Cinque (pronounced singk)
(1) In
certain games (those using cards, dice, dominoes etc), a card, die, or domino
with five spots or pips.
(2) As
cinquefoil (1) a potentilla (flower), (2) in heraldry, a stylized flower or
leaf with five lobes and (3) in topology, a particular knot of five crossings.
1350–1400:
From the Middle English cink, from
the Old French cinq (five), from the Vulgar
Latin cinque, from the Latin quīnque (five). The archaic spelling cinq was from the modern French cinq,
whereas the standard spelling probably emerged either under the influence of
the Italian cinque or was simply a
misspelling of the French. In typically
English fashion, the pronunciation “sank”
is based on a hypercorrect approximation of the French pronunciation, still
heard sometimes among what use to be called “the better classes”. The alternative forms were cinq (archaic), sinque (obsolete) and sink
& sank (both misspellings). The homophones are cinq, sink, sync &
synch (and sank at the best parties); the noun plural is cinques.
Cinque
outposts, attested since the 1640s was a term which referred to the five
senses. The noun cinquecento (written
sometimes as cinque-cento) is used in (as noun & adjective) criticism &
academic works when describing sixteenth century Italian art and literature. It dates from 1760, from the Italian
cinquecento (literally “500”) and was short for mil cinquecento (1500). The use to describe "a group of five,
five units treated as one," especially at cards or dice, dates from the late
fourteenth century and in English was borrowed directly from the French cinq, a dissimilation from Latin quinque (five) which in Late Latin also picked
up the familiar spelling cinque. The ultimate root was the primitive
Indo-European penkwe (five).
In architecture, a cinquefoil is a ornament constructed with five cuspidated divisions, the use dating from the late fifteenth century, from the Latin quinquefolium, the construct being quinque (five) + folium (leaf), from the primitive Indo-European root bhel- (to thrive, bloom). In Gothic tracery, there was a wide use of circular shapes featuring a lobe tangent to the inner side of a larger arc or arch, meeting other lobes in points called cusps projecting inwards from the arch and architects defined them by the number of foils used, indicated by the prefix: trefoil (3), quatrefoil (4), cinquefoil (5), sexfoil (6), multifoil etc. Although used as stand-alone fixtures, bands of quatrefoils were much used for enrichment during the Perpendicular period and, when placed with the axes set diagonally, quatrefoils were called cross-quarters.
Porsche "phone-dial" wheels, clockwise from top left: 1981 911SC, 1988 924S, 1987 944S & 1985 928S. With a myriad of variations, the cinquefoil motif was a style for wheels used by a number of manufacturers, the best known of which were the ones with which Porsche equipped the 911, 924, 944 & 928 where they were known as the “phone-dial”, a reference which may puzzle those younger than a certain age. Because these have five rather than ten holes, they really should have picked up the nickname "cinquefoil" rather than "phone-dial" but the former was presumably too abstract or obscure so the more accessible latter prevailed.
Lamborghini likes the phone-dial still, Left to right: Huranan, Gallardo, Countach, Diablo and Silhouette.
Plastic wheelcover for the Ford Fairmont XE (left), a circa 1949 British GPO standard telephone in Bakelite (centre) (globally, the most produced handset in this style was the Model 302, manufactured in the US by Western Electric between 1937-1955 with a thermoplastic case) and plastic wheelcover for the Ford Fairmont XF (left).
Probably some are annoyed at the “five-hole” wheel design coming to be known as the “phone-dial” because of course the classic rotary-dial mechanism had ten holes, one for each numeral. Ford Australia actually stuck to the classics when designing a plastic wheel-cover for the XE (1982-1984) Fairmont (the next rung up in the Falcon's pecking order) because it featured the correct ten holes and it was re-allocated as a “hand-me-down” for the Falcon when the XF (1984-1988) was introduced, the Fairmont now getting an eight-hole unit. None of these seem ever to have been dubbed “phone-dials”, probably because plastic wheel–covers have never been a fetish like the older metal versions or aluminium wheels (often as “rims” in modern usage, a practice which also annoys some).
The origin of the hubcap was, fairly obviously, “a cap for hub”, something which dates from the age of horse-drawn carts. Although they would later become something decorative, hubcaps began as a purely function fitting designed to ensure the hub mechanism was protected from dirt and moisture because removing a wheel when the hub was caked in mud with bolts “rusted on” could be a challenge. In the twentieth century the practice was carried over to the automobile, initially without much change but as wheels evolved from the wooden-spoked to solid steel (and even in the 1920s some experimented with aluminium), the hubcaps became larger because the securing bolts were more widely spaced. This meant they became a place to advertise so manufacturers added their name and before long, especially in the US, the humble hubcap evolved into the “wheel-cover”, enveloping the whole circle and they became a styling feature, designs ranging from the elegant to the garishly ornate and some were expensive: in 1984 a set of replacement “wire” wheel covers for a second generation Cadillac Seville (the so-called “bustle-back”, 1980-1985) listed at US$995.00 if ordered as a Cadillac part-number and then that was a lot of money. By the late 1980s, most wheel covers were plastic pressings, other than in places like the isolated environments behind the Iron Curtain.
