Courtesy

Courtesy (pronounced kur-tuh-see or kurt-see (now rare))

(1) Excellence of manners or social conduct; polite behaviour.

(2) A respectful or considerate act or expression.

(3) Indulgence, consent, or acquiescence; something granted or extended in the absence of any specific right.

(4) Favor, consent, help, or generosity.

(5) An alternative spelling of curtsy (archaic and probably obsolete).

(6) Something done or performed as a matter of politeness or protocol.

(7) Something offered or provided free by the management.

(8) In law, the life interest that the surviving husband has in the real or heritable estate of his wife.

1175–1225: From the Middle English curteisie (courtly ideals; chivalry, chivalrous conduct; elegance of manners, politeness (also “a courteous act, act of civility or respect”)), from the Old French curteisie & cortoisie (courtliness, noble sentiments; courteousness; generosity) (which in modern French endures as courtoisie), from curteis (courteous).  The construct was courteo(u)s +‎ -y (the abstract noun suffix).  From the late thirteenth century the word was used and understood as “good will, kindness” but it gained the sense of “a reward, a gift” an echo of that enduring in the modern term “by courtesy of” (something received without payment or other consideration).  By the mid-fourteenth century courtesy was part of etiquette in the sense of “refinement, gentlemanly conduct” and related to that is the development of curteisie (source of the English “curtsy”.  The noun discourtesy (incivility, bad manners, rudeness) was in use by at least the 1550s and may have been influenced by the fifteenth century Old French discourtoisie, from discourtois although other forces in English construction were anyway by then prevalent.  The idea of a discourtesy being an “an act of disrespect” emerged late in the sixteenth century.  There is in polite society the notion of “common courtesy” which means the obligation to afford a certain respect to all, regardless of their status and courtesy is thought a good quality and a marker of civilization.  Clearly however, one can have “too much of a good thing” because some style and etiquette guides note the rare noun “overcourtesy” (excessive courtesy) which can suggest obsequiousness, sycophancy, or needless, time-consuming formalism.  Courtesy is a noun, verb & adjective, courtesying is a noun & verb, courtesied is a verb; the noun plural is courtesies.

The noun curtsy seems to have appeared in the 1540s with the sense of “an expression of respect (ie a variant of courtesy) while the specific meaning “a bending the knee and lowering the body as a gesture of respect” dates from the 1570s and the gesture was not then exclusive to women, the convention “men bow; women curtsy” not (more or less) standardized in England until the 1620s.  Predictably, it was the Victorians who coined “courtesy call” to refer to “a visit made for the sake of politeness”, in use by at least 1898.  The term was adopted as part of the language of diplomacy, describing the (usually symbolic) formal visits an ambassador or other emissary of a state makes to a head of state or other local official “out of courtesy” (ie with no substantive purpose).  That notion vaguely was related to the admiralty practice of the “courtesy flag”; a visiting vessel by convention and as a mark of respect flying the flag of the host nation (as well as that of her own) when entering port.  Perhaps opportunistically, in commerce, “courtesy card” is used as the alternative name for the “customer loyalty card” while the “courtesy clerk” was the employee who “bagged customers' purchases”; they were also called the “bagger” and the species is believed now functionally extinct, even in Japan where, until the “lost decade” (the 1990s although many economists claim that epoch has yet to end), they were once an established part of “shop culture”.  Probably the most memorable use of the word is in the term “courtesy flush” which is the “mid-sitting flush” (of a toilet) performed by men thoughtful enough to wish to avoid inflicting on others: “unpleasant odours”.

1973 Imperial LeBaron Four-Door Hardtop (left) and 1978 Chrysler New Yorker Brougham Coupe (right).  In cars, courtesy lamps (or lights, seen illuminated in the left-rear door kick panel (left)) are located where light may be needed (start buttons, where a passenger is about to put their feet etc) and they differ from “specific purpose” lights such as “map reading” lights (seen illuminated, right).  The significance of the name was in the “courtesy” the fittings exercised by automatically switching on when a door was opened.  By contrast, a map-reading light manually was activated as required.  Map-reading lights were fitted on more expensive vehicles because before maps migrated to glowing screens, they were on paper and to be read in a low-light environment, an external light source was needed.  

Both “uncourtesy” and “discourtesy” have at times been in use and the difference primarily is one of usage frequency, historical development, and semantic nuance.  Discourtesy is the established, idiomatic noun in modern English and is used variously to denote rudeness, a lack of courtesy, an impolite act and such.  The form emulated a use in the Old French and it has been in continuous, standard usage since the Middle English period; in contemporary English, it remains the correct and expected form.  Uncourtesy literally means “absence of courtesy” but has for centuries been rare and now is close to obsolete, appearing only in historic references or as a literary device.  That reflects the way English evolves because although the word adhered to the use of the un- prefix pattern (as in unkindness), people for whatever reason settled on the dis- form for this lexeme.  In structural linguistics, it’s true that because of the Latin origin of the “dis-” prefix, that would imply “reversal-negation-deprivation” whereas the Germanic “un-” would suggest “simple negation, but English lexical convention matters more than morphology and the pattern of use has made “discourtesy” the standard noun.  Probably that was a consequence of the Latin-influenced forms gaining sociolinguistic prestige over those words with a Germanic core from the native, Old English vocabulary.  After the Norman Conquest (1066 and all that), what came later to be known as the “Romance superstratum” (the massive influx of words and elements from Norman French and Latin) rapidly undertook a form of linguistic colonialism and words which entered English through French or Latin often arrived morphologically pre-packaged with Romance affixes; English did not build discourtesy from scratch; either it was inherited or imposed, depending on one’s views of such processes and that history is the reason disloyal & dishonest emerged and endured while unloyal & unhonest did not.  Pragmatically though, speakers settled, on a case-by-case-basis on whichever worked best: thus untruth, unlikely and such prevailing because they were the most pleasing pure negations, something more significant than the tendency for native Germanic bases to take “un-”, however a robust morphological bias this may describe.

Prelude to a handover: Donald Trump (left) and Barak Obama (right) shaking hands, the White House, November, 2016.  The handshake is one one of humanity's oldest courtesies. 

Barack Obama (b 1961; POTUS 2009-2017) was known carefully to choose his words (indeed, he’d complain he thought himself a better speech-writer than those hired to do the job) and he used “courtesy” when issuing something of a lament at the depiction of him and his wife (Michelle Obama (b 1964; FLOTUS 2009-2017) as “digitally altered” apes in a video shared by Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) on his Truth Social platform.  Although President Obama’s artful text only “indirectly addressed the racist video”, few would have failed to draw the connection between the two and for students of the technique, his response was a fine example of Michelle Obama’s “when they go low, we go high” school of thought.  While not mentioning the president, Obama observed there seemed no longer “…any shame about this among people who used to feel like you had to have some sort of decorum and a sense of propriety and respect for the office” but “that’s been lost”, adding “there's this sort of clown show that's happening in social media and on television.”  While he understood the political value in such a post because “it gets attention” and is “a distraction”, his feeling was “it's important to recognise that the majority of the American people find this behaviour deeply troubling” and that when travelling around the nation, he would meet people who “still believe in decency, courtesy, kindness.”

Behind the famous lectern: Karoline Leavitt (b 1997; White House press secretary since 2025) who also has retreated a little from previously well-established standards of courtesy.

