Country life
Bitter and twisted
Leanda de Lisle
Some people like to claim that feminism has killed off gentlemen, but I see no evi- dence for this. On the contrary, it has done much to improve the manners of the kind of man who has always treated women with contempt. Like all bullies, they are cow- ards. In the past, they could be as rude as they liked to a young woman, confident in the knowledge that the poor creature would probably only simper back. Today they would be likely to get their heads bit- ten off. Does this mean that feminism has killed off young ladies? Well, only if you believe that a woman has to be submissive to be considered good mannered. There is a distinction, after all, between being assertive and merely aggressive. Unfortu- nately, this was not something I was made aware of at school.
I'm sure it can't have been the intention of the nuns to send us out into the world with our mouths bound as tightly as a Chi- nawoman's feet, but somehow we were. I didn't complain when boys told me I would be better off at a secretarial college than Oxford university. I quietly ignored them. I didn't tell the ageing Lotharios who stroked my bottom on the dance floor to get their hands off. I just shrank away. I didn't snap at anyone who thought my appearance left something to be desired. I apologised. All the while I felt the same mixture of anger, confusion and utter help- lessness that a child feels when he's being patronised by a stupid adult. The same feelings returned when I saw the results of my back scan. The discs in my lower spine have with- ered or dribble out on to the nerves. I knew that the consultant who saw me when I was 15 could have done something to correct my back, but I thanked him when he sent me away with a pat on the head. Now it is too late. My reluctance to stand up for myself has left me virtually crippled. Or, at any rate, bitter and twisted. 'So, sue,' said my rheurnatologist, by way of a little joke. I wish I could. Perhaps then I wouldn't feel so ashamed of myself. On the drive home I remembered all the times I had put up and shut up. What cowardice. What weakness. Yet, the irony is that I'm an absolute harri- dan compared to many of my peers.
In Saturday's Daily Telegraph, the editor of this magazine claimed that he could think of only a handful of people, living or dead, who could take abuse but never dish it out. I must force him to come to stay with us one weekend. He will meet plenty such people around here. It wasn't until I moved to the country that I met women in my own social circle who were being beaten up by their husbands. They confess their stories over cups of tea and beg for secrecy.
I'm sure even those who most dislike stri- dent women would want battered wives to bite back, but, if you've brought up a lap dog, you can't expect it to behave like a rottweiller. Besides, country women are often in a weaker position than their city sisters. Social attitudes are more conserva- tive, it is harder for them to find work and they frequently don't have the same rights to their house. A tenant farmer's wife, for example, is unlikely to have her name on any lease. So, if she leaves her husband, she loses her home.
Battered wives are an extreme case, of course, but countrywomen are undoubtedly more mealy-mouthed than their middle- class equivalents elsewhere. Their relatively low status has been underscored since birth by the prevalence of male primogeniture and the absence of Julie Burchill. So it's not surprising that they don't feel they have the right to answer back. Still, there are some shining examples for us to follow. My grandmother was so rude to people they refused to plant her in the village cemetery. Perhaps, as I get older, I shall become more like her. Judging by the way I'm feel- ing today, be one little old lady whose bad back is matched only by her bad tem- per.
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