Upper

Upper (pronounced uhp-er)

(1) Higher, as in place, position, pitch, or in a scale.

(2) Superior, as in rank, dignity, or station.

(3) In geography (as place or regional names), at a higher level, more northerly, or farther from the sea.

(4) In stratigraphy, denoting a later division of a period, system, or the like, (often initial capital letter).

(5) The part of a shoe or boot above the sole, comprising the quarter, vamp, counter, and lining.

(6) A gaiter; made usually of cloth.

(7) In dentistry, as upper plate, the top of a set of false teeth (dentures), the descriptive prefix for teeth in the upper jaw.

(8) In bicameral parliaments, as upper house (senate, legislative council, House of Lords etc), the body elected or appointed often on a less representative basis than a lower house.

(9) Slang for a stimulant drug, especially an amphetamine, as opposed to the calmative downer.

(10) In mathematics, (of a limit or bound), greater than or equal to one or more numbers or variables.

(11) In Taoism, a spiritual passageway through which consciousness can reach a higher dimension.

1300-1350: From the Old English upp, from the Proto-Germanic upp and cognate with the Old Frisian up, the Old Saxon up, the Old Dutch up, the Old High German ūf and the Old Norse upp.  Similar formations were the Middle Dutch upper, the Dutch opper, the Low German upper and the Norwegian yppare.  The –er suffix (added to verbs to form an agent noun) is from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the Old English -ware (suffix denoting residency or meaning "inhabitant of"), from the Proto-Germanic (w)ārijaz (defender, inhabitant), from the primitive Indo-European wer- (to close, cover, protect, save, defend).  It was cognate with the Dutch -er, the German –er and the Swedish -are.  The Proto-Germanic (w)ārijaz is thought most likely a borrowing from the Latin ārius.

The phrase “upper hand” (advantage) was first noted in the late fifteenth century, possibly the jargon of wrestling (“over-hand” existed with the same meaning nearly two-hundred years earlier and “lower hand” (condition of having lost or failed to win superiority) was documented in the 1690s but both are rare compared with “upper hand).  Upperclassman is recorded from 1871 and upper crust is attested from the mid-fifteenth century in reference to the top crust of a loaf of bread tending to be reserved for the rich.  Upper middle class was in use by 1835 and, in an echo of the modern “one percenters”, “upper ten thousand” appears first in 1844 and was common by mid-century to refer to the wealthier strata of society; a companion term of the time was “uppertendom”.  As a descriptor of the part of a shoe above the sole, use emerged in 1789.  The slang use to describe amphetamines and other pep-pills is an Americanism dated usually from 1968 but which may have been in use earlier; the companion term for drugs with a calmative effect was "downer".

In bicameral parliaments, in almost all systems it's common to refer to "upper" & "lower" houses.  In the democratic age, lower houses evolved to be the places which were most directly representative of the electorate and a member able to gain the support of a majority of those elected to a lower house was able to form a government, a process long almost always mediated through party politics.  Upper houses were more varied in composition, sometimes elected, sometimes appointed (in some cases, for life) and they tended to be representative more or established (and entrenched) interests than the wider electorate.  In federal systems, many upper houses were conceived as representatives and defenders of the rights and interests of the constituent states but in the West, this aspect of the history has been subsumed by the influence of the parties and only in rare cases will the interests of the state transcend party loyalty.  The upper chambers have undergone many changes and one of the oldest, the UK's House of Lords, was radically transformed by the New Labour administration (1997-2010) although its powers had already dramatically been pruned earlier in the twentieth century and no prime-minister has sat in the Lords since 1903, something not again contemplated since the 1920s (and under unusual circumstances in the 1950s).  An exception to the use of upper & lower in the context is in the US where the congress and almost all the state assemblies are bicameral.  In the US, historically, there was no conception of "upper & lower" in that sense, the two being regarded as co-equal but with different roles.  That was influenced both by the circumstances of the origin of the nation and the fact the executive branches are not drawn from the memberships  of the assemblies.  However, in recent decades, the use of "upper house" & "lower house" has crept into use, essentially because the standards of journalism are not what they were and this seems to have infected even some US reporters.  Some systems (notably New Zealand) actually abolished their upper house and from time-to-time there are doubtless a number of prime-ministers elsewhere who wish they could.    

For most of the twentieth century, the landlocked West African nation of Burkina Faso was known as the Upper Volta (the name indicating the land-mass contained the upper part of the Volta River), initially as part of the French colonial empire, later as an independent republic.  A self-governing republic of the French Community between 1958–1960, it was granted full independence in 1960 and re-named Burkina Faso in 1984.  When president, Richard Nixon (1913-1994; US president 1969-1974), used “Upper Volta” sarcastically, as a reference to any unimportant country, especially if he was compelled by the conventions of diplomacy to spend time meeting with their delegations, talking about things in which he just wasn't interested.

Lindsay Lohan wearing Louis Vuitton Star Trail ankle boots, fashioned with a Jacquard textile and glazed calf leather upper, treaded rubber sole, 3.1 inch (80mm) heel and patent monogram-canvas back loop (made in Italy, LV part-number 1A2Y7W, RRP US$1360.00), New York, January 2019.

Knocker

Knocker (pronounced nok-er)

(1) A person or thing that knocks.

