Protuberant

Protuberant (pronounced proh-too-ber-uhnt, proh-tyoo-ber-uhnt, or pruh-too-ber-uhnt)

Bulging out beyond the surrounding surface; protruding; projecting; swelling from the surrounding surface; bulging.

1640–1650: From the sixteenth century French protubérant (prominent beyond the surrounding surface), from the Late Latin protuberantem (nominative protuberans), present participle of prōtūberāre (to swell, bulge, grow forth), the construct being pro- (forward) + tuber (lump, swelling) from the primitive Indo-European root teue- (to swell).  The most common form in the Late Latin was prōtūberāre (to swell).  The verb protuberate (bulge out, swell beyond the adjacent surface) dates from the 1570s, from Late Latin protuberatus, past participle of prōtūberāre.  Protuberant is an adjective, protuberate is a verb, protuberance & protuberancy are nouns and protuberantly is an adverb.

Artwork not by PM&C.

In Australia, the Department of Prime-Minister & Cabinet (PM&C) recently released a new logo for the “Women’s Network”.  To the left of the construct was a cursive "W", the right stroke (the vertical diagonal line in a letter) adorned with a swash (a fancy or decorative replacement for a terminal or serif in an upper-case capital letter (although if the w is lower case (it’s hard to tell) this would be a flourish).  To the right was a capsular (technically a geometric stadium) protuberance which had been bitten into by the stylized W.  The logo’s graphical elements were rendered in a darkish purple which lightened to the right, the text below in two different sans serif fonts, one line in black, the other grey.  The design and placement of the text, though not obviously thoughtful, did at least add meaning to the graphic which might otherwise have been thought something to do with aubergines (eggplant).

Innocent interpretation: The aubergine (eggplant).

The logo proved to have a short life, withdrawn from circulation in response to complaints it resembled male genitalia; on Twitter, #logonono quickly trended.  Almost immediately the furor erupted, PM&C issued a statement saying the logo had been “removed” from its website “pending consultation with staff”.  Noting the phallic creation was part of a rebrand of staff diversity networks “to establish a consistent look and feel” between the logos used for various groups, PM&C added “the Women’s Network logo retained a ‘W’ icon which staff had been using for a number of years” which seemed an unnecessary clarification given nobody had objected to the W.  Anxious to assure the country that whatever controversy might have been induced by the purple protuberance, PM&C announced the “…rebrand was completed internally, using existing resources, and designs were consulted on widely.  No external providers were engaged for this work… (and that) the prime minister and the prime minister’s office were not part of this logo design.”

Graphic designers do seem sometimes unaware of the levels of anatomical comparison their work offers.

The errors cut across cultures.  Here technical advice from an architect would have helped, a historically correct second minaret should have been added and only a single dome depicted.

The attitude of critics was exemplified by the National Older Women’s Network, which issued a statement describing the logo as “either thoughtless or an insult” although as a re-branding exercise, the project had to be labeled a success, most of the country now aware of the existence of the Women’s Network, a mysterious body previously familiar probably only to a few dozen.  A discussion of what it does or whether it fulfils any useful purpose wasn’t stimulated by the outcry over the offending logo so whatever the Women’s Network was doing before, it presumably continues to do.  One thing it achieved was to flush out the competition; it seems there are in the country a number of organizations with "Women's Network" in their title.

Developed in 1973 for the Archdiocesan Commission of Catholic Youth, this logo won an award.  It was a more innocent time.

Perhaps the men involved in the “Women’s Network” design didn’t notice the shape of the protuberance because they were focused on the color, anxious to avoid what might once have been the obvious choice: pink.  That would of course have been condescending and gender-stereotyping so PM&C deserve some praise for this mater in which they weren’t involved.  Pink stuff for products aimed at the female market may be less of a thing than once it was but pink stuff aimed at men wanting a gift with a difference for women seems more of a thing than ever, pink tool kits popular gifts with sales spiking reliably in the run up to Valentine’s Day.  It works for novelties like hammers and screwdrivers but doesn’t have a good record as a marketing device writ large, failure exemplified by the Dodge La Femme.

Chrysler show cars, 1954.  Chrysler Le Comte (his, top) & Chrysler La Comtesse (hers, bottom).

Chrysler offered the La Femme package in 1955 and 1956 on certain Dodge models, a creation that was not a stylistic whim but a response to sociological changes in an unexpectedly affluent post-war US society in which women were found to be exerting a greater influence on the allocation of their family’s rising disposable income and of most interest to Chrysler was that those increasingly suburban families were buying second cars, women getting their own.  Adventurous color schemes were nothing new to Detroit, the cars of the art deco era noted for their combinations but things had been more subdued in the years immediately after the Second World War.  That changed with the exuberance of 1950s experimentation, reflected in the colors of the La Femme concept which had been previewed in two of the cars Chrysler displayed during the 1954 show season.  The Le Comte & La Comtesse attracted most attention for their clear Perspex roofs (a craze at the time which didn’t last long as buyers found themselves slowly being cooked) but, following the grammatical conventions of their French definite articles, they were very much a “his & hers” brace, the darker (black & bronze) Le Comte with a “masculine” image and the La Comtesse, painted in  "Dusty Rose" & "Pigeon Grey", a softer and more “feminine” look.

Dodge La Femme (1955-1956).

The public and critical response was sufficiently positive to encourage production and for the 1955 model year, the La Femme option was offered on the Dodge Custom Royal Lancer two-door hardtop, finished in a two-tone combination of "Heather Rose".(a shade of pink) & "Sapphire White", highlighted with gold-colored "La Femme" badges in a display script.  If the exterior was (almost) subdued, the interior, a sea of pink, was femininity laid on with a trowel.  Trimmed in a tapestry fabric unique to the La Femme which wove pink rosebuds on a silver-pink background with pastel-pink vinyl, confronting those who sat there was a dashboard painted in a bright-pink lacquer.

Dodge La Femme (1955-1956).

