Woman's Own February 20 1960

Content

THE NATIONAL W0MEN'S WEEKLY ON SALE WEDNESDAY: WEEK ENDING FEBRUARY 20th 1960
Woman’s Own 6d (about 7 cents)? 
16 PAGE PULL-OUT FAMILY KNITTING
A remarkable woman lays bare her soul, Once I Was A Nun
Cover by Leo Aarons  

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(?about)

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The average price of a new home then was $12700. about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. And the future was progressive not regressive

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 2

NIVEA creme for the care of the skin

How you can make the most of-your skin with Nivea 

Nivea introduces five ways to give your skin radiant health this. winter.

MOISTURE CREME Outdoor winds and cold, indoor fires and draughts, rob your skin of its natural protective moisture. Nivea restores these gently and surely. In cold weather let Nivea protect you and your family. 

PROTECTIVE FOUNDATION Use Nivea every morning as a protective, moisturizing foundation under your make-up. Nivea will keep your skin clear and glowing with health, all day, in all weathers. 

CLEANSING CREME Nivea double cleanses. First Nivea removes all surface dirt. The Nivea penetrates into the pores to float out all impurities, allowing your skin to breathe as it should-deeply!

OUTDOOR CREME Skin needs protection in harsh weather. Let Nivea prevent it from becoming chapped and sore. For men, Nivea is a protective after shave creme that will take the sting out of the wind.

HAND CREME Use Nivea before you wash your hands! Then the water will wash away the dirt, but NOT the protective oils. Care for your hands with Nivea this winter to keep them beautifully white, soft and smooth.  

NIVEA, and only Nivea, contains deep penetrating Eucerite, to smooth, soothe and soften your skin naturally by replacing the oils and moisture that wind and weather steal away. 

 Eucerite is nearest to your skin's natural oil. In Nivea, Eucerite blends with moisture to form a nourishing creme that penetrates deep into your pores. Your skin needs Nivea because it feeds the young cells that are the foundation of soft, smooth health. 

SKIN needs NIVEA, an S&N product

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 3

WOMAN'S OWN, TOWER HOUSE, LONDON, W.C.2 FEBRUARY 20th, 1960

Actress Susan Strasberg at 17, an age when life seems terrifying, but wonderful, too'

 Between Friends
 SOMETIMES she is moody and restless; sometimes she is quiet and shy. She writes poetry in secret, day-dreams for hours and goes walking by herself in the rain. 
 Often she has to struggle against sudden, inexplicable tears. And she has moments when the whole world seems as insubstantial as a elbbubb-paos as brittle as spun glass.
 Do you recognize her? Of course you do. She is you at 16, that betwixt and between age when childhood and womanhood meet and mingle on the threshold of adult life. 
 It is a time of ,bewilderment of uncertainty, of anxious questioning: Should she do this, wear that? Is she pretty, or plain? What is it like to fall really in love? Would it be wrong to kiss a boy good night?
 And this girl, the girl that is you in the past or the present, feels terribly alone. Older people are always saying: "How wonderful to be young!" or: "How I wish that I could be 16 again!
 Thoughtless words, carelessly said, words to convince her that no one else
has ever suffered, as she suffers, from hands that grow much too big when she
enters a roomful of strangers, or a sense of being odd-girl-out with others of her own age.
 But she is not alone. Millions of girls share the same doubts, the same anxieties,
the same bewilderment. And there is not
one of us, here at WOMAN'S OWN, who has not experienced these painful things.
 We, too, have known what it is to envy the apparent self-assurance of others
and to despair of ever achieving it ourselves; to worry desperately about a spot on our chin; to find the process of growing up anything but fun. 
 Our parents, we felt, didn't understand us, either. They couldn't see why we wanted to giggle with our girl friends, fought for the privilege of staying up late for no particular reason, yearned for a black evening dress. They, too, criticized our make-up, our clothes, our boy friends, and fussed us when we wanted to be left alone.
 Worst of all, we could never tell them how much we loved them, or how much we needed to know we were loved in return.
 Yes, at 16 we were just as unsure of ourselves and the future, just as self conscious, just as confused by the strange mixture of emotions that tore us to pieces inside. Our world, like yours, was striped with sunlight and shadow, and all our rainbows were made of laughter and tears.
 Because of this, because we know that it's not so wonderful to be young, and have learnt a thing or two from our own youthful mistakes-we work hard to make life easier for you through the pages of this magazine.
 HUNDREDS of girls have written to say: "WOMAN'S OWN is the only magazine that understands teenagers." Parents, too, have often told us: "You're such a help "to mothers of teenage daughters."
 Because we realize that looking and feeling your best are the first steps towards self confidence and poise, we make a point of keeping young beauty, health and fashion problems very much in mind.
 So with those who write for your own special age group; with Mary Grant to help you sort out your worries; and with Spice of Life to put; a sparkle in your eye and keep you bang up to date, well, we hope you'll feel that we really do have your interests at heart.
 And remember, we are always here whenever you need us.
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Cover by Leo Aarons  © George Newnes Limited, 1960
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THE FIVE STARFOOD
for babies and growing children 
* For Weaning because Farley's is the first solid food that must be added to milk feeds when weaning starts.
For contented sleep, baby will enjoy his Farley's at night, well satisfied because he is well nourished.
For Feeding himself, a dry Farley's Rusk as baby grows older is just what he likes.
For growing children, especially at breakfast and supper time, a Farley in warm milk.
For happy mothers too, because Farley's really is the easiest baby food to prepare, you just add warm milk that's all, everything else, even the sugar is in Farley's. Yes, it's a meal in a moment.
FARLEY’S RUSKS
for babies and growing children

