Wednesday, 5 May 2021

Scotland: A future outside of the United Kingdom? | DW Documentary // The Dukes of Buccleuch

The title Duke of Buccleuch /bəˈkluː/, formerly also spelt Duke of Buccleugh, is a title in the Peerage of Scotland created twice on 20 April 1663, first for James Scott, 1st Duke of Monmouth and second suo jure for his wife Anne Scott, 4th Countess of Buccleuch. Monmouth, the eldest illegitimate son of Charles II was attainted after his 1685 rebellion, but his wife's title was unaffected and passed on to their descendants, who have successively borne the surnames Scott, Montagu-Scott, Montagu Douglas Scott and Scott again. In 1810, the 3rd Duke of Buccleuch inherited the Dukedom of Queensberry, also in the Peerage of Scotland, thus separating that title from the Marquessate of Queensberry.


The substantial origin of the ducal house of the Scotts of Buccleuch dates back to the large grants of lands in Scotland to Sir Walter Scott of Kirkurd and Buccleuch, a border chief, by James II, in consequence of the fall of William Douglas, 8th Earl of Douglas (1452), but the family traced their descent back to a Sir Richard le Scott (1240–1285). Sir Walter Scott of Branxholme and Buccleuch (died 1552) distinguished himself at the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh (1547). His great-grandson Sir Walter was created Lord Scott of Buccleuch in 1606.


Other subsidiary titles associated with the Dukedom of Buccleuch are: Earl of Buccleuch (1619), Earl of Dalkeith (1663) and Lord Scott of Whitchester and Eskdaill (1619) (all in the Peerage of Scotland). The Duke also holds the two subsidiary titles of the attainted Dukedom of Monmouth, namely Earl of Doncaster (1663) and Baron Scott of Tindale (1663) (both in the Peerage of England), and several subsidiary titles associated with the Dukedom of Queensberry, namely Marquess of Dumfriesshire (1683), Earl of Drumlanrig and Sanquhar (1682), Viscount of Nith, Tortholwald and Ross (1682) and Lord Douglas of Kilmount, Middlebie and Dornock (1682) (all in the Peerage of Scotland). The Earldom of Doncaster and Barony of Scott of Tindale had been forfeit at the time of the first Duke's attainder, but the titles were restored to the 2nd Duke of Buccleuch in 1742. Until 1835, the Dukes also held lands in the West Riding of Yorkshire and the ancient title of Lord of Bowland. The Duke of Buccleuch is the hereditary chief of Clan Scott. The holder is one of only five people in the UK to hold two or more different dukedoms, the others being the Duke of Cornwall and Rothesay, the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, the Duke of Argyll (who holds two dukedoms named Argyll), and the Duke of Richmond, Lennox and Gordon.


The courtesy title used by the Duke's eldest son and heir is Earl of Dalkeith; and that of Lord Dalkeith's eldest son and heir is Lord Eskdaill.


The novelist Sir Walter Scott, Bart., was directly descended of the Lords of Buccleuch. His family history, fancifully interpreted, is the main subject of much of The Lay of the Last Minstrel.


The current Duke of Buccleuch, Richard Scott, the 10th Duke, is the largest private landowner in Scotland with some 280,000 acres (1,100 km2) and chairman of the Buccleuch Group, a holding company with interests in commercial property, rural affairs, food, and beverages. The title originally comes from a holding in the Scottish Borders, near Selkirk.


The family seats are Bowhill House, three miles outside Selkirk, representing the Scott line; Drumlanrig Castle in Dumfries and Galloway, representing the Douglas line; and Boughton House in Northamptonshire, England, representing the Montagu line. These three houses are still lived in by the family and are also open to the public. The family also owns Dalkeith Palace in Midlothian, which is let, and has owned several other country houses and castles in the past. Its historic London residence was Montagu House, Whitehall, now demolished and replaced by the Ministry of Defence.


William Montagu Douglas Scott, The Earl of Dalkeith, who became the 7th Duke of Buccleuch was elected President of St. Andrew's Ambulance Association in 1908. The Presidency of the Association (now St Andrew's First Aid) has been held by the Buccleuch family from that date.


Most of the Dukes of Buccleuch (the 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th) are buried in the Buccleuch Memorial Chapel in St. Mary's Episcopal Church, Dalkeith, Midlothian. The 2nd Duke (died 1751) is buried in Eton College Chapel. The most recent Dukes (the 8th and 9th) are buried among the ruins of Melrose Abbey in Melrose.


Richard Walter John Montagu Douglas Scott, 10th Duke of Buccleuch and 12th Duke of Queensberry, KT, KBE, CVO, DL, FSA, FRSE (born 14 February 1954), styled as Lord Eskdaill until 1973 and as Earl of Dalkeith from 1973 until 2007, is a Scottish landholder and peer. He is the Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry, as well as Chief of Clan Scott. He is the heir male of James, Duke of Monmouth (9 April 1649 – 15 July 1685), the eldest illegitimate son of King Charles II and his mistress, Lucy Walter.


Scott was once Scotland's largest private landowner, owning 217,000 acres (880 km2) of Scottish land, but was surpassed by Anders Holch Povlsen who currently holds 221,000 acres (890 km2) in the country.


Scott was born in 1954, the son of John Scott, 9th Duke of Buccleuch, and his wife, Jane Scott, Duchess of Buccleuch, a daughter of John McNeill, QC. He was baptised with Princess Margaret as one of his godparents.


He was educated at St. Mary's School, Melrose, and Eton College, and was Page of Honour to Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother from 1967 to 1969. In 1973, his father inherited the Dukedoms of Buccleuch and Queensberry, and Scott took the courtesy title Earl of Dalkeith, having previously been styled Lord Eskdaill. He graduated from the University of Oxford in 1976 as a Bachelor of Arts.

Tuesday, 4 May 2021

Charlotte Rampling


Charlotte Rampling: ‘I am prickly. People who are prickly can’t be hurt any more’


She’s best known for her dark, difficult roles, and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. The actor talks about swinging in the 60s, family tragedy – and why she’s still got It


by Simon Hattenstone

Sat 27 Mar 2021 08.00 GMT


‘That photoshoot was such fun,” Charlotte Rampling says. “I was pinging.”


“You were pinging?”


“Yes, I really was pinging,” she says, with that imperious cut-glass accent. “Pinging is when you’re at the right place at the right time, and you know you can just make magic happen everywhere.” We don’t ping often in life, she says, but when we do, it’s wonderful.


It’s a cold, sunny day in Paris when we Zoom. Rampling is in her apartment in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, “which is just like the old Chelsea that I loved”. She is wearing shades, but takes them off to reveal those famous hooded blue-green eyes.


