers a wealth of time thoroughly to develop the V12.  After early tests showed the power delivery, although impressive, was too brutal to deliver the flexibility needed in a racing car, attention was devoted to widening the torque curve.  Three Tipo 2 chassis were built for the V12 engine, one ready in time for the final Grand Prix of the year, the symbolically important home event, the Italian Grand Prix at Monza.  A redesigned gearbox housing again allowed an off-set mounting which, although improving weight distribution, made the body sit so low on the frame, two bulges had to be formed in the bonnet to clear the carburetor intakes.  It looked fast and it was.  However, in scenes reminiscent of the troubles suffered by the ferociously powerful Auto-Unions and Mercedes-Benz of the pre-war years, the V12 250F, although fast, suffered high tyre-wear, the rear tyres clearly not able long to endure the abrasive demands of 320 bhp.  Still, it had been an encouraging debut, even if a lubrication problem had prematurely ended the venture.

Lindsay Lohan in Mini Cooper, Mauritius, 2016.

Unfortunately, there would not for a decade be another chance to run the V12 in a Grand Prix.  Financially challenged, Maserati retired from international racing at the end of the 1957 season, the remaining 250Fs sold to privateers either with the straight six or as a rolling chassis.  How competitive a fully-developed Tipo 2 V12 might have been in 1958 will never be known but the credentials were there and, against the dominant Ferraris and Vanwalls, it would have been an interesting contest, the 1958 season the end of an era, the last year either the drivers’ or constructors’ championships would be won using front-engined cars.  On paper, the Maserati V12 was the most powerful engine fielded during Formula One’s 2.5 litre era.

Cooper-Maserati T81, Guy Ligier (1930–2015), Belgium Grand Prix, Spa-Francorchamps, 1967.

Although it did see some use in sports-car racing, the V12’s most (briefly) illustrious second life came when, in 1965, a doubling of engine displacement to three litres was announced for the next Formula One season, the 1.5 litre voiturettes used between 1961-1965 exquisitely engineered but lacking the noise, speed and spectacle with which others were attracting interest.   This created a scramble for competitive engines and with renewed interest in the mothballed V12, Maserati dusted-off the cobwebs.  Cooper adopted it and enjoyed early success with the advantage of being the first team running cars with a full three litres, the reliability of the old V12 adding another edge over others still shaking down their initially fragile new engines.

Cooper-Maserati T81b, Pedro Rodríguez (1940–1971),  German Grand Prix, Nürburgring, 1967.

Soon however, Cooper were running a decade-old design against much newer competition and the antiquity began to tell.  Although some updating had been done, early experiments with six and even a remarkable twelve carburettors quickly abandoned for the even by then de rigueur fuel injection, in that decade, several generations of engineering had passed and the V12 was looking pre-historic.  Unable to change anything fundamental, Maserati bolted on what it could, including 18-valve cylinder heads that added weight and complexity, but did little to narrow the widening gap.  Rumors of 24-valve heads and even three spark-plugs per cylinder never came to fruition but the latter did prompt some wry comments questioning the efficiency of Maserati's combustion chamber design if that many fires needed to be lit.  Maserati withdrew from Formula One during the 1968 season and Cooper soon followed.

Mini

Mini (pronounce min-ee)

(1) A skirt or dress with a hemline well above the knee, popular since the 1960s.

(2) A small car, build by Austin, Morris, associated companies and successor corporations between 1959-2000.  Later reprised by BMW in a retro-interpretation.

(3) As minicomputer, a generalized (historic) descriptor for a multi-node computer system smaller than a mainframe; the colloquial term mini was rendered meaningless by technological change (Briefly, personal computers (PC) were known as micros).

(4) A term for anything of a small, reduced, or miniature size.

Early 1900s: A shorted form of miniature, ultimately from the Latin minium (red lead; vermilion), a development influenced by the similarity to minimum and minus.  In English, miniature was borrowed from the late sixteenth century Italian miniatura (manuscript illumination), from miniare (rubricate; to illuminate), from the Latin miniō (to color red), from minium (red lead).  Although uncertain, the source of minium is thought to be Iberian; the vivid shade of vermilion was used to mark particular words in manuscripts.  Despite the almost universal consensus mini is a creation of twentieth-century, there is a suggested link in the 1890s connected with Yiddish and Hebrew.

