There’s no doubt that the advent of feminism is a great thing. But did it come just that little bit too late for some? Diana Melly tells us about her experiences growing up in a 1950s London that was sorely lacking in fair treatment for women - and about the resounding consequences of that lack.
At eleven I was very pretty and by thirteen attractive to men. I thought of my looks as being an advantage in life. Looking back I can see that, advantage or not, my looks have defined the life I've had.
I was born in 1937, and feminism wasn't really around while I was growing up. The women that my friends and I admired all had what we called SA (sex appeal). We pretended that you could have SA without being good-looking, that personality was more important, but we all knew that was rubbish.
Having passed the 11 plus, I went to the local grammar school. Two years later when I was 14, my parents got divorced and I was sent to live with a strict aunt. Lipstick, ankle strap hoes and off the shoulder tops were no longer allowed.
I quickly realised I had two options: I could go on living with my aunt and study for my school certificate or go and join my mother in London and perhaps even go on the stage. The second option seemed vastly more exciting. Getting a job on the stage proved difficult so I got a job in a haberdasher's in Oxford Street instead. We also sold sweaters. Once a week one of us shop girls would be chosen to stand on a table in a private room and model a sweater while our boss ran his hand up our leg. It never occurred to us that we could object, it was just what a lot of men were like and in those days could get away with.
Once a week one of us shop girls would be chosen to stand on a table in a private room and model a sweater while our boss ran his hand up our leg.
My son Tom is not like that and when I tell my twenty-nine year old granddaughter the things women put up with before we learnt we didn't have to, she is both appalled and fascinated.
I was still hoping for something more glamorous and made a point of buying The Stage. When I saw an advert calling for attractive young girls required as showgirls-cum-hostesses for superior night club in Soho, I applied and got the job. I would earn five pounds a week, twice what I was getting in the shop, and could supplement my pay with tips if I was booked to sit with a customer. I think I was often a disappointment to the clients. I wouldn't go to bed with them and at 15 years old I had nothing of interest to say. Although I had loved reading as a child, I now only read Woman's Own and School Friend.
One night a man came to the club who seemed different from the usual middle-aged businessman. He was young - only 10 years older than me - and he booked me several nights running. Mr Murray, the club owner, didn't like it, "He's not doing your sales any good Diana; he never buys you a flower or even any cigarettes. I don't think you should see him any more. I'm going to ban him anyway because his last cheque bounced."
Naturally, when six weeks later Michael asked me to marry him, I said yes. As I was only sixteen, I had to get my parents' permission. My mother never refused me anything so we forged my father's signature on the letter of consent.
What followed was two years of debt and a baby. Not all pretty women of my generation have taken the path that I did. They went to university, had interesting jobs and had babies that they looked after. I didn't look after mine. He died when he was twenty-five from a heroin overdose. In the end what I regret is not the lack of the degree, it's the lack of care that my son had, who, if he had lived, would now be sixty.
Diana's new book Strictly Ballroom is published by Short Books and is available from Amazon.
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