The Books Interview: Sheila Rowbotham

The history of the suffragettes is well documented, but there has been much less coverage of the early-20th-century feminists described in your new book, who organised around birth control, housework, labour rights and equal pay. Why is that?

Perhaps the story of the suffragettes ismore like a news report - there were some specific events, and then an end point - whereas the arguments around daily life were less crystallised. There was quite a lot of disagreement among the women I am writing about, and the discussions they had are still going on today.

Of all their causes, which was the most difficult for them to tackle?

One of their biggest struggles was to assert the needs of women as individuals, while also envisaging a society that was more co-operative and collective. I think that's a struggle for everyone who wants social change, because the individualist territory tends to be claimed by liberals and anarchists, while the socialists get the collective state territory, so you end up with a divide.

There are hundreds of utopian thinkers in the book. Whom among them do you especially admire?

There is a brilliant American, Crystal Eastman, who recognised that women needed solutions to their specific problems, but also that you couldn't just talk about women as being entirely different from men. She found a balance. She and others were campaigning for changes around sexuality and how you bring up children and retain some autonomy. It was a huge surprise to me when I first discovered them. I thought that, before the 1970s, nobody had ever thought about issues such as how to share childcare.

What can feminists today learn from those early campaigners?

They can realise that they are acting in a context. There is always a difficulty in speaking out alone, so finding other women who have thought the same way gives you an awful lot of strength, because it's then harder to be isolated and made to feel peculiar.

Forty years ago, you spearheaded the second-wave feminist movement in Britain by suggesting the first ever National Women's Liberation Conference. Do you see that wave of the movement as utopian, too?

Yes, we wanted everything to change. We were women who had had an education, but many of us came from non-educated backgrounds, so we didn't have precedents in our families for different ways of being. Men were similarly caught, so they treated us in very confused ways. We were all breaking every rule, and yet the old assumptions kept surfacing. I remember one guy telling me that my role as a woman was to be a nurturer. I said: "I don't want that role!" I don't mind nurturing when I feel like it, but I don't want to be stuck in that category.

Did you achieve all you hoped for?

Not exactly. But in the 1970s you hardly ever saw a man pushing a pram, for instance, and that's normal now, so big changes did occur.

Does it surprise you that a class analysis has largely disappeared from feminism?

I think it happened when the manufacturing industry dwindled and workers moved over to the public sector. Also, the Murdoch press has had the power to crush the slightest sniff of old-style Labourism, or feminism - Harriet Harman says very mild things and the tabloid press goes bananas. The way that the Labour Party abandoned working-class people has left a complete vacuum, and a deep feeling of hurt and anger.

You are a professor at Manchester University. Have you seen signs among young women of a renewed feminist movement?

Over the past two years there has been a growing interest, although some women are still wary.

In 1970 Jean-Luc Godard asked you to walk up and down stairs naked, reciting words of emancipation and you said no. Have you ever regretted that decision?

No - even though I didn't have incredibly pure, principled motives for refusing: it was mainly vanity. I did read the words of emancipation, and the woman who ended up on screen in my place was terribly slender and elegant.

Sheila Rowbotham's "Dreamers of a New Day: Women Who Invented the 20th Century" is published by Verso (£17.99)

This article first appeared in the 24 May 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Greece now, Britain next

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For the last time, please, bring back the plate

The slight lip around the edge is no mere bourgeois affectation; it keeps the food contained in its proper place.

The much-vaunted tech revolution is not without its casualties, as I discovered first hand last weekend. The album format, creative boredom and now my favourite skirt: all collateral damage in the vicious battle for our waning attention span.

The last met its end in a pub, when it found itself on the wrong side of a slate slab full of Sunday roast. Once gravy got involved, things turned pretty ugly; and when reinforcements arrived in the form of a red-hot jar of plum crumble, I abandoned all hope of making it out with my dignity intact and began pondering the best way of getting a dry-cleaning bill to Tim Berners-Lee.

I lay the blame for such crimes against food entirely at the feet of the internet. Serving calamari in a wooden clog, or floury baps in a flat cap, is guaranteed to make people whip out their cameraphones to give the restaurant a free plug online.

Sadly for the establishments involved, these diners are increasingly likely to be sending their artistic endeavours to We Want Plates, a campaign group dedicated to giving offenders the kind of publicity they’re probably not seeking. (Highlights from the wall of shame on the campaign’s website include a dog’s bowl of sausage, beans and chips, pork medallions in a miniature urinal, and an amuse-bouche perched on top of an animal skull – “Good luck putting those in the dishwasher”.) Such madness is enough to make you nostalgic for an era when western tableware was so uniform that it moved an astonished Japanese visitor to compose the haiku: “A European meal/Every blessed plate and dish/Is round.”

The ordinary plate has its limitations, naturally: as every Briton knows, fish and chips tastes better when eaten from greasy paper, while a bit of novelty can tickle even the jaded palate at the end of a meal. Watching Jesse Dunford Wood create dessert on the tabletop at his restaurant Parlour is definitely the most fun I’ve ever had with an arctic roll (there’s a great video on YouTube, complete with Pulp Fiction soundtrack).

Yet the humble plate endures by simple dint of sheer practicality. The slight lip around the edge is no mere bourgeois affectation; it keeps the food contained in its proper place, rather than slipping on to the tablecloth, while the flat centre is an ideal surface for cutting – as anyone who has ever tackled sausages and mash in an old army mess tin (“perfect for authentic food presentation”, according to one manufacturer) will attest.

Given these facts, I hope Tom Aikens has invested in good napkins for his latest venture, Pots Pans and Boards in Dubai. According to a local newspaper, “Aikens’s Dubai concept is all in the name”: in other words, everything on the menu will be presented on a pot, pan or board. So the youngest British chef ever to be awarded two Michelin stars is now serving up salade niçoise in an enamel pie dish rightly intended for steak and kidney.

Truly, these are the last days of Rome – except that those civilised Romans would never have dreamed of eating oysters from a rock, or putting peas in an old flowerpot. Indeed, the ancient concept of the stale bread trencher – to be given to the poor, or thrown to the dogs after use – seems positively sophisticated in comparison, although I can’t help seeing the widespread adoption of the modern plate in the 17th century as a great leap forward for mankind, on a par with the internal combustion engine and space travel.

Which is why I have every faith that all those tiny trollies of chips and rough-hewn planks of charcuterie will eventually seem as absurd as surrealist gazelle-skin crockery, or futurist musical boxes full of salad.

In the meantime, may I recommend the adult bib?

Felicity Cloake write the food column for the New Statesman. She also writes for the Guardian and is the author of  Perfect: 68 Essential Recipes for Every Cook's Repertoire (Fig Tree, 2011) and Perfect Host: 162 easy recipes for feeding people & having fun (Fig Tree, 2013). She is on Twitter as @FelicityCloake.

This article first appeared in the 01 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Tory tide