As a prefix, mini- is a word-forming element meaning "miniature, minor", again abstracted from miniature, with the sense presumed to have been influenced by minimum.  The vogue for mini- as a prefix in English word creation dates from the early 1960s, the prime influences thought to be (1) the small British car, (2) the dresses & skirts with high-hemlines and (3) developments in the hardware of electronic components which permitted smaller versions of products to be created as low-cost consumer products although there had been earlier use, a minicam (a miniature camera) advertised as early as 1937.  The mini-skirt (skirt with a hem-line well above the knee) dates from 1965 and the first use of mini-series (television series of short duration and on a single theme) was labelled such in 1971 and since then, mini- has been prefixed to just about everything possible.  To Bridget Jones (from Bridget Jones's Diary (1996) a novel by Helen Fielding (b 1958)), a mini-break was a very short holiday; in previous use in lawn tennis it referred to a tiebreak, a point won against the server when ahead.

Jean Shrimpton and the mini-skirt

Jean Shrimpton, Flemington Racecourse, Melbourne, 1965.

The Victorian Racing Club (VRC) had in 1962 added Fashions on the Field to the Melbourne’s Spring Racing Carnival at Flemington and for three years, women showed up with the usual hats and accessories, including gloves and stockings, then de rigueur for ladies of the Melbourne establishment.  Then on the VRC’s Derby Day in 1965, English model Jean Shrimpton (b 1942) wore a white mini, its hem a daring four inches (100 mm) above the knee.  It caused stir.

The moment has since been described as the pivotal moment for the introduction of the mini to an international audience which is probably overstating things but for Melbourne it was certainly quite a moment.  Anthropologists have documented evidence of the mini in a variety of cultures over the last 4000 odd years so, except perhaps in Melbourne, circa 1965, it was nothing new but that didn’t stop the fashion industry having a squabble about who “invented” the mini.  French designer André Courrèges (1923-2016) explicitly claimed the honor, accusing his London rival to the claim, Mary Quant (b 1930) of merely “commercializing it”.  Courrèges had shown minis at shows in both 1964 and 1965 and his sketches date from 1961.  Quant’s designs are even earlier but given the anthropologists’ findings, it seems a sterile argument.

Minimalism: Lindsay Lohan and the possibilities of the mini.

The Mini

1962 Riley Elf.

The British Motor Corporation (BMC) first released their Mini in 1959, the Morris version called the Mini Minor (a link to the larger Minor, a model then in production) while the companion Austin was the Seven, a re-use of the name of a tiny car of the inter-war years.  The Mini name however caught on and the Seven was re-named Mini early in 1962 although the up-market (and, with modifications to the body, slightly more than merely badge-engineered) versions by Riley and Wolseley were never called Mini, instead adopting names either from or hinting at their more independent past: the Elf and Hornet respectively.  The Mini name was in 1969 separated from Austin and Morris, marketed as stand-alone marque until 1980 when the Austin name was again appended, an arrangement which lasted until 1988 when finally it reverted to Mini although some were badged as Rovers for export markets.  The Mini remained in production until 2000, long before then antiquated but still out-lasting the Metro, its intended successor.

1969 Austin Maxi 1500.

The allure of the Mini name obviously impressed BMC.  By 1969, BMC had, along with a few others, been absorbed into the Leyland conglomerate and the first release of the merged entity was in the same linguistic tradition: The Maxi.  A harbinger of what was to come, the Maxi encapsulated all that would go wrong within Leyland during the 1970s; a good idea, full of advanced features, poorly developed, badly built, unattractive and with an inadequate service network.  The design was so clever that to this day the space utilization has rarely been matched and had it been a Renault or a Citroën, the ungainly appearance and underpowered engine might have been forgiven because of the functionality but the poor quality control, lack of refinement and clunky aspects of some of the drivetrain meant success was only ever modest.  Like much of what Leyland did, the Maxi should have been a great success but even car thieves avoided the thing; for much of its life it was reported as the UK's least stolen vehicle.          