In a marketing ploy which turned out to be years ahead of its time, the La Femme also came with coordinated accessories, the centrepiece a pink calfskin handbag that fitted neatly into a storage compartment built into the back of the passenger’s seat, the shape of which included a scallop which meant the handbag’s escutcheon plate was visible, Dodge’s press-kits noting the brushed-metal was designed to permit the owner’s name to be engraved.  The handbag contained a compact, lipstick case, cigarette case, comb, cigarette lighter, and change purse, all made variously with faux-tortoiseshell or pink calfskin, both combined with anodized gold-tone metal.  In a matching compartment on the back of the driver’s seat was a matching compartment holding rain coat, rain-cap and an umbrella, all made with a vinyl patterned to match the rosebud interior fabric.  The design and production was by Evans of Chicago, a furrier and maker of fine accessories, famous for the display of "Black Diamond" mink coats in their flagship store at 36 South State Street.  Evans would later fall victim to the anti-fur movement which would lay waste to the industry.

Accessories by Evans of Chicago.

In toned-down form, the La Femme option re-appeared in 1956.  The external color combination was changed to a "Misty Orchid" & "Regal Orchid" scheme and the interior finish was simplified, the previous year’s tapestry fabric proving difficult to produce in volume.  The upholstery used a heavy white cloth with random patterns of short lavender and purple loops, matching the loop-pile carpeting and the accessories were fewer, restricted in 1956 to just the rain coat, rain cap and umbrella.  Over the two season, fewer than 2500 buyers chose the US$143 option and it didn’t re-appear in 1957.  Interestingly, (unverified) sources suggest at least three La Femme buyers chose the most powerful engine on the option list, Dodge’s D-500 (a 315 cubic inch (5.2 litre) V8 with hemi heads and a four-barrel carburetor); perhaps not all clung to 1950s gender stereotyping.

A simple solution.

Other manufacturers did offer feminine-themed cars in a similar vein including the pink Pontiac Parisienne, Chevrolet Impala Martinique, and Cadillac Eldorado Seville Baroness but none enjoyed much more success than the La Femme.  What in the US did prove a success with the female demographic was the new generation of more compact cars introduced in the early 1960s, women sensibly drawn to something smaller than the standard-size US automobile which after 1957 grew to an absurdly inefficient size.  Much later, there would be innovations in car design which women found genuinely helpful such as a hook on which a handbag could hang while remaining conveniently accessible and headrests which comfortably accommodate ponytails.

Detecting the protuberance of pregnancy: Ali Lohan (b 1993, left) photographed with her pregnant sister (right) wearing Sandal-Malvina Fringe Tank Dress in (unattributed) Dodge Yorange (left).  The shoes are Alexandre Birmen Clarita Platforms.

Fuselage

Fuselage pronounced fyoo-suh-lahzh, fyoo-suh-lij, fyoo-zuh-lahzh or fyoo-suh-lahzh)

(1) In aeronautical design, the complete central structure of an airplane, to which are attached the wings (or rotors), tail and other stabilizing fins or surfaces (engines sometimes also directly attached or enclosed).  It is inside the fuselage where the crew, passengers, cargo and most internals systems are located.

(2) In design, a style which borrows from or alludes to the elements used in aircraft fuselages.

(3) By extension, the main body of an aerospace vehicle

1909 (In English): From the French fuselage, the construct being fusel(é) (spindle-shaped), from fuseler (to shape like a spindle), from the Old French fus or fuseau (spindle), from the Latin fusus (spindle) + -age.  The French suffix -age was from the Middle & Old French -age, from the Latin -āticum, (greatly) extended from words like rivage and voyage.  It was used usually to form nouns with the sense of (1) "action or result of Xing" or (more rarely), "action related to X" or (2) "state of being (a or an) X".  A less common use was the formation of collective nouns.  Historically, there were many applications (family relationships, locations et al) but use has long tended to be restricted to the sense of "action of Xing".  Many older terms now have little to no connection with their most common modern uses, something particularly notable of those descended from actual Latin words (fromage, voyage et al).  In English, the suffix -age was from the Middle English -age, from the Old French -age, from the Latin -āticum.  Cognates include the French -age, the Italian -aggio, the Portuguese -agem, the Spanish -aje & Romanian -aj.  It was used to form nouns (1) with the sense of collection or appurtenance, (2) indicating a process, action, or a result, (3) of a state or relationship, (4) indicating a place, (5) indicating a charge, toll, or fee, (6) indicating a rate & (7) of a unit of measure.  Fuselage is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is fuselages.

Many languages also borrowed fuselage but there were sometimes variations in spelling including in Catalan (fuselatge), Portuguese (fuselagem), Spanish (fuselaje), Russian (fjuzeljáž (фюзеля́ж)), Kazakh (füzeläj (фюзеляж)) and Ukrainian (fjuzeljáž (фюзеля́ж)).  It’s not clear when “fuselage” was first used in English, the earliest known reference dating from 1909 but it’s not improbable the word had earlier been in oral use.  The alternative was presumably “hull” (the body or frame of shop, boat or other such vessel).  Hull was from the Middle English hul, hulle & holle (seed covering, hull of a ship), from the Old English hulu (seed covering), from the Proto-Germanic hul- (and related to the Dutch hul (hood) and the German Hülle & Hülse (cover, veil)), and may have been from either the primitive Indo-European forms ḱel- (to cover, hide) or kal- (hard).  Hull came into wide use in aircraft design when “flying boats” were developed.

Flying boats: Short S.25 Sunderland (1938-1946) (left) and Dornier Do X (1929-1932) (right). 

Most aeroplanes have fuselages; flying boats have hulls, a tribute to the nautical part of their hybrid origin.  Commercially, flying boats were widely used during the inter-war years because of their range and, needing only a suitable body of water (sea, lake, river), their ability to operate in regions without suitable aerodromes.  A vital military machine during World War II (1939-1945), the advances in aircraft design during that conflict, coupled with the proliferation of airstrip construction able to be re-purposed for civil use doomed them for all but some specialist uses.  Quickly they almost vanished from European and (most) North American skies and waterways, enduring in the Far East only until infrastructure there too was improved.

The fuselage can be optional: Dunne D.5 (1908) (left), Northrop YB-49 prototype (1947) (centre) and Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit (1989) (right).

