"I want a fur coat and a villa and a cat": The art and agony of the English marriage

Using details from the huge Mass Observations archive at Sussex University, a new book "The English in Love" charts the changing meaning and reality of marriage since 1945.

The English in Love: the Intimate Story of an Emotional Revolution
Claire Langhamer
Oxford University Press, 320pp, £20
 
Claire Langhamer, a trustee of the Mass Observation Archive at Sussex University and a lecturer there, has written a wise and important book that deserves the attention of policymakers and opinion-formers as well as historians. Relying on the prodigious data on everyday life and feelings collected by Mass Observation researchers since 1937 but also drawing on other sources, she has scrutinised the ways in which the Second World War wrought lasting changes in English expectations of marriage, evaluations of domesticity, quests for individual fulfilment and marital stability. Her focus is on the intimacies of everyday life from the mid-1930s to the mid-1970s but her book has a thunderous resonance for the 21st century. It is the best sort of history, which makes intelligible the problems of our time and gives a subtle lesson in past and present mistakes.
 
Langhamer presents the 1940s and 1950s as a watershed in emotional intimacy, sexual conduct and gender relations among the English working and middling classes (she writes little about the upper-middle class or higher social altitudes). It was mid-century idealisations of love and new notions about personal fulfilment, rather than a later proliferation of sexual activity, that caused the most far-reaching social changes. She views the 1960s not as the “permissive” decade of journalistic cliché but as “a golden age of romance”, when youth culture was permeated with the peer pressure to marry young.
 
New ideas about matrimony, with their investment in “romantic love”, “sexual satisfaction” and “emotional growth”, invited disillusion and proved to be an unsteady basis for lifelong commitment. “A matrimonial model based upon the transformative power of love carried within it the seeds of its own destruction,” Langhamer argues. “The end-of-century decline of lifelong marriage was rooted in the contradictions, tensions and illogicalities that lay at the heart of midcentury intimacy.”
 
Change was already under way in the 1930s. “A lot of girls,” the Daily Mirror’s agony aunt warned on St Valentine’s Day in 1938, “think that marriage is going to be sentiment and romance and a perpetual petting party, and that they will live in a state of thrills. They are disgruntled and disappointedwhen they find that marriage is work, responsibility, doing their duty and being taken for granted.” Yet a surprising number of men were romantics who believed in “love at first sight” and had sweet dreams of domestic bliss.
 
People married in haste during the Second World War. They were impelled by “the war and the excitement and the Blitz – feeling you might be gone tomorrow”, as one Mass Observation respondent said. “He was going abroad and I wanted him to know that he’d have someone to come back to,” explained a war bride. For those who had survived hardships and peril, “love and marriage” symbolised postwar hopes for a social order that would be more stable, fair and protective than that of the past. In the late 1940s, private emotional intimacies seemed to promise to bind people together and to change society as much as the National Health Service.
 
But in the 15 years after the war, national service, rising prosperity, new workplace habits and diversified recreations destabilised the old courtship practices more lastingly than wartime dislocation. “The willingness to marry for love above all else was strongly linked to economic security,” Langhamer reports. Young people’s rising incomes eroded the need for long courtships. Men who had been called up for national service were enabled – if not induced – to marry by the “family allowances” that the state paid to them. A young national serviceman could afford to marry. His wife would live with her parents for the two years that he was conscripted; she would work full-time and her savings, as well as his pay, would enable them to set up home or buy a house once he was released.
 
The longing for a home of one’s own was all-encompassing. As one commentator explained, “Where almost everything else is ruled from outside, is chancy and likely to knock you down when you least expect it, the home is yours and real.” Those who idealise long-lost working-class communities forget how many people married to escape their parents. David Kynaston, in his recent book Modernity Britain, notes that an attraction of postwar new towns such as Stevenage was their distance from the London slums, where mothers monitored the emotional lives of their daughters and sons and enforced stifling family traditions. He cites the BBC producer Leonard Cottrell’s assessment of the relief felt by working-class wives at putting 30 miles between themselves and “‘Mum’ . . . with her aboriginal warmth, her glutinous, devouring affection. Young wives who had been dominated throughout childhood . . . by these stupid, arrogant, self-pitying matriarchs have suddenly found that they can do without them.”
 