1979 Vanden Plas Mini (a possibly "outlaw" project by Leyland's outpost in South Africa).

Curiously, given the fondness of BMC (and subsequently Leyland) for badge-engineering, there was never an MG version of the Mini (although a couple of interpretations were privately built), the competition potential explored by a joint-venture with the Formula One constructors, Cooper, the name still used for some versions of the current BMW Mini.  Nor was there a luxury version finished by coachbuilders Vanden Plas which, with the addition of much timber veneer and leather to mundane vehicles, provided the parent corporations with highly profitable status-symbols with which to delight the middle-class although there was one "outlaw".  Between August 1978-September 1979, Leyland's South African operation (Leykor) offered a Vanden Plas Mini.  It used the 1098cm³ A-Series engine, a four-speed manual transmission and drum brakes all round.  Available only in a metallic bronze with gold basket weave side-graphics (shades of brown seemed to stalk the 1970s), standard equipment included a folding sunroof, matt-black grille with chrome surround, tinted glass, twin chrome door mirrors, a chrome exhaust tip, mud-flaps and a dipping rear view mirror.  The interior appointments weren't up to the standard of the English VDPs but there was cashmere pure wool upholstery, a walnut veneer dashboard with twin glove boxes, a leather bound steering wheel and mahogany cut-pile carpets.  Apparently, the project was shut down when London got to hear about it.   In the home market, third-party suppliers of veneer and leather such as Radford found a market among those who appreciated the Mini's compact practicality but found its stark functionalism just too austere. 

The Twini

Mini Coopers (1275 S) through the cutting, Mount Panorama, Bathurst, Australia, 1966.

In that year's Gallaher 500, Mini Coopers finished first to ninth.  It was the last occasion on which anything with a naturally-aspirated four-cylinder engine would win the annual endurance classic, an event which has since be won on all but a handful of occasions by V8-powered cars (memorably a V12 Jaguar XJS triumphed in 1985 when Conrod Straight was still at it full length), a statistic distorted somewhat by the rule change in 1995 which stipulated only V8s were allowed to run.    

Although it seemed improbable when the Mini was released in 1959 as a small, utilitarian economy car, the performance potential proved extraordinary; in rallies and on race tracks it was a first-rate competitor for over a decade, remaining popular in many forms of competition to this day.  The joint venture with the Formula One constructor Cooper provided the basis for most of the success but by far the most intriguing possibility for more speed was the model which was never developed beyond the prototype stage: the twin-engined Twini.

Prototype twin-engined Moke while undergoing snow testing, 1962.

It wasn’t actually a novel approach.  BMC, inspired apparently by English racing driver Paul Emery (1916–1993) who in 1961 had built a twin-engined Mini, used the Mini’s underpinnings to create an all-purpose cross-country vehicle, the Moke, equipped with a second engine and coupled controls which, officially, was an “an engineering exercise” but had actually been built to interest the Ministry of Defence in the idea of a cheap, all-wheel drive utility vehicle, so light and compact it could be carried by small transport aircraft and serviced anywhere in the world.  The army did test the Moke and were impressed by its capabilities and the flexibility the design offered but ultimately rejected the concept because the lack of ground-clearance limited the terrain to which it could be deployed.  Based on the low-slung Mini, that was one thing which couldn’t easily be rectified.  Instead, using just a single engine in a front-wheel-drive (FWD) configuration, the Moke was re-purposed as a civilian model, staying in production between 1964-1989 and offered in various markets.  Such is the interest in the design that several companies have resumed production, including in electric form and it remains available today.

Cutaway drawing of Cooper’s Twini.

