Heckflosse

Heckflosse (pronounced hek-flos or hek-floss-ah (German))

A nickname for the Mercedes-Benz W111 & W112 sedans produced between 1959-1968 (1961-1971 for the coupés and cabriolets with the pruned fins) and translated in English as fintail ("finnie" the affectionate diminutive).

1959: A compound word in modern German, Heck (rear; back) + Flosse (fin).  As a surname, Heck (most common in southern Germany and the Rhineland) came from the Middle High German hecke or hegge (hedge), the origin probably as a topographic name for someone who lived near a hedge.  The link with hedges as a means of dividing properties led in the Middle Low German to heck meaning “wooden fencing” under the influence of the Old Saxon hekki, from the Proto-West Germanic hakkju.  In nautical slang heck came to refer to the “back of a ship” because the position of the helmsman in the stern was enclosed by such a fence and from here it evolved in modern German generally to refer to "back or rear".  Flosse is obscure but was probably related to the Middle English and Old English finn, the Dutch vin, the Low German finne and the Swedish fena.  Because all German nouns are capitalized, Heckflosse is correct but in English, where it's treated as a nickname, heckflosse is common.  Heckflosse is a noun; the noun plural is Heckflossen (although it has in English texts appeared as Heckflosses). 

The (low) rise and (gradual) fall of the Mercedes-Benz tail-fin

Lindsay Lohan examining the damage to a 2009 (fifth generation) Maserati Quattroporte leased by her father, the impact suffered in a minor traffic accident while her assistant was at the wheel, Los Angeles, 2009.  More than many, Lindsay Lohan probably understands the value of Peilstege.

Chrysler in 1957 really did claim their tail-fins were not mere decorations but "stabilizers" designed to move the centre of pressure rearward.  Although designed during Detroit’s tail-fin craze during the mid-late 1950s, Mercedes-Benz always claimed the Heckflosse (tail-fins), introduced in 1959, weren’t mere stylistic flourishes but rather Peilstege (parking aids or sight-lines (literally "bearing bars")), the construct being peil-, from peilen (take a bearing; find the direction) + Steg (bar) which marked the extent of the bodywork, this to assist while reversing.  It's never been clear if this interpretation existed during the design process or was applied retrospectively in response to criticism after the debut but by 1960, even in the US where the things has assumed absurd proportions, the fin-fad was fast fading.  As a cultural artefact, the distinctiveness of the Heckflosse made them a staple for film-makers crafting the verisimilitude of the 1960s High Cold War, just as the big 600s (W100, 1963-1981) from the same era are used still when wealth or evil (not always synonymous) needs to be conveyed.

1963 Mercedes-Benz 300 SE Lang (Long) (W112).

Although on a longer wheelbase than the standard 300 SE, the model designation remained the same, the SEL nomenclature not appearing until the subsequent (W109) 300 SEL (1965).  The additional framing around the badge appeared only on some early-build models and was a unique embellishment although the 300 SE, by German standards "dripped with chrome".  The chrome trim attached to the tail-fins on the 300 SE and the most expensive of the W111 range (220 S & 220 SE) wasn't fitted to the 220 or the cheaper W110 models and in a quirk of production-line economics, it transpired it was more expensive (ie labor intensive) not to fit the trim because of the additional finishing required.  The alpha-numeric soup of model designations which proliferated from the late 1960s started as something almost logical (ie a 300 used a 3.0 litre engine, a 220 a 2.2 etc) but as new product lines emerged, anomalies increased until, in the early 1990s, it was re-organized although the new system would generate its own inconsistencies and eventually the number often had only a vague relationship with engine displacement.

Heckflosse assembly line, Stuttgart, Germany, 1962.