(2) A sometimes ornamental hinged knob, bar, etc on (usually) a door, for use in knocking.

(3) In informal use, a persistent and carping critic; a faultfinder; nit-picker.

(4) In vulgar slang, a female breast (usually in the plural, for obvious reasons).

(5) In slang as “on the knocker”, canvassing or selling door-to-door (UK); promptly; on time; a correct (Australia & New Zealand).

(6) In slang, one who defaults on payment of a wager (an archaic North of England dialectical form).

(7) In slang, a person who is strikingly handsome or otherwise admirable; a stunner (an archaic variation of “a knock-out”).

(8) A dwarf, goblin, or sprite imagined to dwell in mines and to indicate the presence of ore by knocking (South Wales, archaic dialectical eighteenth & nineteenth century form).

(9) In the arcade game pinball, a mechanical device in a pinball table that produces a loud percussive noise.

(10) In entomology, a large cockroach, especially Blaberus giganteus, of semitropical America, which is able to produce a loud knocking sound.

(11) In geology, a large, boulder-shaped outcrop of bedrock in an otherwise low-lying landscape, chiefly associated with a mélange.

1375-1400: An agent noun from the Middle English knock, the construct being knock + -er.  Knock was from the Middle English knokken, from the Old English cnocian, ġecnocian & cnucian (to knock, pound on, beat), from the Proto-West Germanic knokōn, from the Proto-Germanic knukōną (to knock), a suffixed form of knu- & kneu- (to pound on, beat), from the primitive Indo-European gen- (to squeeze, pinch, kink, ball up, concentrate). The English word was cognate with the Middle High German knochen (to hit), the Old English cnuian & cnuwian (to pound, knock) and the Old Norse knoka.  It was related to the Danish knuge and the Swedish knocka (to hug).  The –er suffix was from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the Old English -ere, from the Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought usually to have been borrowed from Latin –ārius and reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French –or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant was -our), from the Latin -(ā)tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.  The –er suffix was added to verbs to create a person or thing that does an action indicated by the root verb; used to form an agent noun.  It added to a noun it denoted an occupation.  The sense of "door banger" is from the 1590s although the precise use in architecture of a "metal device fixed to the outside of a door for banging to give notice when someone desires admission" seems not to have been formalised until 1794.  The use to refer to breasts wasn’t noted until 1941.

Knocker-upper using bamboo knocker, circa 1900.

Mentioned in Charles Dickens’ (1812-1870) Great Expectations (1860-1861), the knocker-upper (or knock-up) was an occupation created by the demands of the industrial revolution in late eighteenth century which demanded an often newly-urbanized workforce to appear in factories on time for shifts, the punctuality important because of the need to synchronize the attendance of labour to machines.  At the time, alarm clocks were neither cheap nor generally available but the role persisted in some parts of northern England, well into the twentieth century, long after electricity and alarm clocks became ubiquitous, the knocker-uppers sometime on the payroll of mill or factory owners.  The role was sometimes combined with employment by local authorities, the knocker-upper paid while on his “waking-up” rounds manually to extinguish the street-lamps.

Bronze door knockers from earlier centuries.

Knocker-upper Mary Smith using peas-shooter, London, circa 1930.

The tool used depended on the need.  Knocker-uppers tended to use a short, hardwood stick to bang on doors and a lighter one, often made of bamboo to tap on windows, the latter in some towns long enough to reach the upper stories although there are photographs of pea-shooters being used in London, apparently a dried pea projective the only practical way to reach the third floor.  The nature of service was customised according to need.  In places where shifts were invariable, the knocker-upper tended to work from a list which only occasionally changed whereas in areas where industries ran multiple shifts and an employee’s start and finish times could change from day to day, slate boards were often attached to the wall next to the door with the desired hour nominated, these known as "knocky-up boards" or "wake-up slates".

When door knockers go rogue.

It's not clear if the rogue door-knocker was a  schizophrenic Freemason but in 2011 Ms Lohan had been granted a two-year restraining order against alleged stalker David Cocordan, the order issued some days after she filed complaint with police who, after investigation by their Threat Management Department, advised the court Mr Cocordan (who at the time had been using at least five aliases) “suffered from schizophrenia”, was “off his medication” and had a "significant psychiatric history of acting on his delusional beliefs.”  That was worrying enough but Ms Lohan may have revealed her real concerns in an earlier post on twitter in which she included a picture of David Cocordan, claiming he was "the freemason stalker that has been threatening to kill me- while he is TRESPASSING!"  Being stalked by a schizophrenic is bad enough but the thought of being hunted by a schizophrenic Freemason is truly frightening.  Apparently an unexplored matter in the annals of psychiatry, it seems the question of just how schizophrenia might particularly manifest in Freemasons awaits research so there may be a Ph.D there for someone.

Posh

Posh (pronounced posch)

(1) Sumptuously furnished or appointed; luxurious.

(2) Elegant or fashionable; exclusive.

(3) A more expensive version of something mass-produced.

(4) Non-U term for the upper-class or genteel.

(5) Non-U term for speaking English with received pronunciation.