For a president to have reposted such an obviously racist trope would even a year ago have been unthinkable and a major political scandal but so rapidly has the culture shifted that within barely 48 hours, it had fallen from the news cycle, relegated to just another footnote in the history of Trump 2.0 (which definitely is not Trump 1.1).  Although there was widespread, if remarkably muted criticism from both Republicans and Democrats, the White House initially defended the video, calling the backlash “fake outrage” before noting the volume and deleting the video, blaming the sharing on an (unnamed) member of staff.  Citing the actions by the staffer, Mr Trump said “I didn't make a mistake” and thus would not be issuing an apology, adding he’d not watched the whole clip so didn’t see the offensive image.  Analysts of such things were divided on whether the fact the posting happened “in the middle of the night” made the “staffer cover story” less or more plausible but all that information attracted renewed interest when, a couple of days, from the famous lectern, Karoline Leavitt asserted everything posted on President Trump’s social media account comes “directly” from him: “It’s coming straight from the horse’s mouth” as she put it.  “When you see it on Truth Social, you know it’s directly from President Trump. That’s the beauty of this president, his transparency in relaying the administration’s policies to the rest of you and the world.”  Trumpologists were left to make of that what they could.

In literature, the “courtesy book” was a “book of etiquette” but many of the early editions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries went beyond the merely prescriptive in that they embodied a philosophy of the art of living (elegantly and with virtù (Italian for “virtue)) and provided a guide to help.  The ones which survive are noted for their high literary standard and are of great interest to historians because they’re an invaluable source for the history of education, ideas, customs and social behaviour of certain classes.  While the readership of some originally would have been the “upper middle class” or those who aspired to attain that status or at least emulate their manners, there were also courtesy books written for servants going to work in the houses or on the estates of the gentry; these existed so they’d know “how to behave”.  From the fifteenth century, changes in society were profound as the mass production of gunpowder and books exerted their respective influences and it was in this era the concept of “the gentleman” can be said to have emerged in a recognizably modern form, best understood in the most refined version in the term “Renaissance man”; from this point, culture and education really became courtesy's companion terms.  In earlier times, there had been what were known as “conduct books” but the emphasis in these was on morality deportment, manners and religion; they were very much in the “thou shall not” tradition of repressive Christianity.  Reflecting the way the Renaissance spread north and west, among the most influential of the courtesy books were those publish in Venice in the 1520s & 1530s, some of which began to appear in English translation by the mid-1570s.

Woodcut illustration for Book II (Cantos VII-XII) of The Faerie Queene (1590) by Edmund Spenser (circa 1552-1599).

Although The Faerie Queene was an epic-length poem recounting tales of knightly exploits and written in a deliberately archaic style, it merged history and myth, drawing especially on the Arthurian legends with each of the books an allegorical following of a knight who represents a particular virtue (holiness, temperance, chastity, friendship, justice and courtesy) which will be tested by the plot.  It’s long been of interest to scholars of the work of William Shakespeare (1564–1616) because Book Two appears to be a source for much of King Lear (circa 1605) (and has drawn the ire of some feminists) but some critics have suggest it can (almost) be described as the “Bible of Renaissance anthropocentric humanism, which, in its most idealistic form, was a sort of apotheosis of man.”  That may seem a little “purple” but in The Faerie Queene, with its depictions of the Renaissance conceptions of knightly and chivalrous conduct, the author’s purpose was clear.  Indeed, in the dedication he wrote: “The generall end therefore of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtuous and gentle discipline.”  In scope and literary form, it’s regarded still the “most ambitious courtesy book of all.”

Mandy all dressed up but now with no place to go: The Right Honourable Peter “Mandy” Mandelson PC, Baron Mandelson of Foy and Hartlepool (b 1953) in the scarlet robes (the white trim now miniver or even faux fur rather than the traditional ermine) worn on certain ceremonial occasions in the House of Lords.

In 2008, Gordon Brown (b 1951; UK prime-minister 2007-2010), for reasons understandable if not admirable, granted Mandy a barony (the lowest step on the UK's five-rung peerage system), thereby "ennobling" him with a seat in the House of Lords.  The peerage entitled him (for life) to use the title "Lord" and, as one of His Majesty's privy counsellors (appointed in 1998), he may (again for life) add a post-nominal "PC" and be styled "the Right Honourable".  The membership of the Privy Council (essentially, members of the UK cabinet and a select few others) is unusual in that even if members cease to hold the role which justified their appointment, they don't cease to be a member; they just are "not summoned".

However, unlike the removal of a peerage (which requires an act of parliament), any member may at any time resign from the council as would be expected in the case of a scandal which can't be "swept under the mat" as in the preferred practice in Westminster, one famous example being John Profumo (1915–2006) who in 1963 (while aged 56, "happily married" and serving as Secretary of State for War (ie minister of defence)) was found to be having an affair with a young lady of 19 who simultaneously also was enjoying the affections of a KGB spy attached to the Soviet embassy in London.  That scandal played a part in dooming a Tory (Conservative Party) government which had been in office 13 years but never has Mandy been accused of sleeping with women who are in some state of concubinage with the Kremlin's spies so that's one transgression of which he'll never be accused.  Mandy since 2008 has for most purposes been styled as “Lord Mandelson” and that is not a courtesy title because as a “life peer” Mandy enjoys the same privileges (other than not being able to pass the barony to an eldest son) as one who inherited his barony and were he to have children, they would be entitled to style themselves “the honourable”.  It’s believed he does not plan to have children.

As a footnote, for everyone except royalty, some of the the five notches in the UK's peerage system now exist only for historic reference or to keep track of the still extant holders of the titles no longer or rarely created.  All the life peers are barons while since the mid-1960s the creation of viscounts (rung 2) & earls (rung 3) as hereditary titles has been rare and restricted to a handful of (mostly Tory) political party grandees.  No marquess (rung 4) has been created since 1936 and that may be symbolic because while it had become something of a convention to grant retiring prime ministers an earldom, a returning Viceroy of India had come to expect a marquessate.  Dukedoms (rung 5) have not been awarded to non-royal personages since the nineteenth century and the last recipient with no connection to a royal household by marriage enjoyed their elevation in 1874.  Within the family, the palace continues to dole-out dukedoms, earldoms & viscountcies to themselves, none of which appear to be merit-based awards but merit is hardly a concept the royal family would much like to intrude into any conversation involving them.  In truth, for those few who ponder such things, the practice probably is thought a harmless quaintness with even the most ardent monarchist likely to struggle to suggest exactly what Prince Edward (b 1964) has achieved to deserve being also Earl of Wessex (created 1999), Earl of Forfar (created 2019) and Duke of Edinburgh (granted 2023) although he might point out he’s not as bad as his brother Andrew so there’s that. 

Mandy in underpants (presumably his but who knows?).  There is no suggestion Mandy engaged in inappropriate or improper conduct with this unidentified young lady.

The photograph was released by the US DoJ (Department of Justice) in one of the tranches of files related to convicted paedophile sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein (1953–2019).  It was shot in Epstein's New York City apartment when asked about the circumstances, his lordship responded by saying he “did not recall”.  About that (lack of) recollection, some were uncharitably cynical but it does seem plausible given (1) Mandy doubtless spent much time meeting folk while wandering Epstein’s apartment in his underpants and (2) because Epstein had so many “acquaintances”, Mandy could hardly be expected to remember them all.