Does she feel more French than English these days? “I was thinking about this last week. I don’t feel I belong to one specific place. It doesn’t fit with who I am. I like to think I can spread further somehow. It’s a good feeling, actually. Quite often I have felt uncomfortable about it.” Why? “Because I thought it was one of the sources of feeling very alone. But I don’t think it is now.”


She says it is empowering when you accept that there is always a positive side to a negative, and vice versa. “When you think you’re riding on a good wave, you’re pretty sure the next one is going to be shite. We function through contrast.” What would life be like without the shite? “Really dull.”


The 75-year-old actor takes me back to the first time she knowingly pinged. She was 14, shy and withdrawn. The family was living in Harrow, Greater London, having recently returned from Fontainebleau where her army officer father had been stationed. She and her sister Sarah performed before an audience for the first time at the annual cabaret in suburban Stanmore. Anybody who was anybody turned up to The Smoking Concert and did a little turn. To her astonishment, she loved it. “I felt so great on stage. We wore fishnet tights, macs and berets, and sang a series of sweet French songs. I knew I was good, because I was absolutely in tune with myself at that moment.”


It was such a contrast to how she felt in real life. “I was deeply awkward inside myself. Things were incredibly difficult, but there, I felt just great.” She didn’t go on to study drama, or perform in school plays. She simply waited another year for an opportunity to ping in front of the good people of Stanmore.


Rampling’s background is unusual: her mother, Anne, was a painter and heiress to the Gurteen clothing company. “My mum had a lovely life. She was very cherished and loved by her family.” Meanwhile her father, Godfrey, himself the son of an officer, won a gold medal with the British 4x400m relay team at Hitler’s infamous 1936 Berlin Olympics, and later became a lieutenant colonel in the Royal Artillery.


“I was always a bit in love with my dad. He was tough and very good-looking, and I was rather besotted.” He was also extremely unhappy for much of his life. “Mum was the happy one. He was a troubled man, a haunted man. A lot of men were, of that generation, coming through war.” He never mentioned the gold medal, and she only discovered he had won it when she came across newspaper cuttings her mother had kept. When she asked to see it, he told her he had lost it on his travels. Was he proud of his achievements? “No, he wasn’t. That was his tragedy. But he lived till he was 100 and he was much better when he was very old.”


I tell her that I read he had described the young Charlotte as “prickly”. She hoots. “You picked up on that word! That makes me laugh.” Why? “Because I so picked up on that word, too. It’s a key word for me. Because I am prickly. Dad so got it.” What did he mean? “Well, what do you think? If you say prickly, what do you think of?” Not somebody you would want to cuddle? “Exactly. Somebody who kept you away – keeps you away. You can approach, but you really need to know how.” Somebody who could hurt you? “Yes, of course. You have to be very wary with them. People who are prickly can’t be hurt any more. They’ve had it. So we just have to be prickly to make sure nobody’s going to come in and grab us.” Has she been hurt badly? “Hmmm! I can’t tell you all that. What kind of conversation is this?” She laughs, but this time it sounds like a warning. “I give you a few clues and then you go wanting more!”


Hollywood wasn’t my cup of tea. I wanted to go into the auteur world of semi-darkness


Rampling went to prestigious private girls’ schools in France and in England, and at the age of 16 left for a secretarial college in London. At 17, she was spotted by a casting agent, and made her proper film debut (she was uncredited for a nightclub scene in A Hard Day’s Night) in the Boulting brothers’ comedy Rotten To The Core in 1965. A year later she struck gold with the 60s classic Georgy Girl, an upbeat comedy with a dark underbelly in which she played posh mean-girl Meredith. I remind Rampling of the trailer, which describes her as a “sexy little dish” and “a doll never out of trouble”.


It’s funny how people conflated you with your character, I say. “They did from the beginning because that’s what I was doing, really. I never considered myself as an actress in the grand sense of so many women of my generation, who had been to all the schools and done all the Shakespeare. I felt like a renegade, coming in and grabbing my place, which I hadn’t really deserved. So I said to myself early on: I play roles as if they were me.”


What about that description of her in the trailer? “No! I didn’t feel like a sexy little dish. But what I felt was power inside me, and sexuality is a power. I knew that I had sex appeal. You could feel you had this attraction. I didn’t have to wait for the boys to come – I had it, I didn’t have to flaunt it. And to put that energy into performing is very powerful. And it’s very sexy, too, because you know you can use it as far as you want, because nobody’s going to hurt you.” She is on a roll. “It’s not for real. You don’t actually have to have a real relationship. You can have all the fantasy of what another story, other than your life, could be, and that makes film-making really exciting.”


The 60s were swinging, and Rampling swung with the best of them. “Everything was happening all at once. There was a sense of freedom and hope and fun and laughter – everything could be possible.” Was she old enough to know that things had been different? “I was brought up in the 50s and they were pretty difficult. So when the 60s came, we were young and in London, and had a lot of money because the economy was good. And we had wild ideas about what we could do.”


Rampling comes to a sudden, crushing halt. “It stopped abruptly with my sister’s death,” she says. Sarah, who was three years older, had been living in Argentina with her husband when she took her own life, aged 23, in 1967, two months after giving birth prematurely to her son. “I couldn’t be what I had been before. I couldn’t be happy any more. Your whole life changes.” Had she realised Sarah suffered poor mental heath? “No. I knew she was fragile, but I didn’t know what mental health problems were.” She says Sarah had a profound ability to love and be loved; it was Sarah who had first recognised Charlotte’s talent when they performed together in Stanmore, telling her friends: “Charlotte is going to be known worldwide.”


At first Rampling’s father told her, and her mother, that Sarah had suffered a fatal brain tumour. It wasn’t until three years later that he told her the truth. That must have been a double grief? “Yep, sure was,” she says. She also had to keep it a secret: her father made her promise that she would never tell her mother, because he believed it would kill her. That must have been so tough, I say. “Sure was,” she repeats. Does she think it scarred her? “No, I’m not going to comment on that. Remember, I’m not only prickly, I’m distant. I only keep a distance so I can get as much understanding of the situation without being on top of it. And it works.” She refers me instead to a short memoir she wrote four years ago called Who I Am, in which Sarah plays a prominent role.


As well as the prickliness, you have a great ability to show tenderness in your work, I say. “Of course, why wouldn’t I? Have I been blacklisted from tenderness?” she fires back. Rampling’s voice is an incredible weapon – by turns curious, seductive, bored, teacherly, withering and compassionate.


