Tatterdemalion

Tatterdemalion (pronounced tat-er-di-meyl-yuhn or tat-er-di-mal-yuhn)

(1) A person in tattered clothing; a shabby person.

(2) Ragged; unkempt or dilapidated.

(3) In fashion, (typically as “a tatterdemalion dress” etc), garments styled deliberately frayed or with constructed tears etc (also described as “distressed” or “destroyed”).

(4) A beggar (archaic).

1600–1610: The original spelling was tatter-de-mallian (the “demalion” rhymed with “Italian” in English pronunciation), the construct thus tatter + -demalion, of uncertain origin although the nineteenth century English lexicographer Ebenezer Cobham Brewer (1810-1897) (remembered still for his marvelous Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (1894) suggested it might be from de maillot (shirt) which does seem compelling.  Rather than the source, tatter is thought to have been a back-formation from tattered, from the Middle English tatered & tatird, from the Old Norse tǫturr.  Originally, it was derived from the noun, but it was later re-analysed as a past participle (the construct being tatter +‎ -ed) and from this came the verb.  As a noun a tatter was "a shred of torn cloth or an individual item of torn and ragged clothing" while the verb implied both (as a transitive) "to destroy an article of clothing by shredding" & (as an intransitive) "to fall into tatters".  Tatterdemalion is a noun & adjective and tatterdemalionism is a noun; the noun plural is tatterdemalions.

In parallel, there was also the parallel "tat", borrowed under the Raj from the Hindi टाट (ṭāṭ) (thick canvas) and in English it assumed a variety of meanings including as a clipping of tattoo, as an onomatopoeia referencing the sound made by dice when rolled on a table (and came to be used especially of a loaded die) and as an expression of disapprobation meaning “cheap and vulgar”, either in the context of low-quality goods or sleazy conduct.  The link with "tatty" in the sense of “shabby or ragged clothing” however apparently comes from tat as a clipping of the tatty, a woven mat or screen of gunny cloth made from the fibre of the Corchorus olitorius (jute plant) and noted for it loose, scruffy-looking weave.  Tatterdemalion is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is tatterdemalions.  The historic synonyms were shoddy, battered, broken, dilapidated, frayed, frazzled, moth-eaten, ragged, raggedy, ripped, ramshackle, rugged, scraggy, seedy, shabby, shaggy, threadbare, torn & unkempt and in the context of the modern fashion industry, distressed & destroyed.  An individual could also be described as a tramp, a ragamuffin, a vagabond, a vagrant, a gypsy or even a slum, some of those term reflecting class and ethnic prejudice or stereotypes.  Historically, tatterdemalion was also a name for a beggar.

A similar word in Yiddish was שמאַטע‎ (shmate or shmatte and spelled variously as schmatte, schmata, schmatta, schmate, schmutter & shmatta), from the Polish szmata, of uncertain origin but possibly from szmat (a fair amount).  In the Yiddish (and as adopted in Yinglish) it meant (1) a rag, (2) a piece of old clothing & (3) in the slang of the clothing trade, any item of clothing.  That was much more specific than the Polish szmata which meant literally "rag or old, ripped piece of cloth" but was used also figuratively to mean "publication of low journalistic standard" (ie analogous the English slang use of "rag") and in slang to refer to a woman of loose virtue (used as skank, slut etc might be used in English), a sense which transferred to colloquial use in sport to mean "simple shot", "easy goal" etc.

Designer distress: Lindsay Lohan illustrates the look.

Tatterdemalion is certainly a spectrum condition (the comparative “more tatterdemalion”; the superlative “most tatterdemalion”) and this is well illustrated by the adoption of the concept by fashionistas, modern capitalism soon there to supply demand.  In the fashion business, tatterdemalion needs to walk a fine line because tattiness was historically associated with poverty while designers need to provide garments which convey a message wealth.  The general terms for such garments is “distressed” although “destroyed” is (rather misleadingly) also used.

Highly qualified content provider Busty Buffy (b 1996) in “cut-off” denim shorts with leather braces while beltless.

The ancestor of designer tatterdemalion was a pair of “cut off” denim shorts, improvised not as a fashion statement but as a form of economy, gaining a little more life from a pair of jeans which had deteriorated beyond the point where mending was viable.  Until the counter-culture movements of the 1960s (which really began the previous decade but didn’t until the 1960s assume an expression in mass-market fashion trends), wearing cut-off jeans or clothing obviously patched and repaired generally was a marker of poverty although common in rural areas and among the industrial working class where it was just part of life.  It was only in the 1960s when an anti-consumerist, anti materialist vibe attracted the large cohort of youth created by the post-war “baby boom” that obviously frayed or torn clothing came to be an expression of disregard or even disdain for the prevailing standards of neatness (although paradoxically they were the richest “young generation” ever).  It was the punk movement in the 1970s which took this to whatever extremes seemed possible, the distinctive look of garments with rips and tears secured with safety pins so emblematic of (often confected) rebellion that in certain circles it remains to this day part of the “uniform”.  The fashion industry of course noted the trend and what would later be called “distressed” denim appeared in the lines of many mainstream manufacturers as early as the 1980s, often paired with the acid-washing and stone-washing which previously had been used to make a pair of jeans appear “older”, sometimes a desired look.

Dolce & Gabbana Distressed Jeans (part number FTCGGDG8ET8S9001), US$1150.