There are many “courtesy titles”, a class of address loosely defined as those governed by social convention, long-established practice or even administrative convenience.  In the UK’s intricate peerage system, courtesy titles are those used by certain relatives of peers, even though they do not themselves hold a substantive peerage and are not in law members of the peerage so thus never conferred with any right to sit in the House of Lords.  Although almost universally acknowledged, the courtesy titles are sustained only by convention rather than letters patent.  The interaction of the multi-tiered structure of the UK’s peerage system and the distinctions between (1) elder & younger sons and (2) daughters means there are a number of “rules” for courtesy titles but collectively they mean, for most purposes, depending on which rung on the peerage their father stands, sons commonly are styled either “Lord” or “The Honourable” and daughters “Lady” or “The Honourable”.  Wives also gain a honorific with them being granted a style based on the peerage held by their husband although other than the wives of dukes (who are “duchesses”), for most purposes, the convention follows calling non-ducal male peers “Lord” in that the wives are styled “Lady”.  Complicating all this is there are now also female peers so while, for example, the wife of a baron usually would be styled “Lady”, if a woman in her own right holds a barony, the most pedantic would use “baroness”.  All this may sound arcane but when moving in certain circles the official Order of Precedence can be socially consequential because, when attending events, it can dictate things like where one gets to sit and (more significantly), with whom.  So, the significance of the element “courtesy” in “courtesy title” is that use is “a courtesy extended” and not “a right acknowledged”.  That’s why Mr Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor (b 1960, formerly Prince Andrew, Duke of York, Admiral etc) was not deprived of being styled “Lord” (something usually attached to the younger son of a duke) because, in the legal sense, the title never existed, such use a mere (though widely observed) convention.  Of course, anyone can if they wish call him “Lord Andrew” though it seems unlikely many will bother.  Maybe his ex-wife will grant him that one final courtesy.

Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) coveted medals and decorations but had little interest in titles; although the grandson of a Duke of Marlborough, his self-image was that of “a great House of Commons man” and one peer once lamented: “The House of Lords means nothing to him”, another noble noting: “he thinks us a collection of disreputable old gentlemen”.  In opposition in 1946 he’d been offered a KG (Knight The Most Noble Order of the Garter (1348), the oldest and most senor knighthood in the UK’s orders of chivalry) but declined because he didn’t like the idea of receiving something recommended by a socialist prime minister.  In 1953, back in office, he accepted because “now only the queen decides” but did regret having to become “Sir Winston” rather than the plain “Mr Churchill” he claimed to prefer, observing to the cabinet secretary: “I don’t see why I should not have the Garter but continue to be known as Mr Churchill.  After all, my father was known as Lord Randolph Churchill, but he was not a lord.  That was only a courtesy title.  Why should I not continue to be called Mr Churchill as a discourtesy title?”  Sir Winston he became although his wife (1885-1977) would have preferred he not accept.  Other wives have been keener, the New Zealand trade union leader Sir Tom Skinner (1909–1991; President of the NZ FoL (Federation of Labour) 1959-1979) explaining to colleagues that while he had no wish to be Sir Tom, he didn’t fancy going home to tell his wife she wouldn’t soon be “Lady Skinner” although, given the darkly comic possibilities in that moniker, some women might have had second thoughts.

Woodrow Wilson (left) and Colonel House (right), New York City, 1916.

In the US, south of the Mason-Dixon Line, there have been many “captains” and “colonels” who had little or no military experience and some became well known including the Dutch-born impresario Colonel Tom Parker (1909–1997) who managed the singer Elvis Presley (1935-1977) and Colonel Edward House (1858–1938) who was for years the most influential of the camarilla in the White House of Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924; POTUS 1913-1921).  Colonel House had been a king-maker in Texas politics but during World War I (1914-1918) it was his advice in international relations Wilson often preferred and, despite lacking any background in matters of European politics, was appointed the US’s senior diplomat at the Paris Peace Conference (1919).  Disappointed by the outcome of the conference and feeling deceived by House who had, during the president’s absence in Washington DC, made certain decisions on his behalf, Wilson sundered their relationship; after House returned to the US, they would never meet again.  To the president it had been simply a matter of the colonel “getting ideas above his station” but, to his dying day, House believed the estrangement was engineered at least in part by the second Mrs Wilson (1872-1961), the “blame the wife” theory a recurrent theme in dynastic and political history.  There was of course also Colonel Harland Sanders (1890–1980) who was 1935 was created a member of the HOKC (Honorable Order of Kentucky Colonels) by Ruby Laffoon (1869–1941; governor of Kentucky 1931-1935) and his memory lives on in the fast food KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken), a culinary institution now with more international recognition than the HOKC despite “Kentucky Colonel” being the highest honor bestowed by the state and the nation’s best-known colonelcy.

Colonel Sanders outside a Kentucky Fried Chicken store.  The latte-day name change to "KFC" was effected because the word "fried" had gained negative connotations.

The title became much associated with Texas and many of the Southern States. It was Texas Governor Jim Hogg (1851–1906; governor of Texas 1891-1895) who in 1893 appointed Edward House as a member of his gubernatorial staff, granting him the honorary rank which recipients were entitled to keep for life.  It was something that carried no military command or responsibilities and no federal commission, operating at the “social and political” level something like a Rotary Club membership in that while it conferred a certain perception of status, there was also an expectation (sometimes honoured, sometimes not) the member would fulfil some philanthropic or other worthy public services.  Legally, the basis for the practice dated from the historic rights of governors to appoint officers in their state’s militias and after federation, as the US evolved, the use was extended to non-military use, titles there quite sought after because with no honors systems granting them (knighthoods, peerages and such), those who attain some elected or appointed office (governor, admiral, judge, mayor, senator, ambassador etc), tend for life so to be styled; those who have several get to choose which they prefer.  South of the Mason-Dixon Line, there was an attachment to the tradition because of the cultural significance of the Antebellum Militias which, before the US Civil War (1861-1865) had enjoyed great social prestige, officers drawn often from the (obviously white) elites, plantation owners, lawyers, merchants and such; the granting of a colonelcy didn’t confer community authority: it acknowledged it.  Although much of what was “Southern culture” passed into history, the system remained and proved handy in the way knighthoods and peerages fulfil the function in the UK: (1) rewarding political supporters, (2) providing a quid pro quo to party donors, (3) cementing patronage networks and (4) “paying off” debts or “hushing up” those with troublesome knowledge.  By the early twentieth century, so numerous and associated with unsavoury politics had the colonelcies become that the title became a popular device for satirists.

Jaguar Nashville’s page listing its retired courtesy vehicles available for purchase, the concept much the same as the way “dealer demo cars” are sold.

While in the last decade-odd the engineering has mostly been good, Jaguar has yet to find a way to create a design language to match the distinctive “look” which for more than half-a-century underpinned its success after World War II (1939-1945).  The most recent attempt met with derision although that was a reaction more to the unsubtle DEI (diversity, equity & inclusion) “messaging” in the images used, the approach about as heavy-handed as the lines of the “concept EV” (electric vehicle) later shown.  Because what came to be understood as “a Jaguar” was so defined by what was done in the post-war years, there seems no obvious path for the designers so the company is left in a crowded field, competing on the basis of dynamic qualities and price-breakdown, able no longer to summon the intangible (but real) emotional appeal of old. 