After Sarah’s death, Rampling, barely into her 20s, was done with frivolity and hedonism. “What I said to myself is, ‘Now I have to go underground. If I’m going to be in the film industry, it’s not about making 60s-type fun films, it’s about going inside.’”


Was that for Sarah or for herself? “It was because it wasn’t decent to go out and just celebrate futile things and have fun.”


Did she discuss this with other people or just internally? “I discussed it internally, but boy, do you need help afterwards.” Where did she get that help? “You get professional help from psychiatrists and psychotherapists, reading a lot of philosophy and literature.” She says the book The Road Less Travelled by M Scott Peck helped greatly.


In her work, she went deeper, exposing herself in every way possible. Unlike so many Hollywood roles, the sexuality at the core of hers wasn’t cute or passive or submissive. It was challenging, confrontational, defiant; she stared into the camera with those remarkable eyes, almost daring us to return her gaze. The parts became increasingly transgressive: in The Night Porter, Rampling has a sadomasochistic relationship with her Nazi torturer; in ’Tis Pity She’s A Whore she has an incestuous affair with her brother; and in Max Mon Amour, she cheats on her diplomat husband with a chimpanzee. “Ah, the ape – I love it,” she says affectionately.


She rarely worked in America, and when she did it was with major league directors – Sidney Lumet in The Verdict, Woody Allen in Stardust Memories. Rampling says she simply wasn’t interested in Hollywood. “Let’s use a nice old English expression: it just wasn’t my cup of tea. I wanted to go into the auteur and European world of the semi-darkness.”


Her private life attracted as many headlines as her films. In the 60s she lived with her agent and partner, Bryan Southcombe, and their friend, the model Randall Laurence; there were rumours of a menage a trois, but she always denied it. She married Southcombe and they had a son, Barnaby – now a film-maker, who directed Rampling in the movie I, Anna in 2012.


In 1976, she met the composer Jean-Michel Jarre at a dinner party in Saint-Tropez; within days she had left Southcombe for him (Jarre left his wife, too). In 1978, they married and had a son, David; Rampling also brought up his daughter, Émilie. In 1995, their marriage broke down after she discovered his infidelity via the newspapers. In the late 90s, she began a long, happy relationship with journalist and businessman Jean-Noël Tassez, which lasted until his death in 2015, aged 59.


Today Rampling lives with two cats – a huge Maine Coon called Joe and an alley cat called Felix. Has there been anyone since Jean-Noël died? “I have a friend who I see, yes. In France you can call it amitié amoureuse. The French do have ways of talking about love that the rest of the world don’t. Amitié is friendship, amoureuse is to love, so it’s an in-love friendship.”


Soon after her separation from Jarre, she fell into a deep, prolonged depression and didn’t work for two years. I ask if she feared she would never make a comeback. She says that was an irrelevance at the time. “Come back or not come back, it didn’t really matter. I just needed to come back to being alive. To make films or to be a cook in a bakery; it didn’t really matter as long as I was still alive.”


Sure enough she did return – and has been hugely successful ever since: in French dramas (François Ozon’s Under The Sand and Swimming Pool), TV crime series (Broadchurch, Dexter), even feelgood movies (StreetDance). And, of course, there has been plenty of transgression along the way: the matron of a “whore school” in Red Sparrow; the lonely pickup artist in I, Anna; and the Reverend Mother in the forthcoming remake of Frank Herbert’s sci-fi classic Dune, in which she stars opposite Timothée Chalamet. She has now made well over 100 films, roughly half of them this century. Perhaps her most memorable recent performances have been in two quietly eviscerating films: 45 Years and Hannah. In both, she plays a woman haunted by her husband’s secret life.


Did her depression change her as an actor? “Yes, I think you’re much more conscious of being. You’re just more aware, the sensorial part of yourself goes through a huge change.” She comes to another sudden stop. “I can’t explain all this. I really can’t. I’m afraid I can’t even think about it any more because I don’t want to go there again.”


In 2016, aged 69, she won her first Oscar nomination, for 45 Years. It should have been a career highlight, but everything went horribly wrong. The previous year had seen the start of the #OscarsSoWhite protest movement, after all 20 acting nominations went to white actors (David Oyelowo had been regarded as a shoo-in for his brilliant portrayal of Martin Luther King in Selma). The same thing happened in 2016, and Rampling was asked on French radio about the campaign to boycott the awards. She replied, “It is racist to whites.” By the evening, she had issued a clarifying statement, saying: “I regret that my comments could have been misinterpreted. I simply meant to say that in an ideal world, every performance will be given equal opportunities for consideration. Diversity in our industry is an important issue that needs to be addressed.” But the damage had been done.


I’m using every piece of me. I always have. Even if I sometimes don’t want to be in the movies any more


Today, she says her head was all over the place. “I’d lost my partner Jean-Noël two months before. I’d lived with him for 20 years and he died of a ghastly cancer. It was early morning and it was a boom-boom-boom news programme and it went straight out.” But she knows she has no excuses. “I just blew it. I knew I’d blown it straight away.” She wasn’t aware of the full repercussions until the evening. “My ex-husband Jean-Michel called me and said, ‘What happened?’ And I said, ‘I don’t want to hear or read anything that people are saying, I know what I’ve said, and of course I will excuse myself. But that’s all I’ll do, because it was so violent how the haters reacted.’” Does she think her comments cost her the Oscar? “Yeah, probably,” she says giddily. “But that’s life, isn’t it?”


I suggest she’s making her best work now. But she’s not having any of it. “No, I don’t compartmentalise,” she says tersely. “Questions from a journalist are always so simplified. I don’t spend time thinking about that kind of thing. All I can say is, I’m using every piece of me, and I have always used every piece of me in any way I can. Even if I don’t want to, because sometimes I really don’t want to be in the movies any more.” Why not? “Because it’s a huge effort, more and more so now that I’m older. Physical, mental, the moving around, the locations, the hours, it takes a lot out of me.” Has she felt that for ages? “No, only since I hit 70. My 60s were great. I felt very strong. But in your 70s you need to go a little slower. I love the age I am now, but for work when you’ve got to be pinging a lot of the time, it is hard.”


We lose each other briefly on Zoom, then the picture returns. “Sorry, I nodded off,” she says sardonically. I apologise for boring her. “No, no, no, but we should hurry up a bit.” Rampling is keen to wrap up. She warns me to take care with the words when I write. “Don’t jumble them around too much. OK, my dear, over to you now.”