1890s: The source is obscure but it’s thought probably derived from the Gypsy (Romani; Roma) posh & pash (“half”), from the Old Armenian փոշի (pʿoši), the preferred theories accounting for it being associated with wealth and its implications being either because (1) a posh-kooroona (half a crown), once a fair sum, was used metaphorically for anything pricey or (2) because posh-houri (a half-penny) became a general term for money.  A period dictionary of slang defined "posh" as a term for “money” used by the criminal class and notes this was used sometimes specifically to refer to a halfpenny or other small coin and the connection seems soon to have been extended to wealth in general: a slang use documented from the early 1890s meant "dandy" (someone well dressed and apt to "splash cash").  There was also the early-twentieth-century Cambridge University slang poosh (stylish) which may have been a (deliberate) mispronunciation of polish but it’s thought un-related.  A popular folk etymology, dating from 1915, holds it’s an acronym for "port (left) out, starboard (right) home", describing the cooler, north-facing cabins taken by rich passengers travelling from Britain to India under the Raj and back.  However, despite much repetition of the story, there’s no direct evidence for this claim.

Posh and Smart: U and Non-U

A selection of U & non-U words by Professor Alan Ross.

A fun linguistic irony is that posh folk aren’t supposed to use the word, their preference supposedly being “smart”.  In 1954, Alan Ross (1907-1980), Professor of Linguistics at the University of Birmingham, coined "U" (upper-class) and "non-U" (non-Upper-Class) to describe the differences social class makes in their use of English.  While his article included differences in pronunciation and writing styles, it was his list of variations in vocabulary which attracted most interest.  Professor Ross published his illustrative glossary of "U" and "non-U", differentiating the speech patterns in English social classes in a Finnish academic journal and used extracts from Nancy Mitford’s (1904–1973 and the oldest of the Mitford sisters) novel The Pursuit of Love (1945) to provide examples of the patterns of speech of the upper class.  Greatly this pleased Nancy Mitford who interpolated the professor’s work into an article about the English gentry she was writing for Stephen Spender's (1909-1995) literary magazine Encounter (1953-1990).  Although not best-pleased her discussion of the Ross thesis was the only part of her piece to attract attention, more amusing was the subsequent re-publication in her slim volume Noblesse Oblige: an Enquiry into the Identifiable Characteristics of the English Aristocracy (1956) which, augmented with contributions from John Betjeman (1906–1984) and Evelyn Waugh (1903–1966), meant that for decades she was the acknowledged authority on upper-class speech, manners and ways.  Her class-conscious readers had taken it all more seriously than she had intended.

As a footnote, it was only after details were published of Professor Ross's role in Britain's World War II (1939-1945) code-breaking project which produced the "Ultra" transcripts from the messages sent through the German Enigma machine that details of his unusual child-care practices were revealed.  It transpired his way of ensuring he had a quiet, interruption-free train journey in which to read his book was to tranquilize his young son Padmint with a dose of laudanum, placing him on the luggage rack for the duration of the trip.  Laudanum was the opioid said to be responsible for the 300-odd lines of verse which came in a dream to Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) but he’d written down only the first 50 when interrupted by “a person on business” from the nearby village of Porlock.  Once the person had departed, memories of the rest vanished, never to return.  Given the poet’s history in using the excuse for what has been judged “writer’s block”, critics have long doubted the tale but Kubla Khan (composed in 1797 but not published until 1816) remains one of the most beloved fragments of English verse.

In some circles, interest in "U" & "non-'U" has never gone away and, as differences in the English speaking world gradually diminish from country-to-country, works on the theme often appear in popular journalism.  Helpfully for the status-obsessed English middle-class, magazines like Country Life now and then print guides to help those concerned with such things and, sometimes controversially, there’s the occasional attempt to update the canon.  Right-wing English weekly The Spectator some years ago suggested the (non-U) "toilet" was now entirely classless and could be used, as it was by the rich Americans, instead of the (U) "loo" or (U) "lavatory".  Country Life ignored them and later retaliated by claiming the aristocracy's preferred term for their most frequent brush with the plumbing was "lavatory" and that "loo" was "now lower-middle class", apparently a slight worse than "peasant".

Posh vs smart: 2021 Lexus LS 500h (left) vs 1975 Bristol 411 Series V (right).  The essence of posh is a conjunction of shiny stuff, now expressed as "bling", "bling-bing" or "pricetaggery", the latter a word coined apparently by the writers of The Simpsons cartoon though it was used by Mr Burns (evil nuclear power-plant owner) in a different sense.  Something smart tends to express things like the price tag by being generally understated yet with one or two characteristics effortlessly recognized by smart folk while remaining invisible to most.

Poshmark is an example of the social marketplace, a site which exists to bring together buyer and seller, its revenue generated by "clipping the ticket" on each transaction.  It's thus structurally the same as a general trading site like eBay in that it facilitates B2C (business-to-consumer) and C2C (consumer-to-consumer) sales but as a niche player with a certain speciality, remains viable on less than 1% the turnover of the bigger aggregators because of the internet's global scale.

Bedint

Bedint (pronounced buh-dent (U) or bed-ent (non-U))

(1) Something which suggests a bourgeois aspiration to the tastes or habits of the upper classes.

(2) A generalized expression of disapproval of anyone or anything not in accord with the social standards or expectation of the upper classes.

(3) Any behavior thought inappropriate (ie something of which one for whatever reason disapproves).