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 4

By appointment  to Her Majesty The Queen
Empire Wine Merchants P. B. Burgoyne & Co. LId.
Free sample flagon*
BURGOYNES
Harvest Burgundy
Equal to a full quarter bottle
Here is a wonderful opportunity to enjoy one of the world's most invigorating wines.
With the very first glass you will discover the clean tang and full-bodied flavour of Burgoyne's Harvest Burgundy. With the second you will realize its bracing yet relaxing character. But, of course, the real benefits of this famous iron-rich flagon wine come when you drink it daily.
Take advantage NOW of this generous offer.
BURGOYNE'S Harvest Burgundy
For health and strength abounding 12/6 (about $1.76)? the flagon 6/3 (about 88 cents)? the half-flagon YOUR COUPON ON PAGE 60 

Fill it in Now!
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"Doctor, I have a tiny lump in my groin, not painful, exactly, but I am scared about it"
Doctor's Diary
MRS. D. looked nervous as she was shown into my surgery. I told her to sit down and make herself comfortable, and tell me what was wrong. She took a deep breath. "Would you say it was dangerous to have a tiny lump in the groin?" she asked. 
"I wouldn’t say anything at all until I knew more. Is that your trouble?"
 She nodded.
 "How long have you had it?"
 "A fortnight," she replied. "But it isn't there all the time. When I am lying down it disappears altogether."
 "Does it give you any pain?" I asked.
 "Not really pain; more of an ache, and sometimes a dragging feeling."
 "I expect you find that if you cough the lump is more noticeable than ever. Is that right?" I asked.
 "Why yes!" She sounded surprised.
 "And it feels then almost as if something is being pushed out?" I went on.
 "Yes. You know what is wrong, then?" she asked, a little anxiously.
 "I think so, although I can't tell for certain until I have examined you. It sounds to me like a hernia."
 "A hernia! I'm afraid I don't know what that is. Is it very serious?"
 "You know what a rupture is, I expect, well, a hernia is only another name for the same thing
 "But Doctor, how could I have a. rupture? I thought it was something only men could get."
 "Good gracious no. Anyone can get them. Men, women or children. But I admit that there is one particular kind of hernia that is more common in men than in women."
 "This shows how ignorant I am! I did not even know there was more than one kind," she said with a laugh.
 "Oh yes, according to the position. When we talk about a hernia, or rupture, we mean that something in the abdomen, usually a portion of the intestine, has found a weak spot in the muscular wall and is pushing its way through.
Lifting heavy weights
 "But why should there be a weak spot?" Mrs. D. wanted to know.
 "That's just the point. A hernia in the stomach may occur through an old operation scar that hasn't healed very well. But the most usual place is the groin, where there is often a natural weak spot. You see, there you have a very large blood vessel running from the abdomen into the thigh, and there isn't a protective muscle in that area.
 "Consequently, any severe strain, lifting a very heavy weight, for example, may easily, cause a hernia.
 "The reason that men are more liable than women to the hernias that develop a little higher up the groin is due to the development of their testicles before they are even born, which may leave a weak spot in that region."
"You mean a baby boy might be born with a rupture?" Mrs. D. exclaimed.
 "Oh no. And he may never get one. But he may develop one later on in life; perhaps if he strains himself unduly."
What can be done?
 "Can anything be done to put things right?" Mrs. D. then wanted to know.
 "Oh yes," I told her, "there are various treatments. The best is an operation to put the protruding part back into position and strengthen the weak spot. . "Sometimes a special belt-a truss-is recommended instead. This won't cure a hernia but it protects the weak spot and keeps the bulgy part in position."
 "Does a hernia really matter so much? After all, nothing can actually fallout, can it?"
 "No. A hernia itself isn't serious, merely un comfortable. But there is danger in the possible complications. "
"What could happen?"
 "Suppose a piece of intestine got pushed through a weak spot in the muscular wall, and then swelled up and wouldn't go back again. It would be very painful, and would 'hold up' food.
 " Also, this piece of intestine might easily get twisted. The blood vessels in it would be damaged or broken and that particular section could well become gangrenous.
 "We call that a 'strangulated' hernia, and it's far from pleasant. It also requires immediate operation.
 "But now I must examine you. So far, we have only been talking about hernias in general, and I don't even know for certain if that is what you have! "
 "I'd be awfully grateful," Mrs. D. said. "I should like to know the worst."
 "Or best!" I laughed.
RODERICK WIMPOLE
Dr. Wimpole regrets he is unable to enter into any correspondence 

HERNIA·PRONE
The testicles of a baby boy develop inside his abdomen long before birth. When they finally emerge from the body (still before birth) they may leave a permanent weakness In the muscular wall. This does not mean that he will necessarily develop a hernia!
NEXT WEEK THE DOCTOR TALKS ABOUT NOSE·BLEEDS

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(?about)

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The average price of a new home then was $12700. about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. Today?

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 5

"Preparing to be a beautiful lady"

Susan Fowler-Miss Pears 1959

"Miss Pears 1960" Contest 

£500 (about $1405.00)? for the little girl who takes my place.

On now-the search for the little girl who's to be "Miss Pears 1960". £500 (about $1405.00)? for the winner! 

What does "MISS PEARS1960" look like? 

She's a little girl whose mother hasn't left her daughter's loveliness to chance. She's one, in fact, who is "preparing" to be a beautiful lady."

As well as being beautiful, she's a shining example of everything a child should be-healthy, radiant, charming and refreshing. Most important of all, she has that petal-soft, clear, clean skin that comes only from regular use of Pears-the gentle, transparent soap her mother and grandmother have always used and trusted. (Pears costs 1/51/2d (about 20 cents)? for a Bath Size tablet-1/- (about 14 cents Toilet Size.)

How to enter-First choose the nicest photo you have of your little girl, taken within the past year. Write her name, age and address on the back. Then send it to us, together with a Pears wrapper or carton, and the Entry Form below.

The contest will be in these two stages. Area Stage: each child's photo will be put into one of 6 groups, depending on which area of the country she lives in. From each group an Area Winner will be chosen. National Stage: a panel of independent judges will choose "Miss Pears ]960" from the 6 Area Winners. 

The winner of the first prize. will receive £500 (about $1405.00)? to spend on his or her daughter. The lucky young lady will be photographed by a leading West End photographer. Runners-up will receive £50 (about $140.50)? for their daughters. Enter your little girl's photo today! 

