Rabbit

Rabbit (pronounced rab-it)

(1) Any of several soft-furred, large-eared, rodentlike burrowing mammals of the family Leporidae, allied with the hares and pikas in the order Lagomorpha, having a divided upper lip and long hind legs, usually smaller than the hares and mainly distinguished from them by bearing blind and furless young in nests rather than fully developed young in the open.

(2) Any of various small hares.

(3) The fur of a rabbit or hare, often processed to imitate another fur.

(4) A runner in a distance race whose goal is chiefly to set a fast pace, either to exhaust a particular rival so that a teammate can win or to help another entrant break a record; pacesetter.

(5) In sport, a person poor at a sport; in cricket specifically, an unskilled batter (also as “batting bunny”, usually clipped to bunny).

(5) As Welsh rabbit, an alternative form of Welsh rarebit & Welsh ribbit (A snack made of cheese melted with a little ale and served on toast).  Welsh rabbit was the original form but was erroneously marked as a corruption in a dictionary published in 1785 although it’s not clear if the editor made the assumption or drew the conclusion from oral evidence.

(6) In nuclear engineering, a pneumatically-controlled tool used to insert small samples of material inside the core of a nuclear reactor.

(7) In computing theory, a large element at the beginning of a list of items to be bubble sorted, and thus tending to be quickly swapped into the correct position.

(8) In northern English regional slang, as “rabbit catcher”, a midwife or one who by force of circumstance assists in the delivery of a baby.

(9) As “rabbit ears”, the indoor dipole television antenna which typically sat atop the early analogue sets which received a terrestrial signal.

(10) Incessantly or nonsensically to talk.

(11) To hunt rabbits.

(12) In US slang, to flee.

1375-1425: From the late Middle English rabet & rabette, from the Anglo-Latin rabettus, from the Middle French rabouillet (baby rabbit), from the dialectal Old North French rabotte, probably a diminutive of Middle Dutch or West Flemish robbe (rabbit, seal), of uncertain origin but which may be an imitative verb (perhaps robben or rubben (to rub)) and used to allude to a characteristic of the animal.  The related forms include the French rabot (plane), the Middle Dutch robbe (rabbit; seal (from which Modern Dutch gained rob (seal (also “rabbit”), the Middle Low German robbe & rubbe (rabbit), the later Low German Rubbe (seal), the West Frisian robbe (seal), the Saterland Frisian Rubbe (seal) and the North Frisian rob (“seal”) eventually borrowed as the German Robbe (seal).  Early dictionary editors thus described the word as “a Germanic noun with a French suffix”.  Rabbit is a noun & verb, rabbitiness is a noun, rabbited is a verb, rabbitlike & rabbity are adjectives and rabbiting is a noun & verb; the noun plural is rabbits and (especially in the collective) rab·bit.

Lindsay Lohan with rabbit.

Until the late nineteenth century, the meaning was exclusively what would now be understood as “a young rabbit” but it came to be used of the whole species, replacing the original coney, owing to the latter's resemblance to and use as a euphemism for cunny (“vulva” and linked obviously with “cunt” although despite that the preferred slang with some zoological allusion came to include “beaver”, “camel toe” and (especially) “pussy”, rather than “bunny”).  The noun coney dates from the early thirteenth century and was abstracted from the Anglo-French conis and the Old French coniz, (plurals of conil (long-eared rabbit; (Lepus cunicula)) from the Latin cuniculus, the source also of the Spanish conejo, the Portuguese coelho and the Italian coniglio), the small, Spanish variant of the Italian hare (Latin lepus).  The word may ultimately be from the Iberian Celtic although classical writers said it was Hispanic.  In Middle English the two forms were cony & conny (the derivations including coning, cunin & conyng) while the Old French had conil alongside conin.  The evolution seems to be that the plural form conis (from conil, with the -l- elided) was taken into English and regularly single-ized as cony.  The Old French form was borrowed in the Dutch konijn and the German Kaninchen (a diminutive), and is preserved in the surname Cunningham (from a place-name in Ayrshire).  Rabbits not being native to northern Europe, there was no Germanic word for them.  In the fourteenth century “rabbit” came to describe the young of the species and over the centuries came to supplant coney, a process complete by the early nineteenth.  It was another of those exercises in sanitization because in English & Welsh slang, coney had been adopted as a punning synonym for cunny (cunt).  That was complicated by it appearing in the Book of Proverbs in the King James Version of the Bible (KJV, 1611) so the work-around was to change the pronunciation of the original short vowel (rhyming with honey, money) to rhyme with bony, stony.  In the Old Testament, the word translates the Hebrew shaphan (rock-badger).

When Volkswagen in 1974 introduced the Golf in the North American market, it was named the Rabbit, apparently because it would thought the name would suggest qualities such as “agility, speed & playfulness” which were positive attributes in what was then (by US standards) a very small car, much smaller than the more recent versions.  Because of the international success of the Golf, when the revised model was released in 1983, the North American cars switched to that name and it’s been marketed that way since except between 2003-2008 when the Rabbit badge was revived.  The revival was in retrospect a curious choice given the obvious advantages offered by using the one name globally but at the time VW America had a rationalization: “We think we have some opportunities to do something creative with the Rabbit nameplate and recognizes the Golf nameplate has never really caught on with North American consumers as it was overshadowed by the Jetta sedan and wagon.  Volkswagen customers want a relationship with their cars and names like The Thing, Beetle, Fox and Rabbit support this."  Whatever the opportunities may have been, the linguistic experiment wasn’t continued and since 2009, it’s been Golfs all the way.

