Melon

Melon (pronounced mel-uhn)

(1) Any of various plants of two cucurbitaceous vines (the gourd family) including the watermelon, muskmelon etc.  Variations include Genus Cucumis (various musk melons, including honeydew, cantaloupes, and horned melon); Genus Citrullus (watermelons and others); Genus Benincasa (winter melon); Genus Momordica (a bitter melon).

(2) The fruit of any of these plants.

(3) A color ranging between a medium crimson and a deep pink, noted for the orange tinge.

(4) In zoology, the visible upper portion of the head of a surfacing whale or dolphin, including the beak, eyes, and blowhole (a mass of adipose tissue used to focus and modulate vocalizations).

(5) In the slang of (mostly North American) financial markets, an especially large additional dividend (often in the form of stock) distributed to stockholders (often as “cut a melon”).

(6) By extension, any windfall of money to be divided among specified beneficiaries.

(7) In slang, the breasts of the human female (almost always in the plural).  The alternative slang is "chest melons" and a woman generously endowed can be dubbed melonious.

(8) In slang, the head; the skull.  Those deemed vague or of limited intelligence dubbed "melon heads".

(9) In slang, a derogatory term for members of a green political party, or similar environmental groups (rare and mostly Australia & New Zealand).

1350–1400: From the Middle English meloun & melon (herbaceous, succulent trailing annual plant or its sweet, edible fruit), from the Old Portuguese (via the thirteenth century Old French melon) melon, from the Late Latin melonem & mēlōn- (stem of mēlō and a shortening of mēlopepō (the “gourd apple”, a large apple-shaped melon)), from the Ancient Greek μηλοπέπων (mēlopépōn) (large apple-shaped melon), the construct being μηλο (mêlo(n)) (apple) + πέπων (pépōn) (ripe), from πέπτω (péptō) (to ripen).  Confusingly for historians seeking to reconstruct the recipes of Antiquity the Latin melopeponem was a kind of pumpkin while the Greek mēlopepon (gourd-apple) was applied to several kinds of gourds bearing sweet fruit, the origin of that in the noun use of pépōn (ripe) distinguishing the fruit on the vine ready for harvest from those yet to ripen.  As a modifier, melon is appended as appropriate (based on color, shape, diet, environmental niche, habitat etc) including melon beetle, melon cactus, Melon rugose mosaic virus, melon thistle & melon-headed.  The best known is probably the watermelon, dating from the 1610s and so named for their high content of water-like juice; in French, the more pleasing term is melon d'eau.  Melonade is a (non-alcoholic) drink made from melons while the (definitely alcoholic) melontini is a martini cocktail made with melon.  The adjective melonic is unrelated to melons and is used in chemistry to mean "of or pertaining to a type of complex heterocyclic triazine related to melem".  Melem is the heptazine (a certain chemical compound) with three amino substituents.  Melon is a noun & adjective and melonious, melony, melonous & melonlike are adjectives; the noun plural is melons.

The Cold War won, in 1992, Richard Nixon (1913-1994; VPOTUS 1953-1961 and POTUS 1969-1974) returned to Moscow, a place more than once he’d visited as an adversary.  Visiting the markets, he bought a juicy melon.

Being prolific and undemanding to grow, melons were among the earliest plants domesticated and in Greek, “melon” was used in a generic way for many foreign fruits, a fate which would also befall "apple", thus the naming of the pineapple and in some Old English texts, cucumbers are referred to as eorþæppla (literally "earth-apples"), the deductive process that produced the French pomme de terre (potato (literally “earth-apple”)), the French pomme from the Latin pomum (apple; fruit).  Apple was from the Old English æppel (apple; any kind of fruit; fruit in general), from the from Proto-Germanic ap(a)laz (source also of the Old Saxon, Old Frisian & Dutch appel, the Old Norse eple, the Old High German apful & the German Apfel), from the primitive Indo-European ab(e)l- (apple), (source also of the Gaulish avallo (fruit), the Old Irish ubull, the Lithuanian obuolys, & the Old Church Slavonic jabloko (apple)) but etymologists caution the original sense of these and their relationship(s) to what is now understood as “an apple” is uncertain.  In Middle English, as late as the seventeenth century (even the earliest compliers of recipe books aren’t always explicit so some reverse-engineering based on supposition has been undertaken), it was a generic term for all fruit other than berries but including nuts (such as Old English fingeræppla (dates (literally "finger-apples) and the late fourteenth century Middle English appel of paradis (banana (literally apple of paradise)).

The twenty-first century judgment of Paris: Lindsay Lohan (b 1986, left), Britney Spears (b 1981, centre) & Paris Hilton (b 1981, right) reprise Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, New York City, 29 November, 2006.  The car was a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren Coupé (C199, 2003-2010) leased by Ms Hilton.  It was a paparazzi photo from this moment used in the infamous "Bimbo Summit" headline by Rupert Murdoch's (b 1931) New York Post. 