The Heckflosse was one of the first cars to include in its design the concept of the “safety cell”, a passenger compartment designed to protect the occupants in the case of impacts or roll-overs, the structures to the front and rear (ie the engine bay and luggage compartment) essentially “sacrificial”.  This idea was the ancestor of the modern “crumple zone” in which the front and rear compartments were designed to deform upon impact rather than retaining structural integrity, the object being to absorb and dissipate the energy generated in a crash, preventing it reaching the passengers.  The concept was not new, having for generations been a part of naval architecture, warships using what designers dubbed the “armored citadel”: a kind of “box” containing the vital machinery and magazine (ammunition), the structure created by the armoured deck, waterline belt, and the transverse bulkheads.  While this design didn’t make warships “unsinkable”, it did make them harder to sink and there have been ships which have had their whole bow & stern blown off yet have remained afloat, able to be towed back to port.

1961 GAZ-13 Chaika (Seagull) (1959-1981, from the Soviet Union, left), Sunbeam Alpine (1959-1968, from the United Kingdom, centre) and 1961 Chrysler Imperial Crown Windsor (from the US, right).  There's long been much comment about the Heckflosse's fins (only the factory called them Peilstege) being a unexpected concession to a styling fad but they do need to be compared with what was happening not only on both sides of the Atlantic but in Moscow too.

1957 Ford Thunderbird.  Fin-wise, the closest comparison to the Heckflosse was probably the 1957 Ford Thunderbird which, compared with what Chrysler and General Motors (GM) were doing at the time, was quite restrained.  Genuinely, the fins on the first generation Thunderbird (1955-1957) were functional as Peilstege.

On 1 October 1966, Heckflosses were part of the small motorcade in which, having served the twenty year sentences they were lucky to receive from the International Military Tribunal (IMT) at the first Nuremberg Trial (1945-1946), war criminals Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) and Baldur von Schirach (1907-1974; head of the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) 1931-1940 & Gauleiter (district party leader) and Reichsstatthalter (Governor) of Vienna 1940-1945) were driven from Spandau prison in Berlin.  The next day he boarded a Pan-Am Boeing 727 for a flight to Hanover, his first time on a jet aircraft because in 1945 permission had been denied (ostensibly on security grounds) for him to go on a test flight in one of the two-seater Messerschmitt Me-262s built for training.  Like many aspects of his life after release, the THF-HAJ flight had been planned while in Spandau, Speer particularly taken with the 727 because he'd so often seen it during its final descent while tending the prison grounds which he'd transformed into a landscaped park.

1971 Mercedes-Benz 280 SE 3.5 Coupé (1969-1971).

On the sedans, the uncharacteristic exuberances were left undisturbed until production ended in 1968 although after 1965, the range was restricted to a line of lower cost, utilitarian models.  The coupé and cabriolet were introduced in 1961 and lasted a decade; truncating the Heckflosse, they achieved an elegance of line Mercedes-Benz has never since matched but then, few have.

1969 Mercedes-Benz 300 SEL 6.3 (W109, 1968-1972).

By 1965, on the W108 and W109 (1965-1972 and which replaced the more expensive W111 models & all the W112 sedans), the fins, though barely discernible, still existed, the factory noting the contribution to structural rigidity, adding strength without the increase in weight the use of other techniques would have imposed.

1978 Mercedes-Benz 450 SLC 5.0 (C107, 1977-1981).

Advances in metallurgy and engineering meant achieving the required strength became possible even without additional curvature in the metal and in 1971 the R107 (roadster 1971-1989) and C107 (coupé 1971-1981) debuted with the rear surface an uninterrupted flat plane.

1978 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 (V116, 1975-1980).

Despite that, a year later, the W116 sedans (1972-1980) were released with the most vestigial of fins.  The retention of styling elements between generations is not unusual, the second generation Range Rover reprising the earlier model’s distinctive hood creases, even though no longer a structural necessity.  Because there was uncertainty around whether US regulators would outlaw convertibles, no coupé or cabriolet version of the W116 was developed which is why a LWB (long wheelbase) coupé version of the R107 SL was released (as the C107 SLC) and the R107 lasted an impressive 18 years, not replaced until 1989.

