AND ANOTHER THING
Don't let it worry you, Cherie, if the media pulls your hair
PAUL JOHNSON
Ihad intended to return to the Rus- bridger affair this week, but the morals of the Guardian, dodgy though they are, will have to wait. I must deal with Cherie Blair's hair. Why so? What is the matter with it? Nothing; it is delightful hair. That is why the media will not leave it alone. On the whole, journalists have behaved well towards the Blair family since they moved into Downing Street. It is a wonderful thing to have young prime ministerial children there, and it has never happened before. The only other prime minister I can think of with children of that age while he was in office was Rosebery in 1894-5, and he and his family continued to live in his own house in Berkeley Square. The young Blairs, I can report, are happy in their new home, and the staff — there are few people more good-natured than Downing Street servants — are delighted to have them. The press, for once, is being decent: no harass- ment. But with Cherie it is a different mat- ter. They meanly went to town over the news that, during her husband's official visit to Washington, she took her own hair- dresser with her at a cost of £2,000.
Why the fuss? Margaret Thatcher always gave her hair top priority. Sure, she was prime minister and Cherie is not, but these days the wife of a national leader, especially if she is young, pretty and vivacious, is just as much on show. During the visit, Cherie had a constant succession of engagements, with photographers present at all of them, and that meant her hair had to be done four times a day. It made sense to take her own expert. She is an exceptionally hard-working, well-rewarded lady and she paid for him out of her own (after-tax) money. The alterna- tive would have been for the embassy to pro- vide a local man, paid for out of public funds. Hence the taxpayer actually benefited from Cherie's insistence on looking her best for Britain. So in future, ladies of the press, stop pulling Cherie's hair!
Women are particularly sensitive about their hair. Few have the courage of Mo Mowlam, who did not mind taking off her wig in America and showing her bald head to the cameras. Most women like to keep attention away from their hair, as so many things can go wrong. It was always thus. I have been looking through the material I collected when I wrote my book on Ancient Egypt, and observe that high-born ladies then either covered up their hair complete- ly with elaborate hats, like Queen Nefertiti, plaited it tightly into dreadlocks, or wore a wig. Wigs are an easy solution to the prob- lem, but a treacherous one. Elizabeth I, about whose personal appearance I know quite a bit, usually scorned wigs because they were hot, smelly and itchy. She had fine, red-gold hair, just like my mother's, and like mine before it went its present weird champagne colour. My mother kept her hair very long, so that it came well below her waist when down, but she plaited it elab- orately and piled it into a bun at the back of her head — then she felt safe. Queen Eliza- beth dyed her hair or used red or blond wigs, festooned with ropes of pearls for posh occasions, but she sometimes kept it au nature!, elaborately curled by her maids, using old-fashioned hot irons, and extremely nice it looked (according to the portraits: the reality may have been different).
Barbara Castle, who also has fine, red-gold hair, and who keeps it that way, bless her heart, used to complain bitterly about the problems of getting through public appear- ances on a bad hair day. So she acquired a wig she called Lucy and popped it on for strenuous outdoor appearances. Lucy let her down badly when, on 17 December 1974, Barbara had to inspect damage wrought by a fire in Fairfield. As she scrambled over twist- ed girders, followed by a pack of television cameramen and photographers, Lucy first rocked in the strong wind, then was boldly pulled off her head by a trailing piece of wire. 'I snatched Lucy back and somehow pulled her on my head again, askew — and carried on.' Her diary continues: 'Some inner grimness of will always comes to my rescue in these crises and I walked on, looking, ques- tioning and willing my entourage to believe they had imagined it. No one dared to refer to it and so, somehow, I got through the dreadful day.' That is the true spirit of Good Queen Bess!
It was a grievance to Barbara that Mar- garet Thatcher, whom she loathed, admired and envied, seemed to have no trouble with her hair. Barbara said to me, 'How does the woman manage it? She has lovely fine hair, which ought to come crashing down in ruins in the course of a day, but there is never a single strand out of place. Do you think she has sold her soul to the Devil?' Actually, Margaret, like every other woman in public life, had and has trouble with her hair from time to time. It is indeed fine, but she insists on a high-risk strategy, some- times wearing it very 'big' indeed. She is scared of winds and air currents.
Not long after she was elected leader of the Tories, but before she became prime minister, both of us were invited to address the annual Institute of Directors' gathering at the Albert Hall. The Victorian dressing- rooms at the hall are below ground level, and when you come out of them you have to climb up a flight of steps onto the back of the platform. This upward passageway acts as a kind of wind tunnel. Margaret was appalled when she realised she had to go up it, fighting against a miniature hurricane and emerging into view among 5,000 critical businessmen with her tousled hair on her shoulders, instead of perched imperiously on top of her head, so I came to the rescue. I made my back as broad as possible, and the Iron Lady crouched closely behind it as we went up the stairs like a pantomime horse, she stepping decorously into the spotlights as the wind mysteriously ceased.
Queen Victoria, from an early age, avoided the hair problem by having hers tightly pulled back into a bun. After the death of Albert she invariably covered it with a widow's cap, to make sure. I admire our present Queen for making no mysteries about her hair. It is pretty white now and she has long since ceased to dye it. She wears it set in a no-nonsense style, never changed, and says to the world, 'I am an old woman in my seventies and this is how I look. What you see is what you get.' That is characteristic of her whole approach to her appearance, which is neat and well- groomed and truth itself. I admire, too, her silent stoicism in making no complaint about the recent, dreadful portrait which cruelly ridiculed her hands. (Actually, her hands are exactly as they ought to be for a woman of her age, class and occupation.) I advise Cherie to follow the Queen's excel- lent example: take no notice and, above all, don't let it worry you.
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