In the US, the medical degree qualifying a graduate to seek to practice the profession is the MD (Doctor of Medicine) but elsewhere in the English speaking world the standard award is MB BS (Bachelor of Medicine & Bachelor or Surgery).  Despite that, most of the latter routinely are styled “doctor” despite not holding a doctorate (MD in the UK and Commonwealth (like a PhD (doctor of philosophy)) awarded as a higher degree after submission of a thesis rather than a course of instruction).  Historically, for medical practitioners, the use of the title “doctor” comes from many layers, dating from antiquity, medieval university practice, professional licensing traditions and later social conventions.  “Doctor” did originally denote “a doctorate” though not in the modern academic sense.  So, for those appropriately qualified in medicine (whether MD or MB BS) “doctor” really isn’t a “courtesy title” but a job title although, of late it’s been adopted also by dentists and vets and some insist that in such cases it should be thought of exactly that.  Doctor was from the Middle English doctor & doctour (an expert, authority on a subject), from the Anglo-Norman doctour, from the Latin doctor (teacher), from doceō (to teach).  It displaced the native Middle English lerare (teacher), from the Middle English leren (to teach, instruct) from the Old English lǣran & lēran (to teach, instruct, guide) which may be compared with the Old English lārēow (teacher, master) and lǣċe (doctor, physician).  In the US the MD evolved into a professional doctorate and the title “Dr” thus followed yet among US lawyers, although many qualify with the analogous JD (Doctor of Jurisprudence), not only is it though bad form for such graduates to use the title “doctor”, professional associations actively discourage use although the legal basis of any attempt at enforcement may be dubious.  As a general principle, the only lawyers in the US styled as “Dr” are those with a doctorate in law (which may be a PhD, DPhil etc).

The Barber Surgeon (1524), engraving by Lucas van Leyden (1494–1533), The Met, New York.

In the great Medieval universities (Bologna, Paris etc), the three higher faculties were Theology, Law and Medicine, graduates of each receiving the degree of Doctor which meant one was a licensed teacher of their discipline.  Thus, a “Doctor of Medicine” was someone qualified to teach medicine at a university, not merely practice it.  In pre-modern medicine (often a gruesome business) there was also distinct social and educational difference between physician and surgeons, especially in England where things became institutionalized.  The physicians were university-trained, held an MD and thus correctly were styled “Dr” whereas the origins of the surgeons lay in the old trade of barber-surgeons; trained by apprenticeship, they did not hold degrees and were styled “Mr”.  In the pre-anaesthetic age, surgical techniques tended to be primitive, often involving cutting or sawing off body parts so for the barbers, skilled in the use of razors and scissors, it was a natural evolution.  This division was in England institutionalized by the formation of the RCP (Royal College of Physicians (1518)) and RCS (Royal College of Surgeons (1843)).

The surgeons had anyway been schematic, guilds existing in London as early as the 1360s and a demarcation dispute between the “surgeons” and “barber surgeons” dragged on until 1540 when a “coming-together” between the “Worshipful Company of Barbers” and the “Guild of Surgeons” was engineered, creating the “Company of Barbers and Surgeons of London”.  However, while papering over the cracks (perhaps “bandaging the wound” might work better), the tensions remained and in 1745 the surgeons departed to form “Company of Surgeons” a royal charter (as Royal College of Surgeons in London) granted in 1800, extended in 1843 to become the “Royal College of Surgeons of England”.  Through all that, even after the early nineteenth century when a university education was made a condition of a licence to practice as a surgeon, the tradition endured and doctors, upon qualifying as members or fellows of the RCS revert from Dr to Mr.  In that context, “Mr” really is not a courtesy title but a professional equivalent and the because of the long history, the field is littered with linguistic quirks, “physician” both a generic term for all qualified to practice medicine and a specialist in internal medicine.  One perhaps once unexpected twist in the history of the history of the barber surgeon is that to this day there appear to be people who get medical advice (or at least a “second opinion”) from their hairdresser, presumably on the basis they’re a proven good source for fashion tips, relationship counselling and such.

Three galleries at the Lindsay Lohan Retrospective by Richard Phillips (b 1962), Gagosian Gallery, 555 West 24th Street, New York, 11 September-20 October 2012.

Described by the artist as an installation, the exhibition was said to be "an example of the way Phillips uses collaborative forms of image production to reorder the relationship of Pop Art to its subjects, the staging and format of these lush, large-scale works said to render them realist portraits of the place-holders of their own mediated existence."  The curator explained the retrospective was conducted as an example of the way collaborative forms of image production can reorder the relationship of Pop Art to its subjects, the staging and format used to render them realist portraits of "...the place-holders of their own mediated existence."  That seemed to explain things.

Vimeo's hosting of Lindsay Lohan, courtesy of Richard Phillips and Gagosian Gallery.

Historically, the term “courtesy of” implied “something provided by its owner to another party without payment or other consideration” and that’s presumably the way Vimeo is using the phrase although it’s likely the file was provided with certain limitations of use (such as “may not be edited”).  However, although for generations used in that way by the print media, on the internet “courtesy of” appears often to be used as a synonym of “attributed to” in cases where explicit permission for use has being neither sought or granted.  Owners of the rights (which may include copyright) can of course seek to have such content “taken down” regardless of any baseless assertion the use is by their “courtesy” but because of the volumes, such actions are by necessity limited and were, for example, some nihilistic psychopath to use on their blog an image of a 1961 Jaguar from the company’s website to illustrate some arcane aspect of a word’s etymology, JLR (Jaguar Land Rover, the corporate identity since 2013 when JLR was created by Tata Motors) likely would either neither notice nor care.

Lindsay Lohan (2011) by Richard Phillips, hosted by Vimeo by courtesy of Richard Phillips and Gagosian Gallery.

Screened in conjunction with the 54^th international exhibition of the Venice Biennale (June 2011), Lindsay Lohan was a short film the director said represented a “new kind of portraiture.”  Filmed in Malibu, California, the piece was included in the Commercial Break series, presented by Venice’s Garage Center for Contemporary Culture and although the promotional notes indicated it would include footage of the ankle monitor she helped make famous, the device doesn't appear in the final cut.

Directed by: Richard Phillips & Taylor Steele
Director of Photography: Todd Heater
Costume Designer: Ellen Mirojnick
Creative Director: Dominic Sidhu
Art Director: Kyra Griffin
Editor: Haines Hall
Color mastering: Pascal Dangin for Boxmotion
Music: Tamaryn & Rex John Shelverton

A variant on the idea is when an owner provides something “as a courtesy” and there are neither rules nor conventions governing this aspect of use.  First appearing in version 1.1 (1982) of PC-DOS (1980-1995), the obscure file EXE2BIN.exe was a command-line utility (it appeared also in other DOS (disk operating system) forks) that could be used to convert .EXE (executable) files into .COM or BIN (binary executables) files.  In the manuals, Microsoft noted “EXE2BIN is included with MS-DOS as a courtesy to software developers. It is not useful for general users.”  So it was a thoughtful gesture but MS-DOS grew at a faster rate than the capacity of the floppy diskettes which were then the only generally available medium for software distribution.  So, needing space for the essential stuff, when in 1987 MS-DOS 3.3 was released, EXE2BIN was no longer included, relegated to the Technical Reference Pack (available at extra cost).  That didn’t mean the decision was a discourtesy, just that space was needed and it was almost certain anyone likely to use EXE2BIN for its intended purpose anyway purchased the pack.  By the time MS-DOS v6.00 was released in 1991, EXE2BIN was thus no longer described as “a courtesy” and was included on one of the “Supplemental Disks” (US$5.00), which were also part of the “Resource Kit” (US$19.95).

Allegro

Allegro (pronounced uh-ley-groh or uh-leg-roh or ahl-le-graw (Italian)).

(1) In music, a tempo mark directing that a passage is to be played in a quick, lively tempo, faster than allegretto but slower than presto.

(2) In music (more traditionally), an expressive mark indicating that a passage is to be played in a lively or happy manner, not necessarily quickly.

(3) In music, a piece or passage to be performed in this manner (an allegro movement).

(4) In printing & typography, as the font Allegro, a serif typeface released in 1936 (initial upper case).