That generality of meaning saw “apple” named as the fruit with which the serpent tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden, leading to the downfall of man and creating the original sin with which we’ve all since been damned.  The Biblical apportionment of blame to Eve has been held by feminists to account for at least some of the oppression suffered by women for the last two millennia.  However, the “fruit of the forbidden tree” was unspecified in the original texts of the Book of Genesis and, despite the wishful thinking of a few, in Biblical scholarship there’s no support for the notion the fruit was even hinted at being an appel of paradis, however appropriate, given the context, a nice plump banana might seem.  Nor is the forbidden fruit explicitly mentioned in the Holy Quran but according to traditional Islamic commentaries, it was not an apple but wheat.  The Prophet may not have been concerned but in Greek mythology there was the μῆλον τῆς Ἔριδος (Golden Apple of Discord) in the story of the Judgment of Paris which the goddess Ἔρις (Eris) (Strife), tossed in the midst of the feast of the gods at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis as a prize of beauty, thus sparking a vanity-fueled dispute among Hera, Athena and Aphrodite; it was that squabble that triggered the Trojan War.  Eris was the goddess of chaos and discord who (perhaps unsurprisingly), having not received a wedding invitation, was miffed and inscribed kallisti (To the prettiest one) on her “wedding gift” handing it to Πάρις (Paris, AKA Ἀλέξανδρος (Aléxandros) (Alexander), the son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy) who was told to choose the goddess he found most beautiful.  Judging what turned out to be one of Antiquity's more significant beauty contests, Paris chose Aphrodite, offending Hera and Athena, the most famous consequence of their feud being the Trojan War.  Tragedy did thereafter stalk the marriage of Peleus and Thetis; of their seven sons, the only one to survive beyond infancy was Achilles.

Cookmaid with Still Life of Vegetables and Fruit (circa 1620-1625), oil on canvas by Sir Nathaniel Bacon (1585–1627).

Beginning probably in Holland in the early seventeenth century and apparently first painted by Pieter Aertsen (circa 1533-circa 1573) "cookmaid and market scenes" was a genre in painting combining representations of produce and kitchens with themes often borrowed from the New Testament.  Two other examples of Sir Nathaniel's works in this vein are known still to exist: (1) Cookmaid with Still Life of Game and (2) Cookmaid with Still Life of Birds, both featuring healthy young ladies and there is obviously some artistic license in Cookmaid with Still Life of Vegetables and Fruit given that although every piece of produce depicted was at the time grown somewhere in England, not all simultaneously would have been in season.  Sir Nathaniel's lengthy title was too much for many, clipped often to the punchier "Maid with Melons".  This slang use of "melons" (ie female breasts) is listed by many dictionaries as “vulgar” or “mildly vulgar” but does travel with the vague respectability of a classical origin: In Antiquity the plural of the Greek melon (μῆλα) (mela) was used for “a girl's breasts” and in that tradition, in her youth, Lady Helen Taylor (née Windsor; b 1964 and a great-granddaughter of George V (1865–1936; King of the United Kingdom & Emperor of India 1910-1936)) was nicknamed “melons”.  In the line of succession to the British throne, Lady Helen comes in at number 49. 

Juicy Melons, Euston Station, London.

The world record price for a pair of juicy melons was set in May 2026 when a two “premium crown melons”, grown on Japan's northern main island of Hokkaido, realized ¥5.8 million yen (US$36,500) at the season’s first auction in Sapporo, Hokkaido, Japan; the result beat the previous mark of ¥5 million, achieved in 2019.  Although doubtlessly succulent, the prized examples were purchased not only for their taste but also as a promotional device, the successful bidder a Kushiro-based fruit and vegetable wholesaler who sold them to a supermarket where they would be “placed on display”.  Large, juicy melons should of course be put "on display"; everybody knows that, 

A cantaloupe as one would appear in most of the world (left) and a rockmelon down under (right).

Globalization has to some extent standardized in the English language spellings and meanings once disparate, sometimes reversing the trend towards diversity noted as one of the linguistic effects of the British Empire, especially in India under the Raj where the British pillaged the local languages with only slightly less enthusiasm than they showed for gold, diamonds and such.  However, the names of food seem often resistant to change, presumably most often where forms are well-established and supplied by local production.  Thus what is in some places eggplant is elsewhere the aubergine.  It’s also a melon matter because in Australia, what most of the world knows as the cantaloupe (from the French cantaloup, from the Italian place name Cantalupo, a former Papal summer estate near Rome, where the melons were first grown after being introduced to Europe from the Middle East), is called the rockmelon (occasionally rock-melon) and the antipodean quirkiness is not unique, the cantaloupe in some places called “sweet melon” or “Crenshaw melon” while in South Africa where it’s not uncommon to see fruit-stalls side-by-side, one selling cantaloupes and the other spanspeks (from the Afrikaans Spaanse spek (literally “Spanish bacon”)).  The Australian use, once deconstructed, does make sense in that a cantaloupe does (vaguely) resemble (some) rocks and has a "hard skin" but the case seems not compelling, cantaloupe a much more attractive word.  Visiting foodies will be gratified Australians follow the rest of the world when it comes to the honeydew (or honey-dew) melon, the name from the late sixteenth century honeydew (sticky sweet substance found in small drops on trees and plants), a replication of the formations in the Dutch honigdaauw and the German Honigthau.  That melon was first named in 1916 when selective breeding produced a cross between the cantaloupe and a melon native to southern African.

Anthony Albanese, shaggate & melongate

Applied kinesics: Linguists and anthropologists call the use of hand gestures as an accompaniment to speech (much associated with Italians): “gesticulations”.  Mr Albanese gesticulates (left) and Nova’s promotional banner for Nikki Osborne’s “Bushie” persona on Bush Deep (right).