The following day I see the photoshoot, and understand just what Rampling means by pinging. I call to tell her how much they made me smile. She says she had such a fabulous time with the stylist, Jenke Ahmed Tailly, mixing and matching the outfits. I mention the outrageous white quilted short shorts. She bursts out laughing. “I didn’t think I could get into that outfit, till I started to ping.” Then there’s the photo of her in shades, jeans and headscarf. “We thought, oh my God! This is major, this look.” And you look so fantastically miserable, I say. “Right!” she says with delight. “Right!”


Old prickly me is finding better things in herself. Love yourself more and you can love others more


Is there a secret to being stylish? “You either have it or you don’t, I’m sorry to say. Everybody can look good and get clothes that are working. But it’s like the old ‘It factor’, when the moguls were choosing women to be stars and had them all lined up in their little bikinis, all dressed the same, and there’d just be one that had it. I don’t know what it is. Sometimes I’ve still got it.”


There is one thing I’m still curious about – was the rumour about a menage a trois with Bryan Southcombe and Randall Laurence in the 60s really a misunderstanding? “Well, I did have two boyfriends, which was racy at the time,” she says now. Why has she denied it in the past? “You still had parents who were quite conventional and you needed to protect them, and I didn’t want all the people in the golf club thinking…” She giggles. “You have to keep up appearances, don’t you?” How did she choose in the end – could she just as easily have married Randall? “Who knows what life has to offer you? But sometimes choices have to be made and I chose Bryan because I got pregnant. And you will say, how did you know it was his? I won’t go any further. But I chose Bryan, and Bryan is Barnaby’s father.”


‘I did have two boyfriends, which was racy at the time’: with soon-to-be-husband Bryan Southcombe (on right) and Randall Laurence, 1971. Photograph: Sorci/Camera Press


She pauses. “We were all very young. It was all chop and change. Quite a lot of things were experimental, I suppose. How to live a life! I don’t know whether I’ve got it now, but never mind – I had it!” Randall went his own way after she married Southcombe, and they lost touch. Southcombe died in 2007.


I’m thinking about the hurt she said she experienced as a child, and how she felt she no longer had the right to be happy after Sarah died. Yesterday she had said that work gets harder the older she gets; but does life get better in other ways? “Yeah, it does, actually.” How? “You can see I’ve done quite a lot of work to get somewhere in a more or less OK state. There’s more meaning to things, there’s something more loving. Perhaps old prickly me is finally finding a few better things in herself. And once you love yourself a bit more, you can love others more. So it all works together.”


And with that she signs off. “I did this because I’ve always loved the Guardian. So there we are. Bye bye. God bless.”

Charlotte Rampling

Tessa Charlotte Rampling OBE (born 5 February 1946) is an English actress, model, and singer, known for her work in European arthouse films in English, French, and Italian. An icon of the Swinging Sixties, she began her career as a model and later became a fashion icon and muse.


She was cast in the role of Meredith in the 1966 film Georgy Girl, which starred Lynn Redgrave. She soon began making French and Italian arthouse films, notably Luchino Visconti's The Damned (1969) and Liliana Cavani's The Night Porter (1974). She went on to star in Zardoz (1974), Farewell, My Lovely (1975), Woody Allen's Stardust Memories (1980), opposite Paul Newman in The Verdict (1982), Long Live Life (1984), Max, Mon Amour (1986), Angel Heart (1987), and The Wings of the Dove (1997). In 2002 she released an album of recordings in the style of cabaret, titled As A Woman.


In the 2000s, she became the muse of French director François Ozon, appearing in his films Under the Sand (2000), Swimming Pool (2003), and Angel (2007). On television, she is known for her role as Evelyn Vogel in Dexter (2013). In 2012 she was nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award and a Screen Actors Guild Award, both for her performance in the miniseries Restless. Other television roles include work in Broadchurch and London Spy, for the latter of which she was nominated for a Golden Globe Award. For her performance in the 2015 film 45 Years, she won the Berlin Film Festival Award for Best Actress, the European Film Award for Best Actress, and was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress. In 2017, she won the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at the 74th Venice International Film Festival for Hannah.


A four-time César Award nominee, she received an Honorary César in 2001 and France's Legion of Honour in 2002. She was made an OBE in 2000 for her services to the arts, and received the 2015 Lifetime Achievement Award from the European Film Awards. In 2015, she released her autobiography, which she wrote in French, titled Qui Je Suis, or Who I Am. She later worked on an English translation, which was published in March 2017.


Rampling was born in 1946 in Sturmer, Essex, the daughter of Isabel Anne (née Gurteen; 1918–2001), a painter, and Godfrey Rampling (1909–2009), an Olympic gold medallist and British Army officer. She spent most of her childhood in Gibraltar, France and Spain, before she returned to the UK in 1964.


She attended Académie Jeanne d'Arc in Versailles and St Hilda's School, a boarding school in Bushey, Hertfordshire, England. She had one sister, Sarah, who died by suicide in 1966, aged 23. She and Sarah had had a close relationship, and they had performed in a cabaret act together during their teenage years.


Rampling made her stage debut at the age of 14, singing French chansons with her sister at Bernays Institute in Stanmore. She began her career as a model and first appeared in a Cadbury advertisement. She was working as a secretary when she was noticed by a casting agent in the same building. Her first screen appearance, which was uncredited, was as a water skier in Richard Lester's film The Knack ...and How to Get It. She also appeared as an extra in Lester's next directorial outing, the Beatles film A Hard Day's Night (1964). In 1965, she was cast in the role of Meredith in the film Georgy Girl and was given a role by John Boulting in the comedy Rotten to the Core. In 1967, she starred opposite Yul Brynner in the adventure film The Long Duel. She also appeared alongside Franco Nero in the Italian film Sardinia Kidnapped (Sequestro di persona) (1968), directed by Gianfranco Mingozzi.


On television, Rampling played the gunfighter Hana Wilde in "The Superlative Seven," a 1967 episode of The Avengers. In 1969, she starred opposite Sam Waterston in the romance-drama Three, and in 1972, she starred opposite Robert Blake in the drama Corky and portrayed Anne Boleyn in the costume drama Henry VIII and His Six Wives. After this, her acting career blossomed in both English and French cinema.


Despite an early flurry of success, she told The Independent: "We weren't happy. It was a nightmare, breaking the rules and all that. Everyone seemed to be having fun, but they were taking so many drugs they wouldn't know it anyway."


Rampling has performed controversial roles. In 1969, in Luchino Visconti's The Damned (La Caduta degli dei), she played a young wife sent to a Nazi concentration camp. Critics praised her performance, and it cast her in a whole new image: mysterious, sensitive, and ultimately tragic. "The Look," as her co-star Dirk Bogarde called it, became her trademark.