In the early days of aviation, before even an airplane had flown the English Channel, designers had been intrigued when their slide-rule calculations suggested the optimal shape of a flying machine was a "flying wing" with no conventional fuselage and certainly no tail-plane apparatus.  Tests of scale models in primitive wind tunnels proved the math was substantially correct and proof of concept tests using an unpowered glider proved inconclusive, it being clear only a powered flight would demonstrate if such a design could achieve stable flight.  When tested, the designer admitted an early, under-powered, version was "more a hopper than a flyer" but when fitted with more powerful engines, the "flying wings" proved remarkably stable.  However, more conventional designs proved more suitable for military use and that, increasingly was where the source of funding was to be found.  Despite that, the idea continued to fascinate designers and a flying wing was one of the extraordinary range of experimental aircraft under development in Nazi Germany during World War II, most of which never made any contribution to the Luftwaffe's war effort.  In the US, Northrop built both propeller and jet-powered prototypes in the 1940s and after early difficulties, a stable platform emerged although, like most designs, it both offered advantages and imposed restrictions but the whole project was cancelled; ever since some have argued this was due to political influence while others claim the flaws in the concept were so fundamental they couldn't be fixed.  The Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit (in service with the US Air Force (USAF) until at least 2034) is a modified version of a flying wing in that its really a variation of a delta with an integrated fuselage.

Ascending the stairs: Lindsay Lohan entering a fuselage, Mykonos, Greece, August 2016.

In the early days of aviation during the twentieth century’s first decade, French engineers and inventors were the most innovative on the planet and this is reflected in the world-wide adoption of many French terms for some of the bits and pieces which continue to be used.  English, rarely inclined to create a new word if there was a manageable one in some other language which could be absorbed (“borrowed” still the term etymologists, strangely perhaps, prefer) and the French words which formed the basis of the early lexicon of aviation are a particular example of technological determinism in language.  Other orthodox terms in aviation include:

Aileron: A hinged flight-control surface usually attached to the trailing edge of each wing and used to change the roll (ie cause fuselage to begin rotation).  Although the word “flaps” is commonly used of ailerons, the flaps are usually positioned closer to the fuselage and are used to increase or reduce lift & drag.  The flap-like devices mounted on the trailing edges of the vertical stabilizers (somewhere in the tail-section) are properly called “elevators”.  Aileron was a diminutive of aile (wing) and before powered flight (flying machines) had been used in ornithology to refer to the extremities of a bird's wings used to control their flight.  There is an entry in a French-English dictionary dating from 1877 (with the lead meaning: “small wing”) and in the context of the language of aviation, the earliest known use in entry in French technical literature is from 1908.

Empennage: The tail assembly of an aircraft, including the horizontal and vertical stabilizers, elevators, and rudder. Empennage was from the French empenner (to feather an arrow).

Chassis: This was the original term used in English to describe the framework of an aircraft but soon was replaced by "frame, structure etc"), presumably because of the association with the heavy steel constructions used in cars and trucks, things far removed from the lightweight designs needed in the air.  Chassis was from the French chassis (frame, supporting structure), from châsse (reliquary; coffin), from the Latin capsa (case).

Concours d'Elegance: Not strictly an aviation term and most associated with affairs like those in Pebble Beach where rows of vintage Bentleys, Ferraris and such (the latter always in a much better state of finish than when they left the factory) are judged for their closeness to perfection.  Although not strictly a term from aviation, there are such events for old aircraft.  Concours d'Elegance was from the French concours d'élégance (competition of elegance).

Pilot: Pilot was from the Middle French pilot & pillot, from the Italian pilota & piloto, (pedotta, pedot & pedotto the older forms), the pil- element probably influenced by pileggiare (to sail, navigate), ultimately from the unattested Byzantine Greek *πηδώτης (pēdṓtēs) (helmsman), from the Ancient Greek πηδόν (pēdón) (blade of an oar, oar) (the the Ancient and Modern Greek πηδάλιον (pēdálion) (rudder).  Familiar from nautical use, pilot was a straight borrowing for the person fulfilling the same function in the air.  The construct of pilotage was pilot + -age.

Canard: A type of aircraft configuration where the tail-plane is ahead of the main lifting surfaces.  In aviation, a canard is either (1) a type of aircraft in which the primary horizontal control and stabilization surfaces are in front of the main wing or (2) a horizontal control and stabilization surface located in front of the main wing of an aircraft (a fore-plane).  In just about any form of engineering involving movement and fluid dynamics (air, plasma, water etc), a canard is a small, wing-like structure used usually as a stabilizing device.  Canard was from the French canard (duck, hoax) and in English as “a canard”, is still used in that sense to mean “a false or misleading report or story, especially if deliberately so”.

The Fuselage Chryslers, 1968-1973

1969 Imperial LeBaron, four-door hardtop.

The “fuselage” Chryslers were released late in 1968 for the 1969 model year and, as a class, remain the largest regular production cars ever made by the US industry.  In the catalogue between 1968-1973, by the end of their run the Imperial was built on a 127 inch (3226 mm) wheelbase, was 235 ½ (5981 mm) inches in length and almost 80 (2022 mm) inches in width.  Big cars from Detroit were not uncommon in the 1960s (Buick in 1959 even naming their top-of-the-range model the Electra 225, a tribute to its 225 inch (5715 mm) length) but even by those standards the fuselage cars not only were vast but the bulbous shape (source of the “fuselage” tag) made them appear more excessive still; it wasn’t only for the big Chryslers the derisive “land yacht” was coined but the line exemplified the idea.  In fairness, the trend generally was “longer, heavier & fatter”, even once compact (by US standards) and agile machines like Ford’s Mustang and Thunderbird bloating with each update although the manufacturers were aware there was considerable public demand for something smaller and by the late 1960s, those in the pipelines were well-advanced.  However, demand for the full-sized cars remained strong and Chrysler decided their lines should be more full-sized than ever, thus the fuselage design.  There was at the time a bit of an aeronautical influence about and that was nothing new, jet aircraft and space rockets during the previous two decades having contributed many of the motifs which appeared on US cars.  During the development cycle for the fuselage cars, Chrysler were well-acquainted with the appearance of the Boeing 747, sketches circulating for some three years before its first public appearance in September 1968, coincidently just days after the Chrysler’s debuted.  In its appearance, the bulging 747 was the same sort of departure from the earlier, slender 707 as the 1969 Chryslers were from their rectilinear predecessors.

1969 Chrysler 300 advertising.  In graphics & text, the "fuselage" motif was integral to the promotion; it was no mere nickname. 