That it started with denim makes sense because it's the ultimate "classless" fabric in that it's worn by both rich and poor and while that has advantages for manufacturers, it does mean some are compelled to find ways to ensure buyers are able (blatantly or with some subtlety) to advertise what they are wearing is expensive; while no fashion house seems yet to have put the RRP (recommended retail price) on a leather patch, it may be only a matter of time.  The marketing of jeans which even when new gave the appearance of having been “broken in” by the wearer was by the 1970s a define niche, the quasi-vintage look of “fade & age” achieved with processes such as stone washing, enzyme washing, acid washing, sandblasting, emerizing and micro-sanding but this was just to create an effect, the fabrics not ripped or torn.  Distressed jeans represented the next step in the normal process of wear, fraying hems and seams, irregular fading and rips & tears now part of the aesthetic.  As an industrial process that’s not difficult to do but if done in the wrong way it won’t resemble exactly a pair of jeans subject to gradual degradation because different legs would have worn the denim at different places.  In the 2010s, the look spread to T-shirts and (predictably) hoodies, some manufacturers going beyond mere verisimilitude to (sort of) genuine authenticity, achieving the desired decorative by shooting shirts with bullets, managing a look which presumably the usual tricks of “nibbling & slashing” couldn’t quite emulate.  Warming to the idea, the Japanese label Zoo released jeans made from material torn by lions and tigers, the company anxious to mention the big cats in Tokyo Zoo seemed to "enjoy the fun" and to anyone who has seen a kitten with a skein of wool, that will sound plausible.  Others emulated the working-class look, the “caked-on muddy coating” and “oil and grease smears” another variant although one apparently short-lived; appearing dirty apparently never a fashionable choice.  All these looks had of course been seen for centuries, worn mostly by the poor with little choice but to eke a little more wear from their shabby clothes but in the late twentieth century, as wealth overtook Western society, the look was adopted by many with disposable income; firstly the bohemians, hippies and other anti-materialists before the punk movement which needed motifs with some capacity to shock, something harder to achieve than had once been the case.

Distressed top and bottom.  Gigi Hadid (b 1995) in distressed T-shirt and "boyfriend" jeans.

For poets and punks, improvising the look from the stocks of thrift shops, that was fine but for designer labels selling scruffy-looking jeans for four-figure sums, it was more of a challenge, especially as the social media generation had discovered that above all they liked authenticity and faux authenticity would not do, nobody wanting to look it to look they were trying too hard.  The might have seemed a problem, given the look was inherently fake but the aesthetic didn’t matter for its own sake, all that had to be denoted was “conspicuous consumption” (the excessive spending on wasteful goods as proof of wealth) and the juxtaposition of thousand dollar distressed jeans with the odd expensive accessory, achieved that and more, the discontinuities offering irony as a look.  The labels, the prominence of which remained a focus was enough for the message to work although one does wonder if any of the majors have been tempted to print a QR code on the back pocket, linked to the RRP because, what people are really trying to say is “My jeans cost US$1200”.

1962 AC Shelby American Cobra (CSX 2000), interior detail, 2016.

The value of selective scruffiness is well known in other fields.  When selling a car, usually a tatty interior greatly will depress the price (sometimes by more even than the cost of rectification).  However, if the tattiness is of some historic significance, it can add to car’s value, the best example being if the deterioration is part of a vehicle's provenance and proof of originality, a prized attribute to the segment of the collector market known as the “originally police”.  In 2016, what is recognized as the very first Shelby American AC Cobra (CSX 2000) sold for US$13.75 million, becoming the highest price realized at auction for what is classified as "American car".  Built in 1962, it was an AC Ace shipped to California without an engine (and apparently not AC's original "proof-of-concept" test bed which was fitted with one of the short-lived 221 cubic inch (3.6 litre) versions of Ford's new "thin-wall" Windsor V8) where the Shelby operation installed a 260 cubic inch (4.2 litre) Windsor and the rest is history.  The tatterdemalion state of the interior was advertised as one of the features of the car, confirming its status as “an untouched survivor”.  Among Cobra collectors, patina caused by Carroll Shelby's (1923–2012) butt is a most valuable tatterdemalion.

Patina plus and beyond buffing out: Juan Manuel Fangio, Mercedes-Benz W196R Stromlinienwagen (Streamliner), British Grand Prix, Silverstone, 17 July 1954.

Also recommended to be repaired before sale are dents, anything battered unlikely to attract a premium.  However, if a dent was put there by a Formula One (F1) world champion, it becomes a historic artefact.  In 1954, Mercedes-Benz astounded all when their new grand prix car (the W196R) appeared with all-enveloping bodywork, allowed because of a since closed loophole in the rule-book.  The sensuous shape made the rest of the field look antiquated although underneath it was a curious mix of old and new, the fuel-injection and desmodromic valve train representing cutting edge technology while the swing axles and drum brakes spoke to the past and present, the engineers’ beloved straight-eight configuration (its last appearance in F1) definitely the end of an era.  On fast tracks like Monza, the aerodynamic bodywork delivered great speed and stability but the limitations were exposed when the team ran the Stromlinienwagen at tighter circuits and in the 1954 British Grand Prix at Silverstone, Juan Manuel Fangio (1911–1995; winner of five F1 world-championship driver's titles) managed to clout a couple of oil-drums (those and bails of hay how track safety was then done) because it was so much harder to determine the extremities without being able to see the front wheels.  Quickly, the factory concocted a functional (though visually unremarkable) open-wheel version and the sleek original was thereafter used only on the circuits where the highest speeds were achieved.  In 1954, the factory was unconcerned with the historic potential of the dents and repaired the tatterdemalion W196R so an artefact of the era was lost.  That apart, as used cars the W196Rs have held their value well, an open-wheel version selling at auction in 2013 for US$29.7 million while in 2025 a Stromlinienwagen realized US$53.9 million.  