US market VW Golfs: 1974 Rabbit L (Generation 1)  (left) and 2007 Rabbit TSI (Generation 5).

There was some linguistic irony in VW’s choice because as the US satirist & critic HL Mencken (1880–1956) pointed out in The American Language; An Inquiry into the Development of English in the United States (1919): “Zoologically speaking, there are no native rabbits in the United States; they are all hares. But the early colonists, for some unknown reason, dropped the word hare out of their vocabulary, and it is rarely heard in American speech to this day. When it appears it is almost always applied to the so-called Belgian hare, which, curiously enough, is not a hare at all, but a true rabbit.”

The White Rabbit was a character in Lewis Carroll’s (1832–1898) Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and one which appears often, always in a waistcoat with pocket watch and in a hurry, fearful always of the impending fury the duchess will visit upon him should he be a moment late.  It’s the white rabbit which Alice follows down the rabbit hole, leading to the bizarre adventures recounted.  One of popular culture’s best-known rabbits gave rise to the phrase “bunny boiler”, a reference to the scene in the film Fatal Attraction (1987) in which a scorned woman revenged herself upon her adulterous ex-lover by tossing his daughter’s pet rabbit into a pot of boiling water; he arrives home to discover a boiled bunny.  The Warner Brother cartoon character Bugs Bunny first appeared on the screen in 1938 and is often described by his shotgun wielding antagonist, the lisping Elmer Fudd, as "that wascally wabbit".

In idiomatic use there’s “pull a rabbit out of the hat” (to find or obtain a sudden solution to a problem), “rabbit-hearted” (someone timid or inclined to be flighty), “rabbit food” (a disapproving view of vegetables held by some meat-eaters), “the rabbit test” (an early pregnancy test involving the injection of the tested woman's urine into a female rabbit, then examining the rabbit's ovaries a few days later for changes in response to a hormone (“the rabbit died” the phrase indicating a positive test or an admission of one’s pregnancy)), “breed like rabbits” (slang for an individual, family, or sub-group of a population with a high birth-rate), “down the rabbit hole” (a time-consuming tangent or detour, often one from which it’s psychologically difficult to extricate oneself), “lucky rabbit’s foot”, (the carrying of a luckless bunny’s preserved rabbit’s foot as a lucky charm), “like a rabbit warren” (a confusingly labyrinthine environment (used literally & figuratively)), “rabbit in the headlights” (an allusion to the way rabbits (like some other wildlife) sometimes “freeze” when caught in the light of an oncoming vehicle’s headlamps) and the inevitable “rabbit fucker” (a general term of disparagement (although it could be applied literally in the right circumstances)).

The “earless” rabbit with “eared” companions.

In May 2011, some weeks after the meltdown at Fukushima Dai-ichi nuclear plant which suffered severe damage in the aftermath of the earthquake and tsunami, a video of an “earless rabbit” began to circulate, purportedly captured in an area just beyond the crippled plant’s exclusion area.  The immediate speculation was of course the creature’s unusual state was a result of a radiation-induced genetic mutation.  Geneticists however had a less troubling explanation.  Although there’s no doubt the radiation emitting from Fukushima Dai-ichi (some 225 kilometres (140 miles) north-east of Tokyo) represents a major risk to health and the long-term environmental effects remain unclear, the scientists say not only is it unlikely to be linked with the earless rabbit, such creatures are far from unusual.  According to a  statement issued from Colorado State University's Department of Environmental and Radiological Health Sciences: “…radiation can cause mutations that can be occasionally expressed as obvious birth defects, such as shown in the video.  However, to say this is the result of contamination from the Fukushima accident is a stretch, because natural radiation, as well as many other chemical substances in the environment and other factors, can also be mutagenic.  In most cases, the cause of congenital birth defects in humans and other animals cannot be determined and as far as science has shown, there have never been mutations produced by ionizing radiations that do not occur spontaneously as well.”

Rabbits used in nuclear reactors: Polyethylene 1-inch (25 mm) rabbit (left), Polyethylene 2-inch (50 mm) rabbit (centre) and Titanium 2-inch (50 mm) rabbit.

The rabbit does though have a place in nuclear engineering.  In the industry, the term “rabbit” is used to describe a range of pneumatically controlled tools which are used remotely to insert or retrieve items from a nuclear reactor or other radioactive environments.  The name is thought to come from the devices being tubular (on the model of the rabbit borrow) which allows samples rapidly to be injected into the periphery of a reactor core, the injectables moving “with the speed of startled rabbits” although there may also be the implication of rabbits as expendable creatures, the tool essential for maintenance, inspection, and repair tasks in nuclear facilities, where direct human intervention is either dangerous or impossible because of high radiation levels.

Winston Churchill inspecting the progress of project White Rabbit No, 6, Clumber Park, Nottinghamshire, England, November 1941.