Politics is unpredictable but even in the long tradition of "storm in a tea cup" scandals, few would have expected melons to play a role although, delightfully, Anthony Albanese (b 1963; prime-minister of Australia since 2022) managed a "storm in a D-cup", "melongate" the result of the second of his gaffes while in July 2026 appearing on the Bush Deep podcast.  Interviewed by comedian Nikki Osborne (b 1981), he was asked to play the “shag, marry, date” game, three Australian females from pop culture (singer Kylie Minogue (b 1968), actor Nicole Kidman (b 1967) & singer Rhonda Burchmore (b 1960)) offered as his options.  He started well by mentioning he was “newly married” (to his second wife) but Ms Osborne was tenacious and after boxing him into admitting “Kylie, clearly”, managed to press him into saying (with a slight giggle): “all of the above” (that apparently in answer to: “You’d marry Kylie? And shag her? And date her?” rather than thoughts of intimacy (concurrent or otherwise), with all three nominees but Ms Osborne, seeming pleased, did conclude: "all right, a triple" so who knows?).  The public reaction wasn’t good (although muted compared with what would have been the outrage had the remarks been made by a conservative) and quickly his office issued a one-line statement: “I apologise unequivocally for the comments”.  Educated by the Congregation of Christian Brothers (a branch of the Roman Catholic Church), the Australian arm of which was dissolved after shifting the bulk of its assets to a related but legally separate entity to protect them from civil litigation brought by victims child sexual abuse by Christian Brothers, Mr Albanese (selectively) operates on the church's long-established principle of “confess and be forgiven”.  What he should have done was make the joke one of self-deprecation, telling his host a more interesting question would be to ask the trio if any of them would contemplate shagging him and all three were anyway “too good for him”.  His second wife, by now well-acquainted with politics, would have forgiven him.

Pampered crown melons in a Shizuoka hothouse.

It turned out to be an eventful podcast because he also told the tale of meeting Sanae Takaichi san (b 1961, Prime Minister of Japan since 2025) during her Australian visit in May 2026.  Knowing a comedian would likely be not interested in trade negotiations or maritime boundaries in the South China Sea, he instead described his surprise when presented with the gift of a pair of crown melons, a fruit grown only in the western region of Japan's Shizuoka Prefecture.  The nation’s most exalted and expensive melons, farmers tending the vines in climate-controlled greenhouses each season cut away all but the most obviously fecund bud so each plant’s energy & nutrients feed a single fruit, ensuring “perfect melons”.  Understandably, crown melons are a gift presented to someone as a mark of respect or appreciation, often in the intricately constructed packaging famously used in Japan for goods from sandwiches to stilettos.  Mr Albanese described the gift as “strange” but said he found them “quite good”.  While it's not reasonable to expect him to have been aware of the cultural significance in Japan of a fruit he’d have associated with the Aus$3.99 item familiar in Australian supermarkets, his office presumably was informed so it was bad staff work he wasn’t briefed on what to say.  An additional reason for the choice of gift was to mark the “delectably honey-sweet” melons now being exported (tariff-free) to Australia.

Pamela Anderson (mostly real) on the cover of Playboy magazine, November 1994.

Things got worse.  Ms Osborne likened the melons to Canadian-US actor Pamela Anderson (b 1967) which must have amused Mr Albanese because almost instinctively he raised his hands to his chest and, making a cupping gesture, observed: “She brought two… as you do”.  There was laughter in the recording studio and it would have been a good joke in the locker room of the South Sydney Rabbitohs (the NRL (National Rugby League) club the prime minister takes every opportunity to remind the country he supports) but as the clip went around the world, he’d have understood he’d put his foot in it… again.  Well into the twenty-first century, it might be assumed politicians would by now be adept in handling the “new media” (social media, podcasts and such) but, beyond a certain age, many remain uncertain and often make the worst mistake of all: trying very hard to be “authentic” which is, of course, recognized instantly as “inauthentic”.  Politicians have before had to attempt to master “changes in platforms”.  In the nineteenth century, it was the shift from speeches being made on the floors of parliaments to public meetings; early in the twentieth it was the advent of radio (a medium better mastered by George V (1865–1936; King of the United Kingdom & Emperor of India 1910-1936) than most of his ministers), then in the post-war world it was television.  Social media & podcasts are just the latest “shock of the new” and hopefully the ALP’s operatives will arrange additional training.  Still, something good did come from the interview: Ms Osborne learning the Japanese prime minister is female.  As the first woman ever to gain the office, there had in 2025 been extensive international coverage of her accession but presumably that was something crowded out of Ms Osborne's news-feeds by the algorithms selecting matters of greater interest such as Ariana Grande's (b 1993) weight or Kylie Jenner's (b 1997) new hairstyle.

Lord Voldemort, played in this scene by Ralph Fiennes (b 1962).

Making the “melons quip” was a bit hypocritical because it hadn’t long before that Mr Albanese had issued a schoolmasteresque rebuke to a member of his shadow cabinet (Tanya Plibersek b 1969), saying she’d made “a mistake” in likening the Liberal Party’s Peter Dutton (b 1970; leader of the Liberal Party of Australia 2022-2025) to the villainous Lord Voldemort in the film adaptations of the Harry Potter children’s books.  Had the comparison been one of their political philosophy or methods (something that might still be worth pursuing) it would have been OK but in saying “I think there will be a lot of children who have watched a lot of Harry Potter films who will be very frightened of what they are seeing on TV at night” it did seem she was commenting on some physical similarity.  Asked to clarify, she said: “I am saying he looks a bit like Voldemort.  We will see whether he can do what he promised he would do when he was last running for leader, which is smile more.”  Perhaps sensing danger, she added: “I am just saying he is not the warm and friendly face of the Liberal party and, if this last election taught us anything, it taught us that the Liberal party has moved too far to the extremes of politics.”  Before long, a statement was issued from Ms Plibersek’s office saying she had “reached out” to Mr Dutton “unreservedly” to apologize, adding she acknowledged the remark should not have been made.  Mr Albanese went further, saying: “It was a mistake.  It shouldn’t have been said, we all make mistakes from time to time.  What we need to do is to move on from them and it is how we respond to them.  Tanya Plibersek responded appropriately. Tanya Plibersek did the right thing by apologising.  We should not refer to people’s appearance.”