1966 Ferrari 330 GTC (1966-1968) restored by Bell Sport & Classic.  Many restored Ferraris of the pre-1974 era are finished to a much higher standard than when they left the showroom.  Despite this, genuine, original "survivors" (warts and all) are much-sought in some circles.

In the collector car industry, tatterdemalion definitely is a spectrum condition and for decades the matter of patina versus perfection has been debated.  There was once the idea that in Europe the preference was for a vehicle to appear naturally aged (well-maintained but showing the wear of decades of use) while the US market leaned towards cars restored to the point of being as good (or better) than they were on the showroom floor.  Social anthropologists might have some fun exploring that perception of difference and it was certainly never a universal rule but the debate continues, as does the argument about “improving” on the original.  Some of the most fancied machinery of the 1950s and 1960s (notably Jaguars, Ferraris and Maseratis) is now a staple of the restoration business but, although when new the machines looked gorgeous, it wasn’t necessary to dig too deep to find often shoddy standards of finish, the practice at the time something like sweeping the dirt “under the rug”.  When "restored", many of these cars are re-built to a higher standard, what was often left rough because it sat unseen somewhere now smoothed to perfection.  That’s what some customers want and the best restoration shops can do either though there are questions about whether what might be described as “fake patina” is quite the done thing.  Mechanics and engineers who were part of building Ferraris in the 1960s, upon looking at some immaculately “restored” cars have been known wryly to remark: “that wasn't how we built them then.”

1939 Ford Deluxe coupe restored in “distressed-look green”.

The industry describes restorations which emulate the “worn survivor” appearance variously as “distressed look” or “patina look”.  There’s clearly a market for both machines restored to (or beyond) the state they’d have been in on the showroom floor and those finished in a way which resembles how they’d likely look if merely for decades well-used yet maintained.  The convention in the later is for mechanical components to be restored to original condition while interiors tend to be allowed to show some age if of leather but refurbished or renewed to an immaculate state if of a fabric.  Interior timbers are almost always restored.  Usually the exterior finish is rendered conventionally with paint but some use wraps which can make something like minor surface rust appear more realistic.  The sub-genres of restomods (older cars which maintain a substantially original appearance but fitted with modern mechanical components) and rat-rods (which create intentionally dilapidated appearance but with modern components beneath) both in their own way take a mix-n-match approach to things but while the classic restromod is a “Q-ship” in that while externally indistinguishable from an original, the performance is much higher, the rat-rod ethos is from the Dolly Parton (b 1946) school of “it takes a lot of money to look this cheap”.

Gucci offered Distressed Tights at US$190 (for a pair so quite good value).  Rapidly, they sold-out.

The fake patina business goes back quite a way.  Among antique dealers, it’s now a definite niche but from the point at which the industrial revolution began to create a new moneyed class of mine and factory owners, there was a sub-set of the new money (and there are cynics who suggest it was mostly at the prodding of their wives) who wished to seem more like old money and a trend began to seek out “aged” furniture with which a man might deck out his (newly acquired) house to look as if things had been in the family for generations.  The notoriously snobbish (and amusing) diarist Alan Clark (1928–1999) once referred to someone as looking like “they had to buy their own chairs”, prompting one aristocrat to respond: “That’s a bit much from someone whose father (the art historian and life peer Kenneth Clark (1903–1983)) had to buy his own castle.”  The old money were of course snooty about the such folk and David Lloyd George (1863–1945; UK prime-minister 1916-1922) would lament many of the “jumped-up grocers” in his Liberal Party were more troublesome and less sympathetic to the troubles of the downtrodden than the "backwoodsmen" gentry in their inherited country houses.

Quota

Quota (pronounced kwoh-tuh)

(1) The share or proportional part of a total that is required from, or is due or belongs to a particular district, state, person, group etc.

(2) A proportional part or share of a fixed total amount or quantity.

(3) The number or percentage of persons of a specified kind permitted (enrol in an institution, join a club, immigrate to a country, items to be imported etc).

1660–1670: From the Medieval Latin, a clipping of the Latin quota pars ((a percentage of yield owed to the authority as a form of taxation (in the New Latin, a quota, a proportional part or share; the share or proportion assigned to each in a division), from quotus ((which?; what number?; how many?, how few?)), from quat (how many?; as many as; how much?), from the Proto-Italic kwot, from the primitive Indo-European kwóti, the adverb from kwos & kwís; it was cognate with the Ancient Greek πόσος (pósos) and the Sanskrit कति (kati).  In English, until 1921 the only known uses of “quota” appear to be in the context of the Latin form, use spiking in the years after World War I (1914-1918) when “import quotas” were a quick and simply form of regulating the newly resumed international trade.  Quota is a noun, the noun plural is quotas.

Google ngram: Because of the way Google harvests data for their ngrams, they’re not literally a tracking of the use of a word in society but can be usefully indicative of certain trends, (although one is never quite sure which trend(s)), especially over decades.  As a record of actual aggregate use, ngrams are not wholly reliable because: (1) the sub-set of texts Google uses is slanted towards the scientific & academic and (2) the technical limitations imposed by the use of OCR (optical character recognition) when handling older texts of sometime dubious legibility (a process AI should improve).  Where numbers bounce around, this may reflect either: (1) peaks and troughs in use for some reason or (2) some quirk in the data harvested.