1954 Chevrolet Corvette.

Almost apologetically, much has always been made of Mercedes-Benz in the late 1950s not being tempted to follow the lead of GM and Chrysler (Ford never really got involved) in making the W111's tailfins (whether they were really there to help when parking or were merely thought fashionable) truly macropterous but that doesn't mean Detroit may have influenced things because they also did some small "Heckflossesque" fins.  One intriguing element on the original Chevrolet Corvette was the use of protrusions to house the taillights.  When in 1953 the Corvette was released, the fins with which US cars of the era were to become so associated had been around for a few year but hadn’t yet grown (variously upwards & outwards) to the absurd proportions they would later assume and there was nothing unusual in taillights being housed in some construction integrated with the bodywork; once just “bolted-on” lens, taillights had become a design element.  What appeared on the early Corvettes are not really fins and are most analogous with the streamlined nacelles which appeared on contemporary aircraft as enclosures for jet engines; that aspect of aviation architecture would for years be a popular motif for the taillight stylists (by then a highly valued member of the team).  Despite that, the accepted term describing the sculptural extensions is “taillight pod”.  Interestingly, in some of the internal corporate memos the term “nacelle” was used but “pod” became the accepted standard.

1954 Corvette taillight (left) in pod with finlets.

The pair of small blades adorning the upper surface (although sometimes referred to as “finettes”) were in the documents of the GM Design Studio called “taillight bezels” or “ornamental finlets” and, modest as they were, the C1 Corvette probably was the first production car with “four fins”, those with them tending to fit them in pairs although, as a piece of biomimicry of aquatic species, some of the memorable inter-war and early post-war Tatras from Czechoslovakia had a single "central fin" running downwards from the rear of the roof.  The Tatra's fin (the concept familiar from LSR (Land Speed Record) machines) was there to enhance straight line stability and it was needed because of the car's configuration (advanced aerodynamics, a rear-mounted V8 engine and swing axles).  The fin did what it said on the tin but did little to alter the handling characteristics which, by virtue of the mechanical layout, could in unskilled hands be challenging.  The Corvette's behavior was more predictable but that didn't apply to the stylists (they weren't yet "designers") at GM and Chrysler who embarked on a process of “finflation” from which, mercifully, Chevrolet's sports car was spared.  Those on the early Corvettes were at least in a similar aspect ratio to those which appeared on actual jet engine nacelles where they were used to direct airflow in the desired direction and there would have been a slight aerodynamic effect (for better or worse) but the finlets were essentially decorative as GM’s memos indicated and similar additions even appeared on some dagmars (such as the 1954 Buicks).  The Corvette’s designers clearly though the moment had passed for when the restyled 1956 range was released, the pods had been banished, never to return.

1959 Pontiac Bonneville Convertible (left) and 1959 Pontiac Catalina Convertible (right).  Pontiac used the elongation of the elliptical taillights as a marker of a model's place in the division's hierarchy.

On the Corvette, the “taillight pod” and “ornamental finlets” combo didn’t make it into the 1956 range but the idea clearly became lodged somewhere in the GM collective memory because, on a grander scale, both were reprised on the 1959 Pontiacs; longer, higher and wider than the 1953 original, the look might have attracted more publicity had GM’s take on fins that year not been dominated by the Cadillac with the “twin bullet taillights” and the Chevrolet’s “bat wings”.  Compared with those extravagances, what Pontiac did was almost subtle and anyway overshadowed by two of the division’s more enduring debuts, the “split grill” and “year of the wide-track” campaign, the former coming and going, the latter lasting for more than a decade.  In a harbinger of what was to come (and ultimately doom Pontiac), all five GM divisions built their cars using the single platform of the GM B-Body and it was remarkable the stylists were able to achieve noticeably different appearances despite sharing the same structural core.  Whether the 1959 Pontiac's four finlets made them a more functional Peilstege than the two on the 1959 Heckflosse seems dubious although at 213.7 inches in length (5,428 mm) compared with the W111's 192 (4,875), drivers of Pontiacs would have needed them more.  Even a 1959 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud II was only 213 inches (5,410) long and its bustleback had no fins whatever but many were chauffeur-driven so presumably “the help” were anyway good at parking. 