John Cooper (1923-2000), aware of previous twin-engined racing cars,  had tested the prototype military Moke and immediately understood the potential the layout offered for the Mini (ground clearance not a matter of concern on race tracks) and within six weeks the Cooper factory had constructed a prototype.  To provide the desired characteristics, the rear engine was larger and more powerful, the combination, in a car weighing less than 1600 lb (725 kg), delivering a power-to-weight ratio similar to a contemporary Ferrari Berlinetta and to complete the drive-train, two separate gearboxes with matched ratios were fitted.  Typically Cooper, it was a well thought-out design.  The lines for the brake and clutch hydraulics and those of the main electrical feed to the battery were run along the right-hand reinforcing member below the right-hand door while on the left side were the oil and water leads, the fuel supply line to both engines fed from a central tank.  The electrical harness was ducted through the roof section and there was a central throttle link, control of the rear carburetors being taken from the accelerator, via the front engine linkage, back through the centre of the car.  It sounded intricate but the distances were short and everything worked.

Twini replica.

John Cooper immediately began testing the Twini, evaluating its potential for competition and as was done with race cars in those happy days, that testing was on public roads where it proved to be fast, surprisingly easy to handle and well-balanced.  Unfortunately, de-bugging wasn't complete and during one night session, the rear engine seized which resulting in a rollover, Cooper seriously injured and the car destroyed.  Both BMC and Cooper abandoned the project because the standard Mini-Coopers were proving highly successful and to qualify for any sanctioned competition, at least one hundred Twinis would have to have been built and neither organization could devote the necessary resources for development or production, especially because no research had been done to work out whether a market existed for such a thing, were it sold at a price which guaranteed at least it would break even.

Twini built by Downton Engineering.  Driven by Sir John Whitmore (1937– 2017) &  Paul Frère (1917–2008) in the 1963 Targa Florio, it finished 27th and 5th in class.

The concept however did intrigue others interested in entering events which accepted one-offs with no homologation rules stipulating minimum production volumes.  Downton Engineering built one and contested the 1963 Targa Florio where it proved fast but fragile, plagued by an overheating rear-engine and the bugbear of previous twin-engined racing cars: excessive tire wear.  It finished 27^th (and last) but it did finish, unlike some of the more illustrious thoroughbreds which fell by the wayside.  Interestingly, the Downton engineers choose to use a pair of the 998 cm³ (61 cubic inch) versions of the BMC A-Series engine which was a regular production iteration and thus in the under-square (long stroke) configuration typical of almost all the A-Series.  The long stroke tradition in British engines was a hangover from the time when the road-taxation system was based on the cylinder bore, a method which had simplicity and ease of administration to commend it but little else, generations of British engines distinguished by their dreary, slow-revving characteristics.  The long stroke design did however provide good torque over a wide engine-speed range and on road-course like the Targa Florio, run over a mountainous Sicilian circuit, the ample torque spread would have appealed more to drivers than ultimate top-end power.  For that reason, although examples of the oversquare 1071 cm³ (65 cubic inch) versions were available, it was newly developed and a still uncertain quantity and never considered for installation.  The 1071 was used in the Mini Cooper S only during 1963-1964 (with a companion 970 cm³ (61 cubic inch) version created for use in events with a 1000 cm³ capacity limit) and the pair are a footnote in A-Series history as the only over-square versions released for sale

Twin-engined BMW Mini (Binni?).

In the era, it’s thought around six Twinis were built (and there have been a few since) but the concept proved irresistible and twin-engined versions of the "new" Mini (built since 2000 by BMW) have been made.  It was fitting that idea was replicated because what was striking in 2000 when BMW first displayed their Mini was that its lines were actually closer to some of the original conceptual sketches from the 1950s than was the BMC Mini on its debut.  BMW, like others, of course now routinely add electric motors to fossil-fuel powered cars so in that sense twin (indeed, sometimes multi-) engined cars are now common but to use more than one piston engine remains rare.  Except for the very specialized place which is the drag-strip, the only successful examples have been off-road or commercial vehicles and as John Cooper and a host of others came to understand, while the advantages were there to be had, there were easier, more practical ways in which they could be gained.  Unfortunately, so inherent were the drawbacks that the problems proved insoluble.