Being something imposed by those in authority, quotas attract work-arounds and imaginative techniques of avoidance & evasion.  The terms which emerged included (1) quota-hopping (the registration of a business, vehicle, vessel etc in another jurisdiction in order to benefit from its quota), (2) quota quickie (historically, a class of low-cost films commissioned to satisfy the quota requirements of the UK’s Cinematograph Films Act (1927), a protectionist scheme imposed to stimulate the moribund local industry.  The system widely was rorted and achieved little before being repealed by in the Films Act (1960) although modern historians of film have a fondness for the quota quickies which are a recognizable genre of cultural significance with a certain period charm, (3) quota refugee (a refugee, relocated by the office of the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) to a country other the one in which they sought asylum in, in accord with relevant certain UN quotas).

South Park's Eric Cartman (left) and Token (now Tolkien) Black (right).

The writers of the animated TV series South Park (1997) (made with the technique DCAS (digital cutout animation style), a computerized implementation of the original CAS (cutout animation style) in which physical paper or cardboard objects were (by hand) moved (still images later joined or the hands edited-out if filmed); the digital process deliberately emulates the jerky, 2D (two-dimensional) effect of the original CAS) had their usual fun with the idea of a DEI (diversity, equity, inclusion) quota as “tokenism” with the creation of the character Token Black (ie the “token black character” among the substantially white ensemble).  However, in 2022, some 300 episodes into the series, the character was retconned to become “Tolkien Black”, the story-line being he was named after JRR Tolkien (1892–1973), author of the children’s fantasy stories The Hobbit (1937) & The Lord of the Rings trilogy (1954-1955).  Retonning (the full form being “retroactive continuity” is a literary device (widely (and sometimes carelessly) used in many forms of pop culture) in which previously-established facts in a fictional are in some way changed (to the point even of eradication or contradiction).  This is done for many reasons which can be artistic, a reaction to changing public attitudes, administrative convenience or mere commercial advantage.  What South Park’s producers did was comprehensively retrospective in that the back-catalogue was also updated, extending even to the sub-titles, something like the “unpersoning” processes under Comrade Joseph Stalin (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953) or the painstaking “correcting” of the historic record undertaken by Winston Smith in George Orwell’s (1903-1950) Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) .  Undertaken during the high-point of the BLM (Black Lives Matter) movement, the change did attract comment and most seemed to regard it as an attempt to remove a possible trigger for protest but there was also the argument there may have been concern the use of the given name “Token” might be able to be interpreted as a comment on the sometimes inventive spellings used by African-American parents.  While the use of “Token” as a comment on “white racism” was acceptable, an allusion to the racial stereotyping implicit in the spelling would be classified as at least a microaggression and probably white racism in action.

Gracious Quotes have aggregated Lindsay Lohan’s top ten quotes.

The English word quote (pronounced kwoht) was related to quota by a connection with the Latin quot.  It is used variously: (1) to repeat or use (a passage, phrase etc.) from a book, speech or such, (2) to enclose (words) within quotation marks or (3) to state a price.  It dated from the mid-fourteenth century and was from the Middle English coten & quoten (to mark a text with chapter numbers or marginal references), from the Old French coter, from the Medieval Latin quotāre (to divide into chapters and verses), from the Latin quot (how many) and related to quis (who).  The use evolved from the sense of “to give as a reference, to cite as an authority” to by the late seventeenth meaning “to copy out exact words”.  The use in commerce (“to state the price of a commodity or service” dates from the 1860s and was a revival of the etymological meaning from the Latin, the noun in this context in use by at least 1885.

In Australian politics, there have long been “informal” quotas.  Although Roman Catholics have in recent years infiltrated the Liberal Party (in numbers which suggest a “take-over” can’t be far off), there was a time when their presence in the party was rare and Sir Neil O'Sullivan (1900–1968) who between 1949-1958 sat in several cabinets under Sir Robert Menzies (1894–1978; prime-minister of Australia 1939-1941 & 1949-1966), noted wryly that as the ministry’s “designated Roman Catholic”, he: “wore the badge of his whole race.”  That was of course an “unofficial” (though for years well-enforced) quota but the concept appears to this day to persist, including in the ALP (Australian Labor Party) which, long past it’s “White Australia” days, is now more sensitive than some to DEI.  However, the subtleties of reconciling the ALP’s intricate factional arrangements with the need simultaneously to maintain (again unofficial) quotas preserving the delicate business of identity politics seem to have occasional unexpected consequences.  In the first cabinet of Anthony Albanese (b 1963; prime-minister of Australia since 2022), there was one “designated Jew” (Mark Alfred Dreyfus (b 1956).  Mark Dreyfus’s middle name is “Alfred” which is of course striking but there is no known genealogical connection between and the Alfred Dreyfus (1859–1935), the French Jewish army officer at the centre of the infamous Dreyfus affair (1894-1906).  The surname Dreyfus is not uncommon among European Jews and exists most frequently in families of Alsatian origin although the Australian’s father was a Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany.  Having apparently outlived his ethnic usefulness, Dreyfus fell victim to factional axe and was dumped from the ministry, some conspiracy theorists pondering whether the ALP might have liked the “optics” of expelling a Jew while the party’s reaction to the war in Gaza was being criticized by Muslim commentators.

Smiles all round.  Official photograph of the new ALP ministry, Canberra, Australia, June 2022. 