1970–Early 1980s: adult roles, Hollywood and Italian cinema

She appeared nude in the cult classic Vanishing Point, in a scene deleted from the U.S. theatrical release (included in the U.K. release). Lead actor Barry Newman remarked that the scene was of aid in the allegorical lilt of the film.


In 1974's The Night Porter, in which she again appears alongside Dirk Bogarde, she plays a former concentration camp inmate who, after World War II, reunites with a former camp guard (Bogarde) with whom she had had an ambiguous, sadomasochistic relationship. Their relationship resumes, and she becomes his mistress and victim once again. In Max mon amour, she played a woman who falls in love with a chimpanzee. In 1974, she posed nude for Playboy photographs by Helmut Newton. In 1976 she co-presented for Best Art Direction-Set Decoration Award with Anthony Hopkins at the 48th Academy Awards.


In 1974, Rampling starred in John Boorman's science-fiction film Zardoz opposite Sean Connery. She also starred with Peter O'Toole in Foxtrot (1976) and with Richard Harris in Orca (1977). She gained recognition from American audiences in a remake of Raymond Chandler's detective story Farewell, My Lovely (1975) and later with Woody Allen's Stardust Memories (1980), and in The Verdict (1982), an acclaimed drama directed by Sidney Lumet that starred Paul Newman.


The middle 1980s and the 1990s

Rampling starred in Claude Lelouch's 1984 film Viva la vie (Long Live Life), before going on to star in the cult-film Max, Mon Amour (1986), and appear in the thriller Angel Heart (1987). For a decade she withdrew from the public eye due to depression. In the late 1990s, she appeared in The Wings of the Dove (1997), played Miss Havisham in a BBC television adaptation of Great Expectations (1998), and starred in the film adaptation of Anton Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard (1999), directed by Michael Cacoyannis. In 1997, she was a jury member at the 54th Venice International Film Festival.


The 2000s

Rampling credits François Ozon with drawing her back to film in the 2000s, a period when she came to terms with the death of her elder sister Sarah who, after giving birth prematurely in 1966, died by suicide at 23. "I thought that after such a long time of not letting her be with me," she told The Guardian, "I would like to bring her back into my life."The character she played in Ozon's Swimming Pool (2003), Sarah Morton, was named in her sister's honour.


For most of Rampling's life, she would say only that her sister had died of a brain haemorrhage; when she and her father learned of Sarah’s death, they agreed they would never let her mother know the truth. They kept their secret until Rampling's mother died in 2001.


Rampling appeared in Tony Scott's Spy Game (2001), and she earned César Award nominations for Under the Sand (2000), Swimming Pool (2003), and Lemming (2005). At 59, she appeared in Laurent Cantet's Heading South (Vers le Sud), a 2005 film about sexual tourism. She appeared as Ellen, a professor of French literature, who holidays in 1970s Haiti to get the sexual attention she does not get at home.


On her choice of roles, Rampling said, "I generally don't make films to entertain people. I choose the parts that challenge me to break through my own barriers. A need to devour, punish, humiliate or surrender seems to be a primal part of human nature, and it's certainly a big part of sex. To discover what normal means, you have to surf a tide of weirdness."


The actress has continued to work in sexually provocative films, such as Basic Instinct 2 (2006). In 2008, she portrayed Countess Spencer, the mother of Keira Knightley's title character, in The Duchess and played the High Priestess in post-apocalyptic thriller Babylon A.D.. In 2002, she recorded an album titled Comme Une Femme, or As A Woman. It is in both French and English, and includes passages that are spoken word as well as selections which Rampling sang.[citation needed]. In February 2006, Rampling was named as the jury president at the 56th Berlin International Film Festival.


She has been seen on the covers of Vogue, Interview and Elle magazines and CRUSHfanzine. In 2009, she posed nude in front of the Mona Lisa for Juergen Teller. In 2009, Rampling appeared in Todd Solondz's Life During Wartime.



In 2010, she completed filming Cleanskin, a terrorist thriller, and played Miss Emily in the dystopian romantic fantasy Never Let Me Go. She also appeared as Helena in the dance drama StreetDance 3D and the nun Mary in The Mill and the Cross with Michael York and Rutger Hauer. In 2011, she appeared in Lars Von Trier's Melancholia. For her role in the 2012 miniseries Restless, Rampling was nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award and a Screen Actors Guild Award. In 2013, she appeared as Dr. Evelyn Vogel in the final season of Dexter. Rampling also appeared as Alice in the drama Jeune et Jolie and the elderly Adriana do Prado in Night Train to Lisbon. Other television roles include the ITV drama Broadchurch (2015) and the BBC drama London Spy (2015). In 2014, she was named the new face of NARS Cosmetics to launch their new lipstick campaign.


In 2015, Rampling starred opposite Tom Courtenay in Andrew Haigh's 45 Years. The film is about a couple preparing to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary when new information regarding the husband's missing previous lover arises. 45 Years was screened in the main competition section of the 65th Berlin International Film Festival. She won the Silver Bear for Best Actress and Tom Courtenay won the Silver Bear for Best Actor. For this role, she also won the Los Angeles Film Critics Association Award for Best Actress, the European Film Award for Best Actress, was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress, and also received nominations for the BIFA Award for Best Performance by an Actress in a British Independent Film and the Critics' Choice Movie Award for Best Actress.


In 2016, Rampling accused those boycotting that year's Academy Awards ceremony of hostility towards Caucasians. Her comments were called "offensive, outrageous and ignorant" by Chelsea Clinton, while they were defended by Clint Eastwood. Rampling later apologised for her comments and expressed regret that her statements were misinterpreted.


That same year, Rampling backed children's fairytales app, GivingTales, in aid of UNICEF together with Roger Moore, Stephen Fry, Ewan McGregor, Joan Collins, Joanna Lumley, Michael Caine, David Walliams, Paul McKenna and Michael Ball.


In 2017, Rampling co-starred as Veronica Ford with Jim Broadbent and Emily Mortimer in The Sense of an Ending, which was based on the novel by Julian Barnes. It had its world premiere at the Palm Springs International Film Festival in January 2017. Her next film was in Andrea Pallaoro's Hannah, where she portrayed the title role of the wife of a man imprisoned on uncertain charges. For her role, she was awarded the Volpi Cup for Best Actress award at the 74th Venice International Film Festival.


In 2017, Rampling starred opposite Alicia Vikander and Eva Green in Euphoria, directed by Lisa Langseth. In January 2019, she was cast as Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam in the upcoming Denis Villeneuve adaptation of Dune.