TEAR OUT- SEND WITH PHOTO: ENTRY FORM

I wish to enter the photograph of my daughter for the "Miss Pears 1960" Contest. I enclose a Pears Soap wrapper or carton with my entry. . NAME AND ADDRESS (Block Letters)...COUNTY... NAME AND ADDRESS OF SHOP WHERE PEARS WAS BOUGHT (Block Letters)...

I agree to abide by the rules* of the contest. My daughter is under 12 years old, and the photograph was taken after March 31st 1959, SIGNED.... (Parent or Guardian) 

Post to: "Miss Pears Contest," 55 Queen Anne Street, London W.1. to arrive not later than first post received 4th April 1960. 

*RULES OBTAINABLE FROM PEARS STOCKISTS, OR FROM A. & F. PEARS LTD., HESKETI-HOUSE, PORTMAN SQUARE, LONDON, W.1. 

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(?about)

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The average price of a new home then was $12700. about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. Today?

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 6

I can't tell Stork from butter
Jove, this is good, Mary ! Really got something this Stork! I just can't tell.
I can, it’s easier to cream! to cream!

Well, it's not hard for a cook to tell the difference! There's nothing quite like Stork to make short work of rubbing in and creaming!
STORK TABLE MARGARINE creamier taste, easier to cream!

AT YOUR SERVICE one of a series
PREPARING A STORK RECIPE BOOK
Every year over a million copies of new Stork recipe books are given away to housewives allover the country.
As you can imagine, a great deal of work goes into preparing these cookery books, and in the photograph you can see some of the original recipes being timed and tested in the Stork Kitchens.
To begin with, new ideas for recipes are created by the Head of the Stork Kitchens. Then each recipe is carefully made up more than once, to make sure it is absolutely accurate. Different types of cookers are used to make sure a recipe is tested under the conditions which you-the housewife are likely to encounter.
 After that the finished dishes are photographed and artists draw illustrations for the booklet. Then it is ready for the printers.
There is always a great deal of excitement in the kitchens when yet another recipe book is ready! These books are sent out to housewives (many write in to ask for them) and are given away at demonstrations, exhibitions, and at places where the Stork Demonstration Van appears.
The latest Stork recipe book is called "Feeding the Family".  If you haven't had a copy already, we would love to send you one, so why not write to us at the address below?
Make the most of your STORK COOKERY SERVICE If you want any advice on any cookery problems,
write to the Stork Cookery Service, Kildare House, Dorset Rise London, E.C.4

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 7

Content
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STAR FEATURES

Fiction:
With All My Heart, by Lois Dykeman Kleihauer 
The Shy One, by Audrie Manley-Tucker 
Serial:
Fuel For The Flame, by Alec Waugh

Specials:
Spice of Life
Once I Was a Nun, by Teresa Lightwood
The Way I See It
John Osborne-The Story of a Rebel
My World
Pattern of the Week  (sewing)
Emergency-Ward 10
Knitting for All the Family (knitting)
Vivien Leigh's Big Chance, by Sir Michael Balcon 

Plus 
Between Friends 
Doctor's Diary 
EVERYDAY RELIGION
Take Your Pick!
Smart Shoppers
NEXT WEEK'S
Pearly BEAUTY 
Service to Readers
SHOW PAGE
SCHOOL of COOKERY 
MOTHER AND CHILD SERVICE 
Undiscovered British Beauties
READER'S GUINEA RECIPE
PROBLEM PAGE
YOUR FATE in the STARS  

Letters to woman’s own plus Content
Cover 
20th FEBRUARY 1960
woman’s own
TOWER HOUSE
SOUTHAMPTON STREET
LONDON, W.C.2 TEMPLE
BAR 4363
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Letters YOU WRITE THIS WE PAY

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My family are all the fans I need *

As the 'Mum' of a large and noisy family, I have little time for my favourite hobby, scribbling stories to, read to the children. Not long ago my husband brought a publisher friend home for the week-end, and during his stay he read one of my stories. "You know," he said, "you could be another Enid Blyton if you gave your ego, your real self-half a chance. All you need is time to yourself, away from the family." Flattered, I furnished a small, empty room at the top of the house with a desk and a typewriter. There I sat, neglecting everyone, while I gave my ego its chance. But nothing happened. I couldn't write a word. So back I went into Bedlam. And as soon as I resumed my normal routine, back came the stories, too! As long as my children enjoy them, what else matters?- MRS. S. G., OXFORD.

Am I odd? *

Although I have been married for years and dearly love children, I have no desire to have any of my own. I much prefer my office job to the idea of staying at home and focussing all my attention on a child. Yet I'm sure that if I ever have a baby, I shall be able to give it my complete love. Have other wives felt like this in pre-baby days, or am I the odd one out?--C. STEWART, DRINGHOUSES, YORKSHIRE.
 Lots of others feel like you do, Mrs. Stewart, until the baby arrives. Then they wonder why they ever worried about lacking a mother instinct.-ED.

Clean beak *

When I've done my weekly mending on the sewing machine, the floor is always littered with bits of cotton, often in places where the carpet sweeper can't reach. I used to go down on my hands and knees to pick them up one by one, until I discovered that Jane, our canary, was anxious to do the job for me. Now I just give her the freedom of the room for an hour or so while she hops in and out of her cage, carrying beakfuls of cotton to make a nest.- MRS. E. B., LEICESTER.

Happy truant*

Taking a tip from a TV star who ended his programme with the words: "Be kind to yourself," I decided to play truant the other Sunday and leave the family to look after themselves while I went for a bus ride. I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon off. And it was so nice to know, when I got home, that my husband and children had missed me, even though I had been away only for a couple of hours.- MRS. CLIFFE, CARDIFF.

Weed garden *

In the Austrian village where I was born, people still use wild herbs for making wines, cordials and simple remedies. When I came to this country my husband helped me to grow a patch of wild plants in our garden. English friends laugh at my 'weeds', but they provide us with delicious summer drinks, warming winter cordials and fragrant potpourris. - Mrs. BRUCE, DARLING' TON, Co. DURHAM.