The cabinet also had one “designated Muslim” (Edham Nurredin “Ed” Husic (b 1970)), notable for being both the first Muslim elected to federal parliament and thus the first to serve in a ministry.  That had an obviously pleasing multi-cultural symmetry but for a number of reasons the ALP achieved a remarkably successful result in the 2025 election and that complicated things because radically it changed the balance in the numbers between the party’s right-wing, the relativities between the New South Wales (NSW) and Victorian factions significantly distorted relative to their presence in the ministry.  While the ALP is often (correctly) described as “tribal”, it’s really an aggregation of tribes, split between the right, left and some notionally non-aligned members, those alliances overlaid by each individual’s dependence on their relevant state or territory branch.  The system always existed but after the 1960s became institutionalized and it’s now difficult to imagine the ALP working without the formalized (each with its own letterhead) factional framework for without it the results would be unpredictable; as all those who claimed the Lebanese state would be a better place were the influence of the Hezbollah to be eliminated or at least diminished are about to discover, such changes can make things worse.

However, the 2025 election delivered the ALP a substantial majority but what was of interest to the political junkies was that the breakdown in numbers made it obvious the NSW right-wing was over-represented in the ministry, compared to the Victorian right.  What that meant was that someone from NSW had to be sacrificed and that turned out to be Mr Husic, replaced as the cabinet’s designated Muslim by Dr Anne Aly from the Western Australia’s Labor Left.  Culturally, to many that aspect seemed culturally insensitive.  To be replaced as designated Muslim might by Mr Husic have been accepted as just a typical ALP factional power play (a reasonable view given it was the faction which put him in the ministry in the first place) had he been replaced by a man but to be replaced by a Muslim woman must have been a humiliation and one wonders if the factional power-brokers have done their “cultural awareness training”, something the party has been anxious to impose on the rest of the country.  Mr Husic’s demise to the less remunerative back-bench is said to have been engineered by Deputy Prime Minister Richard Marles (b 1967) of the Victorian Right Faction and his role wasn’t ignored when Mr Husic was interviewed on national television, informing the country: “I think when people look at a deputy prime minister, they expect to see a statesman, not a factional assassin.”  Given the conduct & character of some previous holders of the office, it’s not clear why Mr Husic would believe Australians would think this but, in the circumstances, his bitterness was understandable.  Somewhat optimistically, Mr Husic added: “There will be a lot of questions put to Richard about his role.  And that's something that he will have to answer and account for.”  In an act of kindness, the interviewer didn’t trouble to tell his interlocutor: (1) Those aware of Mr Marles’ role in such matters don’t need it explained and (2) those not aware don’t care.

Richard Marles (right) assessing Ed Husic’s (left) interscapular region.

When Mr Marles was interviewed, he was asked if he thought he had “blood on his hands”, the same question which more than forty years earlier had been put to Bob Hawke (1929–2019; Prime Minister of Australia 1983-1991) who had just (on the eve of a general election) assumed the ALP leadership after the “factional assassins” had pole-axed the hapless Bill Hayden (1933–2023; ALP leader 1977-1983) after the latter’s earnest but ineffectual half decade as leader of Her Majesty’s loyal opposition.  Mr Hawke, not then fully house-trained by the pre-modern ALP machine, didn’t react well but to Mr Marles it seemed water of a duck’s back and he responded: “I don't accept that, these are collective processes... they are obviously difficult processes.  But, at the end of the day we need to go through the process of choosing a ministry in the context of there being a lot of talented people who can perform the role.”  Unfortunately, Mr Marles declined to discuss the secret factional manoeuvring which led to Mr Husic being sacrificed, the speculation including Dr Ally being thought better value because she could be not only cabinet’s designated woman but also boost the female numbers in the body, a matter of some sensitivity given how many women had joined the ALP caucus, many of them unexpectedly winning electorates to which they’d gain pre-selection only because the factional power-brokers considered them unwinnable.

Still, to be fair to Mr Marles, his anodyne non-answers were a master-class in composition and delivery: “There are so many people who would be able to admirably perform the role of ministers who are not ministers.  What I would say is I'm really confident about the ministry that has been chosen and the way in which it's going to perform on behalf of the Australian people.  But in the same breath, I'd also very much acknowledge the contribution that Ed Husic has made and for that matter, that Mark Dreyfus has made.  Both have made a huge contribution to this country in the time that they have served as ministers. I am grateful for that.”  Whether or not he believed his gratitude would be appreciated, Mr Marles was emphatic about his faction maintaining its Masonic-like cloak of secrecy, concluding his answer by saying: “I'm not about to go into the detail of how those processes unfold.  I've not spoken about those processes in the past obviously and I'm not about to talk about them now.”  It’s a shame politicians don’t think their parties should be as “transparent” the standard they often attempt to impose on others because Mr Marles discussing the plotting & scheming of factional machinations would be more interesting than most of what gets recited at his press conferences.

Although the most publicized barbs exchanged by politicians are inter-party, they tend to be derivative, predictable or scripted and much more fun are the spur-of-the-moment intra-party insults.  Presumably, intra-faction stuff might be juicier still but the leaks from that juicer are better sealed which is a shame because the ALP has a solid history in such things. 