For many young women after the war, the process of “courting” had a similar appeal to escaping to a new town. Langhamer quotes a woman born in the postwar baby boom recalling courtship: “It gave you a sense of independence from your parents, in particular your father who didn’t dare criticise you once you were seriously courting because another, unknown force thought you were perfect.”
 
The contempt for women who made their own sexual choices was pervasive. They were depicted as outcasts or criminals. “One of the most serious results of the new attitude of mind among women,” announced a retired CID officer in a book entitled Women and Crime, “is the behaviour of a steadily growing class of ‘respectable’ girls who deliberately reverse the natural order of sex life. The women belonging to this class are content no longer to be sought by men; they have themselves become the seekers. Setting no price other than a ‘good time’ upon their favours, and putting no check to their eroticism, they constitute an element of serious unrest.”
 
Similarly, the senior judge Lord Denning told the National Marriage Guidance Council in 1950 that the rising divorce rate was attributable to “the emancipation of women”. In fairness, the old prude disliked male sexual freedom equally, and in a speech in 1957 he urged that it should be a criminal offence for a man to undergo a vasectomy, enabling him to enjoy “the gratification of sexual intercourse without any of the responsibilities”. Perhaps Denning thought possession of a condom should be criminalised, too, if he had any logic. Two years later, Geoffrey Fisher, the then archbishop of Canterbury, suggested that “adultery” had “become such a public menace that the time has come when it ought to be made a criminal offence”.
 
The emotional exclusivity prescribed by public moralists diverged from people’s experiences and beliefs. The anthropologist Geoffrey Gorer found that the population was divided between those who believed that “falling in love” was a unique event, culminating in marriage, and those who saw it as a repeatable sensation. His respondents in the early 1950s seldom reckoned infidelity as the worst marital offence. Only a minority believed that adultery should end a marriage and those who considered sexual activity “very important” in marriage were far likelier to consider terminating the marriage on grounds of infidelity than those who considered it “fairly important”.
 
“Should I pick a girl who can cook, sew and be a good housewife, or must I wait until I meet the girl who can make my heart thump?” a young man asked the Daily Mirror in 1947. As marriages became less based on performing the roles of good housewife and good earner and more concerned with thumping hearts, attitudes to infidelity changed. Many more of the cohort whom Gorer interviewed in 1969 emphasised sexual fidelity and jealousy as central to married happiness than those in 1951. While postwar attitudes towards premarital sex relaxed with increased incidences, those towards extramarital affairs became harsher as adultery increased.
 
Langhamer characterises the period between 1945 and 1975 as “a golden age of marriage”. More people “got spliced” than ever before in British demographic history. The notion of marriage as romantic fulfilment, a signal of maturity and a means to liberation became ubiquitous in youth culture. Those born in 1946 were less likely than members of any earlier generation to remain single. By the start of the 1970s, marriage was crucial to young people’s self-definition: most wished to marry early in life. The marriage rate for England and Wales reached its peacetime peak in 1972. Thereafter, the wedding rate plummeted; in 2009 it sank to the lowest level ever recorded.
 
In 1931 the average age at first marriage for women was 25 and for men 27. For the “dedicated follower of fashion” about whom the Kinks sang in the Swinging Sixties, the biggest fad of all was not Carnaby Street finery but marriage. By 1970, the average ages at first marriage had fallen to 22 for women and 24 for men (but by 2009 they had risen by eight years for both sexes).
 
As early as in 1953, the bishop of Sheffield warned that marriage was no longer seen as “a social institution” but was regarded “as a freely entered and freely maintained personal relationship worked out by the persons concerned”. This intensified hopes and stresses and required closer compatibility and emotional adjustment, all of which increased the risk of failure. Moreover, the higher priority given to the needs and welfare of children, often to the detriment of adult feelings, made many marriages unsatisfactory or hopeless. As notions of duty and self-sacrifice declined in matrimonial importance, they increased in the practice of parenthood.
 
The Royal Commission on Marriage and Divorce, which reported in 1956, considered that if divorce rates continued to rise, the laws permitting divorce might have to be repealed. The commissioners regarded marriage not as a contract between two individuals but as the spouses’ contract with the state. Marriage was a social institution, they believed, rather than an emotional partnership – intended to promote the greater good of society, rather than the selfish needs of personal happiness. Few young married couples agreed.
 