Mr Dutton at Mr Boswell’s funeral.

Mr Dutton called the comments “unfortunate” but said they were “water off a duck’s back” and there was no need for politicians to be “nasty and mean”, concluding the affair by saying “I’m not the prettiest bloke on the block but I hope that I’m going to be pretty effective.”  Students of political phraseology enjoyed that last remark, the original used by John Howard (b 1939; Prime Minister of Australia 1996-2007) as an election campaign hook for the not at all photogenic Queensland National Party’s Senator Ron Boswell (1940–2026; senator for Queensland 1983-2014): “He may not be pretty but he’s pretty effective”.  That worked well and, in retirement, Mr Boswell wrote his memoirs, published as Ron Boswell: Not Pretty, But Pretty Effective (2023).  As leader of the opposition, Mr Dutton’s effectiveness was limited, suffering the ignominy of losing his own seat in parliament at the 2025 general election in which the Liberal party suffered its worst defeat since formation in 1944.  During the campaign, Mr Dutton limited his media appearances mostly to Mr Murdoch’s Sky News (now re-branded News24) where he could be asked “helpful” questions by other right-wing fanatics, the exchanges enjoyed by the channel’s small audience of the already converted, the only sceptical faction of which complained Mr Dutton was “not conservative enough”.  Had he dabbled in the anarchic world(s) of the Tiktokers and podcasters things might have been worse still so his handlers were right to “draw the line somewhere”.

The photogenic TERF Katherine Deves (left) and that tweet (right).

Mr Albanese’s reaction to the brief “Plibersek-Voldemort-Dutton affair” must have been something of a special case.  Although there are some things he’s done his best to forget (hoping others will do the same), otherwise his memory is typically ALP-sharp and he certainly remembered the occasions when Ms Plibersek told people she rather than him would have won the ballot for the party leadership had she chosen to contest.  Had a close factional ally pointed out Mr Dutton’s resemblance to Lord Voldemort, Mr Albanese’s reaction might have been limited to a quite chat (over a beer and a laugh) rather than a public censuring.  Sadly, the one who seemed to receive no sympathy was Lord Voldemort who was slighted by being called, by implication, “Duttonesque”; surely he had as much right to be offended by the comparison.  Amusingly, even within the Liberal Party, there are those who have seen the resemblance and commented.  Lawyer Katherine Deves (b 1978) is a (self-described) TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) with a cult-following in the party and on Twitter (now X) on 1 December, 2021, while watching the televised proceedings of parliament, she tweeted: “New speaker [presiding officer of the House of Representatives] …struggles to keep order as Albo [Mr Albanese, then leader of the opposition) …calls Voldemort [Mr Dutton, then minister of defence] …‘boof head’”  The tweet has since been deleted.

Harold Macmillan (1894–1986; UK prime-minister 1957-1963, left) being shown the Sinclair ZX Spectrum home computer by Sir Clive Sinclair (1940–2021, right), London, 1984.

Old Harold Macmillan had his problems with women (being bi-sexual, he may not have been wholly blameless for his wife’s infidelity) but was fortunate to be prime minister during the last days when journalists were still deferential towards politicians (at least until they smelled blood in the water).  Clearly, at least in his dealings with the press, he’d led a sheltered life because in his memoirs he compared the still polite English journalists to the breed he encountered in Australia during his Commonwealth tour (Jan-Feb 1958), noting they were as capable as the bowlers in the nation’s cricket team of “sending down a few fast deliveries”.  By the standards of 2026 the questions he received (and played mostly with a straight bat although there was the occasional square cut) would be thought “tame” and while it can’t be certain how the old Etonian would have handled TikTokers, podcasters and YouTubers, he’d doubtlessly have been appalled and thought them all vulgarians to be avoided.

Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi san: In what was obviously a misspent youth, she was a drummer in a heavy metal band and still sometimes "picks up the sticks".  A Deep Purple (a heavy metal band formed in 1968) fan-girl, she got to meet the band during their 2026 tour of Japan. 

Mr Albanese probably wishes he could avoid appearances on the “new media” but knows a significant chunk of those with a vote long ago tuned-out of the “old media” where he for decades honed to a high-level his skills of spin and obfuscation; his office also would prefer his appearances be restricted to “more easily managed” platforms but know they must play the cards dealt.  Those in his office take pride at being thought “political pros” but curiously, by August 2026 they appeared to have forgotten the wise adage from the Watergate affair (1972-1974) that claimed the scalp of Richard Nixon (1913-1994; VPOTUS 1953-1961 and POTUS 1969-1974) that in politics what’s lethal: “is not the crime, it's the cover-up”.  Just returned from holiday, Mr Albanese “furiously denied” making a crude joke about Sanae Takaichi san’s ‘melons’ in the anyway notorious ‘shag Kylie Minogue’ interview.  At this point, rather than digging deeper, it would have been a better tactic to apologize and hope for forgiveness but Mr Albanese learned his stuff in the “non-Trotskyite” wing of the ALP’s Socialist Left faction in which “never apologize” was less a mantra than a way of life.  In what was described as a “terse statement” a spokeswoman for Mr Albanese denied the comments were a joke about prime ministerial mammary glands, stating: “This assertion is wrong.”  Unfortunately, the "damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead!" approach is a tactic and not a strategy, the efficacy of "plausible deniability" depending not on the term's second element but the first. 