Bill Hayden not having forgotten the part played in his earlier axing as party leader by Barrie Unsworth (b 1934; Premier of NSW 1986-1988) observed of him: “…were you the sort person who liked the simple pleasures in life, such as tearing the wings off butterflies, then Barrie Unsworth was the man for you.”  Hayden had not escape critiquing either, the man who deposed him (Bob Hawke) describing him in the run up to the coup as “A lying cunt with a limited future.”  Another ALP leader (Gough Whitlam (1916–2014; prime minister of Australia 1972-1975)) had a way with words, complaining to Charlie Jones (1917-2003): “You’re the transport minister, but every time you open your mouth, things go into reverse.”  Nor did Whitlam restrict his invective to individuals, once complaining of some of his colleagues: “I can only say we've just got rid of the '36 faceless men' stigma to be faced with the 12 witless men.”  The twelve were members of the ALP’s federal executive who in 1966 were poised to engineer Whitlam’s removal as deputy leader of the opposition and would have, had he not out- maneuvered them.

Sydney Daily Telegraph 22 March 1963 (left) and Liberal Party campaign pamphlet for 1963 federal election (right).

Dating from 1963, the phrase “36 faceless men” (one of whom was the token woman, the ALP having quotas even then) described the members of the ALP’s federal conference which, at the time, wrote the party platform, handing to the politicians to execute.  The term came to public attention when a photograph appeared on a newspaper’s front page showing Whitlam and Arthur Calwell (1896-1973; ALP leader 1960-1967) standing outside the hotel where the 36 were meeting, waiting to be invited in to be told what their policies were to be.  The conservative government used to great effect the claim the ALP was ruled by “36 faceless men”.  In the 2010s, there was a revival when there were several defenestrations of prime-ministers & premiers by factional operators who did their stuff, mostly in secret, through back channel deals and political thuggery.  In an untypically brief & succinct address, Dr Kevin Rudd (b 1957; Prime-Minister of Australia 2007-2010 & 2013) at the time summed up his feelings for his disloyal colleagues: “In recent days, Minister Crean [Simon Crean (1949–2023; ALP leader 2001-2003)] and a number of other faceless men have publicly attacked my integrity and therefore my fitness to serve as a minister in the government.... I deeply believe that if the Australian Labor Party, a party of which I have been a proud member for more than 30 years, is to have the best future for our nation, then it must change fundamentally its culture and to end the power of faceless men. Australia must be governed by the people, not by the factions.”  Otherwise mostly forgotten, Simon Crean and his followers are remembered as “Simon and the Creanites”, a coining by Peter Costello (b 1957; Treasurer of Australia, 1996-2007) who re-purposed “Creanites” from an earlier use by Paul Keating (b 1944; Prime Minister of Australia 1991-1996).

Combat

Combat (pronounced kuhm-bat or kom-bat (verb); kom-bat (noun))

(1) To fight or contend against; vigorously to oppose.

(2) In military matters, certain parts of branches of the services which engage in armed conflict with enemy forces.

(3) An action fought between two military forces.

(4) As a descriptor (in the military and of weapos and weapons systems), a means to distinguish between an item design specifically for use in combat as oppose to one intended for other purpose.

1535-1540: From the Middle English intransitive verb combat (to fight, struggle, contend), from the sixteenth century French combat, from the twelfth century Old French combattre, from the Late Latin combattere, the construct being com (with (each other) (an an archaic form of cum)) + battuere (to beat, fight) (source of the modern English verb "batter").  The transitive sense dates from the 1580s; the figurative use from the 1620s.  The noun combat (a fight (originally especially "a fight between two armed persons" and later distinguished as single combat in the 1620s)), emerged in the 1560s and soon was applied in a general sense to "any struggle or fight between opposing forces".  Combat is a noun, verb & adjective, combater & combatant are nouns, combatted & combatting are verbs and combative is an adjective; the noun plural is combats.

Combative and dressed for combat: Lindsay Lohan in boxing gloves.

The phrase hors de combat (out of action; disabled; no longer able to fight (literally "out of combat")) was constructed from hors (out, beyond), from the Latin foris (outside (literally "out of doors")) + de (of) + combat.  It dates from 1757 and was related originally to battlefield conduct (the principle of which which would later be interpolated into the the rules of war) and is now a literary and rhetorical device.  It shouldn't be confused with the French expression hors concours (out of competition) which, dating from 1884, is applied to works of art in an exhibition but not eligible to be awarded a prize.  Given the sometimes nasty battles waged in galleries, perhaps hors de combat might sometimes be as appropriate but in exhibitions it's most often used of works which have either already won a prize or have been awarded the maximum number provided for in the competition rules.  Other sporting competitions sometimes use hors concours to describe entries which don't conform with the rules of the event but are for a variety of reasons permitted to run (notably in motorsport).  The adjective combative (pugnacious, disposed to fight) is from 1819 and by the mid nineteenth century had become much associated with the long discredited pseudo-science of phrenology, the related forms being combatively and the earlier (1815) combativeness.  Combatant (contending, disposed to combat) was an adjective by the mid fifteenth century and a noun (one who engages in battle) by circa 1855, both from the Old French combatant (which survives in Modern French as combattant) (skilled at fighting, warlike) where it had also been a noun.    The adjective combative (pugnacious, aggressive; disposed to engage in conflict (though not necessarily violence)) seems not pleasing to some because the incorrect spelling combatative is not uncommon.

The Combat: Woman Pleading for the Vanquished, oil on canvas by William Etty (1787-1849), National Gallery of Scotland.