One of Langhamer’s significant findings is the extent to which the postwar working class identified “ordinariness” as a virtue: there was little of today’s desire to be famous, conspicuous or a celebrity. Ordinariness was a badge proudly worn, denoting that one had no “flash” wealth or unfair advantages.
 
The English in Love is a treasury of quick quotations that tell a huge story. The headmaster who pronounced that “the sexual act is humiliating unless it is accompanied by love” represents the tradition that rejected intercourse as an enjoyable pastime and insisted that it was a gift from a woman to a man, a signifier and a privilege. An aspirational wife who realised too late that her poorly educated husband would never prosper put a lifetime of regret into 11 words: “I want a fur coat and a villa and a cat.” Generations of chauvinists are represented by the father who tells his daughter, “He’ll be a lucky man who marries you,” when she serves him a tin of John West tinned salmon for tea.
 
There are countless talking points, revisionist challenges and shrewd sidelights in Langhamer’s compelling and humane book. She has the confidence to write in clear, honest prose, without the mystifying, polysyllabic jargon in which lesser historians write about sexuality to hide the thinness of their ideas. Her bracing good sense stands in splendid contrast to the nonsense in which the English entangled themselves whenever they approached a bedroom door. “Having a climax is, for a woman, arrived at through feelings of being loved, secure, free from doubts and fears and willing to let herself go,” Woman’s Own advised its readers in 1970. “It is naturally hard to have all these feelings outside marriage – this is biology, not morals!”
 
Richard Davenport-Hines is the author of “An English Affair: Sex, Class and Power in the Age of Profumo” (HarperPress, £9.99)
Since 1945, the model of matrimony has been about more than just companionship and duty. Photograph: Laura Letinsky / Gallery Stock.

This article first appeared in the 19 August 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Why aren’t young people working

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David Osland: “Corbyn is actually Labour’s only chance”

The veteran Labour activist on the release of his new pamphlet, How to Select or Reselect Your MP, which lays out the current Labour party rules for reselecting an MP.

Veteran left-wing Labour activist David Osland, a member of the national committee of the Labour Representation Committee and a former news editor of left magazine Tribune, has written a pamphlet intended for Labour members, explaining how the process of selecting Labour MPs works.

Published by Spokesman Books next week (advance copies are available at Nottingham’s Five Leaves bookshop), the short guide, entitled “How to Select or Reselect Your MP”, is entertaining and well-written, and its introduction, which goes into reasoning for selecting a new MP and some strategy, as well as its historical appendix, make it interesting reading even for those who are not members of the Labour party. Although I am a constituency Labour party secretary (writing here in an expressly personal capacity), I am still learning the Party’s complex rulebook; I passed this new guide to a local rules-boffin member, who is an avowed Owen Smith supporter, to evaluate whether its description of procedures is accurate. “It’s actually quite a useful pamphlet,” he said, although he had a few minor quibbles.

Osland, who calls himself a “strong, but not uncritical” Corbyn supporter, carefully admonishes readers not to embark on a campaign of mass deselections, but to get involved and active in their local branches, and to think carefully about Labour’s election fortunes; safe seats might be better candidates for a reselection campaign than Labour marginals. After a weak performance by Owen Smith in last night’s Glasgow debate and a call for Jeremy Corbyn to toughen up against opponents by ex Norwich MP Ian Gibson, an old ally, this pamphlet – named after a 1981 work by ex-Tribune editor Chris Mullin, who would later go on to be a junior minister under Blai – seems incredibly timely.

I spoke to Osland on the telephone yesterday.

Why did you decide to put this pamphlet together now?

I think it’s certainly an idea that’s circulating in the Labour left, after the experience with Corbyn as leader, and the reaction of the right. It’s a debate that people have hinted at; people like Rhea Wolfson have said that we need to be having a conversation about it, and I’d like to kickstart that conversation here.

For me personally it’s been a lifelong fascination – I was politically formed in the early Eighties, when mandatory reselection was Bennite orthodoxy and I’ve never personally altered my belief in that. I accept that the situation has changed, so what the Labour left is calling for at the moment, so I see this as a sensible contribution to the debate.