So the seeking of forgiveness option (if “workshopped”) must have been discarded, the office instead opting for attack, an approach perhaps ill-advised because the spokeswoman was responding to a opinion piece (published in Mr Murdoch’s national daily The Australian) by Tokyo’s former ambassador to Canberra, Shingo Yamagami san (Japanese ambassador to Australia 2020-2023) that criticized the comments as “insulting”, speculating even that they may have damaged Sanae Takaichi san’s reputation: “However light-hearted it was intended to be, the recent joke delivered by prime minister Anthony Albanese at the expense of Japanese prime minister Sanae Takaichi is how he might be remembered by Japanese who most value the friendship with Australia.  It is a time for toiling and not for crude jokes at another’s expense.  So, prime minister, please enjoy Japan’s sweet and juicy melons without thinking about a woman’s anatomy, and instead focus on what our two countries must do together.”  As a former Director-General of the Intelligence and Analysis Service of the MoFA (Ministry of Foreign Affairs), Shingo Yamagami san was well-informed and concluded his opinion piece by reminding Mr Albanese of the special cultural significance of the revered fruit: “A crown melon is the most prized fruit in Japan and treasured as something special. Moreover, this particular fruit was painstakingly nurtured under intensive care in a special greenhouse. A single melon costs more than 30,000 yen (Aus$270).”  Translation: “Albo has gained melons but has lost face.”

Exhibit One: Shaggate.

While readers of The Australian mostly years ago made up their minds and concluded Mr Albanese “is a dud”, the reason Mr Murdoch continues to print and distribute the paper (despite large losses) is the content widely is reported on other media platforms (old and new) and while the influence is somewhat diminished, what appears can, on occasions, still “set the day’s agenda”.  However, it’s unlikely Shingo Yamagami san’s piece was written in an attempt to change many minds in Australia and was likely intended for “internal consumption” in Japan.  It’s improbable many Japanese voters would think their prime minister’s reputation much “damaged” by a foreign leader’s social ineptitude but, for a number of reasons (some geo-political but mostly economic), Sanae Takaichi san’s popularity has retreated from the stellar heights she enjoyed after assuming the presidency of the LDP (Liberal Democratic Party) and leading it to a stunning landslide in the 2026 general election (House of Representatives (lower house)) so the thought is the MoFA may have co-opted Shingo Yamagami san as a stalking horse to “muddy the waters”, seeking to exploit the “melons incident” for a bit of “blame-shifting”.  Of course, in diplomatic circles, it was hardly a secret Shingo Yamagami san was "not a big fan" of the ALP government and he may have been “freelancing”; certainly there's been from Tokyo no suggestion an apology has been sought or is expected and observers suspect  “melongate” will prove a “nine day wonder” that vanishes once Mr Murdoch's journalists conclude the story is "going nowhere" and will likely end up remembered as a “storm in a D-Cup”.

Exhibit Two: Melongate.

One who seemed gleefully to relish the opportunity to defend Mr Albanese against accusations of having violated his own instruction to her (“We should not refer to people’s appearance”) was Tanya Plibersek (an unlikely but energetic Sancho Panzo to Mr Albanese’s Don Quixote) who appeared on morning TV with Barnaby Joyce (b 1967; thrice (between local difficulties) deputy prime minister of Australia 2016-2022 and now a convert from the National Party to One Nation), the latter not previously noted for his feminist credentials.  Echoing her leader’s thoughts on the matter, Ms Plibersek said she thought the former ambassador was “…100 per cent wrong, and we have an excellent relationship with Japan.  I think the former ambassador is wrong in his interpretation.”  Now cast in the improbable role of the One Nation Party’s sole intellectual (he's a qualified accountant), Mr Joyce disagreed, saying it was “a really dangerous thing to say”, twisting the blade a little deeper by expressing some faux sympathy for his fellow panellist being bowled up to defend the indefensible: “I know you’re doing the best job you can on this, Tanya, but it’s just like the Kylie Minogue comment – completely wrong, completely trying to be clever. It wasn’t clever.  It just demeans the office of prime minister, and it certainly has created a massive problem with one of our major partners. I know in your heart, Tanya, you know it’s wrong.  Okay? And if you came out now and said, “Yeah, that was a stupid thing to say. You should have apologised for it. People say: ‘Tanya, it’s telling the truth.’”

Lay theologian Mr Joyce conjuring (with no apparent hint of irony) an impromptu encyclical on “truthfulness” was one of the more amusing episodes in the “melon incident”.  Undeterred by that surreal moment, Ms Plibersek maintained focus and insisted it was a “complete misinterpretation by the former ambassador”, unwisely adding: “People watching it for themselves can make their own minds up.”  Not one to miss a “full toss”, Mr Joyce responded: “They do, they do watch it, and they have made up their own mind.  And it is inappropriate.”  In cricketing terms, the English would have called that “being bowled a pie” (ie an “easy hit”) but anyway, Harold Macmillan politely would have applauded Mr Joyce's riposte through the slips to the third man boundary.

Pith

Pith (pronounced pith)

(1) In botany, the soft, spongy central cylinder of parenchymatous tissue in the stems of dicotyledonous plants such as the soft, albedo, fibrous tissue lining the inside of the rind in fruits such as orange and grapefruit (also called medulla or marrow although both are now rare).

(2) In zoology (by extension), the soft tissue inside a human or animal body or one of their organs; specifically, the spongy interior substance of a hair, a horn or the shaft of a feather (also called medulla).

(3) In pathology, the spinal cord or bone marrow (archaic).