Lindsay Lohan in 2004 using touch-dial wall-phone.
Remarkably, although touch-dial (ie buttons) handsets appeared in the consumer market as early as 1963 and soon became the standard issue, in 2024 it’s possible still to buy new, rotary-dial phones although only the user experience remains similar; internally the connections are effected with optical technology, the “sound & feel” emulated. There’s also a market for updating the old Bakelite & Thermoplastic units (now typically between 70-90 years old) with internals compatible with modern telephony so clearly there’s some nostalgia for the retro-look, if not the exact experience. Even after the touch-dial buttons became ubiquitous the old terminology persisted among users (and in the manufacturers' documents); when making calls users continued to "dial the number". The same sort of linguistic legacy exists today because ending a call is still the act of "hanging up" and that dates from the very early days of telephony when the ear-piece was a large conical attachment on a cord and at a call's conclusion, it was "hung up" on a arm, the weight of the receiver lowering the arm which physically separated two copper connectors, terminating the link between the callers.
Ms Justine Haupt (b 1987) with custom rotary-dial cell phone in aquamarine.
Ms Justine Haupt, an astronomy instrumentation engineer at New York’s Brookhaven National Laboratory went a step further (sideways, some might suggest) and built a rotary-dial cell phone from scratch because of her aversion to what she describes as “smartphone culture and texting”, something to which many will relate. In what proved a three year project, Ms Haupt used a rotary-dial mechanism from a Trimline telephone (introduced in 1965 and produced by Western Electric, the manufacturing unit of the Bell System), mounted on a case 4 x 3 x 1 inches (100 x 75 x 25 mm) in size with a noticeably protuberant aerial; it uses an AT&T prepaid sim card and has a battery-life of some 24-30 hours. Conforming to the designer’s choices of functionality, it includes two speed-dial buttons, an e-paper display and permits neither texting nor internet access. Although she intended the device as a one-off for her own use, Ms Haupt was surprised at the interest generated and in 2022 began selling a kit with which others could build their own (US$170 (Stg£130)), all parts included except the rotary-dial mechanism which would need to be sourced from junk shops and such. Unlike the larger mechanism on the traditional desk or wall-mounted telephone, the holes in the Trimline’s smaller rotary-dial used the whole circle so the ten-hole layout is symmetrical and thus the same as the XE Fairmont’s wheelcover, something doubtlessly wholly coincidental.
In botany, the potentila is a genus containing some three-hundred species of annual, biennial and perennial herbaceous flowering plants in the rose (rosaceae) family. Since the 1540s it’s been referred to as the cinquefoil (also “five fingers” or “silverweeds”), all distinguished by their compound leaves of five leaflets.
An
early version of a public-private partnership, with no permanent navy to defend
it from sea-borne aggression, the crown contracted with the confederation to
provide what was essentially a naval reserve to be mobilized when needed.
Earlier, Edward the Confessor (circa 1003–1066; King of England 1042-1066) had
contracted the five most important strategically vital Channel ports of that era
to provide ships and men “for the service of the monarch” and although this was
used most frequently as a “cross-Channel ferry service” and was not exclusively
at the disposal of the government. Under
the Norman kings, the institution assumed the purpose of providing the
communications and logistical connections essential to keeping together the two
halves of the realm but after the loss of Normandy in 1205, their ships and
ports suddenly became England’s first line of defense against the French.
The
earliest charter still extant dates from 1278 but a royal charter of 1155 charged
the ports with the corporate duty to maintain in readiness fifty-seven ships,
each to be available each year for fifteen days in the service of the king, each
port fulfilling a proportion of the whole duty. In return the ports and towns received a
number of tax breaks and privileges including: An exemption from tax and tolls,
limited autonomy, the permission to levy tolls, certain law enforcement and
judicial rights, possession of lost goods that remain unclaimed after a year
and of flotsam (floating wreckage and such) & jetsam (goods thrown
overboard). Even at the time this was
thought to be a good deal and the leeway afforded to the Cinque Ports and the substantial
absence of supervision from London led inevitability to smuggling and
corruption although in this the Cinque Ports were hardly unique.