Bedint

Bedint (pronounced buh-dent (U) or bed-ent (non-U))

(1) Something which suggests a bourgeois aspiration to the tastes or habits of the upper classes.

(2) A generalized expression of disapproval of anyone or anything not in accord with the social standards or expectation of the upper classes.

(3) Any behavior thought inappropriate (ie something of which one for whatever reason disapproves).

1920s:  A coining attributed to variously to (1) English writer, politician and diplomat Harold Nicolson (2) his wife, the writer Vita Sackville-West or (3) speculatively, Vita Sackville-West’s family.  The word is of Germanic origin and although there are variants, the source of all was the Middle Dutch bedienen, the construct being be- +‎ dienen.  The Middle Dutch be- was from the Old Dutch bi- & be-, from the Middle High German be-, from the Old High German bi-, from the Proto-Germanic bi-, from the primitive Indo-European hepi and was used to indicate a verb is acting on a direct object.  Dienen was from the Middle Dutch dienen, from the Old Dutch thienon, from the Proto-Germanic þewanōną and meant "to be of assistance to, to serve; to serve (at a tavern or restaurant); to operate (a device)".  In the rituals of the Roman Catholic Church, it has the specific technical meaning "to administer the last sacraments (the last rites)".  A bedient (the second third-person singular present indicative of bedienen) was thus a servant, a waiter etc.  The acceptable pronunciation is buh-dent while bed-int, be-dit or anything else is the depth of bedintism.  Bedint is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is bedints.  As a non-standard word, there are no derived forms but, for humorous effect, some have appeared including the nouns, bedintism bedinity & bedintism and the adjectives bedinted, bedintish & bedintesque.  The noun bedintologist is non-standard but there are a lot of amateur bedintologists active.  Caution must be exercised because the very use of the word can be condemned as bedint.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December, 2011.  

The idea thus is exemplified by a maître d'hôtel (head waiter) who, well dressed and well mannered, appears superficially not dissimilar to someone from the upper classes but of course is someone from a lower class, adopting for professional reasons, some of their characteristics (dress, manner, speech (and sometimes snobbery) etc).  Whoever coined the word, it was certainly popularized by Harold Nicholson and Vita Sackville-West, neither of whom were much reticent in finding fault in others.  It seems initially to have been their shared code for discussing such things but soon became common currency amongst the smart set in which they moved and from there, eventually entered the language although not all dictionaries acknowledge its existence and it should probably be thought non-standard.  It one of those words which need not be taken too seriously and is most fun to use if played with a bit (bedintish, bedintesque, bedintingly bedinded, bedintism, bedintology etc).  As a word, although from day one weaponized, bedint was subject to mission-creep to the point where, as Lewis Carroll's (pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (1832–1898) Humpty Dumpty "in rather a scornful tone" explained to Alice in Alice Through the Looking-Glass (1871): "When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less."

Figures from that lost, pre-1914 world: Harold Nicolson (1886-1968) & Vita Sackville-West (1892-1962), London, 1913.

As originally used by Nicolson & Sackville-West, bedint was one the many linguistic tools of exclusion and snobbery; these devices exist among all social classes, some of which, when part of “working-class consciousness” or similar constructs are classified as “inverted snobbery”.  Bedint was used to refer to anyone not from the layers of the upper class (royalty, the aristocracy, the gentry) in some way aping the behavior or manners of “their betters”; the behavior need not be gauche or inappropriate, just that of someone “not one of us”.  Nicolson didn’t exclude himself from his own critique and, as one who “married up” into the socially superior Sackville family, was his whole life acutely aware of what behaviors of his might be thought bedint, self-labelling as he thought he deserved.  His marriage he never thought at all bedint although many of those he condemned as bedint would have found it scandalously odd, however happy the diaries of both parties suggest that for almost 50 years it was.

Harold Nicolson & Vita-Sackville West, Sissinghurst Castle Garden, Kent, 1932.