I wonder why selection and reselection are such an important focus? One could ask, isn’t it better to meet with sitting MPs and see if one can persuade them?

I’m not calling for the “deselect this person, deselect that person” rhetoric that you sometimes see on Twitter; you shouldn’t deselect an MP purely because they disagree with Corbyn, in a fair-minded way, but it’s fair to ask what are guys who are found to be be beating their wives or crossing picket lines doing sitting as our MPs? Where Labour MPs publicly have threatened to leave the party, as some have been doing, perhaps they don’t value their Labour involvement.

So to you it’s very much not a broad tool, but a tool to be used a specific way, such as when an MP has engaged in misconduct?

I think you do have to take it case by case. It would be silly to deselect the lot, as some people argue.

In terms of bringing the party to the left, or reforming party democracy, what role do you think reselection plays?

It’s a basic matter of accountability, isn’t it? People are standing as Labour candidates – they should have the confidence and backing of their constituency parties.

Do you think what it means to be a Labour member has changed since Corbyn?

Of course the Labour party has changed in the past year, as anyone who was around in the Blair, Brown, Miliband era will tell you. It’s a completely transformed party.

Will there be a strong reaction to the release of this pamphlet from Corbyn’s opponents?

Because the main aim is to set out the rules as they stand, I don’t see how there can be – if you want to use the rules, this is how to go about it. I explicitly spelled out that it’s a level playing field – if your Corbyn supporting MP doesn’t meet the expectations of the constituency party, then she or he is just as subject to a challenge.

What do you think of the new spate of suspensions and exclusions of some people who have just joined the party, and of other people, including Ronnie Draper, the General Secretary of the Bakers’ Union, who have been around for many years?

It’s clear that the Labour party machinery is playing hardball in this election, right from the start, with the freeze date and in the way they set up the registered supporters scheme, with the £25 buy in – they’re doing everything they can to influence this election unfairly. Whether they will succeed is an open question – they will if they can get away with it.

I’ve been seeing comments on social media from people who seem quite disheartened on the Corbyn side, who feel that there’s a chance that Smith might win through a war of attrition.

Looks like a Corbyn win to me, but the gerrymandering is so extensive that a Smith win isn’t ruled out.

You’ve been in the party for quite a few years, do you think there are echoes of past events, like the push for Bennite candidates and the takeover from Foot by Kinnock?

I was around last time – it was dirty and nasty at times. Despite the narrative being put out by the Labour right that it was all about Militant bully boys and intimidation by the left, my experience as a young Bennite in Tower Hamlets Labour Party, a very old traditional right wing Labour party, the intimidation was going the other way. It was an ugly time – physical threats, people shaping up to each other at meetings. It was nasty. Its nasty in a different way now, in a social media way. Can you compare the two? Some foul things happened in that time – perhaps worse in terms of physical intimidation – but you didn’t have the social media.

There are people who say the Labour Party is poised for a split – here in Plymouth (where we don’t have a Labour MP), I’m seeing comments from both sides that emphasise that after this leadership election we need to unite to fight the Tories. What do you think will happen?

I really hope a split can be avoided, but we’re a long way down the road towards a split. The sheer extent of the bad blood – the fact that the right have been openly talking about it – a number of newspaper articles about them lining up backing from wealthy donors, operating separately as a parliamentary group, then they pretend that butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, and that they’re not talking about a split. Of course they are. Can we stop the kamikazes from doing what they’re plotting to do? I don’t know, I hope so.

How would we stop them?

We can’t, can we? If they have the financial backing, if they lose this leadership contest, there’s no doubt that some will try. I’m old enough to remember the launch of the SDP, let’s not rule it out happening again.

We’ve talked mostly about the membership. But is Corbynism a strategy to win elections?

With the new electoral registration rules already introduced, the coming boundary changes, and the loss of Scotland thanks to decades of New Labour neglect, it will be uphill struggle for Labour to win in 2020 or whenever the next election is, under any leadership.

I still think Corbyn is Labour’s best chance. Any form of continuity leadership from the past would see the Midlands and north fall to Ukip in the same way Scotland fell to the SNP. Corbyn is actually Labour’s only chance.

Margaret Corvid is a writer, activist and professional dominatrix living in the south west.