All change *

How the names of rooms have changed down the years! From the salon of 500 years ago to the with-drawing-room of the Victorian era, later shortened to drawing-room, it is now the lounge or living-room. And the dining hall has changed through dinning-room to dinette and the kitchen to kitchenette. What will the next generation call them, I wonder -  A. C., ANGUS, SCOTLAND.

Kitchen link *

Not long ago, your magazine published a biscuit recipe of mine. Imagine my surprise when a complete stranger who is also one of your regular readers, wrote to me to say how much she had enjoyed the biscuits! I was delighted, and Wrote back to her. Thanks to WOMAN'S OWN, I feel I have made a new friend. - Mrs. G. McNAB, TRINIDAD, WEST INDIES.

Why don't they*

..provide tea-strainers with pots of tea in all cafes and restaurants?- MRS. HELEN WHITE, LONDON, N.3.
..make housewifes’ money-boxes divided into separate compartments labelled gas, light, rent, coal, etc.?-MISS H. VINCE, CROYDON" SURREY.
..put cotton tape ties into baby's vests instead of silky ribbon which always slips undone?-MRS. ELLIOTT, LIVERPOOL.
..pattern wallpapers with modern pin-ups for teenagers' rooms?-A. ROBERTS, PRESTEIGNE, RADNOR- SHIRE.

In charge! *

Walking down a city street I saw. a small boy wearing a policeman's helmet. His mother was with him and I noticed they were handcuffed together. What a wonderful idea! A game for the child, but his mother could not lose him in the busy shopping centre.-PAULINE HAR- VEY, ROBY, NEAR LIVERPOOL.

No treat *

I strongly protest against Mr. J. M. B.'s view that working girls are unfair if they don't go Dutch treat on dates with their boy friends. Every time I offer to share expenses with my boy friend, I have to force him to take the money. Then he is offended and I am embarrassed. - F. LAVERTY, DOWNPATRICK, CO. DOWN, N. IRELAND
..I should like to point out that, despite wage equality for the fair sex, most girls spend their money on making themselves more attractive for their boy friends.-Miss B. M. H., BROMBOROUGH, CHESHIRE.
..I quite agree that girls nowadays should offer to go Dutch on a date. But in the office where I work I was told that a young man would feel insulted if offered money by the girl. - MISS K. PRINGLE, RUTHER- GLEN, LANARKSHiRE, SCOTLAND.

Design for living*

When, at 19, I asked permission to share a flat with there other girls, my parents agreed; but they told me I would have to change a lot of my ways. How right they were! I have learnt to accept other people's weaknesses and improve my own. And, above all, I have learnt to appreciate my family as I never did before. - MISS J. DAVIS, . EDGWARE, MlDDX.

Gnawing suspense! *

I have mixed feelings about your new serial, Fuel For The Flame, by Alec Waugh. I admit I am enjoying every word, but the suspense has brought back old nail-biting habit! I long to know the ending, yet I dread the thought of finishing this thrilling romance. -  E., BATTLE, SUSSEX.

Things they say *

Told by her mother to eat up her crusts because they would make her hair curly when she was older, my six-year-old niece retorted: "But I want straight hair when I grow Up."-MRS. WEST, BIRMINGHAM.
..Listening to her small nephew describe his wedding day, a friend asked him: "What about the bride?" "Oh," he said, "it's going to be a very quiet wedding. There won't be a bride."-A. NEWBIGGIN, RICHMOND, SURREY. 

Cutting comment.

There must be something about long hair that is specially attractive to men. Since I had my own hair cut short, I've noticed that my husband's favourite film and TV stars invariably have long tresses. Maybe I should have resisted those scissor’s - MRS. J. M. LONDON, N.W.

*Suzy Parker, model girl turned screen star, has her crowning glory flowing to her shoulders.
*Deborah Kerr lets her hair down in the 20th Century Fox film, Beloved Infidel, now on general release.
*And it's long hair, too, for TV's Maureen Seek.

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£1'1' 0 (about $2.95)? For every reader's  letter published there is' a guinea to be won, so send yours to 'Letter Page' at the address given on this page. They should be original and must not be duplicated in any other magazine or newspaper. 

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(?about)

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The average price of a new home then was $12700. about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. And the future was progressive not regressive

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 8/9

She vowed she would not stop loving him for a moment. She did not know, then, how loneliness would weaken her resolve .

With all my heart

by LOIS DYKEMAN KLEIHAUER ILLUSTRATED BY TOM LOVELL
As she came back into the bedroom she saw Ralph standing in front of the windows, staring at the sea through the binoculars. She went to stand beside him and to look silently at the grey water rolling shoreward, the white crested waves disappearing beneath the edge of the cliff. Today there was no sign of life on the sea.
He turned and put the binoculars on a table and looked at her. His lips wore a quizzical smile, but his eyes were grave.
Joan said, "I know I'm not the first woman to compete with the sea for a man's attention, but that doesn't make it any easier."
" No," he said. "I know."
"And the worst of it is," her voice was level, controlled, "there's nothing to be done about it."
Again his eyes turned towards the sea. "No. We've pretty well covered that subject these past twelve years."
He was a big man, muscular, masculine, and even in his pyjamas handsome.
She looked at him, feeling helpless and lost. 