Unusually for works in this tradition, The Combat is not a depiction of a historical or mythological event but a kind of morality tale exploring “the beauty and quality of mercy”.  Structurally, the picture is of a woman clutching a warrior who, with sword raised, seems poised to inflict a fatal strike on his fallen foe whose own blade lies shattered on the ground, the woman begging he be spared.  Praised for its technical accomplishment The Combat also attracted the criticism the ahistorical piece seemed just another of the artist’s opportunistic pretexts for painting more nude figures, long his favourite motif, but the painter dismissed the carping, reminding critics such imaginative works had a tradition dating from Antiquity, the Romans calling that school of composition “the Roman Visions, works not having their origin in history or poetry”.  Mr Etty certainly made a seminal contribution to the genre and he’s regarded as the first English painter of any skill to produce a substantial number of nudes, something which, predictably, has overshadowed his catalogue of estimable still lifes.  His life was solitary and in some ways strange and in much of the popular press his output was damned as “indecent” but when in 1828 proposed for membership of the Royal Academy, he was elected, defeating no less than John Constable 1776–1837) by 18 votes to five so his fellow artists rated him highly.  

The Norton Commando 750 Combat

1968 Kawasaki 500 Mach III (H1).

British manufacturers once regarded competition from the far-east with little concern but by the late 1960s, Japanese motorcycles had become serious machines enjoying commercial success.  Kawasaki’s 500cm³ (H1, Mach III) two-stroke triple debuted in 1968 while Honda’s 750-Four was released a year later, the former fast but lethally unstable, the latter more refined.  Three years on, the release of Kawasaki’s 900 cm³ Z1 confirmed the maturity of the Japanese product and the era of British complacency was over though the realization was too late to save the industry.

Nothing ever quite matched the rawness of the original Kawasaki Mach III.  Riders of high performance machines had for decades distinguished between fast, well-balanced motorcycles and those which, while rapid, needed to be handled with caution if used in anything but a straight line and on a billiard table smooth surface but even in those circumstances the Mach III could be a handful, the engine's power band narrow and the entry to it sudden and explosive.  Probably the best comparison was something like the BRM grand prix car (1947-1955) which used a supercharged 1.5 litre (91 cubic inch) V16; it was only marginally responsive under 8000 rpm but at that point suddenly delivered its extraordinary power which could be as much as 500-600 horsepower.  Many Mach III owners were soon noting while rear tyre life was short, the front lasted well because it spent so little time in contact with the road.  Adding to the trickiness, lacking the rigidity needed to cope with such stresses, the frame design meant there was something of a gyroscopic tendency under hard acceleration which could be at least disquieting and the consequences were often worse.  Still, nobody denied they were quick.  Clearly, only crazy people would buy such a thing but fortunately for Kawasaki (and presumably this was part of the product planning), by 1968 the Western world was populated as never before with males aged 17-25 (peak craziness years) with sufficient credit or disposable income to indulge the madness of youth.  It helped that under the Bretton Woods system (1944) of fixed exchange rates, at ¥360 to the US$, the Mach III was quite a bargain; on cost breakdown, nothing on two wheels or four came close and even at the time it was acknowledged there really were two identifiable generations of Mach IIIs: the ones built between 1968-1972 and those from 1973 until 1975 when production ended.  Not only was the power-band made a little wider (at the expense of the top-end) but a disk front brake was added, the swing-arm was extended and the frame geometry improved; while this didn’t wholly tame the challenging characteristics created by putting what was then the world’s most powerful two-stroke engine in what was essentially the light and not especially still frame used for their 350, it did mean the later Mach IIIs were a little more forgiving and not quite as quick.

1973 Kawasaki 750 Mach IV (H2).

As a design, the Mach III obviously had its flaws but as a piece of engineering, it exhibited typical Japanese soundness and attention to detail.  They borrowed much and while little was genuinely innovative, they had started with a clean sheet of paper and buyers found, unlike the British bikes, electrics were reliable and mechanical parts were not subject to the oil-leaks which the British had for decades claimed were endemic to the breed; far-eastern engineering was now mass-producing bikes a generation or more advanced.  However, the British industry was chronically under-capitalized so, lacking resources to develop new models, resorted to "improving" existing models.  While they were doing that, the Japanese manufacturers moved on and Kawasaki were planning something which would match the Mach III for performance but deliver it in a more civilized (and safer) manner.  This project was a four-stroke, four cylinder 750, developed while the Mach III was being toned down (a little) while the good idea of a broader power band and a (slightly) stiffer frame was used on the Mach IV (750 H2), the ultimate evolution of the two-stroke triple which delivered best of the the Mach III experience while (somewhat) taming the worst of its characteristics.

1969 Honda 750-Four "Sandcast".  The crankcases of the early 750s are referred to as being sandcast but they were actually gravity cast.  The production method for the first batch was was chosen because of uncertainty about demand.

However, in 1969 Honda, the largest in the Japanese industry and the company which in 1964 had stunned Formula One community when their 1.5 litre V12 car won a Grand Prix, released the motorcycle which threatened the very existence of the new big Kawasaki and the four-stroke Honda 750-Four was for a generation to set the template for its genre, as influential for big motorcycles as the Boeing 707 had in 1957 been for commercial airliners.  Kawasaki reviewed this disturbing intrusion on their planning, concluding the Honda was a touring machine and that the Mach III had proved there was demand machines orientated more to high-performance.  The board looked at the demographic charts and decided to proceed, enlarging their project to 900cm³ which, with double overhead camshafts (DOHC) was tuned more for top-end power than the more relaxed, single cam (SOHC) Honda.  Released in 1972, almost a year after the Mach IV, the Z1 attracted praise for its quality and performance, all delivered while offering a stability the charismatic but occasionally lethal triples never approached.  Internally, Kawasaki did their bit to ensure a good reception for the Z1 by making sure it was just a bit quicker than the Mach IV over a quarter mile, the 750 never tuned to the extent possible although as some found, more horsepower quickly and cheaply was available.    