(4) In the veterinary sciences, the soft tissue inside a spinal cord; the spinal marrow; also, the spinal cord itself (also called medulla).

(5) A synonym of diploe (the thin layer of soft, spongy, or cancellate tissue between the bone plates which constitute the skull) (obsolete).

(6) The soft tissue of the brain (so rare some dictionaries site it as having “never come into technical use” and now in this context extinct).

(7) The soft inner portion of a loaf of bread (a regionalism associated with Ireland, Southern England and the West Country).

(8) As pith hat or pith helmet, a type of headgear made from the fibre sholapith, worn by during the nineteenth century by European explorers and imperial administrators in Africa, Asia and the Middle East before being adopted by military officers, rapidly becoming a symbol of status or rank, latterly re-defined as a symbol of oppression, especially because of their association with the British Raj in the Indian sub-continent.

(9) In mathematics, the ordinal form of the number pi (3.14159…) (the pith root of pi is 1.439…).

(10) By analogy, the important or essential part; essence; core; heart (synonymous with crux, gist, heart and soul, inwardness, kernel, marrow, meat, medulla, nitty-gritty, nub, quintessence, soul, spirit, substance etc).

(11) By analogy, significant weight; substance; solidity (now rare).

(12) Figuratively, physical power, might, strength, force, or vigor; mettle (archaic).

(13) Figuratively, a quality of courage and endurance; backbone, mettle, spine.

(14) In the veterinary sciences, to sever or destroy the spinal cord of a vertebrate animal, usually by inserting a needle into the vertebral canal.

(15) To extract the pith from (something or (figurative) someone).

Pre 900: From the Middle English pith & pithe (soft interior; pith, pulp) from the Old English piþa or pitha from the Proto-Germanic piþô, cognate with the West Frisian piid (pulp, kernel), the Dutch peen (carrot) & pitt and the Low German peddik or pedik (pulp, core).  All were derived from the earlier piþō (oblique pittan), a doublet of pit (in the sense of “seed or stone inside a fruit”).  Both the Old English piþa (pith of plants) and the Germanic variations enjoyed the same meaning but the figurative sense (most important part(s) of something) existed only in the English form.  The pith helmet dates from 1889, replacing the earlier pith hat (first recorded in 1884), both so called because they were made from the dried pith of the Bengal spongewood.  The verb meaning from the veterinary sciences (to kill by cutting or piercing the spinal cord) was first documented in the technical literature in 1805 but in livestock management it was an ancient practice.  The Middle English verb pethen (to give courage or strength) was derived from the noun pith but did not make the transition to modern English.  Pith is a noun, verb & adjective and pithlike, pithy, pithing & pithed are verbs and pithful & pithless are adjectives; the noun plural is piths.

The Pith Helmet

Headwear from the Raj.

The pith helmet, known also as the sun helmet, safari helmet, topi, topee, or sola topee was a lightweight cloth-covered piece of headgear made of the pith of the sola or shola (Indian spongewood) plant, covered with white cotton and faced with cloth (usually white, cream, biege or green).  Topee (pith helmet) was from the Hindi टोपी (ṭopī) (hat) and the Urdu ٹوپی‎ (ṭōpī) (hat).  The form has some linguistic overlap, the long -e phonetic suffix (variously and inconsistently as -e, -ie, -ee) often appended to create slang forms, affectionate diminutives or to indicate something was a smaller version of an original.  In Indian English for example, a coatee was a hook upon which one hangs one's coat, something unrelated to the original use in English where a coatee was a coat with short flaps, a mid-eighteenth century Americanism, the formation modeled on goatee, a style of beard at the time especially popular south of the Mason-Dixon Line.  Among the colonists and colonial administrators, by the early twentieth century, the most popular word to use was the Hindu topi. 

Symbols of the Raj, the pith helmet and the G&T (gin & tonic).  G&T was a great contribution to civilized life.

Most associated with the military and civil services of the European powers during the colonial period of the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth century, pith helmets routinely were issued to or chosen by those going to hot climates.  As a general principle, the army used dark colours and civilians light (even white) helmets but under modern conditions, the military found them not suitable for the battlefield; the British Army withdrawing them from active use in 1948 although they continue to be worn on some ceremonial occasions (the famous plumed helmets are now seen less often).  Widely popular now only in Vietnam where it’s a remnant of French influence, its niche now is in the nostalgia-fashion industry although, as a symbol of white colonialism, use can be controversial.

The Emperor and his viceroy in topis: George V (1865–1936; King of the United Kingdom & Emperor of India 1910-1936) with Lord Hardinge (1858–1944; Viceroy of India 1910-1916), Government House, Calcutta, 1911.

Of fashions under the Raj, the fictional depictions on screen in which white linen suits often predominate can be misleading; pith helmets, especially during the cooler months, were paired with any daywear.  Until December 1911, Calcutta (now Kolkata) was the capital of British India but since the nineteenth century it had emerged as a hotbed of nationalist movements opposed to British rule, the response of Lord Curzon (1859–1925; Viceroy of India 1899-1905 & UK foreign secretary 1919-1924) being the partition of Bengal which made things worse, a massive upsurge in political and religious activity ensuing.  Had that manifested as letters to the editor or even "passive resistance" the British might have been sanguine but what happened was a boycott of British products and institutions and a spike in the assassinations of Calcutta-based officials.  The British rescinded Curzon's act of partition and relocated the colonial government to New Delhi, designating the city the new capital.