"I miss you so when you're gone," 
she cried passionately!...continued on page 12

"Oh, Ralph"
"Come here, darling," he said. He reached out and took her into his arms and they stood in silence, the silence that comes when everything that can possibly be said has been said a hundred times.
After a while he spoke. "I let you in for a rough life by marrying you."
  SHE rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I don't know why it seems worse this year. You'd think I'd be used to it by this time. And if I didn't love you so much, it wouldn't matter, but I do. Do you suppose the wives of all the others feel the way I do?"
"Maybe not quite so much," he said. "Most of them have children. It makes a difference."
And there was no point in discussing that either. They had wanted children, but they had none.
"Are you all packed?"
"Yes, I finished last night."
"After I was asleep? So I wouldn't have to watch you?
" He held her off, grinned, and kissed her. "So you wouldn't have to watch me."
"Well, I'll go and start breakfast then."
She went down the stairs quickly. Each October I die, she thought. Each October when Ralph's boat leaves for its annual whale-catching season in the Antarctic.
And I will exist then for letters that come only in bunches. And this will go on until the end of April when the boats return.
She set the table, cut the grapefruit, fried the bacon, made the coffee. Bread waited in the toaster and eggs lay beside the frying-pan.
She heard him coming and turned to face him. He stood in the doorway looking broad-shouldered and purposeful and authoritative.
She saluted him briskly. "Good morning, Captain. Your breakfast is ready, Captain."
On his way to the table he stooped and kissed the back of her neck.
"You're a cute little wench," he said. "Too bad women aren't allowed on my crew."
"I've thought that, more than once," she said. "A silly rule."
He sat down at the table, shook out his napkin.
"Just exactly how much work do you think my men would get done if there were distractions like you aboard all the time?"
"How much coal would a coalpasser pass if a coal passer could pass coal? " she said. "Here are your eggs, darling. Toast coming up.
"You're looking especially handsome this season, Captain. Did anyone ever tell you that you' were the best-looking captain ever. So young, too. Think how many more years you can spend on the Marquessa , away from me." 
Suddenly she put her hands over her face and stood silent, weeping.
He got up and toke her in his arms. "Oh, Joan."

''I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Ralph. I didn't mean to cry at all. I was going to be flighty and gay and send you off with a smile but I keep remembering that I have a husband only five months a year and life is so short and we haven't any children and I miss you so when you're gone, especially at night, and" 