In some ways the styling has aged surprisingly well because the basic lines are uncluttered and, particularly on the higher priced editions, there was some nice detailing but at the time, critics found the look peculiar and a deviance from the direction other manufacturers were travelling.  The sides were unusually deep and rounded (recalling, obviously, an airplane’s fuselage) with a beltline so high the glasshouse (the cabin area defined by the windows) was relatively shallow, something accentuated by the surrounding bulk.  The corporation’s full-sized platform (internally the “C-Body”), it was shared by the Plymouth, Dodge, Chrysler and Imperial lines, the latter a surprise to some because since 1955 when it had been established as a separate division, the Imperial had been built on a unique platform.  However, despite some encouraging results in the 1950s, Imperial never achieved the volume which would have justified another unique platform so the line was merged into mainstream development.

1969 Imperial LeBaron advertising.  The "messaging" in this advertisement remains obscure.

The debut season saw good sales for the fuselage cars (though still more than 10% down on the previous C-Body (1965-1968)) but demand dropped precipitously in the next three years although sales were in buoyant in 1973 when many manufacturers set records; it was the last good year for the “old” American economy and the swansong of the long post-war boom built on cheap, limitless energy and the uniquely advantageous position the country enjoyed after the war; something squandered by the mistakes of more than one administration.  It was certainly unfortunate timing for Chrysler that the first oil crisis should hit just weeks after they had replaced the fuselage cars with something mechanically similar but with clever styling tricks (even the engineers admitted it was “nips & tucks; smoke & mirrors”), something dimensionally similar appeared both smaller and more modern.  Underneath, as the fuselage line had been, was essentially a good product, Chrysler’s basic engineering always good and while the big machines would never behave like a Lotus Elan, on the road they were competent and in most aspects as good as or better than the competition.

The last of Harry S Truman's (1884–1972; US president 1945-1953) many cars was a 1972 Chrysler Newport, the entry-level model in Chrysler's Fuselage range (some Plymouth & Dodge models were cheaper still).  Purchased some six months before his death, the licence plate (5745) was a special request, a reference to 7 May, 1945 (VE Day (Victory in Europe).  Truman was in office on that day and the plate has since permanently been retired.

The first oil shock hit demand for the 1974 cars and the timing was bad for all points in the production and distribution chain.  Noting the favourable reviews, dealers had ordered large stocks to meet the expected demand but the Arab Oil Embargo meant sales of big cars collapsed and the Chryslers, with V8 engines between 318-440 cubic inches (5.2-7.2 litres) were as thirsty as any of their ilk and supplies of cars expected to be sold in days languished on dealer’s lots for months.  In response, Chrysler shut down two manufacturing plants while trying to increase production or imports of small, fuel-efficient vehicles.  Sales of the big cars in 1974 were barely half those of the previous year and the breakdown of those was a harbinger for the whole industry, the numbers disproportionately slanted towards the higher-priced lines, the entry-level models attracting interest mostly from fleet operators and law enforcement.  The days of the low-cost big sedans which appealed to those like Harry Truman who liked the virtues without the ostentation, were over.

1978 Chrysler New Yorker advertising.  Still obviously bulky, the 1974-1978 re-style toned down the fuselage look although the interiors in tufted leather or velor became increasingly baroque.  Publications like Road & Track (R&T) where the writers disapproved of anything so big (they thought everyone should drive a Lancia) sneered at the extravagant fit-out, dismissing it as "gingerbread" but it was a luxurious and isolating environment.  There were still many who liked that sort of thing, none of whom maintained subscriptions to R&T.

So the writing was on the wall and even by 1977 when the oil crisis faded from memory and it seemed buyers were ready again to buy big, Chrysler was left with its now 1974 range while press and public fawned over General Motors’ (GM) newly slimmed-down, taut looking, full-size cars, the style and dimensions of which were so obviously the future.  Tellingly, while radically reduced in weight and external measurements, on the inside, they were in most places as capacious as both their predecessors and the now antique Chryslers which were still just an update of the 1969 fuselage range.  With the coming of 1976, the corporation had accepted the inevitable and axed the Imperial brand, Chrysler's top-of-the-range New Yorker tarted-up with left-over Imperial trim to become the new flagship.  The end was close and in 1978 it came, that the last year of the big Chryslers released with such high expectations a decade before and when the line was retired, it took with it the once popular four-door hardtop body-style, other manufacturers having already retired their models.  Shockingly inefficient though they are, the few surviving land yachts have a small but devoted following who appreciate what remains a unique driving experience (one as enjoyable as a passenger) and it's unlikely anything like them will ever be built again.

Unique

Unique (pronounced yoo-neek)

(1) Existing as the only one or as the sole example; single; solitary in type or characteristics; the embodiment of unique characteristics; the only specimen of a given kind.

(2) Having no like or equal; unparalleled; incomparable.

(3) Limited in occurrence to a given class, situation, or area.

(4) Limited to a single outcome or result; without alternative possibilities:

(5) Not typical; unusual (modern non-standard (ie incorrect) English).

1595-1605: From the sixteenth century French unique, from the Latin ūnicus (unparalleled, only, single, sole, alone of its kind), from ūnus (one), from the primitive Indo-European root oi-no- (one, unique).  The meaning "forming the only one of its kind" is attested from the 1610s; erroneous sense of "remarkable, uncommon" is attested from the mid-nineteenth and lives on in the common errors “more unique” and “very unique” although etymologists are more forgiving of “quite unique”, a favorite of the antique business where it seems to be used to emphasize the quality of exquisiteness.  Unique is a noun & adjective, uniqueness, uniquity & unicity are nouns and uniquely is an adverb; the (rare) noun plural is uniques.  The comparative uniquer and the superlative uniquest are treated usually as proscribed forms which should be used only with some sense of irony but technically, while the preferred "more unique" and "most unique" might sound better, the structural objection is the same.

The Triumph Stag and its unique, ghastly engine

There was a little girl by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.