1920s:  A coining attributed to variously to (1) English writer, politician and diplomat Harold Nicolson (2) his wife, the writer Vita Sackville-West or (3) speculatively, Vita Sackville-West’s family.  The word is of Germanic origin and although there are variants, the source of all was the Middle Dutch bedienen, the construct being be- +‎ dienen.  The Middle Dutch be- was from the Old Dutch bi- & be-, from the Middle High German be-, from the Old High German bi-, from the Proto-Germanic bi-, from the primitive Indo-European hepi and was used to indicate a verb is acting on a direct object.  Dienen was from the Middle Dutch dienen, from the Old Dutch thienon, from the Proto-Germanic þewanōną and meant "to be of assistance to, to serve; to serve (at a tavern or restaurant); to operate (a device)".  In the rituals of the Roman Catholic Church, it has the specific technical meaning "to administer the last sacraments (the last rites)".  A bedient (the second third-person singular present indicative of bedienen) was thus a servant, a waiter etc.  The acceptable pronunciation is buh-dent while bed-int, be-dit or anything else is the depth of bedintism.  Bedint is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is bedints.  As a non-standard word, there are no derived forms but, for humorous effect, some have appeared including the nouns, bedintism bedinity & bedintism and the adjectives bedinted, bedintish & bedintesque.  The noun bedintologist is non-standard but there are a lot of amateur bedintologists active.  Caution must be exercised because the very use of the word can be condemned as bedint.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December, 2011.  

The idea thus is exemplified by a maître d'hôtel (head waiter) who, well dressed and well mannered, appears superficially not dissimilar to someone from the upper classes but of course is someone from a lower class, adopting for professional reasons, some of their characteristics (dress, manner, speech (and sometimes snobbery) etc).  Whoever coined the word, it was certainly popularized by Harold Nicholson and Vita Sackville-West, neither of whom were much reticent in finding fault in others.  It seems initially to have been their shared code for discussing such things but soon became common currency amongst the smart set in which they moved and from there, eventually entered the language although not all dictionaries acknowledge its existence and it should probably be thought non-standard.  It one of those words which need not be taken too seriously and is most fun to use if played with a bit (bedintish, bedintesque, bedintingly bedinded, bedintism, bedintology etc).  As a word, although from day one weaponized, bedint was subject to mission-creep to the point where, as Lewis Carroll's (pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (1832–1898) Humpty Dumpty "in rather a scornful tone" explained to Alice in Alice Through the Looking-Glass (1871): "When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less."

Figures from that lost, pre-1914 world: Harold Nicolson (1886-1968) & Vita Sackville-West (1892-1962), London, 1913.

As originally used by Nicolson & Sackville-West, bedint was one the many linguistic tools of exclusion and snobbery; these devices exist among all social classes, some of which, when part of “working-class consciousness” or similar constructs are classified as “inverted snobbery”.  Bedint was used to refer to anyone not from the layers of the upper class (royalty, the aristocracy, the gentry) in some way aping the behavior or manners of “their betters”; the behavior need not be gauche or inappropriate, just that of someone “not one of us”.  Nicolson didn’t exclude himself from his own critique and, as one who “married up” into the socially superior Sackville family, was his whole life acutely aware of what behaviors of his might be thought bedint, self-labelling as he thought he deserved.  His marriage he never thought at all bedint although many of those he condemned as bedint would have found it scandalously odd, however happy the diaries of both parties suggest that for almost 50 years it was.

Harold Nicolson & Vita-Sackville West, Sissinghurst Castle Garden, Kent, 1932.

Bedint as a word proved so useful however that it came to be applied to members of the upper classes (even royalty) were they thought guilty of some transgression (like dullness) or hobbies thought insufficiently aristocratic (ie "a bit middle class" which was about as bad as insults got).  The idea of some behavior not befitting one’s social status was thus still a thread but by the post-war years, when bedint had entered vocabulary of the middle-class (a bedint thing in itself one presumes Nicolson and Sackville-West would have thought), it was sometimes little more than a synonym for bad behavior (poor form as they might have said), just an expression of disapproval.  That didn't mean all "non-typical" behavior was bedint because certain eccentricities or a bohemian lifestyle might be tolerated or even admired.  Bedint-tagging can thus be thought as something within the rubric of labeling theory and to this day there are many practicing bedintologists although not all will be familar with the word.  

Harold Nicolson & Vita-Sackville West, Sissinghurst Castle Garden, Kent, 1960.

The biographical work on Nicolson reveals a not especially likable snob but, in common with many fine and sharp-eyed diarists, he seems to have been good company though perhaps best enjoyed in small doses.  One of those figures (with which English political life is studded) remembered principally for having been almost a successful politician, almost a great writer or almost a viceroy (the latter perhaps more in his mind than that of the cabinet), he even managed to be almost a lord but, despite switching party allegiances to curry favor with the Labour government (1945-1951), the longed-for peerage was never offered and he was compelled to accept a knighthood.  His KCVO (Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order, an honor in the personal gift of the sovereign) was granted in 1953 in thanks for his generous (though well-reviewed and received) biography of the stamp-collecting George V (1865-1936, King of England 1910-1936) although those who could read between the lines found it not hard to work out which of the monarch’s activities the author thought bedint.  As it was, Nicolson took his KCVO, several rungs down the ladder of the Order of Precedence, accepting it only "faute de mieux" (in the absence of anything better) and describing it “a bedint knighthood”, wondering if, given the shame, he should resign from his clubs.