  HE took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes tenderly. "I lose more handkerchiefs this way," he said, softly. "Joan, listen, no, don't cry any more, do you want me to take a shore job?"  
She' shook her head vigorously. "Don’t be silly." The words and a sob came at the same time. "After the way you've worked? After all the studying you've done to get your certificates and the way you love the sea? No."
"I love you more than the sea. I can do something onshore.
"Don't tempt me," she said, and gave him a faint damp smile. "Finish your breakfast and I'll see to my face and then I'll drive you down to the docks."
"Bring me another dry handkerchief, too," he said."
She looked at the sodden wad in her hand ruefully. "Yes Captain, darling. I'm always a damp character when it comes to saying goodbye."
As they drove along the coast road Joan looked at the sea, blue now beneath the October sun, beautiful and endless.
During the five months that Ralph was home she ignored it as much as possible. But beginning each October, when she entrusted him to its tempera mental waters, she watched it, turning to it each morning when she got up, appraising the running waves and the wind and the sky.
  THE Marquessa lay at the 9th Pier. Smoke rose purposefully from her stack. She rode high out of the water, gleaming with new paint.
Ralph turned from a keen appraisal of the boat to her. "Well," he said.
He got out and took his luggage out of the car. Joan slid under the wheel. Now he came round to her and leant in and kissed her. His eyes held hers for a long moment.
"Goodbye darling."
"Goodbye, Ralph. I hope this is a good season for you. I do, really. Telephone me when you can and take care of yourself."
"You know I will. Joan--" She waited.
"Get out more, darling. Don't stay at home so much. The garden's fine, but after all, it can't talk to you."
"I’ve noticed that," she said and smiled at him. "Goodbye." And then he walked towards the Marquessa and she watched him go.
The first day was always the worst. Loneliness then was a heavy ache in her throat and breast. And there was no escaping it. Long ago she had learnt to accept it, to live with it, knowing that each day and each night that passed eased the pain a little until she had settled herself into her routine of days without him.
She put the car in the garage and as she crossed the garden a large black cat came from the shrubbery to meet her. He ran ahead of her to the steps, glancing back and purring loudly. "Hello, Samson." She bent and stroked his head. "Are you hungry "
He arched his back and rubbed against her and when she opened the door he slipped in ahead of her and waited in the centre of the kitchen, looking at her expectantly.
She dropped her coat on a chair and took a tin of cat food from the cupboard and prepared his breakfast.
And after that she went upstairs and changed her dress, feeling the emptiness of the bedroom like a tangible thing. 
The rumpled bed, Ralph's pyjamas on a chair, the cigarette ash in an ashtray reminded her again of the endless months ahead.
On her dressing-table, anchored by a corner of the hand mirror, lay a wad of notes, the money he had left her. It was a large amount, more than she would need before he sent her more.
He had always been generous with money and she knew that it was one of the ways he tried to make up to her for his absence.
She glanced up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Goodnight, she thought, and smiled wryly. I look as forlorn and lonely as a lost puppy.
She continued to inspect her reflection. She had long black hair, delicate colouring and long-lashed, blue eyes. How much longer could she count on looking young? On being pretty? Was this all her life was to be? Five months of marriage and seven months of putting in time? Of waiting? Waiting for the postman and for the telephone to ring.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up the telephone and dialled a number.
"Hello, Pam . . . I'm alone. I took Ralph to the docks a few minutes ago. I was wondering, do you want to go to a film tonight? I don't want to be alone, not tonight. I'll start thinking and that isn't good for me.
"Yes, I know Bill's out of town, that's one reason I called. I'll pick you up at seven. "
She put the receiver back. And then Samson came into the room, his paws making a tiny whisper of sound on the rug, the only sound in the stillness of the house.
October passed. November came in with its mists and damp. Joan worked in her garden preparing the rose-beds for the summer.
She was there one morning when she heard footsteps on the grass behind her. She stood up and turned.
A man came towards her, holding Samson in his arms. The cat was limp, his tail and feet hanging lifelessly. Joan's hand went to her throat.
"Oh!"
The man stopped, his face troubled.
"He is your cat then. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. He darted from under a car parked in front of the house right into my path.
"I tried to avoid him. I didn't run over him; but I think one of the wheels knocked him out."
Joan touched the cat with tender, probing fingers.
"I'm terribly sorry," he said.
She did not look at him. "These things happen, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. I think I'll get his box and take him to the vet."
  JOAN began to run towards the house. She brought out the cover of a packing box that Samson had appropriated and the man placed the cat in it carefully.
"Let me drive you over," he said.
She looked at him. He was about Ralph's age, perhaps a little older. He had dark eyes and dark hair, greying at the temples. He looked, she thought, like a successful insurance man or a banker.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you and I have all the time in the world. I'll get my car keys and be right back."
He placed the box on the front seat beside her. He looked so concerned that Joan said, impulsively, "Don't blame yourself anymore. I know it wasn't your fault."
"Thank you. But to do this to someone's pet, my wife had a wire- haired terrier that was killed by a car. It nearly broke her heart," "I hope you got her another dog."
He shook his head slightly. His voice changed.
"No, she died a couple of months after that. She had been ill for some time."
Joan said, "Oh-I'm sorry."
Their eyes met for a moment as though each had suddenly become aware of the other as a human being.
He said, ''I'll telephone you this afternoon to see how he is. I would like to take care of the bill also."
Joan drove to the vet's. From time to time she touched Samson carefully, feeling for the beating of his heart.
He had been her pet ever since he had come to the back door two years before, gaunt and ravenous and half- wild.
She had given him fish and milk and affection, and he had responded, becoming sleek and shining, purring his loud and lusty purr to show his contentment.
The vet examined the cat while she waited. 
"You'd better leave him here," he said. "I don't think he'll live. Internal injuries, probably. We'll do what we can."
She stroked his soft fur, feeling her eyes become hot with tears. And then she went home and waited for the sound of the telephone. She was writing a letter to Ralph when the vet telephoned: Samson was dead.
At five-thirty the man came again. The day had turned raw with a wind off the sea and when she opened the door he stood on the steps, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He gave her a quick, embarrassed look.
"I told you I'd telephone you, and then I didn't take your name or telephone number. How is," His dark eyes searched her face. "He didn't make it, did he?"
"No." She held the' door wider. "Come in, won't you? It has grown so cold."
He stepped into the hall and took off his hat. He looked distressed and unhappy, so much so that she felt the need to comfort him. "It's all right. I'll get over it."
"Yes, of course. I'm just sorry I'm the one to hurt you." 
He reached into an inside pocket and drew out a wallet. He extracted a card from it and handed it to her. "When you receive the bill send it to me. It's the least I can do."
She glanced down at the card. Mark Hilton Investment Counselling. His address was an office in the town.
"Thank you," she said. "If you really want me to."
"I do," he said, firmly. And then he left. .
  RALPH telephoned her that night. His voice came along the wire, vigorous and masculine, stirring in her a new awareness of loneliness.
"I miss you," she said. "This has been a horrid day. Samson was killed by a car."
"No! I'm sorry. Who was the villain? " She had a quick image of Mark Hilton's pleasant, sensitive face. "He wasn't a villain, Ralph. He was as sorry as I."
"And are you staying at home tonight brooding over it?"
"No, well, not alone. Pam and Jean are coming over. And tomorrow I go to the Red Cross again. Oh, I keep busy, darling.
"I hope so. I won't be able to ring you again until March. Take care of yourself, darling."
A week later, dressed to go to dinner with friends, she was arranging pink roses in a bowl when the doorbell ran. Mark Hilton stood on the step. "I've got something in the car I wanted to give you," he said.
He went briskly out to his car and came back with a square box.
"Ever since the accident. I've wanted to make amends. I hope you like this little fellow." He opened the box flaps.
Inside a black kitten looked up, its green eyes shining from the ebony of its fur.
"Oh!" Joan reached into the box and lifted the kitten out. He. was feather-light in her hands, soft and delicate. "What a nice thing for you to do for me, thank you, he's a darling!"
Mark stood on the bottom step, watching the delight in her face. "I’m glad you like him. Now I feel a little better." 
The telephone rang. Joan thrust the kitten towards Mark. "Can you hold him a minute for me, please?"
She ran swiftly to the telephone, lifted the receiver. 
"Yes?" Her voice was breathless. "Mrs. Barrett?"
She recognized the voice of the friend with whom she was dining. She was terribly sorry but she had the most appalling cold and Joan did understand didn’t! she? Could they arrange another date later?
  SHE put down the phone and she went slowly back to the front door. The box with the kitten in it stood on the steps and Mark Hilton stood watching the kitten's antics, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He looked up, the amusement in his eyes turning to concern.
"Something has gone wrong?"
"Yes. My friend has been taken ill, she has had to cancel our dinner."