The V8 engine Triumph built for the Stag between 1970-1978 was a piece of machinery not quite uniquely horrid but so bad it remained, most unusually for such an engine, unique to the Stag.  The only other post-war V8 engine to be produced in any volume which was used in a single model was the Fiat 8V (1952-1954) though with a run of 114 it was hardly mass produced.  The Ford Boss 429 (1969-1970) was only ever used in the Mustang (apart from two Mercury Cougars built for drag racing) but it was a variant of the 385 series engines (370-429-460) rather than something genuinely unique.  More common have been V8s which never actually appeared in any production car such as Ford's 427 SOHC (a variant of the FE/FT family (332-352-360-361-390-406-410-427-428; 1957-1976)) or the Martin V8, designed by Ted Martin (1922-2010) initially for racing but briefly envisaged for the French Monica luxury car project (1971-1975) until a sense of reality prevailed.  What is unique about the Triumph 3.0 V8 is that it's the one produced in the greatest volume which was used in only one model.

The Triumph 3.0 V8.

Engine schematic. 

Problem 1: Some strange decisions were taken by British Leyland and many associated with the Stag’s engine are among the dopiest.  The engineering strategy was to create a family of engines of different size around common components which would enable the development of four, six and eight cylinder units with capacities between 1.5-4 litres, (75-245 cubic inches), the part-sharing offering some compelling economies of scale.  Done properly, as many have often done, it’s sound practice to create a V8 by joining two four-cylinder units but it’s unwise to using exactly the same bottom-end components for both.  Strictly speaking, because the V8 came first, the subsequent fours were actually half a V8 rather than vice-versa but the fact remains the bottom-end construction was more suited to the smaller mill; the bearings were simply too small.

Stagnant.  Blockages and corrosion by chemical reaction.

Problem 2: A second cause of engine trouble was the choice of materials. The block was made from iron and the heads from aluminum, a common enough practice even then but a combination new to Triumph owners and one demanding the year-round use of corrosion-inhibiting antifreeze, a point not widely appreciated even by the somewhat chaotic dealer network supporting them.  Consequently, in engines where only water was used as a coolant, the thermite reaction between iron and aluminum caused corrosion where the material were joined, metallic debris coming lose which was distributed inside the engine; the holes formed in the heads causing gaskets to fail, coolant and petrol mixing with lubricating oil.

Problem 3. The engine used a long, single row, roller-link timing chain which would soon stretch, causing the timing between the pistons (made of a soft metal) and the valves (made of a hard mental) to become unsynchronized.  There are “non-interference” engines where this is a nuisance because it causes things to run badly and “interference” engines where the results can be catastrophic because, at high speed, valves crash into pistons.  The Stag used an “interference” engine.

Engine schematic.  Note the angles of the head-studs.

Problem 4: There was a bizarre arrangement of cylinder head fixing studs, half of which were vertical in an orthodox arrangement while the other half sat at an angle. The angled studs, made from a high-tensile steel, were of course subject to heating and cooling and expanded and contracted at a different rate to the aluminum cylinder heads, the differential causing premature failure of the head gaskets.  It must have seemed a good idea at the time, the rationale being it made possible the replacement of the head gaskets without the need to remove the camshafts and re-set the valves and that is a time-consuming and therefore expensive business so the intention was fine but defeated by physics which should have been anticipated.  Nor did the thermal dynamics damage only head gaskets, it also warped the aluminum heads, the straight studs heating differently than the longer splayed studs which imposed the side loads that promoted warping.  As a final adding of insult to injury, the long steel studs had a propensity solidly to fuse with the aluminum head and, because they sat at dissimilar angles, it wasn’t possible simply to saw or grind the top off the offending bolt and pull of the head.

Problem 5: The head failures would have been a good deal less prevalent had the company management acquiesced to the engineers’ request to use the more expensive head gaskets made of a material suited to maintaining a seal between surfaces of iron and aluminum.  For cost reasons, the request was denied.

Stag engine bay.

Problem 6: Despite the under-hood space being generous, instead following the usual practice of being mounted low and belt-driven, at the front of the engine, the water pump was located high, in the valley between the heads and was gear driven off a jackshaft.  This, combined with the location of the header tank through which coolant was added, made an engine which had suffered only a small loss of coolant susceptible to over-heating which, if undetected, could soon cause catastrophic engine failure, warped cylinder heads not uncommon.  Because, when on level ground, the water pump sat higher than the coolant filling cap, unless the car was parked at an acute angle, it wasn’t possible to fill the system with enough fluid actually to reach the water pump.    It seems a strange decision for a engineer to make and the original design blueprints show a belt-driven water pump mounted in a conventional manner at the front of the block.

It transpired that Saab, which had agreed to purchase a four cylinder derivative of the modular family, had to turn the slant four through 180^o because, in their front-wheel-drive 99, the transmission needed to sit at the front and, space in the Swedish car being tight, there would be no room between block and bulkhead for a water pump and pulley to fit.  So, dictated by necessity, the pump ended up atop the block, suiting both orientations and driven by the same shaft that drove the distributor and oil pump (and would have driven the mechanical metering unit for the abortive fuel injection).  Aside from the issues with coolant, the drive mechanism for the pump brought problems of its own, the early ones proving fragile.  As if the problems inherent weren’t enough, Triumph made their detection harder, locating the coolant temperature sender in one of the cylinder heads.  On the modular fours, with one head, that would be fine but the Stag’s two heads didn’t warp or otherwise fail in unison.  One head could be suffering potentially catastrophic overheating yet, because the sensor was in the as yet unaffected other, the temperature gauge would continue to indicate a normal operating level.  That’s the reason just about every fluid-cooled engine with multiple heads has the sender placed in the water pump.  To compound the problem, the four and eight used the same specification water pump, which, while more than adequate for the former, should have be uprated for the latter.

Problem 7: This was the eventually nationalized British Leyland of the 1970s, a case study, inter alia, in poor management and ineptitude in industrial relations.  Although the pre-production engines were cast by an outside foundry and performed close to faultlessly in durability-testing, those fitted to production cars were made in house by British Leyland in a plant troubled by industrial unrest.  Quality control was appalling bad, lax manufacturing standards left casting sands in the blocks which were sent for the internal components to be fitted and head gaskets were sometimes fitted in a way which restricted coolant flow and led to overheating.

Michelotti show car, 1966.