(5) In the history of the internet's lists of "the worst cars ever made", British Leyland's Austin Allegro (1973-1982) (initial upper case).

(6) In Italian use, a male given name (initial upper case).

1625–1635: From the Italian allegro (lively; happy, cheerful (feminine allegra, masculine plural allegri, feminine plural allegre, superlative allegrissimo)), from the French allègre, from the Latin alacer (nominative alacer) (lively, cheerful, brisk) (from which English later picked up alacrity).  The Italian allegretto (diminutive of allegro) in musical composition is the instruction to be (brisk & sprightly but not so quick as allegro) was coined in 1740 explicitly for its technical purpose in music and the alternative form was the adverb allegro non troppo, the construct being allegro (fast) + non (not) + troppo (too much), thus understood as "play fast but not too fast".   As well as the native Italian and the English allegro, composers in many languages use the term including in French allegro (the post-1990 spelling allégro), the Greek αλέγρος (alégros) & αλλέγκρο (allégkro), the Norwegian allegro, the Portuguese allegro (the alternative spelling alegro), the Turkish allegro and the Persian آلگرو.  Allegro is a noun, adjective & adverb; the noun plural is allegros (Initial upper case if used of the cars of appropriately named Italian males).

Use as a musical term seems not to have been recorded until 1721.  Prior to that, since the early seventeenth century, English had used the word in the sense (brisk, sprightly; cheerful) picked up from Italian and Latin although the original spelling in English was aleger (lively, brisk) from Old French alegre, influenced by the Medieval Latin alacris.  What encouraged use was the adoption of the word (in its literal sense) by John Milton (1608–1674) who included the poem L'Allegro" in his collection Poems (1645); L'Allegro (The happy man) was a pastoral poem and critics regarded it as a companion piece for his Il Penseroso (The melancholy man), a work which in some ways anticipated the Romantic movement of the early nineteenth century.  The literary use extended to the term "allegro speech" (a relatively fast manner of speaking), once often used as a stage notation by playwrights although it seems now less common, replaced by terms better known to the young.  This fragment from Milton's L'Allegro is illustrative of the piece's rhythm and movement:

Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathbd smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantasric roe.

Lindsay Lohan merchandize on allegro.pl, a Polish e-commerce site. 

The site presumably settled on "allegro.pl" to convey the idea of speed (fast service, fast delivery etc).  Although the word allegro was never absorbed into the Polish language, because it appeared with such frequency in augmenting musical notation, it’s a familiar form throughout Europe.  Polish composer Frédéric Chopin (1810–1849) used it as a title for Allegro de concert in A major, Opus 46 and his work also included three “allegro” movements: Allegro maestoso (the first movement of the Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, Opus. 11), Allegro vivace (the third movement of the Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, Opus 11) and Allegro vivace (the third movement of the Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor, Opus 21).  In an appalling example of an attempt at normative moral relativism, while on trial before the International Military Tribunal (IMT) at Nuremberg (1945-1946), Hans Frank (1900–1946; Nazi lawyer and governor of the General Government (1939-1945) in German-occupied Poland during World War II) suggested that in mitigation for his direct complicity in mass-murder, he should receive some credit for establishing the Chopin Museum in Krakow, something “the Poles had never done”.

Voraciously corrupt (even by Nazi standards), Frank was protected by virtue of his past service as Adolf Hitler’s (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) personal lawyer and remained in his palace until the military collapse of the General Government in 1945; under his rule, some four million were murdered.  Remarkably, he handed to the Allies dozens of volumes of his highly incriminating diaries and the IMT found him guilty under Count 2 (War Crimes) & Count 3 (Crimes Against Humanity), sentencing him to death by hanging.  His response to the sentence was to say: “I expected it, I deserved it”, adding: “A thousand years will pass and still this guilt of Germany will not have been erased.”  The latter sentiment he recanted while awaiting execution, suggesting the trial had provided something of a cleansing effect but at the time most regarded that as cynically as they noted the rediscovery of his long abandoned Roman Catholic faith.  Although power corrupted him and led him down a path to depravity, Frank never quite lost his respect for the idea of the rule of law and its fundamental importance in a civilized society but was not in his mind able to resolve the conflict between the legal mystique in which he’d been trained and the reality of the Führerstaat (Führer state) in which the word of Hitler was the law.  Frank did attempt to build a framework in which the many contradictions could be reconciled but soon was made to understand his mental gymnastics would (rightly) be thought mere legal sophistry and anyway be ignored by those in the state who held authority.  Awaiting trial, he told one interrogator Hitler’s lack of reverence for the law was the “one defect in this great man” and regretted he’d never been able to change the Führer’s view he “would not rest until Germans realize it is shameful to be a lawyer.”

The Allegro typeface by German graphic artist Hans Bohn (1891–1980)

Although book burning infamously was associated with the era, much publishing was still done in Germany during the 1930s and the centre of the industry was Frankfurt.  In 1936, the city’s Ludwig & Mayer type foundry released the Allegro typeface which was in the tradition of Didone style which became popular in the nineteenth century but influenced also by art deco designs which had flourished during the inter-war years (1919-1939).  A serif design which relied for its impact on the alternation of thick and thin strokes, it used breaks in the letter where thin strokes might be expected, hinting at the style of stencils with a touch of the inclination associated with calligraphy.  It was a popular typeface for decorative purposes such as book jackets or headings of musical notation but, very much a display font, it worked well only above a certain point size and thus was used at scale, almost exclusively for titles.

The Ford Allegro

Ford Allegro concept cars: 1963 (left & centre) and the 1967 Allegro II (right).

Ford’s Allegro was a concept car developed between 1961-1962 which was well-received during its time on the show circuit, viewers much taken by the dramatic interior which included a cantilever-arm, movable steering wheel with an electronic memory unit and adjustable pedals, features which would appear in production cars within a decade.  Built on the unibody platform of the compact Falcon which had been introduced in 1959, it was powered by a V4 manufactured by Ford’s European operation in Cologne, FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany, 1949-1990).  Noting the use in music, the company settled on the “Allegro” name to convey the idea of “brisk and lively performance” but company documents confirm the team responsible for such things pondered “Avventure” and “Avanti” before settling on “Allegro”.  The more obviously speculative Allegro II was displayed in 1967 and a number of the design motifs from both would appear on subsequent Fords as well as Chevrolet’s Vega (1970-1977) and second generation Camaro(1970-1981).

The Austin Allegro

Aesthetic success & failure: The Alfa-Romeo Alfasud (left) and the Austin Allegro (right).

Often featured (usually with several other products of British Leyland in the 1970s) in lists as among the worst cars ever made, the Austin Allegro was in production between 1973-1982 and actually sold in respectable numbers for most of that time although at only a third the rate of its remarkably popular predecessor (ADO16, the Morris 1100/1300 and its five badge-engineered siblings (Austin, MG, Wolseley, Riley & Vanden Plas).  One much criticized aspect of the Allegro was the appearance; it was thought a bloated blob in an era of sharp-edges and wedges and the critique does illustrate just how narrow can be the margin between success and failure in the execution of a concept.  The Alfa Romeo Alfasud (1971-1983 (variants of the original produced until 1989)) adopted essentially the same shape and dimensions yet was praised as an elegant and well-balanced design.  Seen in silhouette, the shapes are similar yet in the metal, the detail differences, a mere inch (25 mm) or two here and there or a subtle change in an angle or curve and one emerges lithe, the other ponderous.

Harris Mann’s 1968 conceptual sketch for the Allegro project.