The Heckflosse as rally and race car

Mercedes-Benz 220 SE, Monte Carlo Rally, 1960.

To those accustomed to how things are done in the modern WRC (World Rally Championship) or have memories of the marvellous Group B cars of the 1980s (a category which enthralled everybody except the clipboard crew at the FIA (Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (the International Automobile Federation)) which, being international sport’s dopiest regulatory body, of course outlawed the things) it will seem improbable the Heckflosse would have been a successful rally car but the record was illustrious.  It’s best remembered for the 220 SE which won the 1960 Monte Carlo Rally but there were many other successes including the 1961 Algiers-Cape Town Central Africa Rally, an arduous event of some 13,500 kilometres (8400 miles) conducted over several weeks on a route from Cape Town to Algiers (a 190 D (a diesel-engined W121 “pontoon” rather than a Heckflosse) had won in 1959 which proved it was a rally which didn’t rely solely on speed).  First run in 1951 and based on an event staged in 1930, in 1956 a Fiat 1100 and a Ford Ranch Wagon V8 (two vehicles most unalike) had tied for first place, the latter driven by Elon Musk's (b 1971) maternal grandfather, chiropractor Joshua Norman Haldeman (1902–1974), who was an interesting character.

Mercedes-Benz factory rally team (part of the competition department, scaled down since the withdrawal from top-flight Formula One and sports car racing after 1999),  Acropolis Rally, 1963.

The most prestigious African rally was the East African Safari and a Heckflosse 220 SE won in 1961, following victories by 219s the previous two years. The 219 (W105, 1956-1959) was a curious anomaly among the post-war Mercedes-Benz saloons in terms of both nomenclature and engineering.  Using a “mix & match” approach which had been part of the transportation business even before things became motorized, the 219 used the 2.2 litre six-cylinder engine familiar in the various 220s (W128 & W180) but mounted it on the shorter “pontoon” platform used by the 4-cylinder 180 & 190 (W120 & W121) variants, the sacrificed length all accounted for by the shorter rear-doors (and thus wheelbase).  It was one of the more elaborate “de-frilling” exercises seen around the world, the variations including a lower cost version of an existing model (Citroën ID vs DS, Cadillac Calais vs De Ville or Chevrolet Biscayne vs Bel Air & Impala) or an existing body with a smaller engine substituted (Humber Hawk vs Super Snipe).  The 219’s designation was unusual in that it was the only occasion the familiar three numerals featured something other than a “0” as the last digit and it’s notable also because the factory, in a blatant attempt to evade the taxes levied on cars with 2.2 litre engines, slightly reduced the displacement.  The FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany) 1949-1990) government must have decided this was “un-German” trickery (dieselgate was decades away) because eventually they informed Daimler-Benz the 219 would be taxed as a 2.2 litre vehicle,  This brought production to an end because the effect of the tax increase would have negated the advantage the 219 had enjoyed.

The winning Mercedes-Benz 300 SE, Spa-Francorchamps 24 Hour, 1964.  Note the absence of the chrome trim which usually adorned the W112, the same weight-saving measure not always applied to the rally cars.

Although not obviously a machine built for the circuits, the Heckflosse did win enjoy success on the track, a 220 SE in 1961 winning the second Armstrong 500 in Australia, the event which became the annual Bathurst 1000.  It was even less obviously a rally car but the 220 SE enjoyed a remarkable record in the Poland Rally, winning four successive titles between 1960-1964 and the car also won the 1962 Liège-Sofia-Liège, the factory taking the title in the same event in 1963 with the new 230 SL (the W113 “Pagoda”, 1963-1971).  The Heckflosse also won the Acropolis Rally in two successive years, a 220 SE taking the chequered flag in 1962 and a 300 SE (W112) the following year.  The 300 SE was very much a luxury model which used the then still novel engineering of air suspension which provided a smooth ride but added to weight and complexity, neither quality sought by teams using cars in competition although the system did have the advantage of permitting ground clearance easily to be adjusted; to compensate for the added mass, the 300 SE used a variant of the 3.0 litre straight-6 from the 300 SL (W198; 1954-1963) Gullwing and roadster, a powerful, robust unit.  However, by 1963 it was obvious the days of the big sedans being effective rally cars was drawing to a close; the greater power of the 300 SE had permitted the Heckflosse quite an Indian summer but the immediate future clearly belonged to lighter, more nimble machines such as the Alfa Romeo Giulia, Mini Cooper, Saab 96 and Volvo 122.