"That's too bad."
 She stooped to pick up the box.
"Or is it?" he said. "For me? Would you let me take you to dinner Mrs. Barrett?"
For a moment, kneeling beside the box, she didn't answer. And then she glanced up, her eyes meeting his. "I think that would be awfully nice of you," she said.
While she took the kitten to the kitchen to feed him, Mark sat down at the piano.
She heated up some fresh milk and spooned some fish on to a plate, listening to the rippling improvisations coming from the living-room.
She went to join him.
He looked up, his eyes animated, his lips smiling.
"You're good," she said. "I can't make the piano sound like that:"
"I should be better," he said, feelingly. "When I think of all the years of Saturday mornings, laid end to end, one-two-three-four, soft pedal, loud pedal, metronome and Mother in the kitchen making pies and rolls with one eye on the dough and the other on the clock, timing me."
They laughed together.
"Well," he said, and looked at her. "Where would you like to go? Have you ever been to the Blue Fox? "
She gave him a sidelong smiling glance, half-rueful. .
"You'd probably be surprised how many places I haven't been to. But you see I don't feel like going alone or with other women to certain places and when Ralph is at home we like to stay at home. No, I haven't been to the Blue Fox."
  HE put her in the car and went round to his side.
"I am not going to think of the past or the future, only of tonight," he said.
Just tonight, she thought It can't hurt. I will tell Ralph when I see him. And she settled back, lifting her face to the sharpness of the air and the fragrance of the night.
It was pleasant being taken to dinner again, pleasant having her wishes consulted, pleasant being treated with deference.
And if, when she glanced up and met his glance across the table, she found his gaze disturbing, she resolutely chose to ignore it. It is only, she thought, because I haven't had masculine companionship for so long.
After dinner they drove slowly home, feeling the night settle about them between the hills. .
Behind a white-railed fence bordering the road, riding horses grazed. Against the side of a hill there was the shadow of a long, low house of stone, serene and solid.
"This is what I like," he said. "Horses, space, quiet, trees."
"No people?"
"Not many. Just a few."
"Do you have children?"
"I have a daughter. She's at a Secretarial College. She's a very domestic-minded girl so I expect she will marry soon and make a grandfather out of me." He shook his head. "One never expects to reach that stage quite so quickly."
She felt a sudden pang of loneliness and I will never reach that stage!
At ten o'clock he took her home. He took her to the door and they hesitated, looking at each other.
"Thank you, Mrs. Barrett. It's been wonderful."
She was equally formal. "Thank you, Mr. Hilton. Very much."
She went inside and up the stairs, hearing his car pull away. Her face was thoughtful.
  MARK HILTON telephoned the following week. Two weeks later he called again and suggested dinner and a film. Joan agreed. . ..
She saw Mark after that about every two weeks. When she heard his voice on the telephone her heart lightened with pleasure.
And she assured herself that because he had never said anything in the least bit out of the way, because he never touched her or kissed her that it was a strictly platonic thing for him too. They were simply two lonely people finding companionship in each other.
But she did not tell Pam, her closest friend, about him nor did she tell Ralph.
One January afternoon they had a picnic. It was a cold but sunny Saturday afternoon, and the sea was placid and blue.
Mark carried the picnic hamper and a blanket down the long, steep steps to the deserted beach and Joan carried Samson the Second. She set him on the sand and the kitten struggled manfully to wade through it.
They spread a cloth between them and unpacked the basket. And while they ate the plume of smoke from a boat lay upon the horizon. Joan kept turning her eyes to it, watching it grow almost imperceptibly larger as the boat drew nearer.
After eating she knelt on her heels, putting the dishes into the basket while Mark retrieved the kitten who had wandered down the beach.
He came back, and dropped down beside her on the sand.
"Do you know," he said, "your eyes grow pensive every time you look at the sea?"
"Do they?" She turned and looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. He was very close. She noticed again the leanness of his cheeks, the curve of his mouth. He had a nice mouth, she thought. What would it be like if he kissed her?
She lifted her eyes and met his. And then he leant over and kissed her, tenderly, gently.
She remained where she was, her fingers in the sand, her lips parted, staring at him.
"Why did you do that?"
For suddenly, she knew the pretence was ended. Now and for ever, everything was changed. A minute ago they could have gone on as they had, a date now and then, casual, friendly, companionable.
Now he had precipitated a change, complete and violent. Now the coasting was over and a decision was imperative.
"Oh why?" she said.
"Joan," he said, "are you blind? Don't you know I love you?"
"No--you can't."
"Do you think you can stop me by telling me I can't? Joan, I've loved you from the moment I saw you in the garden. And I would not interfere in your marriage now, if I thought you had a marriage, but have you? Have you, Joan?"
  SHE began to struggle to her feet, agitated, confused. "We'd better go back," she said. She picked up the kitten. /
"Joan-look at me."
She turned and faced him. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you see me, it's my fault."
She began to walk quickly to the steps. Without looking back she climbed them, crossed the road, and walked over to the house.
She set the kitten down and turned. He came towards her carrying the basket and blanket.
"Are you going to send me away like this?" he said.
"What else!"
"May I come in for a little while, Joan?"
She hesitated for a moment, irresolute, then she turned and led the way into the house.
He set the hamper down in the hall and followed her into the living-room. They faced each other in the centre of the room.
"I never dreamed I could love again, Joan. Not like this. I don't think I've ever felt quite like this before. Joan, do you believe me?"
She made a sudden gesture. "But I've told you. I am happily married."
"For five months out of the year?"
The question hung in the air. He went towards her.
"Oh-please-" she said.
He put out his hands and drew her into his arms. She remained rigid and unyielding. He put his face down to hers and kissed her, his mouth warm and possessive upon hers.
And then, as if solid tears within her began to melt, her body began to tremble and she began to answer his kisses.
"Joan, Joan, my darling." His voice was a shaken whisper.
  FOR a long moment she hid her face in his shoulder. And then she turned and through the window she saw the black plume of smoke from an oncoming boat spread out across the evening sky.
She pulled herself away. "You've got to go. No, don't touch me, please. You've got to go."
"How can I leave you now?"
He lifted her chin with his fingers. Her lips began to quiver. "Don't make me feel any more guilty than I do now. If you love me, don't,"
"But, do you love me, Joan?"
"I don't know," she said, whispering, "I don't know."
He took his handkerchief from his pocket and touched her cheeks gently.
She took it from him, pressed it tightly against her trembling mouth.
"Will you let me see you again?"
She shook her head, her eyes closed.
"This is all, there is going to be for us.
"It has to be. Don't you see? What else is there?" She lifted her eyes, blinded with tears.
"Right at this moment I love you, Mark. But perhaps it isn't love. Perhaps it's loneliness, perhaps it's because you love me, perhaps it's because I wanted you to kiss me."
"And if it isn't these things? If you, really love me and want me, what then?" .
"I'll telephone you," she said.
He bent and kissed her once more, and then he turned, quickly, abruptly, and strode out of the house.
The rest of January passed. February. March. She lived in a preoccupied shell. She did not telephone Mark and she did not hear from him. But no day passed but that she thought of him.
She thought of Ralph in a detached, objective way. As if he were remote, an alien and a stranger who had nothing to do with her. And she began to dread the time when he would come home.
And then, as he always did, he telephoned a few weeks before he was due home again.
"Hello, darling." His voice was happy, assured. "Kill the fatted calf. I'll be home soon. Glad, Joan?"
"Oh-yes!" she said. But she lied. She was afraid of the moment when he would stand in the door, tall and , handsome, a stranger to her heart.
  ON the day when he was due, to arrive home she prowled about the house, restless, unable to settle to any thing. In just a few hours now, she would know."
She had a light supper, forcing herself to eat. Then she bathed and dressed in the pale pink gown and neglige Ralph had given her. She made up her face carefully and went down to the living-room. And because her hands were cold with anxiety, she built a fire in the grate, and sat before it, waiting.
She saw the taxi coming along the street a little before nine o'clock. She heard Ralph's voice as he and the driver carried his luggage up to the house. And then she opened the door.
Ralph came in and dropped his bags in the hall. His eyes went over her in swift approval.
"Hello, darling. Heavens, have I missed you. Come here!"
She went to him slowly. He held out his arms and she walked into them. And as they went about her, gathering her to him, she thought in almost anguished relief. Why did I ever wonder?
For it was like going home. Inside the circle of his arms was security and all of the love and memories they had shared.
In his clothes was the familiar aura of wind and water and sun and sky. And there was the familiar scent of his shaving lotion and there was the way her head fitted beneath his chin and the known feel of his hands holding her.
And when she lifted her face to him there was the touch of his mouth that she knew so well.
This was her marriage. For five months or for a year.
"You're trembling,'  he said. "Are you cold?"
With a little sigh, she relaxed against him. "I was, " she said. "But not now." ...........................    THE END
© Lois Dykeman Kleihauer, 1960