The Allegro’s portly appearance wasn’t the original intent.  Tasked with designing a replacement for ADO16, the stylist Harry Mann (1938-2023) sketched a modernist wedge, designed to accommodate what was at the time an advanced specification which included all-independent hydraulic suspension, front wheel drive, disk brakes and crucially, new, compact engines.  Mann however began the project while employed by BMC (British Motor Corporation of which Austin was a part) but by the time substantive work on the Allegro began, BMC had been absorbed into the Leyland conglomerate, a sprawling entity of disparate and now competing divisions which, if agonizingly reorganized, might have succeeded but such were the internal & external obstacles to re-structuring that, coupled with political turmoil and the economic shocks of the 1970s, it staggered to failure, something the later nationalization could only briefly disguise.  Mann’s team learned the clean-lined wedge would have to be fattened-up because, not only were the old, tall, long-stroke engines to be re-used but the new units to be offered as options were bulkier still.

If installed at an angle (which would have demanded some re-engineering but would have been possible), that might have been manageable but what was not was the decision to use the corporate heater unit, developed at an apparently extraordinary cost; it could be installed just one way and it was a tall piece of machinery.  Allegro production ended in 1982 but what its appearance of all those "worst car ever" lists tends to obscure is it wasn't a commercial failure.  Although it sold only about a third the volume of its predecessor (the ADO16 ranges) which was for most of the 1960s the UK's best-selling car (and an export success, especially in New Zealand), the Allegro existed in a much more competitive market.  Essentially, the Allegro was nearly a very good car and had it been produced by an outfit less inept than British Leyland, it'd probably now be better-remembered.  While it's now sometimes dismissed as "all agro" ("agro" a slang form of "angry", the phrase meaning something like "nothing but trouble"), in its time the Allegro sold well and enjoyed a better than average reliability record.

1976 Triumph TR7 coupé (left) and 1980 Triumph TR8 convertible (right).  It is wholly emblematic of British Leyland that just as the TR8 had become a good car with much unexplored potential, production ceased. 

Mann didn’t forget his 1968 sketch and when the opportunity later came to design a new sports car, his wedge re-appeared as one of the cars which most represented the design ethos of the 1970s: The Triumph TR7 (1974-1981) & TR8 (1977-1982) which weren't quite trouble-free but which sold quite well and, as the TR8 (which used the 3.5 litre (215 cubic inch) Rover V8), represented something in which the potential of the original was finally realized but it was too late for by then the disaster that was British Leyland had eaten itself.  

1960 Plymouth Fury four-door hardtop (left), 1974 Austin Allegro 1750 Sport Special (centre) and 2024 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 coupe (right).

The Allegro is remembered also for a steering wheel which was neither circular yet not exactly square.  Dating back decades, the idea wasn’t novel and such things had in the early 1960s appeared of a few American cars but, fitted to the Allegro, it attracted much derision, something not diminished by Leyland’s explanation it afforded "an ideal view of the instruments".  Leyland also attracted the scorn of mathematicians when they called the shape “quartic” on the basis of it being “a square with rounded corners”.  However, technically, a quartic is “an algebraic equation or function of the fourth degree or a curve describing such an equation or function” while sqound (a portmanteau word, the construct being sq(uare) + (r)ound) is the ultimate niche word, the only known use by collectors of certain Chevrolet C4 Corvettes (1984-1996), describing the shift in 1990 from round to “a square with rounded corners” taillights.  Mathematicians insist the correct word for a "square with rounded corners" is "squircle" (in algebraic geometry "a closed quartic curve having properties intermediate between those of a square and a circle"), the construct being squ(are) +c(ircle).

Few etymologists (and certainly no lexicographers) appear to have listed sqound as a "real" word but it's of minor interest because as a rare example of a word where "q" is not followed by "u"; such constructs do exist but usually in the cases where initialisms have become acronyms such as Qantas (Queensland and Northern Territory Aerial Services).  Such words do appear in English language texts but they tend to be foreign borrowings including (1) qat (or khat) (a plant native to East Africa and the Arabian Peninsula, often chewed for its stimulant effects, (2) qi (a term from Chinese philosophy referring to life force or energy), qibla (the direction Muslims face when praying, towards the Kaaba in Mecca and (4) qiviut (the soft under-wool of the musk-ox, valued when making warm clothing).  For a while, Leyland pretended to ignore the pedants but within a year replaced the wheel with a conventional circular design.  Whatever the name, variations of the shape have since become popular with high-end manufacturers, Ferrari, Aston-Martin, Lamborghini and others all pursuing non-circular themes and one is a feature of the latest, mid-engined, C8 Chevrolet Corvette in which, unlike the despised Allegro, it's much admired.

How to make an Allegro look worse: 1976 Vanden Plas 1500, the variant coming too late to receive the quartic wheel.  The consensus among testers was the best place to enjoy a Vanden Plas 1500 was sitting inside, amid the leather and walnut, most readers drawing the inference that was because one wouldn't have to look at the thing.  One less charitable scribe described it as "mutton dressed up as hogget". 

In another sign of the times, unlike ADO16, one basic vehicle which was badge-engineered to be sold under six brands (Austin, Morris, Riley, Wolseley, MG & Vanden Plas with the Italian operation Innocenti among the overseas builders, some of which added "modernized" front and rear styling), the only variation of the Allegro was a luxury version by in-house coach-builder Vanden Plas (although there were Belgium-built Allegros and Leyland's Italian operation produced some 10,000 between 1974-1975 as the Innocenti Regent), laden with leather, cut-pile carpeting and burl walnut trim including the picnic tables so beloved by English coach-builders.  It didn't use the Allegro name and has always elicited condemnation, even from those who admired the Vanden Plas ADO16, presumably because the traditional upright grill attached to the front suited the earlier car's lines whereas the version which had to be flattened to fit the Allegro's pinched, pudgy nose was derided as coming from the hand of a vulgarian.  Still, there's clearly some appeal because the Vanden Plas cars have the highest survival rate of all Allegros and now enjoy a niche (one step below the GDR's (Deutsche Demokratische Republik (German Democratic Republic; the old East Germany, 1949-1990) Trabant (the infamous "Trabbi")) on the bottom rung of the collector car market.  One thing which may disappoint collectors is the Vanden Plas 1500 & 1750 (1974-1982) never used the "quartic" steering wheel although a photograph of one so-equipped did appear in the early brochures, printed before the decision in mid-1974 to replace it with a conventional (circular) design.  The photograph was of what the the industry calls a "final pre-production prototype", a common practice.

Leyland's other misadventure in 1973: The P76     

The antipodean Edsel: 1973 Leyland P76 Super V8.

Although 1973 was the last “good year” for the “old” UK economy and one during which British Leyland was looking to the future with some optimism, the corporation’s troubles that year with steering wheels were, in retrospect, a harbinger.  In addition to the Allegro, also introduced in 1973, on the other side of the planet, was the P76, a large (then a “compact” in US terms) sedan which Leyland Australia hoped would be competitive with the then dominant trio, GMH’s (General Motors Holden) Holden, Ford’s Falcon and Chrysler’s Valiant, the previous attempts using modified variants of UK models less than successful although the adaptations had been both imaginative and achieved at remarkably low cost.  Whatever the hope and dreams, publicly, Leyland Australia kept expectations low, claiming the target was nothing more than a 10% market share and the initial reception the P76 received suggested this might more than be realized, the consensus of press reports concluding the thing was in many aspects at least as good as the opposition and in some ways superior, the country’s leading automotive periodical that year awarding the V8 version the coveted CotY (Car of the Year) trophy.  