The World War II (1939-1945) era White Rabbit No. 6 was an engineering project by the British Admiralty although as a security measure the official code-name was changed to Cultivator No. 6 to make it sound less mysterious and more like a piece of agricultural equipment.  It was a military trench-digging machine and an example of the adage that “generals are always preparing to fight the last war” and although designed exclusively for army use on (and at least partially under) land, it came under the auspices of the Royal Navy because it was a brainchild (one of many) of Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) who, between the outbreak of war in 1939 and his assumption of the premiership some months later, served as First Lord of the Admiralty (the service’s civilian head).  Trenches and artillery had been the two dominant features of World War I (1914-1918) and Churchill had spent some months (1915-1916) in one of the former while under fire from the latter while commanding a battalion; before the implications of mechanization and the German’s Blitzkrieg (lightning war) tactics were apparent, he assumed the new war in France would unfold something like the old, thus the interest in something which would “revolutionize trench warfare”.  Trench warfare however wasn’t repeated so White Rabbit No.6 was soon realized to be already obsolete and the project was abandoned and although the most fully developed of the prototypes did perform according to the design parameters, whether it would have been effective remains doubtful; remarkably, work on these things wasn’t wholly abandoned until 1942.  The “White Rabbit” project codes came from Churchill’s sense of humor, his ideas coming, as he said: “like rabbits I pull from my hat” and he supported many, some of which were of great military value while others, like the “floating runways” (artificial icebergs made with a mixture of shards of timber & frozen water), were quixotic.

White Rabbit © Copperpenny Music, Mole Music Co

Surrealistic Pillow album cover, 1967.

White Rabbit was a song by Grace Slick (b 1939) and released on the album Surrealistic Pillow by Jefferson Airplane.  The lyrics were inspired by Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and the sequel Through the Looking-Glass (1871).  It was the psychedelic era and drug references were common in popular music and in the case of White Rabbit it may have been appropriate if the speculation the books been written while the author was under the influence of Laudanum (a then widely-available opiate-infused drug) is true (there's no evidence beyond the circumstantial).  Given the imagery in the text, it’s not difficult to believe he may have been on something and among authors and poets it was a popular way to stimulate the imagination, inspiring at least some of one of the most beloved fragments of English verse, Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s (1772-1834) Kubla Khan (1797) which ends abruptly at 54 lines.  According to Coleridge, he was unable to recall the rest of the 300-odd which had come to him in an opium-laced dream (the original publication was sub-titled “A Vision in a Dream”) because he was interrupted by “a person on business from Porlock” (a nearby Somerset village).  Grace Slick would have sympathized with an artist being intruded on by commerce.

White Rabbit lyrics:

One pill makes you larger

And one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you

Don't do anything at all

Go ask Alice

When she's ten feet tall

 

And if you go chasing rabbits

And you know you're going to fall

Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar

Has given you the call

Call Alice

When she was just small

 

When the men on the chessboard

Get up and tell you where to go

And you've just had some kind of mushroom

And your mind is moving low

Go ask Alice

I think she'll know

 

When logic and proportion

Have fallen sloppy dead

And the White Knight is talking backwards

And the Red Queen's off with her head

Remember what the dormouse said

Feed your head

Statesman

Statesman (pronounced steyts-muhn)

(1) Certain politicians with a favorable reputation (a rare breed), especially those associated with international relations.

(2) A person (not of necessity an elected politician) experienced in the art & science of government or versed in the administration of government affairs, especially those involved in diplomacy.

(3) A product name used variously of such things as cars, ships and (especially) newspapers and periodicals.

1585–1595: A construct was state + s + -man, modeled on steersman (in nautical use, one who steers a ship or other vessel (the helmsman)).  State was from the early thirteen century Middle English noun stat, from both the Old French estat and the Latin status (manner of standing, attitude, position, carriage, manner, dress, apparel; and other senses), from stare (to stand); a doublet of estate and status.  The idea of “the polity” which evolved ultimately into the construct of the modern nation-state began to develop in fourteenth century Europe, notably the multi-entity Holy Roman Empire.  In other European languages, the comparable words were the French être, the Greek στέω (stéo), the Italian stare, the Portuguese estar, the Romanian sta, and the Spanish estar.  

The suffix –man developed from the noun and was applied describe (1) someone (the original implication obviously implied male) who is an expert in an area or who takes part in an activity, (2) someone employed or holds a position in an area, (3) someone possessing particular characteristics relating to a topic or area, (4) someone (in this case explicitly male) of a certain nationality or sub-national geographical identity (not a universal use which varied according to the structure of the root word (other suffixes including –an, -ian etc) or (5) in Admiralty jargon, a ship which has special characteristics relating to a trade or area (‎merchantman, ‎Greenlandman etc) which produced the amusing linguistic paradox of forms such as “she’s a merchantman” because of the convention ships were always referred to in the feminine.  Man was from the Middle English man, from the Old English mann (human being, person, man), from the Proto-West Germanic mann, from the Proto-Germanic mann-, from the primitive Indo-European mon- (human being, man”).

The derived form statesmanship described an idealized conception of how a politician should behave.  It's now less common, probably less so because the standard of politicians has so obviously declined than a reluctance to use a word thought gender-loaded; to say "statesmanship" might now be thought a micro-aggression.  The suffix -ship was from the Middle English -schipe & -shippe, from the Old English -sċiepe, from the Proto-West Germanic -skapi, from the Proto-Germanic -skapiz.  The equivalent forms in other languages included the Scots -schip, the West Frisian -skip, the Dutch -schap, the German -schaft, the Swedish -skap and the Icelandic -skapur.  It was appended to nouns to form a new noun denoting a property or state of being, time spent in a role, or a specialized union, a popular use being the way a set of social duties associated with a particular role shape or develop one's character (fellowship, ownership et al).  Other suffixes used for similar purposes (property or state of being) include -ness, -hood, -itude, -th, -ity & -dom.

