“Good Morning Mrs Wylie.”
“Good Morning Mrs Travers (our daily woman what does, but not a lot), no need to curtsey, we are not royal, but I appreciate the gesture. It is however, January 1959 and not 1859. We must look forward and not backwards and I sense a new order of things as we approach the 1960s.”
“Are you quite all right Madame? It is not like you to be so democratic at this time of the morning.”
“I am trying to be a modern woman Mrs Travers, after all we will have to be modern when we become members of the European Economic Community. Provided of course General De Gaulle does not scupper things. I have never trusted that man.”
“I have never trusted any man Madame; they are just for combing as far as I can see and I can see most of them far enough.”
“Talking of which is there any news of Mr Travers, who used to be one of Busty Betty’s best customers before the police raid and his escape to China on a slow boat, prior to returning by way of the East Indies, where he purchased you a stuffed lizard, subsequently made into a table lamp to sit on your radiogram, obtained unwisely on the ‘never never’?”
“Thanks for reminding me Madam. I shall make a payment on that when I go up to MacFisheries later for the wherewithal for your kedgeree for tomorrows ladies’ luncheon in aid of Fallen Women. In answer to your question, no. Apart from the fact that I am still not allowing him home and as far as I am concerned he can stay in the Seaman’s Mission forever, even if he has got religion.”
“What religion has he got?”
“The one wi’ the lecture on the evils of drink and the free lunch. Apparently salvation is through sausage and mash.”
“You shouldn’t mock Mrs Travers. There are many roads you know, and none of us are perfect.”
“Agreed Mrs Wylie, but just so long as the road does nae mean the useless big tumshie takes a detour past ma hoose. Now can I put this tray doon?”
“Of course, my apologies Mrs T. Is there hot milk?”
“Aye coffee, hot milk and a nice freshly baked fruit scone wi’ butter and jam.”
“Ooh delicious on such a cold morning. Did you hear that wind last night? It was blowing ‘a hoolie’ as they say in the Highlands; homemade bramble too. By the way, that reminds me. I tried some of the new batch of Seville marmalade this morning for breakfast – absolutely delicious. It was like shreds of gold, your best batch to date Mrs T; congratulations. I couldn’t bear it if we had shop bought. That really would be the beginning of the end of the world as we know it.”
“But I thought Ma’am you were becoming a modern woman?”
“Not in matters of marmalade and preserves Mrs T. There is a thin line between us and the jungle and for me that line will be crossed when my pantry is full of shop bought preserves.”
“Madame you are so right and I am sure this household is nothing if not a bulwark against barbarous living. Shreds of gold you say? I take that as a compliment. Now let me pour your coffee – half and half as usual?
“Thank you and talking of the evils of drink, I couldn’t help but notice that we seem to be going through rather a lot of the sloe gin. Have you anything to say which might clarify the situation?”
“Evaporation.”
“Evaporation?”
“Aye Evaporation.”
“Funny, it seems to be evaporating at the same time as the tonic water and alongside the disappearing lemons from the fruit bowl.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Oh I find it quite believable, especially given the corroborating evidence of you and Grace (the new lady from the West Indies who does the heavy work which used to be done by the dastardly Hilda), being somewhat unfit for work the other day. I know a packet soup when I see one.”
“Guilty as charged Madame, but in my defence can I plead excruciating circumstances.”
“Being what?”
“Oh you mean apart from me being a poor dissertated woman living up a close in Maryhill with a shared toilet, I mean lavatory, unable to afford the new Scotissue (which understands a woman’s special needs) or New Zealand butter. Not to mention having a socially deviant son and a daughter-in-law with over back combed hair and a penchant for men in insurance. Forgive me Madame I was only driven to seek an unwise mid morning refreshment when I read of the news that General De Gaulle might not allow Britain into the E.E.C. and we would be forever on the periphery of the modern world, not to mention the wider use of garlic and pasta dishes. Grace had nothing to do with it. I led her astray in a moment of deep concern and distress for our country.”
“Very well Mrs T, I forgive you. Your honesty does you credit and so does your worry for our nation’s future. A future without pasta dishes is too awful to contemplate and wait until you taste moussaka made with aubergines.”
“Sounds all Greek to me Ma’am but thank you. It will not happen again, and now I have recovered from a moment of unsettling weeping and wailing brought on no doubt by the change of life , would you like some more coffee.”
“Yes this is getting cold and I must say you are unlucky. You seem to be experiencing the longest change in history. It seems as if it has been going on ever since I first knew you.”
“The doctor says I defy medical expectations and he wants to write me up in “The Lancelot”. Now I will just get some more hot milk and here is the post and that copy of Woman you lent me. Not really my thing, what with me not living in an executive semi on a new estate with a new three piece suite and Scandinavian room divider, but I did enjoy the serial Man of Secrets.”
“Well it is not really my sort of thing either being a Vogue lady as you know. I did glance through it at the hairdresser’s and I thought it would be of interest to you, what with its adverts for margarine etc.. I had not quite finished reading Man of Secrets myself and I think as a purveyor of furnishings to the modern home it is important that I have a grasp of what interests the modern woman in her thirties and forties, which is the audience of this best selling magazine.”
“More coffee and hot milk”
“Thank you Mrs T, that should keep me warm while I research a target audience as we women of business say. What are you going to do now?”
“ I am going to take wee Gayle her elevenses to the playroom and then I am going to soak the labels off some empty shop bought marmalade jars which Grace got from a neighbour who has no shame and does not make her own Seville orange preserve. I will use them for the last batch currently on the stove. Now if that is all?”