The answer to the question nobody asked: 44 gallon drum in a P76 boot.  In fairness, the marketing gimmick was a device to illustrate the car had "a bigger boot than the competition" rather than an indication many buyers routinely (if ever) carted such a thing but it soon became a matter of ridicule.

Unfortunately, the circumstances of 26 June 1973 when the P76 was launched didn’t last, the first oil crisis beginning some four months later which resulted in a spike in the price of oil which not only suddenly dampened demand for larger cars but also triggered what was in the West then the most severe and longest-lasting recession of the post-war years.  Some basic design flaws and indifferent quality control contributed to the debacle which is now remembered as the Australian industry’s Edsel and in October 1974 production of the P76 ended; Leyland closed its Australian manufacturing facilities, never to re-open.  Not even the much-vaunted ability of the P76 effortlessly to carry a 44 (imperial) gallon (53 US gallon; 205 litre) drum in its trunk (boot) had been enough to save the outpost of the old empire.

1973 P76 with the original (sharp-edged) steering wheel (left) and the later version, designed for the Force 7 (right) which was fitted also to the Targa Florio version released to celebrate a P76 setting the fastest time on the stage of the 1974 London–Sahara–Munich World Cup Rally held on the historic Targa Florio course in Sicily (in the rally, the P76 finished a creditable 13^th).  The steering wheel was one of many flaws which were planned to be rectified (or at least ameliorated) in the "facelifted" version scheduled for 1975 but, before the end of 1974, the decision had been taken in London to axe the entire Leyland Australia manufacturing venture.    

Given the geo-political situation, rampant inflation and troubled industrial relations of the time, the P76’s steering wheel is really just a footnote in the sad tale but, like the Allegro’s “quartic” venture it was emblematic of the self-inflicted injuries to which Leyland would subject itself, both in the UK and its antipodean offshoot.  When the P76 made its debut in 1973, there was some comment that the steering wheel’s boss had a horn-pad in the shape of a boomerang, emphasizing its credentials as a locally developed product, but what was criticized was the rim which had bizarre, concave cross-section, meaning a quite sharp edge faced the driver, leaving an impression on the palms of the hands after only a few minutes driving.  The industry legend is the shape was a consequence of the typist (second wave feminism hadn't yet left the bookshelves and arrived in boardrooms so in 1973 it remained SOP (standard operating practice) to wherever possible "blame the woman") who prepared the final specification-sheet having mixed up “concave” & “convex” but even if true it’s remarkable such an obvious design-flaw wasn't rectified at the prototype stage.

Some have doubted the veracity of the story but such things do happen including in space.  The problems of the HST (Hubble Space Telescope, 1990) were a famous example and on 23 September, 1999, NASA (the US National Aeronautics and Space Administration) lost the US$125 million Mars Climate Orbiter spacecraft after its 286-day journey to Mars and that was a time when US$125 million was still a lot of money.  There was of course the inevitable review which found the craft’s directional thrusters had, over the course of several months, been incorrectly fired because the control data had been calculated in incorrect units.  The contractor (Lockheed Martin, responsible for the calculations) was sending data in Imperial measures (pounds) to NASA, while NASA's navigation team, expecting metric units, interpreted the numbers as Newtons.  As far as is known, neither contractor nor agency attempted to blame a typist.

1974 Leyland Force 7V.

Compounding the error on an even grander scale, Leyland even planned to release a P76 coupé.  Of the 60-odd built, only 10 of the prototype Force 7V coupés survived the crusher and although it offered the novelty of a practical hatchback, the styling was ungainly and the execution expensive (no external panels shared with the sedan, then the standard practice for such variants).  However, what was more critical was the very market segment for which it was intended was close to extinction and the five vehicles intended as its competitors (Ford's Falcon Hardtop & Landau, Holden's Monaro coupé and Chrysler's Valiant Hardtop & Charger) would be all dropped from production by 1978.  Even had the range survived beyond 1974, success would thus have seemed improbable although the company should be commended for having intended to name the luxury version the Tour de Force (from the French and translated literally as "feat of strength"), the irony charming although En dépit de tout (In spite of everything) might better have captured the moment.  Industry historians have long concluded that even had the P76 survived, the Force 7 would have been a short-lived failure.     

Seriously, the New Zealanders did, by at least the hundreds.

One darkly amusing footnote in the dismal decline and fall of the P76 is that between 1971-1976, Rover's highly regarded 3500 (P6B, 1968-1977) was assembled from CKD (completely knocked down) packs at the NZMC (New Zealand Motor Corporation) plant in Nelson, some 2,400 finished cars shipped to Australia.  To an economist that probably sounds an unexceptional trans-Tasman commercial transaction but in return, NZMC received from Leyland Australia CKD packs of P76 V8s to an equivalent NZ$ value.  Most concluded the Australians got the better part of the deal although the P76 is now a fixture in the lower reaches of the local collector market where they sell for rather more than 3500s so there's that.

There seems no publicly available record of how many CKD packs were shipped to New Zealand but a fully-assembled, ADR (Australian Design Rules) compliant 3500 would have had a higher book value than a CKD pack P76 of any specification so, given the retail pricing at the time, a ratio between 3-4:1 may be a reasonable guess, the labor component in any assembly a substantial part of the calculated value.  That means it must have been a partial exchange because however calculated, 650 CKD packs of P76s would be only a fraction the value of 2400 complete P6s.  During the mid 1970s, the NZ$-Aus$ exchange rate bounced between (roughly) 1.10-1.22 so, depending on contractual terms, that may also have influenced the two-way volumes.  By the mid-1970s the Bretton Woods system (1944-1973) of fixed exchange rates was over but Western countries still set rates in a system called a “managed float”, periodically using a “basket” of currencies (US$ the benchmark; cross-rates from the basket).  “Managed float” sounds an oxymoron but the process wasn’t wholly different from modern practice (the interplay of forex markets and central bank interventions).

GQ Magazine (British edition), September 1995.  GQ stands for “Gentleman's Quarterly” but perhaps, by the 1990s, there was some irony in the title.

While it may be unfair, the P6-P76 exchange may be compared with the “Seriously, would you trade her in for Paula Yates?” caption which appeared on the September, 1995 cover of the British edition of the periodical GQ, used for a photograph of an alluringly posed Helena Christensen.  The piece was a comment on the news Australian singer Michael Hutchence (1960–1997) had “traded in” Danish supermodel Helena Christensen (b 1968 and his long-time girlfriend) for English media personality Paula Yates (1959–2000), the unsubtle implication being Ms Christensen was rather more attractive than Ms Yates, GQ's view apparently a woman's desirability should be determined on no other basis.  There are reasons the grimier end of English journalism gained its reputation.  

Paula Yates.

Many might make a similar point between the Rover P6 and the Leyland P76 although, like the two women, the pair do share some fundamental DNA, both V8s based on the original aluminium unit developed by GM (General Motors) for BOP (the corporation’s Buick, Oldsmobile & Pontiac divisions); not wholly suited to US use, GM produced the 215 cubic inch (3.5 litre) V8 only between 1960-1963 before selling the rights and tooling to Rover.  GM would come to regret that decision but nevertheless got good value from the design, similar engines with iron blocks used between 1964-1980 although the greatest benefit came from a V6 derivative which, in various forms in places around the world, was in continuous production between 1964-2008.  Best remembered as the long-serving “3800”, the V6 proved one of Detroit’s most robust, reliable and easily serviced engines.  For the P6, Rover used the original 3.5 litre configuration (although the company made the first of their many improvements) while Leyland Australia created a “tall deck” block and achieved a 4.4 litre (269 cubic inch) displacement with a perfectly square bore & stroke (both 88.9 mm (3.5 inch)).  Had the rest of the car been up to the standard of the 4.4, the P76 may have succeeded.