Wedding day: Duff Cooper & Lady Diana Manners, St Margaret's Church, London, 2 June 1919.

So a knighthood, a thing which many have craved, can be bedint if it's not the right knighthood.  When the Tory politician Duff Cooper (1890–1954) ended his term (1944-1948) as the UK's ambassador to France, the Labor government (which had kept him on) granted a GCMG and although he thought his years as a cabinet minister might have warranted a peerage, he accepted while wryly noting in his diary it was hardly something for which he should  be congratulated because: "No ambassador in Paris has ever failed to acquire the it since the order was invented and the Foreign Office has shown how much importance they attach to it by conferring it simultaneously on my successor Oliver Harvey (1893-1968), who is, I suppose, the least distinguished man who has ever been appointed to the post".  Still, Cooper took his "bedint" GCMG and when a Tory government returned to office, he was, shortly before his death, raised to the peerage, choosing to be styled Viscount Norwich of Aldwick.  His wife (Lady Diana Cooper (1892–1986) didn't fancy becoming "Lady Norwich" because she though it "sounded like porridge" (additionally, she had good "brand recognition") and took the precaution of placing notices in The Times and Daily Telegraph telling all who mattered she would continue to be styled "Lady Diana Cooper".  They had a "modern marriage" so differences between them were both negotiated and not infrequent.

A faute de mieux moment: Lindsay Lohan with “award surfboard”, The Teen Choice Awards 2004 cermony, Universal Amphitheatre, Universal City, Los Angeles, California, 8 August, 2004.

From his grave, Harold Nicolson might be amused that since his death more attention has be paid to the details of his remarkable marriage than his careers in politics, diplomacy or literature, despite the latter yielding a biography of his father, a best-selling life of George V, a study of Mrs Charles Lindbergh’s (1906-2001) father, novels and historical works.  Of all he wrote, perhaps the one that will continue to be mined for “source material” was the most “postmodern”: the pseudo-autobiographical Some People (1927), the Author’s Note cautioning “…many of the following sketches are purely imaginary.  Such truths as they may contain are only half-truths”.  A book thus with modern qualities and whether it revealed much about its subjects can be debated but it was an insight into the author, not so much what he was but how he wished to be perceived.  Nicolson clearly conveyed this was not a work to be read by bedints with an ostentatious use of devices of the type Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) called a “pride of knowledge”: Much of Some People was in French, the text littered with untranslated allusions to classical literature and words (some of which long assimilated into English) appearing in the original Ancient Greek script.  Genuinely, it’s an often amusing work even bedints can enjoy in translation (it’s ideal for a hypertext edition) but old Henry Fowler would not have been impressed and would likely have dismissed the devices as “pretentious”.  Others, well acquainted with Nicolson's social aspirations, called it “a cad’s book”. 

Vita Sackville-West (left) and Violet Trefusis (right), Villa dell'Ombrellino, Florence, Italy, circa 1920.  The Tuscan estate belonged to Ms Trefuis's mother, Alice Keppel (1868–1947) a long-time mistress of Edward VII (1841–1910; King of the UK & Emperor of India 1901-1910).

It was an indication of how important it was for Nicolson not to be though bedint although, of course, as he likely would have admitted, trying so hard is about as bedint as things get but if anything, it was the publication in 1973 of Portrait of a Marriage by his son (Nigel Nicolson, 1917–2004) that confirmed him (among those few who much dwelt on the matter) as “really not a bedint”.  The book was a son’s unadorned tale of his bisexual parents' extramarital arrangements but so convivial were the agreements between them about the many trysts and affairs it seems absurd to characterize them as infidelities, indeed, nothing as romantic as Vita Sackville-West's “elopement” with Violet Trefusis (1894–1972) could possibly be thought bedint.  Indisputably a snob and a racist, Nicolson divided the planet’s population (that literally was his vista) in a tiny racial, social and intellectual aristocracy (with which he self-identified) and “the rest”; in that he wasn’t greatly different from many except in using “bedint” as a kind of convenient shorthand he did display what more than one biographer and critic would call his “inferiority complex” (one acquaintance labelling him “a national figure of the second degree”).  Like his contemporary the expatriate American Sir Henry "Chips" Channon (1897–1958), his ambition was to be rich and be raised to the peerage although such was his character it may be than even had he collected a viscountcy, he’d have begun to fret about not being an earl, that notch on the peerage a kind of fence between them and the “bedint lords”.  Certainly he anticipated the title would one day come, planning to commandeer one of the vacant Sackville titles, his name “insufficiently aristocratic” despite the pleasing “elegance of the absent ‘h’”.  Curiously, despite blatantly being anti-Semitic and contemptuous of most of the usual suspects (working class, middle class, foreigners etc) he supported the Balfour Declaration (1917), advocated for the creation of the state of Israel, was appalled by the Treaty of Versailles (1919), approved of the League of Nations (1920-1945), applauded the Beveridge Report (the 1942 paper by Sir William Beveridge, (1879–1963) detailing the original framework of the post-war welfare state) and ended up in the Labour Party.  No biography of Nicolson has made him seem especially “likeable” but among history’s footnotes he remains memorable, a quality transcending bedintism.

The BEM (British Empire Medal), the lowest of the six rungs of the Order of the British Empire.  Politicians would regard the BEM as “a bedint award for bedints” and would be insulted if offered one.