Over millennia, there have been many empires and the Raj and other European colonial ventures were just unusually large examples of a long tradition.  While no two empires exactly were alike, nobody has better distilled their (almost always) unstated rationale than George Orwell (1903-1950) who settled on: "theft" [of other peoples' lands, resources, treasure, women etc] and in the history of the Raj, there are a number of inflection points which, in retrospect, came to be seen as markers on the road to "end of empire".  The viceroy's retreat to New Delhi was one such moment and in the 35 years left to the Raj there were others so while the cumulative effects of the two World Wars (1914-1918 & 1939-1945) certainly rendered control of India (and much of the rest of the empire) financially unsustainable for the British, they were merely the Raj's death knell; what would come to be called the "winds of change" had for some time been blowing.

Sir Philip Mitchell (1890–1964) in plumed pith helmet while Governor of Kenya, with African tribal elders, awaiting the arrival of an aircraft during the 1952 royal tour, RAF Eastleigh Aerodrome (Now Moi Air Base), Nairobi, Kenya, February 1952.  

It was during this tour George VI (1895–1952; King of the United Kingdom 1936-1952) would die and his eldest daughter would be recalled from Kenya to London as Elizabeth II (1926-2022; Queen of the UK and other places, 1952-2022).  George VI had been the last Emperor of India, the imperial style a bauble dreamed up in 1876 by Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881, later First Earl of Beaconsfield; UK prime-minister Feb-Dec 1868 & 1874-1880), ostensibly as a means of cementing rule in India and emphasising the British Empire was a notch or two above the others in the geopolitical pecking order but also as a way of flattering Queen Victoria (1819–1901; Queen of the UK 1837-1901), a form of "monarch management" at which old Disraeli was most adept; his technique with royalty he described as "laying it on with a trowel".  Serving earlier as Governor of Uganda (1935–1940) and Governor of Fiji (1942–1944), Sir Philip Mitchell was a classic peripatetic administrator of the type for decades sent here and there by the Colonial Office and plumed pith helmets were one of the symbols of viceroys, governors-general and governors, those with a military background tending to wear them more assuredly.

Lord Lytton (Edward Robert Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1831–1891, Viceroy of India 1876-1880).  As well as pith helmets, under the Raj, there was much dressing up.

By the time World War II ended, few doubted Indian independence would soon be granted; it was a matter just of working out the timing and the mechanism(s).  Intriguingly, even then the pith helmet was understood as something emblematic of colonial oppression and they had become unfashionable, their relegation to a soon to be needed suitcase sometimes a wise precaution, the archives of the India Office (1858-1947) in London including reports of officials wearing them being abused in the streets and even assaulted.  The sociological significance of the pith helmet was discussed in The Wrong Topi: Personal Narratives, Ritual, and the Sun Helmet as a Symbol (1984) by academic folklorists Frank de Caro (1943–2020) and Rosan Jordan (1939–2025) one anecdote illustrating how things had changed.  The language skills of Indian-born General Hastings “Pug” Ismay (1887–1965) and other officers in the British Army who had served in India proved useful during the evacuation from France as they were able to communicate in Hindi over open radio channels without fear of eavesdropping Germans knowing what was being said.  Ismay had left India in 1936 to take up an appointment with the CID (Committee of Imperial Defence) but when he returned in 1947 to become chief of staff to Lord Louis Mountbatten (1900–1979; last viceroy and first governor-general of India 1947-1948) he found it a changed place:

“Ismay was met at New Delhi airport by his old friend, Field Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck (1884–1981), then commander-in-chief of the Indian Army.  As Ismay stepped down from the plane, he was horrified to see what Auchinleck was wearing on his head: a beret.  Deeply shaken, the only words Ismay could stammer were: ‘My God, Claude!  Where your topi?’  When Ismay, years earlier, had last been in India, the topi had been more than a mere hat.  It had been a veritable icon.  During its heyday from the late nineteenth century to the late 1930s, no European would have thought of being abroad in the noonday sun without a topi squarely planted upon his head, and to have neglected to put one on would have been deemed both improper and unsafe.  All of that had changed by the time of Ismay's return, but the story testifies to the respect that was once accorded to this obligatory headgear.”

Sir Arthur Porritt (1900-1994; Governor-General of New Zealand, 1967-1972), Government House, Wellington, New Zealand, November 1970.

Although New Zealand was not a place of oppressive heat and harsh sunshine, there too, there was a time when governors-general appeared in plumed pith helmets.  A wartime military surgeon, Sir Arthur was a kind of transitional figure as the British Empire became a "Commonwealth of Nations", being New Zealand-born but resident in the UK, he was the country's first first locally born governor-general as all subsequent appointees have been.  In another sign of changing times, Sir Arthur was the last governor-general to wear the full civil uniform and, upon retirement, was raised to the peerage, in 1973 taking his seat in the House of Lords as Baron Porritt of Wanganui and Hampstead.

The exchange between Ismay and Auchinleck was a but footnote in the history of the Raj but seldom has such a brief, insignificant incident so well encapsulated a change so profound and it struck many including the historian Leonard Mosley (1913–1992) who discussed the implications in The Last Days of the British Raj (1961).  Interestingly in Lord Ismay’s own memoirs (1960) the old soldier focused on more the practical aspects of imperial fashion: “Having been brought up in the belief that anyone who failed to wear a pith helmet while the Indian sun was still in the sky was a lunatic, I blurted out, ‘Have you gone mad, Claude?  Where is your topee?’  He replied that, on the contrary, we had all been mad for a hundred years or more to wear such an un-comfortable and unnecessary form of head-gear.”  The shift in sentiment did though appear in a passage in The Jewel in the Crown (1966), the first part of the Raj Quartet (1966-1975) by Paul Scott (1920-1978), set in India during the last years of the Raj.  In the book, there’s a post-war scene in which an officer shocks his more politically aware colleagues by continuing to be attended by a young India manservant, the man blissfully unaware India has moved on while he has not.