Helena Christensen.

Introduced in 1963 as the Rover 2000 (with a unique 2.0 litre (121 cubic inch) in-line four-cylinder engine), the P6 was one of the outstanding products of the post-war British car industry (genuinely, despite the perceptions of some, there were a few fine machines) with an advanced specification in a conveniently sized package.  It was the first ECotY (European Car of the Year) and all it needed was more power (a flirtation with enlarging the 2.0 to a 2.5 litre (151 cubic inch) in-line five aborted), that deficiency in 1968 addressed with the release of the 3500, the range in 1971 augmented by the 3500S (unrelated to the automatic 3500S sold briefly in the US) with a four-speed manual gearbox, the revised configuration making these P6s genuine 125 mph (200 km/h) cars.  Although by then a nearly decade-old platform, the 3500S impressed testers with it pace, the usual competence of the de Dion rear suspension and brakes which were state of the (pre-ABS) art; the fuel gauge also attracted comment, praised for its unusual accuracy.  Regrettably, the P6's fine platform was under-exploited although the Swiss coach-builder Graber was among several which built nicely-executed coupés & cabriolets while in England there were the inevitable estates (station wagons) although the latter were not ascetically pleasing because of the need to follow the slope of the roof-line.  Along with much of the UK industry, Rover rather lost its way after the high water mark of the 3500.  

The Alfa Romeo Alfasud

The fate of many Alfasuds.

Sea water played a part in the story of the Alfasud.  The Alfasud name (the construct being Alfa + sud) was an allusion to it being produced in a newly built factory in the Naples region, the decision taken after financial inducements were offered by the government, anxious to do something about the levels of unemployment and lack of economic development in the south of the country.  The Italian sud (south) was from the French sud, from Old English suþ, from Proto-Germanic sunþrą.  As a plan it made sense to politicians and economists but, industrial relations being what they were at the time, the outcome was less than ideal.    

In one aspect, the Allegro and Alfasud (1971-1989) were wholly un-alike, the latter infamous for its propensity to rust, a trait shared with many mass-produced Italian cars of the era, the only consolation for Alfasud owners being the contemporary Lancia Beta (1972-1984) suffered even more.  The Alfasud's rust-resistance did improve over the years but it remained a problem until the end of production and the industry story has always been that in the barter economy which was sometime conducted between the members of the EEC (European Economic Community (1957), the Zollverein that would evolve into the EU (European Union (1993)) and those of the Warsaw Pact (the alliance between the USSR and the satellite states within Moscow's sphere of influence which essentially duplicated the structure of NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization, 1949), Italian manufactured goods were exchanged for Russian steel which reputedly was re-cycled but anyway turned out to be of poor quality and essentially porous.  The story certainly is a good fit for the narrative of mal-administration and corruption that was Italy in the 1970s but subsequent research has revealed it to be a myth, the sheet metal used in the Neapolitan factory at Pomigliano d’Arco where Alfasuds were made the same stuff Alfa Romeo used in the facility at Arese in Milan where the Giulia range was produced and its reputation for resisting rust was above average.  The evidence suggests all the steel used by the company's local operations came from the state owned Taranto steel mills and intriguingly, the factories south & north all used the same paints and the ovens & paint booths were a decade-odd newer in Naples.

Variations on the Alfasud theme: The Sprint (1976-1989, left) and Giardinetta (station wagon or estate-car) (1975-1980, right).

Given all that, the startlingly premature corrosion surprised many within Alfa Romeo and in 1977 a project-team was formed to investigate the causes and it was afforded some urgency given the reputational damage being suffered by the whole company (ie profits were suffering).  Having determined the core components (paint & steel) weren't to blame, the engineers deconstructed the production process including the system of movement (how the partially completed cars proceeded from start to finish).  What the team found was that while the electrophoresis baths at Pomigliano were state of the art, the inexperienced (and sometimes indifferently-minded) workforce operated them without adequate supervision and quality control, something exacerbated by the chronically bad labor relations, the factory beset by rolling strikes which meant unpainted bodies were often sitting for days.  In the humid climate of the south, condensation gathered, many cars already rusting even before eventually receiving a coat of paint and that the plant was less than 10 miles (16 km) from the coast and prevailing winds blew from the sea added to the problem, the unpainted Alfasuds often for days sitting unpainted accumulating salty moisture.

1983 Alfa Romeo Alfasud Ti Quadrifoglio Verde (Green Cloverleaf), one of the industry's longer model names and clipped usually to "Alfasud QV".

The team's findings resulted in a change to the production process for the revised Series 2 Alfasuds launched in December 1977.  The critical parts of the bodyshell now used "Zincrometal" (steel coated with a primer) which was a mix of chromium, zinc and an organic bonding resin, baked at 160°C (320°F) and that was as good a system as anything then used in the European industry.  As a added precaution, a polyurethane foam was injected into the body's boxed sections with a flexible plastic sealant applied at the seams to prevent moisture intrusion.  That had the added benefit of reducing noise vibration & harshness (NVH) while adding only a little extra weight.  Unfortunately, the tests the engineers conducted to prove the design was waterproof relied on perfectly applied sealant at the junctions but the poor quality control continued so many seams were improperly sealed which meant the foam acted as a moisture store, making the problem worse.  By contrast, whatever its other faults (and there were a few), the Allegro resisted rust like few cars built anywhere during the era, the body-engineering sound and that 1970s British Leyland paint thick and durable.  In the years that followed, many would criticize the sometimes lurid and even sickly shades but as a protective coating, it did the job.

Ultimate Alfasud: The Giocattolo (left), the world's best Alfa Romeo Sprint which included the world’s best tool kit (right).  Unrelated to either, Il giocattolo (the Toy, 1979) was an Italian film noir from the Anni di piombo (Years of Lead) era, directed by Giuliano Montaldo (1930-2023).

The much admired coupé variant of the Alfasud was sold as the Alfasud Sprint (1976-1983) and Sprint (1983-1989); it proved rather more rust resistant.  It was subject to continuous product improvement and fitted with progressively bigger and more powerful engines although none were larger than 1.7 litres (104 cubic inches) which limited its use in competition to events where outright speed mattered less than balance and agility.  The handling was about as good as FWD (front wheel drive) then got and in events such as hill climbs the things are competitive even today.  However, rising to the challenge, between 1986-1989, an Australian company solved the two problems afflicting the Sprint (FWD & lack of power).  Thus the Giocattolo (a play on the Italian word meaning “toy”), a batch of 15 built in the Queensland coastal town of Bundaberg before the economic downturn (remembered locally as "the recession we had to have", the then treasurer's (Paul Keating (b 1944; Prime Minister of Australia 1991-1996)) rationalization of why it was essential to kill off the inflation which had become entrenched in the mid 1970s) ended the fun.  The Giocattolo was fitted with a mid-mounted 304 cubic inch (5.0 litre) Holden V8, driving the rear wheels through a ZF five-speed transaxle, the combination yielding a top speed of 160 mph (257 km/h), a useful increase of 40 mph (65 km/h) over the fastest of the factory's Sprints.  As impressive as the mechanical specification was, the Giocattolos are remembered also for the unusual standard feature of a 375 ml bottle of Bundaberg Rum (the region's most famous product which began as a way to use a waste-product of sugar-cane processing) and two shot glasses as part of the toolkit.  Many who worked on Italian cars probably thought they deserved a drink so it was a good idea but these days, a company would risk being cancelled for such a thoughtful inclusion.