As a species, politicians have a sense of entitlement like few others and while that’s hardly a revelation, what is amusing is to speculate whether the “pathologically entitled” are drawn to the business or it grows in them as they notice the trough seems always to be topped up no matter how deep they bury their snouts.  More amusing still is to create two lists categorizing politicians as one or the other and what’s striking is how few don’t make the cut for either.  As a breed, one thing to which most felt entitled was an honor, and from minor worthies such as mayors hoping for a OBE (Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) to put them a notch above the nurse given an MBE (a Member in the same order) for many decades of dedicated service, to cabinet ministers lobbying for a knighthood or peerage, the lure has always been strong.  There have been exceptions.  Enoch Powell (1912–1998) declined the offer of a life peerage on the basis the proffered barony “wasn’t hereditary”; presumably he thought a “non-ongoing nobility” just too bedint to be contemplated while others would make light of being dubbed.  Sir Arthur Fadden (1894–1973; Prime Minister of Australia Aug-Oct 1941) was in 1951 made a KCMG (Knight Commander of the Most Distinguished Order of St Michael and St George) and to mark his retirement from politics in 1958 he was elevated to GCMG (Knight Grand Cross in the same order).  He welcomed the new honor by remarking: “Twice a knight, not bad at my age.”

There have also been politicians who seemed to find the whole honors system totally naff.  Paul Keating (b 1944; Prime Minister of Australia 1991-1996) declined the more or less obligatory AC (Companion of the Order of Australia (the de facto “top-of-the-tree” since the AK (Knight of the same order) went into abeyance after a brief and controversial revival by Tony Abbott (b 1957; Prime Minister of Australia 2013-2015)) on the basis “…prime ministers are well-rewarded for their service” although it’s tempting to think while Mr Keating might have thought most honors were too bedint for him to accept, given his self-regard, he might have been tempted if offered a dukedom; there hasn’t been (a non-royal) one of them created for 150-odd years and they’re no longer as costly as once they were.  He made one memorable speech making his disdain clear.  Rising in the House of Representatives on 27 February, 1992, he castigated conservative politicians for” “…still looking for your MBEs and your KCMGs and all the rest of the regalia… we will have no bar of you or your sterile ideology.

Lord Salisbury speaking in the House of Lords (1894), supplement to The Graphic, after a chromolithograph by Sydney Prior Hall (1842-1922).  In Great Contemporaries (1937), Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) alluded to Salisbury's many years as prime minister: “...venerable, august Lord Salisbury, Prime Minister since God knew when.”

Mostly though, politicians’ lust for honors has been strong and many went beyond dropping hints to lobbying.  George Goschen (1831–1907) served in the British government as an “average Chancellor of the Exchequer” and “competent First Lord of the Admiralty” but his many years in office were noted more for the effluxion of time than substantive achievement.  Despite that, Goschen of course felt “entitled” to a seat in the Lords and even fretted about the name he’d adopt upon being ennobled, telling the prime minister he’d decide when told what grade he’d be getting, adding he hoped his elevation would not be announced as “…one of a batch”, making clear a viscountcy was merely “rations” for a retiring cabinet minister and his long service entitled him to go up a notch.  His arguments failed to impress the prime minister (Lord Salisbury (1830–1903; UK Prime Minister for thirteen years variously 1885-1902)) who told his secretary he was prepared only to create him a viscount, something that prompted Goschen to impose himself on the secretary for a long session of advocacy; it proved unproductive, the secretary laconically minuting the prime minister: “Accepts Viscountcy: would have liked an Earldom.”  Resigned to this faute de mieux, he entered the House of Lords as Viscount Goschen of Hawkhurst.

Had the word then existed, Salisbury might have though Goschen’s conduct “typical bourgeois bedintism” while reflecting on twice being offered a dukedom by Victoria (1819–1901; Queen of the UK 1837-1901).  Salisbury had told the queen he was appalled by the prohibitive cost of maintaining what was then a ducal lifestyle and that he’d anyway rather have “an ancient marquessate than a modern dukedom.”  In truth, when the offers were made, the Salisbury marquessate was barely a hundred years old (the prime minister the third marquis) although the titled roots of the Cecil family went back centuries.  Still, “ancient” is how it’s defined and Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893–1946; Nazi foreign minister 1938-1945) justified being at the age of 33 adopted by an aunt (in exchange for payment) in order to append the nobiliary particle “von” to his name on the basis of “not wishing to see an ancient branch of the family go extinct”.  That branch was then of a 40 year vintage and the “purchased von” was within the Nazi Party a source of contemptuous humor, the acerbic Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897-1945; Nazi Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda 1933-1945) summing him up in a diary entry of typical succinctness: “He bought his name, married his money and swindled his way into office”.  Had Goebbels been aware of “bedint”, that’s what he’d have labelled the inept foreign minister.

Clerestory

Clerestory (pronounced kleer-stawr-ee or kleer-stohr-ee)

(1) In architecture, a portion of an interior rising above adjacent rooftops, fitted with windows admitting daylight.

(2) In church architecture, a row of windows in the upper part of the wall, dividing the nave from the aisle and set above the aisle roof (associated particularly with the nave, transept and choir of a church or cathedral.