The
Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports was something like a viceroy and the office
still exists today but is now purely ceremonial and, although technically relict,
remains a sinecure and an honorary title, regarded as one of the higher honors
bestowed by the Sovereign and a sign of special approval by the establishment
which includes the entitlement to the second oldest coat of arms of England. The prestige it confers on the holder is
derived from (1) it being the gift of the sovereign, (2) it being England’s most
ancient military honor and (3), the illustrious standing of many of the
previous hundred and fifty-eight holders of the office. It is a lifetime appointment.
The
office of lord Warden has not been without the whiff of scandal. William Lygon, who in 1891
succeeded his father as the seventh Earl Beauchamp, was at twenty-seven
appointed governor of New South Wales, a place to which he would later return,
happily and otherwise. In 1913,
Beauchamp, well-connected in society and the ruling Liberal Party’s leader in
the House of Lords, was appointed Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports and, fond of pomp,
ceremony and dressing-up, he enjoyed the job.
However, in 1930, he embarked on a round-the-world tour which included a
two-month stint in Sydney, where he stayed, accompanied by a young valet who
lived with him as his lover. This, along
with other antics, did not go unnoticed, and the Australian Star newspaper duly reported:
“The most striking feature of the vice-regal
ménage is the youthfulness of its members … rosy cheeked footmen, clad in
liveries of fawn, heavily ornamented in silver and red brocade, with many
lanyards of the same hanging in festoons from their broad shoulders, [who] stood in the doorway, and bowed as we
passed in … Lord Beauchamp deserves great credit for his taste in footmen.”
The
report found its way to London when Beauchamp’s brother-in-law, the second Duke
of Westminster (1879–1953), hired detectives to gather evidence, hoping to
destroy him and damage the Liberal Party, the Tory duke hating both. Evidence proved abundant and not hard to find
and in 1931 Westminster publicly denounced Beauchamp as a homosexual to the
king (George V 1865–1936; King of the United Kingdom & Emperor of India
1910-1936), who was appalled and responded that he “…thought men like that always shot themselves.” Westminster insisted a warrant be issued for Beauchamp’s
arrest and that forced him into exile.
Lady
Beauchamp seems to have shown some confusion upon being informed of her
husband’s conduct. Although he had
enjoyed many liaisons in their (admittedly large) residences, his partners including
servants, socialites & local fishermen and his proclivities were an open secret
known to many in society, his wife remained oblivious and expressed some
confusion about what homosexuality was. Leading a sheltered existence, Lady Beauchamp had never been told about the mechanics of "the abominable
crime of buggery" and baffled, thought
her husband was being accused of being a bugler. Once things were clarified she petitioned for
divorce, the papers describing the respondent as:
“A man of perverted sexual practices,
[who] has committed acts of gross
indecency with male servants and other male persons and has been guilty of
sodomy … throughout the married life … the respondent habitually committed acts
of gross indecency with certain of his male servants.”
Beauchamp
decamped first to Germany, a prudent choice given that although homosexual acts
had been illegal since the unification of Germany in 1871, under the Weimar
Republic (1918-1933), enforcement was rare and a gay culture flourished blatantly in the larger German cities, the Berlin scene famous even then. After the Nazis gained power in 1933, things
changed and Beauchamp contemplated satisfying George V’s assumption but was
dissuaded, instead spending his time between Paris, Venice, Sydney and San
Francisco, then four of the more tolerant cities and certainly places where wealthy gay men could usually bribe their way out of any legal unpleasantness.
After
the death of George V, the warrant for Beauchamp’s arrest was lifted and, in
July 1937, he returned to England. What
did come as a surprise to many was that soon after his arrival, invitations
were issued for a Beauchamp ball, ostensibly a coming-of-age celebration for
Richard Lygon (1916-1970; the youngest son) but universally regarded as an
attempt at a social resurrection. In a
sign of the times, much of London society did attend although there were those
who abstained and made it known. Still,
it seems to have appeared a most respectable and even successful event, Henry "Chips" Channon (1897-1958) noting in his diary it was a bit dull, the “only amusing moment when Lord Beauchamp
escorted… a negress cabaret singer into supper.
People were cynically amused but I was not surprised, knowing of his
secret activities in Harlem. It is never
a long step from homosexuality to black ladies.” Beauchamp didn’t long enjoy his return to
society, dying within a year of the ball.
The vicissitudes of his life were helpful to Evelyn Waugh (1903-1966) when writing Brideshead Revisited (1945), the
character of Lord Marchmain based on Beauchamp himself while the ill-fated
Sebastian Flyte was inspired by Beauchamp’s son Hugh (1904-1936) who shared and (with some enthusiasm) pursued
some of his father’s interests. Despite
it all, an appointment as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports is for life and Lord
Beauchamp remained in office until his death.