Personal life

In 1972, Rampling married New Zealand actor and publicist Bryan Southcombe and had a son, Barnaby (who became a television director), before divorcing in 1976.[citation needed] The couple was reported to have been living in a ménage à trois with a male model, Randall Laurence, and in 1974, Rampling was quoted by the syndicated columnist Earl Wilson as saying: "There are so many misunderstandings in life. I once caused a scandal by saying I lived with two men [...] I didn't mean it in a sexual sense [...] We were just like any people sharing an apartment."


In 1978, Rampling married French composer Jean-Michel Jarre and had a second son, David Jarre, who became a musician and singer. She raised her stepdaughter, Émilie Jarre, who became a fashion designer. The marriage was publicly dissolved in 1997, when Rampling learned from tabloid newspaper stories about Jarre's affairs with other women.


Rampling was engaged to Jean-Noël Tassez, a French journalist and businessman, from 1998 until his death in 2015. Rampling lives in Paris. She has also suffered from depression.

Sunday, 2 May 2021

William and Kate release new family video to mark 10th wedding anniversary // Megxit has been good for the royal couple... the other couple, that is

Megxit has been good for the royal couple... the other couple, that is

Barbara Ellen

The Cambridges are proving to be experts at self-marketing. Sorry about that, Harry


Sat 1 May 2021 18.00 BST


When will William and Kate admit that the Harry and Meghan hoo-ha has been great for them? As the dust storms continue to billow from the Oprah Winfrey interview, presumably the Sussexes are exactly where they want to be, generating big-bucks deals (Netflix/Spotify/“wellness”) from their £11m property in Montecito, Santa Barbara. However, hasn’t it also been rather good for the Cambridges? They appear to have morphed from a rather drab, stiff, prematurely middle-aged couple into a veritable beacon of royal decorum cum quasi-middle-class decency. There’s a palpable feeling that the media/public – leastways, the royalist media/public – is behind them like never before, applauding their every move. Sure, it was always so, but, post-Oprah, there’s been a tangible turbo-boosting of the Cambridges’ profile. Call it what it is: a pushback.


Cue last week’s video celebrating their 10th anniversary. Any other couple forcing others to celebrate their decade-long tru luv would have you demanding a bucket to retch into. The snarky Brit temperament being what it is, some might even ask: “What’s with all the PDA – are you guys getting a divorce?” But this was no public display of affection, it was marketing and the Cambridges are suddenly getting very good at it. Maybe even better than You Know Who.


Devoted smiles. Frolicking children in wellingtons. Marshmallows toasting on an open fire… In one way, it came across like a really weird Shirley Hughes children’s story (“Daddy is cross today because Uncle Harry has behaved badly”). In another, a John Lewis advert selling nothing, though, in truth, the Cambridges were hard-selling themselves.


And why shouldn’t they? This year has been grim. William spoke out against the serious racism claims in the Oprah interview, but the Cambridges suffered other indignities in silence (the story about Catherine making Meghan weep over bridesmaid dresses; the resurrection of “Waity Katie”). Though even at an occasion as sombre as Prince Philip’s funeral, a photo of Catherine peering over her mask had some combusting in excitement over “our future queen!”, while a brief chat with Harry sparked obsequious overdrive about the Cambridges’ innate refinement.


So, yes, it’s been rough but, ultimately, have the Cambridges had a good Megxit? The recurring theme post-Oprah has been worship of the Cambridges (“the future of the monarchy”) even beyond the usual sycophancy. Their popularity hasn’t only gone nuclear, it’s turned binary: choose a side, cheer on your favoured couple as if they were a football team. No more griping from the cheap seats about how Harry would have been a more “fun” king. For their part, the Cambridges appear to be actively colluding, offering themselves up as a fragrant, homegrown alternative to the Sussexes. Would that video have happened in normal times or could it be counted as a royal finger to Harry and Meghan?


So, perhaps Megxit did them a favour – it was the thunderclap that woke them up. Every strong brand needs a rival and the Cambridges appear to have found theirs.

The Triumph TR Story

The Triumph TR range of cars was built between 1953 and 1981 by the Triumph Motor Company in the United Kingdom. Changes from the TR2 to the TR6 were mostly evolutionary, with a change from a live axle to independent rear suspension in 1965 and a change from a four-cylinder engine to a six-cylinder engine in 1967. An all-new TR7, with a unit body, an overhead camshaft four-cylinder engine, and a live rear axle, was introduced in late 1974. The TR8, a development of the TR7 with a Rover V8 engine, was introduced in 1979 and was sold alongside the TR7 until TR production ended.

The Triumph TR-X, also known as the "Bullet", was the first Triumph car to use the TR designation. It was first shown to the public at the Paris Auto Show in late 1950. Envisioned as a personal luxury car, it had envelope styling with aluminium body panels, spats over the rear wheels, electro-hydraulically operated seats, windows, and top, onboard hydraulic jacks, electrically-operated hidden headlights, and a power radio aerial. The TR-X used the Standard Vanguard's frame and engine, the Triumph Renown's suspension, Laycock de Normanville electrically operated overdrive, and a 94 inch wheelbase. The top speed was estimated as 90 mph (140 km/h)


The TR-X was discontinued after three prototypes had been built. Some of the electro-hydraulic systems broke down during a demonstration of a TR-X to Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon. Standard could not develop and manufacture a car that complicated and still sell it at a profit. The car would also not have been competitive against the Jaguar XK120. Fisher and Ludlow and Mulliners both refused to build bodies for the TR-X, and negotiations with Italian firms Carrozzeria Touring[3][9] and Pininfarina also failed. Material shortages caused by the Korean War ended attempts to manufacture the TR-X. Two of the prototypes were sold; it was reported in 2011 that these still existed.

Sir John Black, chairman of Standard-Triumph, was determined to have a sports car to compete with Morgan, which he had earlier tried to buy. Black ordered the design of a sports car using existing chassis, suspension, and engine, and inexpensive bodywork. Other design objectives were a price of approximately £500 and a top speed of at least 90 mph.


The resulting car, the Triumph 20TS, was shown in October 1952 at the London Motor Show.

Public reception was mixed; the front styling and the potential for speed were praised, the cramped interior, stubby rear end, and lack of boot space were not. BRM test driver Ken Richardson was invited to drive the car; his low opinion of the car's handling and driveability resulted in him being hired to the development team for its replacement.


The redesign and development of the 20TS led to a longer, roomier car with a larger boot, built on an all-new frame with revised suspension and brakes and an uprated engine. The resulting Triumph TR2 was shown in March 1953 at the Geneva Motor Show. The TR2 would form the basis of the evolution of the TR line up to the TR6.