It was a pity because but for the engine, the Stag proved, by the standards of the time, relatively trouble-free, even the often derided Lucas electrical equipment well behaved.  The story began in 1965 when Italian designer Giovanni Michelotti (1921–1980) had requested a Triumph 2000 sedan, a model he’d styled and which had been on sale since 1963.  Michelotti intended to create a one-off convertible as a promotional vehicle to display at the 1966 Geneva Motor Show and Triumph agreed, subject to the company being granted first refusal on production rights and, if accepted, it would not appear at the show.  The donor car sent to Turin was a 1964 saloon which, prior to being used as a factory hack, had been one of the support vehicles for Triumph’s 1965 Le Mans campaign with the Spitfire.  Driven to Italy for Michelotti to cut and shape, the result so delighted Triumph they immediate purchased the production rights and the Stag was born.  Briefly called TR6, the Stag name was chosen, somewhat at random, as the original project code but was retained when it was preferred to all the suggested alternatives; unlike the engine, the name was right from day one.

Michelotti pre-production styling sketch, 1967.

The styling too turned out to be just about spot-on.  The partially concealed headlights, then a fashionable trick many US manufacturers had adopted, was thought potentially troublesome and abandoned but the lines were substantially unchanged between prototype and production.  There was one exception of course and that was the most distinctive feature, the B-pillar mounted loop which connected to the centre of windscreen frame, creating a T-section.  This wasn’t added because of fears the US Congress was going to pass legislation about roll-over protection; that would come later and see European manufacturers produce a rash of “targas”, a kind of roll-bar integrated into the styling as a semi-roof structure but Triumph’s adaptation was out of structural necessity.  Based on a sedan which had a permanent roof to guarantee structural integrity, Michelotti’s prototype had been a styling exercise and no attempt had been made to adapt the engineering to the standards required for production.  Although the platform had be shortened, a sedan with its roof cut of is going to flex and flex it did, shaking somewhat if driven even at slow speeds in a straight line on smooth surfaces; with any change to any of those conditions, vibration and twisting became much worse.  The T-top not only restored structural integrity but was so well-designed and solidly built the Stag’s torsional stiffness was actually better than the sedan.

Given the platform and styling was essentially finished at the beginning, the initial plan the Stag would be ready for release within two years didn’t seem unreasonable but it took twice that long.  Perhaps predictably, it was the engine which was responsible for much of the delay, combined with the turmoil and financial uncertainty of a corporate re-structure.  Triumph had since 1960 been part of the highly profitable bus and truck manufacturer, Leyland and until 1968 enjoyed much success as their car-making division.  However, in 1968, under some degree of government coercion, a large conglomerate was formed as British Leyland (BL) and Triumph was absorbed into BL's Specialist Division as a stable-mate to Rover and Jaguar-Daimler.

Daimler 2.5 V8.

What became the engine imbroglio was interlinked with the merger.  The coming together meant BL now had on the books, in development or production, one V12 engine and five V8s, an indulgence unlikely to survive any corporate review.  Jaguar-Daimler, the most substantially (semi-) independent entity within the conglomerate, were adamant about the importance of the twelve to their new model ranges and the point of differentiation it would provide in the vital US market.  They were notably less emphatic about their V8s.  Within the company, there had long been a feeling Jaguars should have either six or twelve cylinders, any V8 a lumpy compromise for which there’d never been much enthusiasm.  Additionally, the Jaguar was more of a compromise than most.  Based on the V12 it was thus in a 60^o configuration and so inherently harder to balance than a V8 using an orthodox 90^o layout.  Development had been minimal and Jaguar was happy to sacrifice the project, doubtlessly the correct decision.

1961 Jaguar Mark X.

Less inspired was to allow the anti-V8 feeling to doom the hemi-head Daimler V8s.  Built in 2½ litre (2,548 cm³ (155 cubic inch)) and 4½ litre (4,561 cm³ (278 cubic inch)) displacement, both were among the best engines of the era, light, compact and powerful, they were noted also for their splendid exhaust notes, the only aspect in which the unfortunate Stag engine would prove their match.  Jaguar acquired both after merging with (ie taking over) Daimler in 1960 and created a popular (and very profitable) niche model using the smaller version but the 4½ litre was only ever used in low volume limousines, barely two-thousand of which were built in a decade.  Both however showed their mettle, the 2.5 comfortably out-performing Jaguars 2.4 XK-six in the same car and almost matching the 3.4, all to the accompaniment of that glorious exhaust note.  The 4.6 too proved itself in testing.  When, in 1962, engineers replaced the 3.8 XK-six in Jaguar’s new Mark X with a 4.6, it was six seconds quicker to 100 mph (162 km/h) and added more than 10 mph (16 km/h) to an already impressive top speed of 120 mph (195 km/h).  The engineers could see the potential, especially in the US market where the engines in the Mark X’s competition was routinely now between six-seven litres (365-430 cubic inches) and increasingly being called upon to drive power-sapping accessories such as air-conditioning.  As Mercedes-Benz too would soon note, in the US, gusty sixes were becoming technologically bankrupt.  The engineers looked at the 4.6 and concluded improvements could be made to the cylinder heads and the design would accommodate capacity increases well beyond five litres (305 cubic inches); they were confident a bigger version would be a natural fit for the American market.

Internal discussion paper for Jaguar XK-V8 engine, Coventry, UK, 1949.

Curiously, it could have happened a decade earlier because, during development of the XK-six, a four cylinder version was developed and prototypes built, the intent being to emulate the company’s pre-war practice when (then known as SS Cars) a range of fours and sixes were offered.  This continued in the early post-war years while the XK was being prepared and the idea of modularity appealed; making fours into sixes would become a common English practice but Jaguar flirted also with an XK-eight.  While the days of straight-eights were nearly done, trends in the US market clearly suggested others might follow Ford and offer mass-market V8s so, in 1949, a document was circulated with preliminary thoughts outlining the specification of a 4½ litre 90^o V8 using many of the XK-four’s components including a pair of the heads.  There things seemed to have ended, both four and eight doomed by the success and adaptability of the XK-six and there's never been anything to suggest the XK-eight reached even the drawing-board.  Work on the prototype four did continue until the early 1950s, the intention being to offer a smaller car which would fill the huge gap in the range between the XK-120 and the big Mark VII saloon but so quickly did the XK-six come to define what a Jaguar was that it was realized a four would no longer suit the market.  Instead, for the small car, a small (short) block XK-six was developed, initially in two litre form and later enlarged for introduction as the 2.4; with this, the XK-four was officially cancelled by which time the flirtation with the eight had probably already been forgotten.  For decades thereafter, Jaguar would prefer to think in multiples of six and, having missed the chance in the 1960s to co-op the Daimler 4.6, it wouldn’t be for another thirty years that a V8 of four-odd litres would appear in one of their cars.