Meeting a statesman: Lindsay Lohan meeting with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan (b 1954; prime-minister or president of the Republic of Türkiye since 2003), Ankara, 27 January 2017.

The informal noun superstatesman is used to refer to someone especially successful (especially in international relations) while to say of someone or their actions that they possess the quality of being unstatesmanlike, it’s a criticism which implies they have not reached the expected standard (ie they’re acting more like a politician).  The term "elder statesman" generally is used either of (1) a respected political leader (not of necessity all that elderly but usually retired or at least withdrawn from the controversies of front-line politics) or (2), by extension, a prominent and respected person in any field who usually is retired or inactive with their involvement restricted to commentaries.  Statesman & statesmanship are nouns and statesmanlike & statesmanly are adjectives; the noun plural is statesmen (except in commercial use when Statesman is used as a product name in which case the plural should be Statesmans (although Statesmen seems not uncommon)).  The feminine noun stateswoman and the gender-neutral statesperson are more recent creations (both with the same derived adjectives on the model of those from statesman) and notably used less frequently.

The usually told joke is that a statesman is a “dead politician” and there’s some element of truth in that because the reputation of politicians certainly seems often to improve once they’ve had the decency to drop dead.  Unfairly or not, politicians often are characterized those dedicated to the pursuit of power, advancing their own interests or those of their party and making decisions that cater to short-term political gains (although they also have a great interest in accumulating money and many taxpayers would be surprised to learn just how much of their money ends up each year in the bank accounts of politicians; such is the array of “allowances & entitlements” (often opaque and sometimes secret) that the total is some distance from their notional annual salary).  Anyway, because the focus of a politician is on winning elections and pursuing the agendas of whomever is funding them (or offering to in their post-political life), the term “politician” usually carries negative connotations, implying opportunism, manipulation and a lack of concern for anything except self-interest.  Old Jack Lang (1876–1975; Premier of New South Wales 1925-1927 & 1930-1932) used to tell the young seeking a career in politics his best advice was "...in any race, always back the horse called self-interest; it'll be the only one having a go."

Two statesmen meeting to discuss matters of common interest: Dr Henry Kissinger (b 1923; US national security advisor 1969-1975 & secretary of state 1937-1977, left) and General Augusto Pinochet (1915-2006; dictator of Chile 1973-1990, right), Santiago, Chile, 1976. 

The term statesman carries usually positive connotations and is associated with someone in public life who has demonstrated wisdom, integrity and a vision which includes the interest of the public and this rare breed is characterized by their commitment to serving the greater good, often transcending narrow partisan interests in favor of broader national or societal goals.  It’s probably easier for a politician to be thought statesmanlike if they come into office having already established an illustrious reputation through pervious public service, such as Dwight Eisenhower (1890-1969; US president 1953-1961) who, before he entered the White House, was one of the nation’s most respected soldiers.  Actually, in the US where appointments to the cabinet don’t require election, it’s more likely one can be thought a statesman because one need never dirty one’s hands with the nasty business of electoral politics.  Serving as secretary of state for a scant twelve months between 1950-1951, General George Marshall (1880–1959; US Army chief of staff 1939-1945) is remembered as a “great statesman” because he looked the part and the Marshall Plan (the post-war re-financing of Europe with US dollars) bore his name although it was something he neither conceived, designed or administered.  Another of America’s chief diplomats, Dr Henry Kissinger, is still described by some as a “great statesman” (although many others prefer “war criminal”).  Certainly, politicians good and evil are aware that how they’re remembered is based on who gets to write the histories.  Late in World War II (1939-1945), when things really weren’t going well for the Nazis, Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897-1975; Nazi propaganda minister 1933-1945), well aware of the enormity of the crimes the regime (of which he was a prominent part) had committed and one of the few realists among a generally deluded lot, was said to have commented: “Either we are going to go down in history as the greatest statesmen of all time, or as the greatest criminals.”  Although that phrase has for decades been attributed to him, it’s not certain he used quite those words but his diary entries and collaborated contemporary testimony from others leave little doubt that was what was on his mind.

Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) had no doubt what qualities defined statesmanship.  In the prison diary assembled from the huge volume of fragments he had smuggled out of Spandau prison while serving the twenty year sentence he was lucky to receive for war crimes & crimes against humanity (Spandauer Tagebücher (Spandau, the Secret Diaries), pp 451 William Collins Inc, 1976), Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) recounted one of the Führer's not infrequent monologues, a small part of which mentioned the matter:

“Whoever succeeds me must be sure to have an opening for a new war.  We never want a static situation where that sort of thing hangs in doubt In future peace treaties we must therefore always leave open a few questions that will provide a pretext.  Think of Rome and Carthage, for instance. A new war was always built right into every peace treaty. That's Rome for you! That's statesmanship.” 

The Holden Statesman

1971 Ford ZD Fairlane 500.  The industry legend was the development budget for the original ZA Fairlane in 1967 was "three quarters of four-fifths of fuck all".  Like the basic vehicle, the styling updates were borrowed from earlier US Fords so the effort required was about as minimal as the budget. 