The TR3, introduced in 1955, had a front grille and a more powerful engine. In October 1956, the front brakes of the TR3 were changed from 10 in drums to 11 in discs. The TR3 was restyled in 1957 and was available with a larger 2.2 litre; engine; the restyled car was unofficially known as the TR3A. A further development, with the larger engine as standard and with a fully synchromesh gearbox, was made available in 1962, the final year of TR3 production. This last version of the TR3 was unofficially known as the TR3B.

Introduced in 1961, the TR4 had a completely new body designed by Giovanni Michelotti.

The TR4 was upgraded to the TR4A in 1965 with the addition of independent rear suspension.


In 1967, the TR line was updated with servo-assisted brakes and a 2.5 L version of the straight-six engine that had been used in the Triumph 2000. Two different models were made: the TR250 with two Stromberg carburettors for the US market, and the TR5 with Lucas fuel injection for the rest of the world.


Both the TR250 and the TR5 were replaced by the TR6 in 1968, with the US version continuing with carburettors. The main difference between the TR6 and the TR5 it replaced was its styling. The front and rear ends of the car had been restyled by German coachbuilder Karmann, giving the car a more contemporary appearance. An anti-roll bar was added to the front suspension as well.

Wednesday, 28 April 2021

The Hidden History of Bandanas

A bandana or bandanna (from Sanskrit बन्धन or bandhana, "a bond") is a type of large, usually colourful kerchief, originating from the Indian subcontinent, often worn on the head or around the neck of a person. It is considered to be a hat by some. Bandanas are frequently printed in a paisley pattern and are most often used to hold hair back, either as a fashionable head accessory, or for practical purposes. It is also used to tie around the neck to prevent sunburn, and around the mouth and nose to protect from dust inhalation or to hide the identity of its wearer.


Bandanas originated in India as bright coloured handkerchiefs of silk and cotton with spots in white on coloured grounds, chiefly red and blue Bandhani. The silk styles were made of the finest quality yarns, and were popular. Bandana prints for clothing were first produced in Glasgow from cotton yarns, and are now made in many qualities. The term, at present, generally means a fabric in printed styles, whether silk, silk and cotton, or all cotton.


The word bandana stems from the Hindi words 'bāndhnū,' or "tie-dyeing," and 'bāndhnā,' "to tie." These stem from Sanskrit roots 'badhnāti,' "he ties," and Sanskrit 'bandhana' (बन्धन), "a bond."[4] In the 18th and 19th centuries bandanas were frequently known as bandannoes.


The Global History of the Bandana


How an Indian export became part of the fabric of American life


By Laura Hilgers




Long before American cowboys sported bandanas, the European snuff user of the 18th century suffered from an embarrassing problem: Blowing his nose into a white or solid-colored handkerchief left behind dark tobacco stains. He found a stylish solution in India, where textile makers employed a millennium-old tie-dyeing technique called bandhani to create colorful silk and cotton kerchiefs covered in lively patterns. After the Dutch and English East India companies imported these kerchiefs to England, snuff-takers embraced them to make their habit more discreet, and the name was anglicized to “bandana.”


By the early 19th century, Europe had started producing its own bandanas, most notably in Mulhouse, France, where dye producers developed a version of Turkey red, the color most commonly associated with bandanas today. The original dye was made of sheep dung, madder root and olive oil, and applied to fabric through a process so complicated it inspired “all sorts of industrial espionage,” says Susan Brown, associate curator of textiles at the Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum. The familiar paisley pattern imitated Kashmir shawls.


In colonial America, bandanas were sometimes printed with maps, as guides for travel. They also made a splash during the Revolutionary War. One bandana from the period featured a likeness of George Washington astride a horse, encircled by a series of cannons and the words, “George Washington, Esq., Foundator and Protector of America’s Liberty and Independency.” Historians suspect that Martha Washington commissioned this cotton bandana, likely made in 1775 or 1776 by Philadelphia textile manufacturer John Hewson.


Bandanas have appeared frequently in American politics ever since. Theodore Roosevelt’s 1912 bandana included the words and music for his boisterous campaign song, “We Want Teddy.” The bandana for Adlai Stevenson’s 1956 presidential campaign featured a smiling photo of the candidate and exhorted voters to go “All the Way with Adlai.”


Still beloved by cowboys and bandits—including a bank robber in Miami Lakes, Florida, this January—bandanas today are used as a handkerchief, neck covering, head scarf or, in Covid-19 times, face mask. “They were largely meant for hard use,” says Madelyn Shaw, a curator at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History’s division of cultural and community life. Despite their all-American status, the best-selling bandanas during the pandemic aren’t red, white or blue. They’re black.


The History of the Bandana


UPDATED: MAY 9, 2018  | 




You see them in back pockets, around foreheads, on necks and even wiping noses. The bandana is one of the most versatile pieces of clothing to have entered the wardrobe of modern western civilization. There are an infinite number of ways to use that light square of roughly 20 by 20 inch cloth, but where did the bandana as we know it today originate?


From ancient South Asian roots to an early American rebrand, we’re going deep on the classic bandana.


Reminiscent in shape, size and function of the kerchief, which has been in use since ancient Roman and Greek times, the bandana is defined as a printed, square-shaped piece of plain-woven cotton, called cambric (although it could be made of silk). This separates the bandana from its forerunner, which was traditionally made from linen and had less emphasis on prints and colors as opposed to name embroidery and the like.


The bandana has served an important function for generations, worn by the likes of sailors, seafarers, farmers, cowboys, bikers and miners, and its use even extends to the LGBT community, gang members and general rebel culture. And the two-tone paisley-printed cotton cambric cloth has come a long way from the traditional resist dye techniques of Turkey and India, at times representing political campaigns and patriotism, at others, aiding in the promotion of popular culture and other twentieth century advertising.


The word itself is suspected to come from the sanskrit word ‘badhnati’ which means binds or to tie. Through colonization and trade, the name found its way into the English dictionary around the mid-eighteenth century. Badhnati was later anglicized into ‘bandannoe’ via Portuguese and eventually it came to be the bandana we know today.


From Persia to Paisley


You might be surprised that the famous paisley pattern that most of us associate with printed bandanas doesn’t actually come from Paisley, Scotland, but rather the region of Kashmir (once part of the Persian empire).


Paisley is traditionally known as a distinctive, intricate pattern of curved feather-shaped figures, originally based on an Indian pinecone design. Having read a vast amount of speculations in the origins of the paisley, or ‘boteh’ as they call it in Persian, this might not be an entirely accurate description of the pattern.


