I turned 17 in 1931. Can you imagine that? I didn’t have any shortage of lads whistling and winking either. Filthy so and sos. They were only after one thing, just like the lads of today. One track minds. It’s only natural though. It gets a bit less natural the older you get and the older the blokes who are chasing you get. Then you don’t know whether they are after your body or your undies. Or someone to fetch and carry for them while they ogle your body or your undies. I used to know where I was when I was a young lass. The only thing was, back in those days you had to go a lot more careful, because if you gave them what they were after you were in ruddy trouble. A girl could get a reputation, or worse. There were plenty of young lasses who ended up up the stick, and the lad who was responsible was suddenly nowhere to be seen. And people took a dim view of that kind of thing back in those days. You were a fallen woman! You could have the baby taken away. You could end up in some home for unmarried mothers, or worse, in the local mental hospital. I wasn’t having any of that. I developed a no nonsense approach to dealing with the opposite
sex, and it suited me until they lost interest, when I took to my death bed in 1995 at the age of 85. And even then I’m sure one of those male nurses was a bit over attentive whilst he was adjusting my tubes. It doesn’t really matter how old you are, there is always the chance of coming up against some filthy so and so, who should know ruddy well better. Even when you are dead and disposed of there will be some filthy beggar fiddling with the tights you left in your chest of drawers. “You can take that ruddy gormless look off your face” I would say if some lad was making eyes at me. Or if one winked I would say “What’s the matter with you? Have you got something in your eye?” I have heard that these days young lasses carry around ear splitting siren things that they can set off if a bloke starts getting a bit too fruity with them. There wasn’t anything like that in my day. I used to carry a soup spoon. I could dampen any man’s ardour with that, I used to practice with it stood in front of the mirror on my wardrobe door. “Are you gawping at me? Are you gawping at me? Then who else are you ruddy well gawping at… Are you gawping at me? Well I’m the only one here. Who the chuffing Nora do you think you’re gawping at? Eh?” I could have it whipped out of the back of my knickers and crashing into some bloke’s swollen head before he knew what was going on. BONK! And afterwards he wouldn’t know whether it was Good Friday or Easter Monday. Nobody ever took advantage of your Auntie Doris! Auntie Doris’s top hit of 1931: “Sally” by Gracie Fields. A lovely song. But I bet she would have wandered away from the alley pretty sharpish if she had just whacked some over amorous bloke down there with a well aimed soup spoon.