Ewy Rosqvist with 220 SE Heckflosse.

However, whether on the circuits or the rally course, there was in the early 1960s nothing unusual about men winning trophies but something of note happened on November 4, 1962 when two Swedish women (driver Ewy Rosqvist (1929–2024) & co-driver Ursula Wirth (1934–2019)), in a 220 SE Fintail (Heckflosse) won the VI Gran Premio Internacional Standard Supermovil YPF (Sixth Touring Car Grand Prix of Argentina), conducted over five days and 2,874 miles (4,625 km) on some of the country’s gruelling, mountainous roads.  The women not only won but dominated the event; for the first time, a single vehicle won all six stages and they set a new race record.  To rub it in, all other competitors were men.  Ewy Rosqvist’s only complaint about the 220 SE was that when driving in the mountains, she’d have preferred one with power steering.  According to company lore, the rough road and hot weather testing of one of the competition department's Heckflosses was conducted in the Australian outback (a good place to find both qualities) and, as test drivers, the factory sent with the car the Ott brothers (dubbed by the locals “Crash Ott” and “Red Ott”); the report from the two burly Bavarians assured head office power assistance was “not needed” because the steering was  “acceptably light”.  

220 SE Heckflosse with spotter plane above.

Working as a veterinary assistant travelling between remote farms, Ewy Rosqvist was brought up on a diet of twisty, often icy roads of dubious quality and it was on those she learned the finer points of rally-style driving, travelling sometimes up to 200 km (125 miles) in a day.  With animals to care for, speed was required (in her bag was often some “time-critical” bull semen) and she took to keeping a log-book in which she recorded how long it took to go from one farm to the next; these entries she regarded as her “lap times”.  Later, she would recall the “unpaved roads, gravel paths and farm roads” with some gratitude because they honed techniques which proved good enough for her to win several European rally championships; she called her memoir Fahrt durch die Hölle (Driving through Hell (1963)).

Argentine Turismo Standard Grand Prix, 1962.

Victory celebrations: Ewy Rosqvist (left) with Ursula Wirth (right).  Between them (in sunglasses) stands Mercedes-Benz team manager Karl Kling (1910–2003) who was a factory driver in 1954-1955, driving both the W196R F1 cars and W196S (300 SLR) sports cars.

Although Daimler-Benz was not unaware of the publicity which would be generated by having a women driving for their competition department, when in 1962 the factory offered her a seat in the Mercedes-Benz works team, genuinely the appointment was on merit and with what was achieved in South America, she justified her place.  The team had appeared in Argentina with a four-car entry (two 220 SEs (W111) and two 300 SEs (W112)), the operation run with the sort of thoroughness which had characterized their Grand Prix campaigns in the 1930s & 1950s and, given the conditions encountered, it was just as well: of the 286 vehicles which started only 43 would finish.  Immediately the women made an impression by winning the first stage and they repeated the feat on the subsequent five, eventually finishing three hours ahead of the second-placed Volvo and setting a new record average speed of 126.87 km/h (78.84 mph).  Undeniably, the women were the most glamorous and photogenic in the field and they captured the country’s imagination, German language newspaper Freie Presse (published in Buenos Aires) reporting: “It was not the Cuban missile crisis [16-28 October 1962], but rather the two blondes from Scandinavia who dominated the headlines in the country’s daily newspapers.”

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.