Holden was the General Motors (GM) outpost in Australia and in the 1950s and 1960s, for a variety of reasons (not wholly related to the dynamic qualities of the cars they sold), the operation had been highly successful, for many years enjoying a market share as high as 50% odd.  By the early 1970s, increased competition had eroded Holden’s dominance although it remained the market leader in most sectors it contested with one exception: the executive sedan.  Ford in 1967 had effectively re-defined this market by conjuring up a long-wheelbase version of the mass-market Falcon which overnight rendered obsolete some of the antiquated British competition and provided an attractively less expensive alternative to the bigger Fords, Chevrolets, Pontiacs and Dodges, imported via Canada to take advantage of the lower tariffs imposed on products from the Commonwealth (the successor regime to the old imperial preference scheme).  Although well-suited to Australian conditions, the US cars were becoming increasingly expensive because of movements in the exchange rate (the Bretton-Woods system (1944) of “fixed” currency rates was more an interacting series of “managed floats”).  So, developed very cheaply with only detail changes and some (what now seems modest) bling, the elongated Falcon was in 1967 released under the Fairlane name (used earlier in Australia for both a full-sized and intermediate North American import) and it proved an instant success, selling not only in large numbers but with a profit margin unmatched in the local industry.  Of course, one victim of this success was Ford’s own imported Galaxie, sales of which slowed to a trickle, demand now restricted mostly to governments which admired the "statesmanlike" presence the big machines lent the politicians being chauffeured around.  The Galaxies would remain available in Australia until 1973.

1968 HK Holden Brougham.

Holden couldn’t let such an obvious market be ignored but their first response seems bizarre and was treated as such at the time.  Instead of following Ford’s lead and stretching their platform to create a long wheelbase alternative, Holden took their previous top-of-the-line Premier and extended the trunk (boot) by eight inches (200 mm), increasing luggage capacity and presumably pleasing those carrying stuff like bags of golf clubs but that really answered a question nobody had been asking.  Named the Brougham (a name with a tradition dating back to horseless carriages but rapidly becoming popular with US manufacturers), ascetically, the long-tail really didn’t work because it rendered the shape fundamentally unbalanced and the market response was muted, Brougham sales never making a dent in the Fairlane’s dominance.  Time has been kinder and the Brougham now has a cult following among collectors, especially the early versions which used a 307 cubic inch Chevrolet V8 because Holden's own 308 hadn't reached production.  Ironically, the mildly-tuned 307 isn't one of the more highly regarded iterations of the small-block Chevrolet V8 but the allure of the name remains strong.  In the early 1980s, when the things were unwanted and could be bought for a few hundred dollars, one enterprising customizer built a two-door version and while some of the detailing was lacking, the basic lines worked surprisingly well but as Chrysler and Ford discovered in the 1970s, although the market for such things in the US was huge (the segment was called "the personal coupe"), in Australia it was was small and shrinking so it's as well Holden didn't try their own.

1971 Holden Statesman De Ville.

In 1971, Holden did respond with a long wheelbase executive sedan, this time called the Statesman.  Apparently, there had previously been only one short-lived car called a Statesman (joining a governmental-themed roll-call manufacturers had previously used including Senator, Diplomat, President, Ambassador, Envoy and even Dictator).  This time, the styling was outstanding and, especially if buyers could resist the lure of the then inexplicably popular vinyl roof, the Statesman was an elegant execution, details such as the split egg-crate grill especially admired.  The frontal treatment was also a clever design because the whole HQ range used a “nose-cone” making face-lifts much cheaper and the same approach applied to the tail, the tail-lamps used on the commercial range and the station wagons re-purposed.  Holden had learned well from Ford’s example.  Structurally, the Statesman following the Fairlane’s price points, the basic car aimed at the hire-car market and available with a six cylinder engine and bench seats to make it a genuine six-seater while the Statesman De Ville featured a higher level of trim and used either Holden’s 308 cubic inch (5.0 litre) or the imported Chevrolet 350 (5.7).  Just to emphasize how special the Statesman was, the Holden name didn’t appear either on the car or its advertising, the local operation instead seeking, and receiving, GM’s permission to used Cadillac’s famous wreath on the badge.  All the publicity material said "Statesman by General Motors" but few were fooled and eventually the trickery was abandoned.

The misstep Ford got away with: The 1972 ZF Fairlane (left) was criticized because it looked little different from the basic Falcon; the 1976 ZH (right) rectified that, an eight-year old US design this time providing the template.

The Statesman sold better than the Brougham but didn’t threaten the Fairlane’s dominant position in the sector, even though Ford in 1972 made the fundamental mistake when releasing its new version of not ensuring there was sufficient product differentiation; the new ZF Fairlane looked like a somewhat bloated XA Falcon but such was the inertia of the name and the solid reputation for reliability and resale value that fleet-managers and private buyers remained loyal and it wouldn’t be until 1976 that the problem of the Fairlane’s comparative anonymity was rectified and that by bolting on the styling from the 1968 Mercury; that’s how things were done then.  However, Ford in 1973 scored its other big hit by stretching the Falcon still further to create the LTD, a capable but gaudy machine which so appealed to governments and corporations that it for decades dominated those fleets.  Like the Fairlane, the LTD was a highly profitable package developed at low cost and noted for its bling such as the aviation style controls for the air-conditioning.  With the coming of the LTD, the imported Galaxie was withdrawn from the Australian market.