 

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 10/11

Spice of Life
EXCLUSIVE PREVIEW

FLOWER DRUM SONG Exotic musical tipped to be the gay hit of the year

Spectacular scene from a super-spectacular show!
The scene that stopped the show. The young, handsome student hero is tempted by a vision of the girl he’d like to marry, while wild dancers leap overhead
 SPICE caught a Comet to New York specially for a preview of the London-bound musical that's currently adding most of the glitter to glittering Broadway -Flower Drum Song.
 It opens here on March 24, and, we predict it will hit London with all the whizz and fierceness of a Chinese firecracker.
For our picture we've chosen the most dynamic scene of all from a £40,000 (about $112,400.00) show brimful of colour and exciting spectacle. It's the dream sequence that brought the cheering audience to its feet and stopped the show.
Flower Drum Song is set in San Francisco's Chinatown, where the traditional elders are in constant conflict with their Americanized, rock ‘n roll youngsters. Written by Rodgers and Hammerstein, who brought us smash hits like Oklahoma!, Carousel and South Pacific, it throbs with vitality and life.
We tip at least two tunes from a host of lovely melodies to top the hit parade, You Are Beautiful and Love Look Away.
SHELAGH MASSIE *
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and now » Instant Cooking
No longer need you worry if the boss keeps you late at the office and you've got guests coming to supper, or if the children have been difficult all day and you haven't had a minute to cook for a hungry husband. Now you can produce a delicious stew in six minutes.
Called Flavour Seals, and produced by Lyons Food Division, these meals are vacuum-sealed in plastic bags and can be heated by simply dropping the bags into hot water for six minutes all in one saucepan. A snip of the scissors, and there's your meal.
There are three different meals available, all in one-portion packs, price 2s. 3d. (about 32 cents)? each. 
Choose from braised steak, garnished with haricot beans, peas and carrots; mutton in meat sauce, or stewed steak and onions. 
Flavour Seals will make their first appearance shortly in London, the Home Counties, Stoke-on-Trent and Leeds, but we're told that Lyons hope it won't be long before you can buy them all over the country.
EYE EXCITEMENT
The newest eye make-up excitement is now in the shops. 

It's a gay and attractive artist's palette 

with a complete set of colours (2 shadows, 2 mascaras) for three different eyes; blue, brown, or grey. Price 2s. 3d. (about 32 cents)? it's by Jane Seymour. 
See you at art school! DIANA DAY
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ENGINE TROUBLE
HOW much nicer young men are When I'm not at the wheel of a car, They smile and wink, as I walk down the street, But they just glare at me, in the driving seat!
JOAN PRUST WALTERS
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Roses for your sweet-dream pillows
A ROSY prospect to wake up to in the morning. We glamourized a plain white pillow case with a yard of flowered material picked up on a remnant counter,
Gather a frilly border round the edges Cut out a single rose from the remaining material and applique it on to the top corner. Trim the sheet edge to match.
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Hats off to Annette Stroyberg for her four-star turns:
how
Little-Blue-Riding-Hood keeps the wintry blast-but not the wolves-at bay.
For her first 'hood-trick' our star covers her pixie hood with the bluest flower print she could find.
A yard of cotton or silk cut out in the shape of your hood or balaclava helmet will do the trick. Finish off with a straight band cut long enough to tie round the neck. Dip hood in rain-proofing fluid for wear in showers.
to look
Ravishing as the Snow Queen herself, Annette flatters her face by 'icing' her coat-hood with a length of snowy swansdown. For copy-cat cuteness buy a yard of bunny-fur trimming, or knit a strip of fluffy angora wool and stitch it to edge of your own attached hood.
This frosting will add enchantment to your theatre coat, and give you sparkle on, starry evenings.
good
A frame of golden veiling is gilt-edged security for the girl who wants to glow at an extra-special party.
Annette chose stiff gold veiling; for your own party 'aura' buy 11/2 yds. hat veiling, the stiff chicken-mesh stuff, secure it at your centre-parting with a black rose, dewed with diamantee.
 Pin with a glittering brooch at the neckline.
in a hood
A black tulle cloud with a silver lining of glitter-braid lends Oriental mystery to your face. Fold in two length-wise, a yard of smoky tulle, 36 in, wide.
Stitch the edges in place. Sew braid all round hem, 1 in. from edge . Drape the tulle 'sari-wise' round your head for wear at that candle-lit dinner-date.

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(?about)

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The average price of a new home then was $12700. about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. Today?