Although in Hindi topi meant simply “hat”, by the end of the eighteenth century it had been re-purposed as a synecdoche, Europeans in India habitually referred to by the native inhabitants as “topi-wallahs” (ie wearers of hats rather than turbans).  From there, the term became more specialized and by the mid-1800s, almost exclusively it had become associated with a particular type of hat, the sun helmet which, with its relatively high crown and a wider brim, became so emblematic of European colonialism it was used in advertising and illustrations for many purposes.  Not only that but in India it became for the colonial administrators and many settlers a kind of uniform and a form of cultural assertion, one recounting: “The topi was a fetish; it was a tribal symbol. If you did not wear a topi you were not merely silly, you were a cad. You were a traitor.  You had gone native.”

Lindsay Lohan in pith helmet with riding crop, rendered as a line drawing by Vovsoft.

That attitude illustrates the role of the pith helmet in a way a structural functionalist would understand and may have more efficacy that Lord Ismay’s view of it as an essential tool of sun protection.  Even in the earlier days of the old East India Company, the staff physicians had argued sunstroke was the result of a rise in general body temperature and not necessarily from direct exposure to the sun, some even arguing the head was not especially susceptible to heat; they noted Indian adult males got along quite well with a different type of head protection and Indian women and children generally wore little or none.  While the pith helmet was not exclusive to India, it had not widely been adopted in other hot parts of the British Empire (such as outback Australia, the Americas or parts of Africa) and historians have speculated the real importance was psychological, a reassuring symbol of continuity.  Certainly, recent research has shown hats with wider brims provide much better protection from the sun but there was a ritualism associated with the things, diaries of travellers noting how passengers on ships routinely would put on their pith helmet after passing through the Suez Canal on their way to India and barely taking it off until entering the Mediterranean on the voyage home.  In short, it was a badge of Anglo-Indian identity.

In other words, it was an assertion of Britishness or “whiteness” in that it was a type of headgear worn by Europeans and very seldom by Indians.  Tellingly, those of mixed European and Indian ancestry, wore topis with even more enthusiasm than the English themselves; with the zeal of the convert as it were.  Jokes about Eurasians wearing pith helmets at inappropriate times (such as with pyjamas, in the bath or during moments of intimacy) became legion.  One often neglected aspect of the pith helmet shifting during the last days of the Raj from a symbol of authority to one of shame was that the nature of the British presence in India changed dramatically during the war as a consequence of the sub-continent’s strategic significance to the Far East Theatre.  During the conflict, a huge number arrived from the UK (military and civilian) and they often were of a different social class than those who had for a century made up the Anglo-Indian community, the overwhelming majority of them of type who would in pre-war conditions never have contemplated even a visit.  Putting a pith helmet on them did not a topi-wallah make and the old establishment knew the end was nigh, the demise of the hat not a cause but a harbinger of a change which had begun long before “the stroke of the midnight hour”.

Topi-wallah Melania Trump (b 1970; FLOTUS 2017-2021 and since 2025) in pith helmet, on safari, Kenya, October, 2018.

In common with the more stylish FLOTUSes, Melania Trump’s choice of clothing pften has been analysed in search of political meaning, a deconstruction her husband escaped except for the commentary about the length he chose to allow his ties to hang and those observations were more personal than political.  Mrs Trump, doubtless well aware of the media's interest, wore a pith helmet while on safari near Nairobi, Kenya, attracting from the left criticism for donning a symbol of white colonial rule while from the right, approvingly it was observed a pith helmet had never looked so good.

Presumably, even if unaware she was courting controversy (which is unlikely), the White House would have spelled out the implications so the pith helmet must have been worn to be provocative and the reaction wouldn’t have been unexpected because a few weeks earlier, while visiting a migrant child detention centre, she choose a Zara jacket (US$39) emblazoned across the back with the words “I REALLY DON'T CARE, DO U?”  Clearly a garment for a photo-opportunity, it was worn not while in the presence of the children but only when entering the aircraft and helicopter used for the trip.  The press of course sought comment which elicited from the White House the expected contradictory responses which from day one has typified the media-management of the Trump administration.

Melania Trump in Zara jacket from the spring/summer 2016 collection, 2018.

The feeling among the press was that whatever the origins of the approach, the “confected confusion” was a deliberate strategy, unlike what prevailed under the previous administration of Joe Biden (b 1942; US president 2021-2025) which was merely “confused”.  Regarding the Zara jacket, the POTUS said the message was there for the “fake news media” while the FLOTAS’s communications chief insisted it was “just a jacket” and there was “no hidden message”.  Mrs Trump herself later (sort of) clarified things, telling ABC News the jacket “…was a kind of message, yes”, adding it was obvious she “…didn't wear the jacket for the children” and it was donned only “…to go on the plane and off the plane.... It was for the people and for the left-wing media who are criticizing me.  I want to show them I don't care.  You could criticize whatever you want to say.  But it will not stop me to do what I feel is right.”  Mrs Trump went on to reiterate her own critique of the media for being “obsessed” with what she wears, noting it was only the jacket which attracted attention rather than any matters to do with child detention or immigration more broadly: “I would prefer they would focus on what I do and on my initiatives than what I wear.”  It might seem curious a former model would express surprise at interest being taken in the clothes a woman wears but, well aware nothing can be done about that, she has proved more adept at weaponizing messages than most White House staff have managed.