1954 prototype Jaguar 9 litre military V8.

That didn't mean in the intervening years Jaguar didn't build any V8s.  In the early 1950s, while fulfilling a contract with the Ministry of Supply to manufacture sets of spares for the Rolls-Royce Meteor mark IVB engines (a version of the wartime Merlin V12 made famous in Spitfires and other aircraft) used in the army's tanks, Jaguar was invited to produce for evaluation a number of V8s of "approximately 8 litres (488 cubic inches)".  Intended as a general purpose engine for military applications such as light tanks, armored cars and trucks, what Jaguar delivered was a 9 litre (549 cubic inches), 90^o V8 with double overhead camshafts (DOHC), four valves per cylinder and a sealed electrical system (distributors and ignition) to permit underwater operation, thereby making the units suitable also for marine use.  With an almost square configuration (the bore & stroke was 114.3 x 110 mm (4.5 x 4.33 inches)), the naturally aspirated engine exceeded the requested output, yielding 320 bhp (240 kw) at 3750 rpm and either five or six were delivered to the ministry for the army to test.  From that point, it's a mystery, neither the military, the government nor Jaguar having any record of the outcome of the trials which apparently didn't proceed beyond 1956 or 1957; certainly no orders were placed and the project was terminated.  At least one one of the V8s survived, purchased in an army surplus sale it was as late as the 1990s being used in the barbaric-sounding sport of "tractor-pulling".  Later, Jaguar enjoyed more success with the military, the army for some years using a version of the 4.2 litre XK-six in their tracked armored reconnaissance vehicles, the specification similar to that used when installed in the Dennis D600 fire engine.             

Jaguar V12 in 1973 XJ12.

Jaguar’s management vetoed production of the Daimler 4.6 on the grounds (1) there was not the capacity to increase production to what be required for the volume of sales Jaguar hoped the Mark X would achieve and (2) the Mark X would need significant modifications to permit installation of the V8.  Given that Daimler’s production facilities had no difficulty dramatically increasing production of the 2.5 when it was used in the smaller saloon body and a number of specialists have subsequently noted how easy it was to fit some very big units into the Mark X’s commodious engine bay, it’s little wonder there’s always been the suspicion the anti-V8 prejudice may have played a part.  Whatever the reasons, the decision was made instead to enlarge the XK-six to 4.2 litres and missed was the opportunity for Jaguar to offer a large V8-powered car at least competitive with and in some ways superior to the big Americans.  The Mark X (later re-named 420G) was not the hoped-for success, sales never more than modest even in its early days and in decline until its demise in 1970 by which time production had slowed to a trickle.  It was a shame for a design which was so advanced and had so much potential for the US market and had the V8 been used or had the V12 been available by the mid-1960s, things could have been different.  The unfortunate reputation the twelve later gained was because of lax standards in the production process, not any fragility in the design which was fundamentally sound and it would have been a natural fit in the Mark X.  So the Daimler 4.6 remained briefly in small-scale production for the limousines and the 2.5 enjoyed a successful run as an exclusive model under the hood of the smallest Jaguar, a life which would extend until 1969.  Unfortunately, the powerful, torquey, compact and robust 2.5, which could easily have been enlarged to three litres, wasn’t used in the Stag.  More helpfully, even if capacity had been limited to 2.8 litres (170 cubic inches) to take advantage of the lower taxation rates applied in Europe, the Daimler V8 would have been more than equal to the task.

Fuel-injected 2.5 litre Triumph six in 1968 Triumph TR5.

The six was essentially an enlarged version of the earlier four.   Released also in 1.6 & 2.0 capacities and used in the 2000/2500, Vitesse, GT6 & TR5/6, the fuel-injection was adopted only for the some of the non-US market sports cars and the short-lived 2.5 PI saloon.  Because of the reliance on the US market, TVR, which used the engine in the 2500M, in all markets, offered only the twin-carburetor version certified for US sale in the TR-250).

Triumph tried using the fuel-injected 2.5 litre straight-six already in development for the TR5 (TR-250 in North America) but the rorty six was a sports car engine unsuited to the grand tourer Triumph intended the Stag to be and thus was born the 2.5 litre V8, part of a modular family.  Another innovation was that the V8 would use the Lucas mechanical fuel-injection adopted for the long-stroke six and this at a time when relatively few Mercedes-Benz were so equipped.  However, while the power output met the design objectives, it lacked the torque needed in a car of this nature, and the high-revving nature wasn’t suited to a vehicle intended to appeal to the US market where it was likely often to be equipped both with air-conditioning and automatic transmission; the decision was taken to increase capacity to three litres.  Because the quest was for more torque, it might be thought it would be preferred to lengthen the stroke but, for reasons of cost related to the modularity project, it was decided instead to increase the bore to a very over-square 86.00 x 64.50 mm (3.39 x 2.52 inches).  Despite this, the additional half-litre delivered the desired torque but the coolant passages remained the same so an engine with a capacity twenty percent larger and an increased swept volume, still used the already hardly generous internal cooling capacity of the 2.5.  It was another straw on the camel’s back.

It was also another delay and, within Leyland, questions were being raised about why a long and expensive programme was continuing to develop something which, on paper, appeared essentially to duplicate what Leyland then had in production: Rover’s version of the small-block Buick V8 which they’d much improved after buying the rights and tooling from General Motors.  Already used to much acclaim in their P5B and P6 saloons, it would remain in production for decades.  The Rover V8 did seem an obvious choice and quite why it wasn’t adopted still isn’t entirely certain.  One story is that the Triumph development team told Rover’s chief engineer, by then in charge of the Stag project, that the design changes associated with their V8 were by then so advanced that the Rover V8 “wouldn’t fit”.  While it seems strange an engineer might believe one small V8 wouldn’t fit into a relatively large engine bay which already housed another small V8, he would later admit that believe them he did.

Tight fit: Ford 289 (4.7) V8 in 1967 Sunbeam Tiger Mark II.  A small hatch was added to the firewall so one otherwise inaccessible spark plug could be changed from inside the cabin.