1976 Holden HJ Statesman Caprice: The increasingly baroque touches added during the face-lifts ("heavy-handed" the phrase used at the time) meant the later versions lacked the purity of the HQ, the delicate lines of which were the high-water mark of Holden's styling.     

Holden made no attempt to match the LTD, leaving the lucrative segment to Ford while the Statesman soldiered on although, matching the Fairlane, the slow-selling base model was dropped when the range was revised in 1974, along with the Chevrolet 350 V8 which had been fitted only to around 600 Statesmans (some of which were exported to New Zealand and South Africa with some unpleasing detail changes).  The structure of the range changed with the De Ville now the base car and a new model, the Caprice, sitting atop, the differences between the two all in bling, the mechanical specification identical, both using the Holden 308 V8 and the now more reliable Trimatic automatic transmission.  Through two face-lifts (HJ & HX), the Statesman was relatively unchanged during the troubled and difficult mid 1970s, most attention devoted to devising plumbing to lower emissions, something which worked but at the cost also of decreasing power and drivability; all that increased was the fuel consumption and the price.

1979 Holden Statesman SL/E.

However, in 1979, Holden surprised the market by splicing a new Statesman between the De Ville & Caprice: the Statesman SL/E.  Although mechanically unchanged from the rest of the range, the SL/E was advertised as the “sporty” Statesman, something made vaguely plausible by the huge improvement in handling rendered when the HZ cars were released in 1978 with what Holden called “radial tuned suspension” (RTS).  Unfortunately, the market found the idea of a “sporty Statesman” about as improbable as the conjunction sounds and the car was not a success, presumably because it was neither one thing or the other, the De Ville fundamentally the same only cheaper and the Caprice better equipped and more prestigious.  Whether the SL/E might have been better received had there been a genuine attempt to improve performance can't be known but power without an increase in emissions was hard to find in 1979 and Holden had the misfortune within a couple of months of the launch, the “second oil-shock” hit and V8 engines were suddenly again unfashionable.  Fortunately for Holden, the SL/E had not been an expensive programme, the wheels, badges and much of the bling borrowed from models already in production.

1982 Holden Caprice.

Still, the price of petrol not withstanding, by then, the next model Statesman was locked in for release in 1980.  The WB Statesman De Ville & Caprice existed because, cognizant of the uncertainty around the stability of the world oil market, Holden had replaced their mainstream range with the Commodore, a smaller (critically, narrower) car based on a European platform developed by Opel, GM’s German outpost.  The smaller machine was not suitable as the base for a Fairlane competitor so the decision was taken to update the HZ, even though the platform dated back to 1971.  What was achieved was commendable given the budget although the designers were disappointed that with the release of the new Fairlane & LTD in 1979, Ford had staged a pre-emptive hit with the six-window roof-line Holden had planned as their exclusive.  One genuine difference though was the Caprice’s hand-assembled grill, made from metal in an age when extruded plastic assemblies had long become industry practice but although much admired, it wasn’t enough to save the dated platform and the last Statesmans left the factory in 1985.  Holden did though flirt with a stay of execution because by 1982 it was clear the world would soon be awash with oil (what would come to be called the "oil glut"; the CIA's infamous 1975 prediction the world would "...by 1983 run out of oil" clearly wrong) and there were thoughts of a "low cost" version of the WB Statesman, resurrecting a proposal which seriously had been contemplated during the previous decade.  That was a response to the booming sales Ford was enjoying for it's bigger, wider Falcon range but the decision was taken to focus efforts instead on a bigger, wider Commodore, a vehicle released in 1988 which enjoyed great success.     

Publicity shot for 1983 Holden Statesman De Ville Magnum.

One quirk of the WB’s life however was that Peter Brock (1945–2006), a racing car driver who had created a successful business selling modified, high-performance Commodores, decided to resurrect the Statesman SL/E but this time make it genuinely “sporty”.  Labeled the Statesman Magnum, the car could be based on either the De Ville or Caprice according the buyer’s taste & budget and because Brock’s record-keeping was at the time a little haphazard, it’s not clear how many were built and it may not even have reached three figures.  Unlike the SL/E, the Magnum's 308 V8 benefited from the addition of the improved components Brock used on the Commodores: the cylinder heads, inlet manifold, air cleaner and exhaust system combining to produce a significant lift in output (power increasing from 170 to 250 hp (126 to 188kW) while, perhaps more relevantly for the target market, torque rose from 265 to 315 lb/ft (361 to 428Nm)).  Nor was the chassis neglected, Bilstein gas shock absorbers added all round while the front suspension geometry was revised and up-rated springs were fitted, the anti-roll bars thicker & stiffer.  Externally, most striking were the 16 x 8-inch Momo Polaris aluminium wheels while a variety of color schemes were offered, including the toning down of the chrome fittings to something darker and more menacing.  The press response was favorable, the already fine dynamics the platform had possessed since the debut of RTS now able better to be exploited with the additional power the Magnum provided, more than matching even the Chevrolet 350 fitted to some HQ Statesmans which had been offered only in a mild state of tune.  However, as the American industry had discovered in the 1960s, those who want high-performance vehicles prefer usually that they be in smaller packages and, as Ford two decades would re-discover when the Fairlane G220 was greeted with a polite yawn, those who wanted big luxury and those who wanted something smaller and “sporty” were two different populations, at least at certain stages in their lives.  In a sense though, Holden had the last laugh, the Statesman and Caprice later revived when the Commodore became larger and better suited to a wheelbase stretch and together they first out-sold and then outlived the Fairlane & LTD.