Bedint as a word proved so useful however that it came to be applied to members of the upper classes (even royalty) were they thought guilty of some transgression (like dullness) or hobbies thought insufficiently aristocratic (ie "a bit middle class" which was about as bad as insults got).  The idea of some behavior not befitting one’s social status was thus still a thread but by the post-war years, when bedint had entered vocabulary of the middle-class (a bedint thing in itself one presumes Nicolson and Sackville-West would have thought), it was sometimes little more than a synonym for bad behavior (poor form as they might have said), just an expression of disapproval.  That didn't mean all "non-typical" behavior was bedint because certain eccentricities or a bohemian lifestyle might be tolerated or even admired.  Bedint-tagging can thus be thought as something within the rubric of labeling theory and to this day there are many practicing bedintologists although not all will be familar with the word.  

Harold Nicolson & Vita-Sackville West, Sissinghurst Castle Garden, Kent, 1960.

The biographical work on Nicolson reveals a not especially likable snob but, in common with many fine and sharp-eyed diarists, he seems to have been good company though perhaps best enjoyed in small doses.  One of those figures (with which English political life is studded) remembered principally for having been almost a successful politician, almost a great writer or almost a viceroy (the latter perhaps more in his mind than that of the cabinet), he even managed to be almost a lord but, despite switching party allegiances to curry favor with the Labour government (1945-1951), the longed-for peerage was never offered and he was compelled to accept a knighthood.  His KCVO (Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order, an honor in the personal gift of the sovereign) was granted in 1953 in thanks for his generous (though well-reviewed and received) biography of the stamp-collecting George V (1865-1936, King of England 1910-1936) although those who could read between the lines found it not hard to work out which of the monarch’s activities the author thought bedint.  As it was, Nicolson took his KCVO, several rungs down the ladder of the Order of Precedence, accepting it only "faute de mieux" (in the absence of anything better) and describing it “a bedint knighthood”, wondering if, given the shame, he should resign from his clubs.

Wedding day: Duff Cooper & Lady Diana Manners, St Margaret's Church, London, 2 June 1919.

So a knighthood, a thing which many have craved, can be bedint if it's not the right knighthood.  When the Tory politician Duff Cooper (1890–1954) ended his term (1944-1948) as the UK's ambassador to France, the Labor government (which had kept him on) granted a GCMG and although he thought his years as a cabinet minister might have warranted a peerage, he accepted while wryly noting in his diary it was hardly something for which he should  be congratulated because: "No ambassador in Paris has ever failed to acquire the it since the order was invented and the Foreign Office has shown how much importance they attach to it by conferring it simultaneously on my successor Oliver Harvey (1893-1968), who is, I suppose, the least distinguished man who has ever been appointed to the post".  Still, Cooper took his "bedint" GCMG and when a Tory government returned to office, he was, shortly before his death, raised to the peerage, choosing to be styled Viscount Norwich of Aldwick.  His wife (Lady Diana Cooper (1892–1986) didn't fancy becoming "Lady Norwich" because she though it "sounded like porridge" (additionally, she had good "brand recognition") and took the precaution of placing notices in The Times and Daily Telegraph telling all who mattered she would continue to be styled "Lady Diana Cooper".  They had a "modern marriage" so differences between them were both negotiated and not infrequent.

A faute de mieux moment: Lindsay Lohan with “award surfboard”, The Teen Choice Awards 2004 cermony, Universal Amphitheatre, Universal City, Los Angeles, California, 8 August, 2004.