It actually wasn’t a wholly unreasonable proposition because to substitute one engine for another of similar size isn’t of necessity simple, things like cross-members and sump shapes sometimes rendering the task impossible, even while lots of spare space looms elsewhere and a similar thing had recently happened.  In 1967, after taking control of Sunbeam, Chrysler had intended to continue production of the Tiger, then powered by the 289 cubic inch (4.7 litre) Windsor V8 bought from Ford but with Chrysler’s 273 cubic inch (4.4 litre) LA V8 substituted.  Unfortunately, while 4.7 Ford litres filled it to the brim, 4.4 Chrysler litres overflowed.  Allowing it to remain in production until the stock of already purchased Ford engines had been exhausted, Chrysler instead changed the advertising from emphasizing the “…mighty Ford V8 power plant” to the correct but less revealing “…an American V-8 power train”.

Triumph Stag.

It may have been, in those perhaps kinder times, one engineer would believe another.  However, years later, a wrinkle was added to the story when, in an interview, one of the development team claimed what was said was that they felt the Rover V8 was “not a fit” for the Stag, not that “it wouldn’t fit”, an amusing piece of sophistry by which, it was said, they meant the characteristics of the engine weren't those required for the Stag.  That may have been being economical with the truth: any engineer looking at the specifications of the Rover unit would have understood it was highly adaptable and so for decades it proved to be, powering everything from the Land Rover to executive saloons and high-performance sports cars.

More plausible an explanation was competing economics.  Triumph was projecting a volume of between twelve and twenty-thousand a year for the Stag and, within the existing production facilities Rover could not have satisfied the demand in addition to their own expanding range, soon to include the Range Rover, added to which, an agreement had been reached to supply Morgan with engines for the +8 which would revitalize their fortunes.  The Morgan deal was for a relatively small volume but it was lucrative and the success of the +8 was already encouraging interest from other manufacturers.  So, with Triumph already in the throes of gearing up to produce their modular engines and Rover said to be unable to increase production without a large capital investment in plant and equipment, the fateful decision to use the Triumph engine was taken.

This was the critical point, yet even then it wasn’t too late.  Although Jaguar were emphatic about shutting down Daimler’s V8 lines and converting the factories to XJ6 production, it would have been possible to move the tooling and resume building a 2.5, 2.8 or 3.0 Daimler V8 for the Stag.  Rover had found managing a shift of some tooling across the Atlantic not too onerous a task so trucking stuff a few miles down the road should have been possible.  Ironically, Triumph argued their OHC V8 was a more modern thing than the then decade-old pushrod Daimler which, they suggested, wouldn’t be able to be adapted to upcoming US emission regulations and thus would have a short life.  Given the success of many in coaxing pushrod V8s through decades of US regulations, that probably wasn’t true but it had all become irrelevant; the decision had been taken to pursue Triumph’s modular option.  At least a decision had been taken that was final, unlike some British Leyland decisions of the era but it did mean the Stag’s introduction was further delayed.

1973 Stag.

Eventually, the Stag was launched in the summer of 1970 to a positive if not rapturous reception.  There was criticism of weight of the hardtop and the fabric roof not being as easy to us as the brochure suggested but most contemporary journalists seemed to enjoy the drive although some were disappointed with the lack of power; the wonderful exhaust note and rakish lines perhaps promising more but this was a relatively heavy four-seat grand tourer, not a sports-car.  Still, it would touch 120 mph (190 km/h) and its acceleration, brakes and handling were all at least comparable to the competition and, among that completion, it was close to unique.  A small-capacity V8, four-seat convertible with a choice of manual or automatic transmissions and all-independent suspension was a tempting specification in 1970; to get the same thing from Mercedes-Benz would cost more than three times as much.  Of course Stuttgart would probably have suggested their buyers got something more than three times as good, a not unreasonable point at the time and, given the prices at which 280SE 3.5 cabriolets now trade, the Germans appear to have been conservative in their three-fold estimate.  But it was value for money and had some nice touches, a heated rear window when that was a novelty in removable hard tops, a clever (and influential) multi-function display of warning lights and even, though curiously discordant, the option of wire wheels.

1974 Stag interior (manual o/d).

All concluded that driving one was a pleasant, if not especially rapid, experience but owning a Stag proved frequently nightmarish, all because of that unique engine.  Before many months had elapsed it was clear there were problems and, despite years of fixes and adjustments, the inherent design faults proved just too embedded in the mechanical DNA.  A change to the Rover V8 might, even then been the answer for the Stag otherwise suffered from little but by the early 1970s, Leyland was in dire financial straits, chronically under-capitalized and without any appetite to invest in a small volume product with an uncertain future.  Perhaps the earlier failure by Facel Vega to rescue the doomed Facellia by replacing the interesting but fragile French engine with a dreary but reliable Volvo unit played on their minds.  An upgraded automatic transmission, improvements to the cooling system and other detail changes to the engine were pursued and even an inconspicuous re-style was thought to warrant a “Mark 2” tag but the reputation never recovered.

Quixotic derivations were built but never pursued.  There were a couple of clumsy-looking prototype GT6-esque hatchbacks which excited little interest and in 1972 Ferguson Research adapted two using their all-wheel-drive and anti-lock brake systems made famous on the Jensen FF; said to work most effectively, both still exist in private hands but there's nothing to suggest even limited production was ever contemplated.  In seven years, 25,877 Stags were built, 6,780 of which were exported but only 2,871 Americans were persuaded, a disappointment in a market of which much had been hoped.

End of the line: 1978 Triumph Stag.

The Stag however has enjoyed an extraordinary afterlife for something once thought a fragile failure.  Seduced by the style, the surprising practicality and the intoxicating burble of the exhaust, the survival rate has been high and most still run the Triumph V8 rather than the Rover V8, Ford V6 or any of the small-block Detroit V8s to which not a few owners once resorted.  Modern additions improve the experience too, five speed manual transmissions have been fitted, mostly to cars not equipped with the desirable overdrive and there's a popular and well-executed conversion to a four-speed ZF automatic which many describe as transformative.  There can be few engines which have for so long inspired owners to devote so much energy to rectifying the defects the factory never fixed.  High strength timing chains, external water pumps, improved radiators, better bearings and (the once rejected) correct head gaskets are now available, the consensus being that properly sorted and maintained by the book, it’s a solid, reliable engine, just not one which can be tolerate the sort of neglect Detroit's V8s of the time famously would endure with little complaint.