Now what is the Modern Woman up to?
Well it seems she is drinking Guinness!
Whatever next? I never imagined in a month of Sundays that I would see a photograph of a woman who, quite frankly looks like a lady, in a pleated skirt and rather nice top handling a bottle of beer! Apparently this woman always likes to have Guinness in the home and always orders it for the weekend as she finds it goes well with food and it makes a “wonderful light lunch with a bit of bread and cheese.” Not only that but apparently many modern women regard Guinness as a pick-me-up. Whatever next? Women in pubs, perhaps?
Once one has been picked up by a bottle of Guinness it seems there is no end of activities that are possible.
Hula-ing being one such example, but I really draw the line at the suggested ensemble for this exercise – stretch pants in checks. The only check as far as I am concerned is Dior’s.
I am not sure if Dior will develop an interest in some of the newer ideas around fabric and fashion but I can see that there are some exciting developments which will appeal to the young family with room dividers, three piece suits and a shelves full of Guinness.
For example in the piece called Expresso Service, there is a description of a new process for putting permanent pleats in wool. It uses a product like that used in the home perm fluid for hair. It has been developed in Australia where they are very woolly people.
The band box skirt is now a possibility for every woman and a man’s pair of worsted trousers will keep their knife edged pleats. Dry cleaning is a possibility without losing the pleats. Now what more could one ask for?
Well perhaps an amazing new fastening. This is made from nylon, which I do not normally like but might well suit those with spider plants and sputnik centre lights. It consists of tiny hooks and loops which lock together when they touch and peel apart when pulled. In New York, which is in America, it is already making an appearance on ready to wear clothes. According to Woman “Here’s to a button-less, zipper-less, snapper-less, no fastening- trouble at-all 1959 – maybe? Or maybe not. It sounds like the end of style and elegance and the height of laziness to me. Where is marvellousness in all of this? I imagine it will appeal to Jasper.
One area where I can applaud the work of Woman is the article relating to Living in Other People s Houses. There is still a shortage of housing despite the wonderful progress of Mr Macmillan’s government. Many young people live in rented rooms, shared family houses or even in one room. It is still one of our deepest desires to home-make and one which Edith Blair, the excellent columnist recognises. She has many splendid ideas which might have come from my own pen.
Thus when one is not allowed to change the decor, “why not hang up a piece of wall paper or fabric, School Map fashion, from the picture rail? To this one can add a collection of pictures grouped together. These can inexpensively be cut from old magazines, old Christmas cards, squares of felt etc..”
I would think twice myself though about featuring the illustration from this week’s Man of Secrets as the more sensitive among you might find the picture of Hilda and Arthur standing “frozen to rigidity” a little disturbing, particularly when one finally gets to meet Arthur on page 65 and discovers he is a man who runs his fingers through his hair a lot and lifts his eyebrows. I would never trust a man who paid such attention to himself.
Edith goes on to suggest that one might also consider “a felt covered board with sparkly hat pins and brooches”. Edith you are a woman after my own heart. I mean lady. Oh dear, I am confusing myself with all this modernism. Finally Edith suggests a bowl of oranges and apples on show and a few pieces of coloured glass will look good. In case you are interested homemakers, I have a number of such pieces of glass on sale at ‘Chez Nous’.
As well as the positives there are, however, many areas where I feel the modern Woman magazine is chipping away at the walls that protect us from barbarism. One might think of it as permissiveness.
There is, I note, a tendency to favour hospital stories. Need I say more? For example this week we have Nurse Paula using most unsuitable language such as “chronic male ward”, “major abdominal” and (can you believe?) “swelling” and worst of all – Hurry up nurse and help staff nurse in the clinical room with some trolleys. Mrs Henley is in labour and I am afraid she is going to have her baby very soon.
As if this is not enough there is also something of a focus on what is known as “modern toilet comfort” and “little intimate talked about problems.” They are to my mind little talked of for a good reason. In my grandmother’s day, if the words “absorbent softness” or “pliable strength” had been mentioned she would have taken to her bed for a week. The instruction ‘crumple ordinary toilet paper in one hand – and ScotTissue in the other – feel and hear the difference,’ frankly would have killed her. There are some things better left unsaid and when we did say it, we said lavatory.
Saying too much is becoming clever it seems.
Take for example Joan Regan, the singer and current star of Cinderella, who charms with her modesty – “I am only a singer” and revels in domesticity. However, she spoils it all when she says of Elvis Presley (discovered by my Cousin Lulubelle) “I take my hat off to anyone who can make something out of nothing and win a fortune just by waggling his behind!” Really! I suppose that is only to be expected when you print stories mentioning hospital trolleys and swellings.
Having said that, all is not lost – we still it seems have a place for that simply marvellous actress Anna Neagle with her advice on a planned life and recommendations for dancing, sea walks and light lunches for the modern woman. Not a clinical reference passes Miss Neagle’s lips.
“Mrs Wylie, your grace, that is Mr Wylie home from seeing a man about a dog and he wonders if you think he should get modern and purchase a Lambretta, and secondly would you like a light luncheon?”
“No, and yes. What do you suggest?”
“I was thinking about French bread and a bit of cheddar and pickles.
“Mr Wylie won’t like it, he likes a hot lunch, but it would do me. By the way Mrs Travers do we have any Guinness?
Muriel Wylie
January 1958
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