Frock

Frock (pronounced frok)

(1) A gown or dress worn by a female, consisting of a skirt and a cover for the upper body.

(2) A loose outer garment worn by peasants and workers; a smock.

(3) A coarse outer garment with large sleeves, worn by monks in some religious orders; a habit.

(4) In naval use, a sailor's jersey.

(5) In military use, an undress regimental coat (now less common).

(6) To clothe (somebody) in a frock.

(7) To make (somebody) a cleric (to invest with priestly or clerical office).

(8) In US military use, to grant to an officer the right to the title and uniform of a rank before the formal appointment is conferred.

1300–1350: From the Middle English frok, frokke and froke and twelfth century Old French froc (a monk’s habit; clothing, dress), from the Frankish hrok and thought probably related to the Old Saxon and Old High German hroc (mantle, coat) which appears to have spawned the Old Norse rokkr, the Old English rocc, and Old Frisian rokk.  Most etymologists seem to think it’s most likely all ultimately derived from the primitive rug or krek (to spin or weave); the alternative view suggests a link with the Medieval Latin hrocus, roccus and rocus (all of which described types of coats) which they speculate was the source of the Old French from, again from the Old Frankish hroc and hrok (skirt, dress, robe), from the Proto-Germanic hrukkaz (robe, jacket, skirt, tunic).  That does seem at least plausible given the existence of the Old High German hroch and roch (skirt, dress, cowl), the German rock (skirt, coat), the Saterland Frisian Rok (skirt), the Dutch rok (skirt, petticoat), the Old English rocc (an over-garment, tunic, rochet), the Old Norse rokkr (skirt, jacket) and Danish rok (garment).  Another alternative (more speculative still) traces it from the Medieval Latin floccus, from the Classical Latin floccus (flock of wool).  The meaning "outer garment for women or children" was from the 1530s while frock-coat (also as frock-cost & frockcoat) dates from the 1820s, the garment itself fading from fashion a century later although revivals have been attempted every few decades, aimed at a rather dandified market ignored by most.  Frock & frocking are nouns & verbs, frocked is a verb and frockless, frocklike & frockish are adjectives; the noun plural is frocks.

Frocks and Brass Hats

The phrase “frocks and brass hats” was coined in the years immediately following World War I (1914—1918) in reaction to the large volume of memoirs, autobiographies and histories published by some of the leading politicians and military leaders involved in the conflict, the phrase derived from (1) the almost universal habit of statesmen of the age wearing frock coats and (2) the hats of senior military personnel being adorned with gold braid, emulating the physical polished brass of earlier times.  Many of the books were polemics, the soldiers and politicians writing critiques of the wartime conduct of each other.  Politicians no longer wear frock coats and although some of the hats of military top brass still feature a bit of braid, it’s now less often seen.  However, the term persists although of late, academics studying institutional conflict in government have extended it to “frock coats, mandarins and brass hats”, reflecting the increase in importance of the part played by public servants, especially the military bureaucracy, in such matters.  So structurally, the internecine squabbles within the creature of the state have changed, the most obvious causes the twin threads of (1) the politicization of the upper reaches of the public service and (2) the creation of so many organs of government as corporate entities which enable the frocks (the politicians) to distance themselves from unpalatable policies and decisions by asserting (when it suits them), the “independence” of such bodies.  Of course, such functionaries will find their “independence” counts for little if the frocks start to feel the heat; then brutally the axe will fall, just as it did on some of the Great War generals.

Men in frock coats: The “Big Four” at the Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920), outside the Foreign Ministry headquarters, Quai d'Orsay, Paris.  Left to right: David Lloyd George (1863–1945; UK prime-minister 1916-1922), Vittorio Orlando (1860–1952; Italian prime minister 1917-1919), Georges Clemenceau (1841–1929; French prime minister 1906-1909 & 1917-1920) and Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924; US president 1913-1921).

At the time, nothing quite like or on the scale of the Paris Peace Conference had ever been staged.  Only Orlando anticipated the future of fashion by preferring a lounge suit to a frock coat but he would be disappointed by the outcome of the conference, leaving early and to his dying day content his signature never appeared on the treaty’s final declaration, a document he regarded as flawed.  Not even John Kennedy (JFK, 1917–1963; US president 1961-1963) or Barack Obama (b 1961; US president 2009-2017) on their tours of European capitals received anything like the adulation Wilson enjoyed when he arrived in Paris in 1919.  His successors however were there more as pop-culture figures whereas Wilson was seen a harbinger of a "lasting peace", a thing of much significance to the French after four years of slaughter.  Ultimately Wilson's hopes would be dashed (in the US Senate as well as at the Quai d'Orsay's conference table) although, historians will likely continue to conclude his Nobel Peace Prize (1919) was more deserved than the one awarded to Obama (apparently on the basis he wasn't George W Bush (George XLIII, b 1946; US president 2001-2009)).  Lloyd George's ambitions in 1919 were more tempered by realism and he too regarded the terms of final document as a mistake, prophesying that because of the punitive terms imposed on the defeated Germany: “We shall have to fight another war again in 25 years' time.”  In that, he was correct, even if the expected wait was a little optimistic.  Only Clemenceau had reasons to be satisfied with what was achieved although, has his instincts been allowed to prevail, the terms of the Treaty of Versailles (1920) would have been more onerous still.  It was the Englishman Eric Geddes (1875–1937; First Lord of the Admiralty (the civilian head of the Royal Navy) 1917-1919) who coined the phrase "...squeeze the German lemon until the pips squeak." but it's doubtful that sentiment was ever far from Clemenceau's thoughts.