1973 Kawasaki Z1.

The big Nortons, named Commando since 1967, had long been a benchmark for high-performance motorcycles and although the Mach III had (on paper) matched its speed, its handling characteristics were such that it could really be enjoyed only in a straight line and even then, was best handled by cautious experts.  The Honda 750-Four and Kawasaki Z1 were both vastly better as road machines and clearly the future of the breed.  The long-serving big British twins, while their handling was still impeccable, were now outdated, no longer offered a performance premium and still leaked oil.  Norton’s response in 1972 was the hastily concocted Commando Combat, the engine tweaked in the usual British manner with a high compression ratio, bigger carburetors, larger ports and a high-lift, long-duration camshaft.  These modifications, while the orthodox approach for racing engines, are not suitable for the road and the “peaky” Combat’s only advantage was great top-end power though it was noted the clever isolastic engine mounting did work well to limit the extent to which the greater vibration transmitted through the frame.  Unfortunately, the gains high in the rev-range compromised the low and mid-range performance, just where a road-bike most often operates.  Indeed, at points, the torque-curve actually went the wrong way and the only obvious way to disguise this was to lower the gearing which (1) restricted the top-speed to something embarrassing low and (2) meant even cruising speeds demanded high engine revolutions.  Sadly, it wasn’t possible for all long to enjoy the pleasures of all that power because the Combat's specification exposed weaknesses in pistons, bearings and crankshafts.  In some cases, main bearing life could be as little as 4000 miles (7000 km) but a small number of engines succumbed to other failures long before.  As a consolation, even if the Combat wouldn’t keep going, it was easy to stop, the front disk brake (designed by Norton and built by Lockheed, it used a hard chrome-plated cast-iron rotor because the heat-dissipation qualities were superior to stainless steel) was among the best in the industry.

So the most of the things that were changed made things worse.  Other things stayed the same including the oil leaks (the joke being seals existed to keep the dirt out, not the fluids in) and the absence of electric starting, the right legs of Norton owners reputedly more muscular than the left.  For the engine's problems the solution lay in engineering and metallurgy, a combination of a self-aligning spherical roller bearing called a superblend and un-slotted pistons.  But, by the time things were fixed, the fiasco had had triggered irreparable damage to market perceptions and Norton quietly dropped the Combat, applying the improvements to their mainstream engines without trying to match its top-end power.  Despite the reputation, there are owners (many of whom with great success used their Combats in competition) who reported sterling reliability from their machines and the consensus is it was only a relatively small number of Combat engines which failed but in mass-production, a well-publicized consumer-level failure rate well under 5% is enough to create  reputational damage.  Norton went bankrupt within a few years but the name has been revived several times over the past decades.

For those who can remember how things used to be done: 1972 Norton Commando 750 Combat Roadster (left) and 1972 Norton Commando 750 Combat Interstate (with custom drilled disk brake, right).

Introduced in 1972, the Interstate model was a response (as the name suggests) to US demand and was distinguished by the larger fuel tank, some of the additional capacity gained by removing the scalloped knee indentations seen on the Roadsters (which used a 2.2 imperial gallon (10 litre, 2.6 US gallon) tank.  The early Interstates were fitted with a 5.25 imperial gallon (23.9 litre, 6.30 US gallon) unit but in mid-year this was enlarged to a 5.5 imperial gallon (25 litre, 6.6 US gallon) device, the latter size carried-over as an option when in 1973 the Commando 850 was introduced and this remained available until production ended in 1977, by which time only a handful of Roadsters were leaving the line.

1954 Norton Dominator 500 (left), 1967 Norton Atlas 750 (centre) and 1972 Norton Commando 750 Combat (right).

When introduced in 1949, the 497 cm³ (30.3 cubic inch) parallel twin was as good an engine as any then available on two wheels and a great success but that popularity was ultimately what doomed Norton in the 1970s.  Over the years enlarged and tuned for more power, it proved adaptable to new frame designs and was an engine which kept Norton in the front rank of high-performance motorcycles but in not even half a decade between 1968-1972, the manufacturers in the Far East advanced further than the British industry had achieved in twenty years.  In 1967, well aware of the antiquity of the machinery from which they were coaxing another generation, Norton's management had been surprised at both the positive critical reception to the Commando and the volume of orders being received and for a while the immediate feature looked bright.  It perhaps could have been because the clever Isolastic engine mounting system had made it possible to absorb much of the big twin's chronically insoluble vibrations before they reached the rider and the Commando was a rewarding ride but what it should have been was a stop-gap while something better was developed.  Instead, it proved but a stay of execution.

Isolastic-era advertising: The agencies never depicted women riding Norton Commandos but they were a fixture as adornments, usually with lots of blonde hair and a certain expression.  One reason they may not have been suitable to use as riders was the phenomenon known as “helmet hair” (in idiomatic use, the effects of helmet wearing on those with “big hair”), which, upon removing helmet, manifested either as an unintended JBF or a bifurcated look in which the hair above the shoulders was flattened against the scalp while that beneath sat as the wind had determined.  There was also the challenge of kick-starting the big twins, the long-overdue electric-start not installed until 1975.