From his grave, Harold Nicolson might be amused that since his death more attention has be paid to the details of his remarkable marriage than his careers in politics, diplomacy or literature, despite the latter yielding a biography of his father, a best-selling life of George V, a study of Mrs Charles Lindbergh’s (1906-2001) father, novels and historical works.  Of all he wrote, perhaps the one that will continue to be mined for “source material” was the most “postmodern”: the pseudo-autobiographical Some People (1927), the Author’s Note cautioning “…many of the following sketches are purely imaginary.  Such truths as they may contain are only half-truths”.  A book thus with modern qualities and whether it revealed much about its subjects can be debated but it was an insight into the author, not so much what he was but how he wished to be perceived.  Nicolson clearly conveyed this was not a work to be read by bedints with an ostentatious use of devices of the type Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) called a “pride of knowledge”: Much of Some People was in French, the text littered with untranslated allusions to classical literature and words (some of which long assimilated into English) appearing in the original Ancient Greek script.  Genuinely, it’s an often amusing work even bedints can enjoy in translation (it’s ideal for a hypertext edition) but old Henry Fowler would not have been impressed and would likely have dismissed the devices as “pretentious”.  Others, well acquainted with Nicolson's social aspirations, called it “a cad’s book”. 

Vita Sackville-West (left) and Violet Trefusis (right), Villa dell'Ombrellino, Florence, Italy, circa 1920.  The Tuscan estate belonged to Ms Trefuis's mother, Alice Keppel (1868–1947) a long-time mistress of Edward VII (1841–1910; King of the UK & Emperor of India 1901-1910).

It was an indication of how important it was for Nicolson not to be though bedint although, of course, as he likely would have admitted, trying so hard is about as bedint as things get but if anything, it was the publication in 1973 of Portrait of a Marriage by his son (Nigel Nicolson, 1917–2004) that confirmed him (among those few who much dwelt on the matter) as “really not a bedint”.  The book was a son’s unadorned tale of his bisexual parents' extramarital arrangements but so convivial were the agreements between them about the many trysts and affairs it seems absurd to characterize them as infidelities, indeed, nothing as romantic as Vita Sackville-West's “elopement” with Violet Trefusis (1894–1972) could possibly be thought bedint.  Indisputably a snob and a racist, Nicolson divided the planet’s population (that literally was his vista) in a tiny racial, social and intellectual aristocracy (with which he self-identified) and “the rest”; in that he wasn’t greatly different from many except in using “bedint” as a kind of convenient shorthand he did display what more than one biographer and critic would call his “inferiority complex” (one acquaintance labelling him “a national figure of the second degree”).  Like his contemporary the expatriate American Sir Henry "Chips" Channon (1897–1958), his ambition was to be rich and be raised to the peerage although such was his character it may be than even had he collected a viscountcy, he’d have begun to fret about not being an earl, that notch on the peerage a kind of fence between them and the “bedint lords”.  Certainly he anticipated the title would one day come, planning to commandeer one of the vacant Sackville titles, his name “insufficiently aristocratic” despite the pleasing “elegance of the absent ‘h’”.  Curiously, despite blatantly being anti-Semitic and contemptuous of most of the usual suspects (working class, middle class, foreigners etc) he supported the Balfour Declaration (1917), advocated for the creation of the state of Israel, was appalled by the Treaty of Versailles (1919), approved of the League of Nations (1920-1945), applauded the Beveridge Report (the 1942 paper by Sir William Beveridge, (1879–1963) detailing the original framework of the post-war welfare state) and ended up in the Labour Party.  No biography of Nicolson has made him seem especially “likeable” but among history’s footnotes he remains memorable, a quality transcending bedintism.

The BEM (British Empire Medal), the lowest of the six rungs of the Order of the British Empire.  Politicians would regard the BEM as “a bedint award for bedints” and would be insulted if offered one.

As a species, politicians have a sense of entitlement like few others and while that’s hardly a revelation, what is amusing is to speculate whether the “pathologically entitled” are drawn to the business or it grows in them as they notice the trough seems always to be topped up no matter how deep they bury their snouts.  More amusing still is to create two lists categorizing politicians as one or the other and what’s striking is how few don’t make the cut for either.  As a breed, one thing to which most felt entitled was an honor, and from minor worthies such as mayors hoping for a OBE (Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) to put them a notch above the nurse given an MBE (a Member in the same order) for many decades of dedicated service, to cabinet ministers lobbying for a knighthood or peerage, the lure has always been strong.  There have been exceptions.  Enoch Powell (1912–1998) declined the offer of a life peerage on the basis the proffered barony “wasn’t hereditary”; presumably he thought a “non-ongoing nobility” just too bedint to be contemplated while others would make light of being dubbed.  Sir Arthur Fadden (1894–1973; Prime Minister of Australia Aug-Oct 1941) was in 1951 made a KCMG (Knight Commander of the Most Distinguished Order of St Michael and St George) and to mark his retirement from politics in 1958 he was elevated to GCMG (Knight Grand Cross in the same order).  He welcomed the new honor by remarking: “Twice a knight, not bad at my age.”

