Still Smelling

In tandem with the novel by Ms Bahrin I referenced yesterday, I've been reading Andrew Marr's A History of Modern Britain as my non-fiction roughage. He too is on the lookout for smells, at least occasionally, and early in his tome notes, To put it bluntly, many British people in the forties would, by our sensitive standards, have smelt a little. He's talking basically about the working class, but this is not some kind of middle-England prejudice as Marr backs it up with careful referencing relating to the lack of cosmetics and the irregularity of bathing in that period. This made me think of Orwell's references to working class smells in The Road to Wigan Pier, though that's from a slightly earlier time, and, if I'm not mistaken, his down-trodden proles in 1984.

But here's the thing that has set me thinking about my own experience as a little lad in the early 60s, and a callow teenager in the early 70s. I don't think the kind of conditions Marr describes had changed to any great degree for my family when I was a kid. Having a bath once a week, as far as I can remember, was the norm and I was only ever enjoined to wash my hands and face in between times. I know for a fact that the idea of showering everyday came as something of a surprise to me when I got to university since my room mate in my first hall of residence, the worthy Steve Cannon, did so and I thought he was more than a bit strange for being so fastidious.

So, if memory serves me well, and it well may not, I reckon I must have been quite a 'scruffy little oik' in the argot of the period. The funny thing is, though, that far from feeling a bit embarrassed about this I can't help but be perversely proud of the idea.