Boteh has several meanings in Persian: bush, shrub, a thicket, bramble, herb. Some would even take it to mean a palm leaf, cluster of leaves (perhaps as a repeated pattern) and flower bud. For those looking for a jumping point, the boteh design dates back to over two thousand years ago and, given, Kashmir’s location, it also reached India, where they referred to it as ‘buta’.


Woven cashmere with buta prints were imported to Europe via the Dutch East India company in the eighteenth century, and quickly grew popular. Used as women’s shawls, these printed pieces symbolized great status, but were also quite expensive and eventually demand outgrew supply. Prices increased and thus many European (particularly English and Scottish) companies began to produce their own shawls in these styles.


In Western culture, this lopsided teardrop had many different associations depending on the country. In France, they called it ‘tadpoles’; in Wales they were ‘Welsh pears’; and in America, which was probably the most accurate, they referred to them as ‘Persian pickles’. But it was still the name ‘paisley’ that ended up sticking with the masses as the design spread across the globe.


The invention of the Jacquard loom would shutter many of the Scottish mills weaving Paisley style fabrics, but their dyeing dexterity and chemistry know-how would keep the Scots in the textile game.


Popularization of the Bandana

A seminal happening in the popularization of the bandana came during the American Revolution. Martha Washington, the wife of Continental Army general George Washington, had a souvenir bandana made featuring the likeness of the Commander-in-Chief.


The idea came to her when she met a printmaker by the name of John Hewson. Hewson was a talented artist and, more importantly, not afraid to defy the British ban on textile printing at the time. Hewson designed a bandana of her husband on horseback, decorated with cannons, flags and a ring of promotional text, highlighting Washington’s dedication to liberty and American independence.


Considered the first-ever bandana—at least as we know them today—it would go on to inspire political campaigns for centuries. In the 1950s, this type of political promotion was becoming increasingly popular, as politicians started to print their campaign slogans on similar bandanas for their supporters, peaking with Dwight Eisenhower’s 1952 Win with Ike for President.




Later, the bandana would come to affect advertising and marketing in the fast-changing pop culture landscape that came on the heels of the Industrial Revolution.


As variety, experimentation, and imagination became intrinsic elements in popular entertainment it bled over into new styles of advertising. Many made bandanas to show their affinity for sports teams, musicians or movie stars. Anything from the Yankees to Elvis to promotion of Disney characters, could be found on bandanas, and Kellogg’s cleverly used bandanas as collector’s pieces in order to sell more boxes of cereal. A new marketing strategy was born, and you could tie it around your head.


Bandanas in Workwear

After becoming an advertising medium, the bandana became an even more important symbol in the fight for worker’s rights. The West Virginia Coal Miners March of 1921 was one of the largest armed uprisings in labor history and, at the march, over ten thousand United Mine Workers wore red bandanas to demand unions, an event many equate to the popularization of the derogatory term “redneck.”


It was a battle between scarcely armed miners and armed lawmen of Logan County, but President Coolidge called in federal troops to support the strikebreakers. With more than a hundred casualties—mainly from the ranks of the coal miners—and almost a thousand arrests, management came out on top, but the labor movement would spark a change that eventually led to better conditions for union workers all over the country.


The bandana really came into its own during World War II, as women on the home front entered American factories and used them to tie their long hair back. Due to this, and partly due to John Wayne Westerns, the bandana became an iconic accessory that’s lasted to this day (even weathering the storm of some unfortunate applications, at times getting used as outlaw face protection and as a key piece in the vagrant’s bindle).


In the 70s, the bandana—and its different colors—was used in an entirely different fashion. Implemented by the gay community, the handkerchief code became an easy way to identify not only other gay men but also tell sexual preferences and/or fetishes from potential partners. Different colors and pockets were a quick way to communicate in plain sight with a community that was still largely forced underground.


However, this movement is far different from the affiliation color code implemented by prominent gangs of the 80s, such as the Bloods and Crips, who would show their affiliation by wearing a red or blue bandana, respectively.


Produced for centuries in the east, the Turkey red-dyeing process would later became synonymous with printed cottons in Scotland, and thus the original, mainstream bandana. Brought to Scotland in 1785 by a French entrepreneur, it was then adopted by manufacturers in the Vale of Leven, Dunbartonshire.


It was a both complex and laborious process, involving madder root and alizarin to fix the dye to the cloth, as well as sheep’s dung, bullock’s blood and urine. This admittedly odd combination produced a highly valued color, one that wouldn’t fade with sunlight and washing–aka colorfast. The phenomenon of color fastness was a new and valued concept, but the use of the term wasn’t actually introduced until sometime around 1916.


Due to competition from Europe—production began in Manchester, the Germans developed synthetic dyes and Asian manufacturing scaled their volume — the three biggest companies, William Stirling and Sons, John Orr Ewing and Co. and Archibald Orr Ewing, amalgamated and formed United Turkey Red Co. in 1898. It was a large and successful operation that would go on to exist for almost two hundred years, closing their last factory in 1961.


According to Kiro Hirata—designer of Japanese brand Kapital and creator and curator of the Elephant Brand Bandana Museum, in Kojima, Okayama—the first Turkey red bandana dates back to around the 1850s. He’s opened this museum to share his interest in bandanas and the intriguing history attached to it. With over 250 bandanas on display, he’s managed to document the storied journey of an iconic, enduring design.


Another famous bandana brand featured at the museum, is the NYC-based Davis and Catterall, which existed from the 1920s to the 1970s. Also known as The Elephant Brand by collectors, because they implemented little elephants on their bandanas, Elephant Brand is widely recognized as the original Americana bandana. Because of this, many of these are sought-after collectors pieces, with price tags depending on age and design, with advertising variations being the most collectible.


Famous for their little elephant logo, which was typically printed next to an inscription saying: “fast color, 100% cotton,” the pictured elephant has gone through a few variations.


During the 50s, the trunk of the elephant, which had originally been facing down (dubbed as “trunk down”), was flipped, so it was turning up (“trunk up”), in order for Elephant to distinguish themselves from the competition. In 1986 a “classic” red/black/white (amongst other colors) bandana was entered into the Cooper Hewitt [Design] Museum, New York, donated by Penelope McClain, also indicating the historical significance of the bandana.


And the bandana market has continued to expand to this day, even if it hasn’t necessarily flourished. The little square cloth maintains its versatility as a close-at-hand accessory—both as a headband, necktie or even as a cloth to wipe off your phone screen. But who knew that this simple design would’ve had such a massive impact on so many different cultures.