There have also been politicians who seemed to find the whole honors system totally naff.  Paul Keating (b 1944; Prime Minister of Australia 1991-1996) declined the more or less obligatory AC (Companion of the Order of Australia (the de facto “top-of-the-tree” since the AK (Knight of the same order) went into abeyance after a brief and controversial revival by Tony Abbott (b 1957; Prime Minister of Australia 2013-2015)) on the basis “…prime ministers are well-rewarded for their service” although it’s tempting to think while Mr Keating might have thought most honors were too bedint for him to accept, given his self-regard, he might have been tempted if offered a dukedom; there hasn’t been (a non-royal) one of them created for 150-odd years and they’re no longer as costly as once they were.  He made one memorable speech making his disdain clear.  Rising in the House of Representatives on 27 February, 1992, he castigated conservative politicians for” “…still looking for your MBEs and your KCMGs and all the rest of the regalia… we will have no bar of you or your sterile ideology.

Lord Salisbury speaking in the House of Lords (1894), supplement to The Graphic, after a chromolithograph by Sydney Prior Hall (1842-1922).  In Great Contemporaries (1937), Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) alluded to Salisbury's many years as prime minister: “...venerable, august Lord Salisbury, Prime Minister since God knew when.”

Mostly though, politicians’ lust for honors has been strong and many went beyond dropping hints to lobbying.  George Goschen (1831–1907) served in the British government as an “average Chancellor of the Exchequer” and “competent First Lord of the Admiralty” but his many years in office were noted more for the effluxion of time than substantive achievement.  Despite that, Goschen of course felt “entitled” to a seat in the Lords and even fretted about the name he’d adopt upon being ennobled, telling the prime minister he’d decide when told what grade he’d be getting, adding he hoped his elevation would not be announced as “…one of a batch”, making clear a viscountcy was merely “rations” for a retiring cabinet minister and his long service entitled him to go up a notch.  His arguments failed to impress the prime minister (Lord Salisbury (1830–1903; UK Prime Minister for thirteen years variously 1885-1902)) who told his secretary he was prepared only to create him a viscount, something that prompted Goschen to impose himself on the secretary for a long session of advocacy; it proved unproductive, the secretary laconically minuting the prime minister: “Accepts Viscountcy: would have liked an Earldom.”  Resigned to this faute de mieux, he entered the House of Lords as Viscount Goschen of Hawkhurst.

Had the word then existed, Salisbury might have though Goschen’s conduct “typical bourgeois bedintism” while reflecting on twice being offered a dukedom by Victoria (1819–1901; Queen of the UK 1837-1901).  Salisbury had told the queen he was appalled by the prohibitive cost of maintaining what was then a ducal lifestyle and that he’d anyway rather have “an ancient marquessate than a modern dukedom.”  In truth, when the offers were made, the Salisbury marquessate was barely a hundred years old (the prime minister the third marquis) although the titled roots of the Cecil family went back centuries.  Still, “ancient” is how it’s defined and Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893–1946; Nazi foreign minister 1938-1945) justified being at the age of 33 adopted by an aunt (in exchange for payment) in order to append the nobiliary particle “von” to his name on the basis of “not wishing to see an ancient branch of the family go extinct”.  That branch was then of a 40 year vintage and the “purchased von” was within the Nazi Party a source of contemptuous humor, the acerbic Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897-1945; Nazi Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda 1933-1945) summing him up in a diary entry of typical succinctness: “He bought his name, married his money and swindled his way into office”.  Had Goebbels been aware of “bedint”, that’s what he’d have labelled the inept foreign minister.