(3) In transportation vehicles (usually busses, railroad cars and occasionally cars & vans), a raised construction, typically appended to the roof structure and fitted with (1) windows to admit light or enhance vision or (2) slits for ventilation (or a combination of the two).

1375–1425: From the late Middle English, the construct being clere (clear (in the sense of “light” or “lighted”)) + story (from storey (a level of a building).  The word is obviously analyzed as “a story (upper level) with light from windows”.  Storey was from Middle English stori & storie, from the Anglo-Latin historia (picture), from the Latin, from the Ancient Greek ἱστορία (historía) (learning through research, narration of what is learned), from ἱστορέω (historéō) (to learn through research, to inquire), from ἵστωρ (hístōr) (the one who knows, the expert, the judge).  In the Anglo-Latin, historia was a term from architecture (in this case “interior decorating” in the modern sense) describing a picture decorating a building or that part of a building so decorated.  The less common alternative spellings are clearstory & clerstory.  Clerestory is a noun and clerestoried is an adjective; the noun plural is clerestories.

From here was picked up the transferred sense of “floor; level”.  The later use in church architecture of “an upper story of a church, perforated by windows” is thought simply to be a reference to the light coming through the windows and there is nothing to support the speculation the origin was related to a narrative (story) told by a series of stained glass windows, illuminated by sunlight.  Historians have concluded the purpose of the design was entirely functional; a way of maximizing the light in the interior space.  The related architectural design is the triforium.  The noun triforium (triforia or triforiums in the plural) (from the Medieval Latin triforium, the construct being tria (three) + for (opening) + -ium) describes the gallery of arches above the side-aisle vaulting in a church’s nave.  The –ium suffix (used most often to form adjectives) was applied as (1) a nominal suffix (2) a substantivisation of its neuter forms and (3) as an adjectival suffix.  It was associated with the formation of abstract nouns, sometimes denoting offices and groups, a linguistic practice which has long fallen from fashion.  In the New Latin, it was the standard suffix appended when forming names for chemical elements.

Clerestories which once shone: Grand Central Terminal (the official abbreviation is GCT although the popular form is "Grand Central Station" (often clipped to "Grand Central")), Midtown Manhattan, New York City, 1929 (left) and the same (now dimmed) location in a scene from the Lindsay Lohan film Just my Luck (2006) (right).  Because of more recent development in the surrounding space, the sunlight no longer enters the void through the clerestoried windows is such an eye-catching way.  In modern skyscrapers, light-shafts or atriums can extend hundreds of feet.

Tourist boat on a canal cruise, Amsterdam, the Netherlands.

Boats with clerestory windows are commonly seen on waterways like the canals of Amsterdam and are valued by tour-guides because they make excursions possible in (almost) all-weathers.  Those designing passenger busses and train carriages were also early adopters of clerestory windows, initially because they were a source of “free” light but as packaged tourism developed into “sightseeing”, tour operators recognized the potential and commissioned versions optimized for outward visibility, essentially a form of “value-adding” which made even the dreary business of bus travel from one place to the next more of a “sightseeing” experience, something probably most valued by those afforded a greater vista to observe in mountainous regions.

Greyhound Scenicruiser in original livery.

A variation of the idea was used for long-distance busses in North America, the best known of which remains the Greyhound Scenicruiser (PD-4501), featuring a raised upper deck with a clerestory windscreen.  Although the view through that was enjoyed by many passengers, the design was less about giving folk a view and more a way to maximize revenue within the length restrictions imposed by many US states.  What the upper deck did was allow a increase in passenger numbers because the space their luggage would absorb in a conventional (single layer) design could be re-allocated to people, their suitcases (and in some cases also freight, another revenue stream) relegated to the chassis level which also improved weight distribution and thus stability.

A predecessor: 1930 Lancia Omicron.

Famous as it became, the Scenicruiser, 1001 of which were built by General Motors (GM) between 1954-1956, was to cause many problems for both manufacturer and operator, the first of which caused by the decision to use twin-diesel engines to provide the necessary power for the new, heavy platform.  The big gas (petrol) units available certainly would have provided that but their fuel consumption would not only have made their operation ruinously expensive (both the fuel burn and the time lost by needing frequently to re-fill) and the volume of gas which would have to be carried would have both added to weight and reduced freight capacity.  Bigger GM diesel units weren’t produced in the early 1950s so the twin engines were a rational choice and the advantages were real, tests confirming that even when fully loaded, the coupled power-train would be sufficient for hill climbing while on the plains, the Scenicruiser happily would cruise using just a single engine.  However, as many discovered (on land, sea and in the air), running two engines coupled together is fraught with difficulties and these never went away, the busses eventually adopting one of GM’s new generation of big-displacement diesels as part of the major re-building of the fleet in 1961, a programme which also (mostly) rectified some structural issues which had been recognized.  Despite all that, by 1975 when Greyhound retired the model, the company still had hundreds in daily service and many of those auctioned off were subsequently used by other operators and in private hands, some are still running, often as motor homes or (mostly) static commercial displays or museum exhibits.