Lindsay Lohan in a nice frock.  V Magazine Black & White Ball, New York City, September 2011.

In idiomatic use, “frock” has proved as serviceable as the garment.  A “frock flick” is a film or television production noted for the elaborate costuming and most associated with costume dramas (typically sixteenth-nineteenth centuries) in which the frocks of the rich are depicted as big & extravagant.  To “frock up” is used by young women to describe “dressing-up” for some event or occasion and in the (male) gay community to refer either to much the same thing or cross-dressing.  A “cock in a frock” (“cocks in frocks” the collective) is a type of trans-woman (one without the relevant medical modification) and what used to be called a transvestite (a once technical term from psychiatry now (like “tranny”) thought derogatory except in historic use).  A “smock frock” was a garment of coarse, durable material which was worn over other clothing and most associated with agricultural and process workers (and usually referred to either as “smock” or “frock”.  In fashion there’s the “sun frock” (one of lightweight material which exposes more than the usual surface area of skin, often in a strappy or strapless style.  A “housefrock” was a piece of everyday wear form women which was self-explanatory: a simple, practical frock to be worn “around the house” and well suited to wear while performing “housework”.  “Underfrock” was a now archaic term for a slip or petticoat.  The A coat with long skirts, worn by men, now only on formal occasions.  The “frock coat” (also listed by some as the “Prince Albert coat”) is characterized by a knee-length skirt cut all around the base, ending just above the knee.  Among the middle & upper classes, it was popular during the Victorian and Edwardian eras (1830s–1910s) although they were widely into the 1920s.  Although some fashion houses may have had lines with detail differences, there was really no difference between a “cocktail dress” and a “cocktail frock” except the latter seems now to be used only humorously.

Variations on the theme of the cocktail dress: Lindsay Lohan in vintage Herve Leger at Arrivals For Cartier’s Declare Your Love Day VIP cocktail reception, Cartier Store, New York, June 2006 (left) and in black Dion Lee cocktail dress with illusion panels and an off-the-shoulder silhouette, January 2013 (right).

A cocktail dress does however differ from a cocktail gown because they straddle the gap between daywear and ball gowns.  Intended to be worn at formal or semi-formal occasions (classically of course, the “cocktail party”) including wedding receptions or dinner parties, they’re typically shorter in length than a gown, the hemline falling somewhere between just above the knee to mid-calf.  There’s no exact template for a cocktail dress but they should be identifiable by their simplicity and elegance, thus the utility of their versatility.  While not exactly post-modern, they appear in many fabrics and just about any style including empire, bandage, A-line or sack, featuring a range of necklines, sleeve lengths, and embellishments.  Historically, befitting the sophistication once associated with the cocktail party, the dresses were characterized by modesty and severity of line, the classic motif the tailored silhouette, relatively uncluttered by details.  Vogue magazine labeled the accessories (shoes, jewelery, a clutch and sometimes a wrap) the “cocktail dress ensemble” but in recent decades there’s been a rise in stylistic promiscuity and some discordant elements have intruded.

Men of the frock: Cardinal George Pell (1941-2023; left) and Benedict XVI (1927–2022; pope 2005-2013, pope emeritus 2013-2022; right) at an inter-faith meeting in Sydney, Australia, July 2008.

A “man of the frock” is a clergyman of some description (almost always of some Christian denomination) and the apparent anomaly of nuns never being described as “women of the frock” (despite always wearing something at least frock-like) is explained presumably by all women once being assumed to wear frocks.  To “defrock” (literally “to divest of a frock”) is in figurative use used widely to mean “formally to remove the rights and authority of a member of the clergy” and by extension this is casually applied also to “struck-off” physicians, lawyers etc.  “Disfrock” & “unfrock” are used as synonyms of “defrock” but none actually appear in Roman Catholic canon law, the correct term being “laicization” (ie “returned to the laity).  Despite the popular impression, the Vatican has revealed most acts of laicization are pursuant to the request of the priest and performed because they feel, for whatever reason, unable to continue in holy orders (ex priests marrying ex-nuns a thing and there must be some theological debate around whether they’ve been “brought together by God” or “tempted by the Devil”).  Defrock dates from the 1580s in the sense of “deprive of priestly garb” and was from the fifteenth century French défroquer, the construct being from de- (used her as a negative prefix) + froque (frock) and familiar also as the verb “defrocked”.  The modern English verb “frock” (supply with a frock) seems to have come into use only in the 1820s and was either a back-formation from defrock or an evolution from the noun.  The verb was picked up by the military and “to frock” is used also as a jocular form of “to dress”.