1951 Pegaso Z-403 (left) and 1949 Brill Continental (right).

GM’s Scenicruiser was influential and clerestory windscreens soon proliferated on North American roads although the idea wasn’t new.  The Spanish manufacturer Pegaso (a creation of Generalissimo Francisco Franco’s (1892-1975; Caudillo of Spain 1939-1975) industrial policy) between 1951-1957 produced the Z-403 (1951-1957) which used the same design and before even that a bus with an almost identical profile had been sold in the US by the JG Brill Company, albeit with a conspicuous lack of success.  As early as 1930 the Italian concern Lancia offered the Omicron bus with a 2½ half deck arrangement with a clerestoried upper windscreen.  The Omicron’s third deck was configured usually as a first-class compartment but at least three which operated in Italy were advertised as “smoking rooms”, the implication presumably that the rest of the passenger compartment was smoke-free.  History doesn't record if the bus operators were any more successful in enforcing smoking bans than the usual Italian experience.

1968 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser.

One quirky offering which picked up the Scenicruiser’s clerestoried windscreen was the Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser (1964-1977), a station wagon which, until the release of the third series in 1973 featured one at the leading edge of a raised roof section, the glass ending midway over the backseat, the shape meaning it functioned also as a “skylight”.  Above the rear side windows were matching clerestories which might sound a strange thing to add above a luggage compartment but during those years, a “third seat” was a popular option to install in the space, transforming the things into eight or nine seat vehicles; families were bigger then.  The Vista Cruiser sold well and Buick later adopted the idea for some of its range until the concept was abandoned in 1972 because of concerns about upcoming safety regulations.  Such rules were however never imposed and both manufacturers revived the idea in the 1990s for their (frankly ugly) station wagons and when the Buick was discontinued in 1996, it was the last full-sized station wagon to be made in the US, the once popular market segment cannibalized to the point of un-viability by the mini-van (people-mover) and the sports utility vehicle (SUV).

The arrangement of a series of windows in a high-mounted row, borrowed from architecture, became familiar on train carriages and buses, especially those which plied scenic routes.  Usually these were added to the coachwork of buses built on existing full-sized commercial chassis which could seat 40-60 passengers but in the 1950s, there emerged the niche of the smaller group tour, either curated to suit a narrower market or created ad-hoc by hotels or operators; smaller vehicles were required and these offered the additional advantage of being able sometimes to go where big buses could not.  In places like the Alps, where those on the trip liked to look up as well as out, rows of clerestoried windows were desirable.

1959 Volkswagen Microbus Deluxe (23 Window Samba). 

The best known of these vehicles was the Volkswagen “Samba”, a variation of the Microbus, one of the range of more than a dozen a models built on the platform of the Type 2, introduced in 1950 after a chance sighting by a European distributer of a VW Beetle (Type 1) chassis which had been converted by the factory into a general-purpose utility vehicle.  The company accepted the suggestion a market for such a thing existed and in its original, air-cooled, rear-engined configuration, it remained in production well into the twenty-first century.  Between 1951-1966, the Microbus was available in a “Deluxe” version which featured both a folding fabric sunroof and rows of rows of clerestoried windows which followed the curve of the sides of the roof.  Available in 21 & 23 window versions, these are now highly collectable and such is the attraction there’s something of a cottage industry in converting Microbuses to the clerestoried specification but it’s difficult exactly to emulate the originals, the best of which can command several times the price of a fake (a perfectly restored genuine Samba in 2017 selling at auction in the US for US$302,000).  Such was the susceptibility to rust, the survival rate wasn’t high and many led a hard life when new, popular with the tour guides who would conduct bus-loads of visitors on (slow) tours of the Alps, the sunroof & clerestory windows ideal for gazing at the peaks.  To add to the mood, a dashboard-mounted valve radio was available as an option, something still for many a novelty in the early 1950s.  The Microbus Deluxe is rarely referred to as such, being almost universally called the “Samba” and the origin of that in uncertain.  One theory is it’s a borrowing from the Brazilian dance and musical genre that is associated with things lively, colorful, and celebratory, the link being that as well as the sunroof and windows, the Deluxe had more luxurious interior appointments, came usually in bright two-tone paint (other Type 2s were usually more drably finished) and featured lashings of external chrome.  It’s an attractive story but some prefer something more Germanic: Samba as the acronym for the business-like phrase Sonnendach-Ausführung mit besonderem Armaturenbrett (sunroof version with special dashboard).  However it happened, Samba was in colloquial use by at least 1952 and became semi official in 1954 when the distributers in the Netherlands added the word to their brochures.  Production ended in July 1967 after almost 100,000 had been built.

1966 Volkswagen Samba (21 Window, Left) and 1962 Volkswagen Samba (23 Window, Right).  The 23 Window van is a conversion of a Microbus and experts (of which there seem to be many, such is the following these things have gained) say it's close to impossible exactly to replicate a factory original.  In theory, the approach would be to take the parts with serial numbers (tags, engine, gearbox etc) from a real Samba which has rusted into oblivion (something not uncommon) and interpolate these into the sound body of a Microbus with as close a build date as possible.  Even then, such are the detail differences that an exact replication would be a challenge.  Because the Sambas received the same running changes and updates as the rest of the Microbus range, there was much variation in the details of the specification over the years but the primary distinction is between the “21” & “23” window vans, the difference accounted for by the latter’s pair of side-corner windows to the left & right of the rear top gate opening.  In 1964, when the rear doors were widened, the curved windows in the roof were eliminated because there would no longer be sufficient metal in the coachwork to guarantee structural integrity.