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Authors: Tasmina Perry
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pompous fat cat I came up against, and looking back, finishing school was one of the things that helped me fill up my arsenal.’
Ten minutes ago, Amy would have thought that learning how to curtsey was a relic best left in the past, but Georgia didn’t make it sound too bad at all.
‘Do they still exist? Finishing schools?’
‘Why, are you thinking of going?’ replied Georgia with a tight smile.
‘Course not.’
‘You’ll be hard pushed to find any around today. Traditional Swiss finishing schools were phased out years ago. I’m not sure it sits very well with the modern age, does it? Nowadays people believe in equality.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I believe in a meritocracy, not quite the same thing. Whoever’s best suited for a role, that’s who should fill that role. Now, some women are ideally suited to being surgeons, prime ministers and judges, but some are suited to being wives and mothers. I know it sounds old-fashioned to say so, but it’s the truth as I see it.’
Amy laughed.
‘I know some feminists who would go purple at that idea.’
‘And that is the tragic thing. Feminism was all about giving women choice – if they choose to become a brain surgeon, they should be able to. All well and good. But if a woman chooses to stay at home and raise children – or indeed, stand around at cocktail parties making riveting small talk – that should be equally acceptable, shouldn’t it? In my humble opinion, feminists can sometimes be too judgemental.’
Amy looked at Georgia more closely. She had clearly underestimated this woman on almost every level. Suddenly the trip had become much more interesting, and she found that she wanted to know everything that Georgia Hamilton knew.
‘And the Season. I suppose that’s finished too.’
‘I was the last crop, actually. Princess Margaret famously said, “Every tart in London is getting in,” which was rather the death knell for the institution, I’m afraid. There are still all sorts of formal balls for girls who want that kind of thing. Or more usually, if their parents do; it’s still about meeting the right sort of boy. The Crillon Ball in Paris, for example, that’s quite lovely – although I believe nowadays they are attended by lots of rock stars’ daughters. So yes, getting presented in front of the Queen was abolished in 1958, the year I came out. Quite a watershed year it turned out to be, in fact,’ she added, sipping her Sauvignon.
‘I thought the sixties was when it all changed. Miniskirts, the pill . . .’
‘The sixties was the start of the sexual revolution. I believe Philip Larkin once wrote that it started between the end of the Lady Chatterley ban and the Beatles’ first LP. But society was changing long before that. At the start of the fifties your average young person dressed like their parents, but by ’58 there was rock and roll, Teddy boys, race riots, coffee bars – it was the birth of the teenager; certainly the first time anyone really thought of young people as being different.’
Amy started to laugh, thinking of her dad working in his garage, his old Elvis songs turned up so loud that it made the workbench shake.
‘My dad says the world changed because of Elvis.’
Georgia gave a wry smile.
‘Typical of you Americans, wanting to take credit for everything. But perhaps you’re right. I think the truth is we were ready for change. Things were moving fast. Modern history certainly sees 1958 as a momentous year.’
‘What do you think?’
Georgia nodded, her eyes taking on a distant look.
‘It was certainly a summer I’ll remember,’ she said quietly.
March 1958
‘Ah, London. I smell it in the air, darling,’ said Estella Hamilton, opening the window of the train carriage and pushing her long copper-coloured hair off her shoulders as if she were a great theatrical diva preparing for her encore.
‘About time too,’ muttered her daughter Georgia, seeing nothing but grey concrete buildings,
Ten minutes ago, Amy would have thought that learning how to curtsey was a relic best left in the past, but Georgia didn’t make it sound too bad at all.
‘Do they still exist? Finishing schools?’
‘Why, are you thinking of going?’ replied Georgia with a tight smile.
‘Course not.’
‘You’ll be hard pushed to find any around today. Traditional Swiss finishing schools were phased out years ago. I’m not sure it sits very well with the modern age, does it? Nowadays people believe in equality.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I believe in a meritocracy, not quite the same thing. Whoever’s best suited for a role, that’s who should fill that role. Now, some women are ideally suited to being surgeons, prime ministers and judges, but some are suited to being wives and mothers. I know it sounds old-fashioned to say so, but it’s the truth as I see it.’
Amy laughed.
‘I know some feminists who would go purple at that idea.’
‘And that is the tragic thing. Feminism was all about giving women choice – if they choose to become a brain surgeon, they should be able to. All well and good. But if a woman chooses to stay at home and raise children – or indeed, stand around at cocktail parties making riveting small talk – that should be equally acceptable, shouldn’t it? In my humble opinion, feminists can sometimes be too judgemental.’
Amy looked at Georgia more closely. She had clearly underestimated this woman on almost every level. Suddenly the trip had become much more interesting, and she found that she wanted to know everything that Georgia Hamilton knew.
‘And the Season. I suppose that’s finished too.’
‘I was the last crop, actually. Princess Margaret famously said, “Every tart in London is getting in,” which was rather the death knell for the institution, I’m afraid. There are still all sorts of formal balls for girls who want that kind of thing. Or more usually, if their parents do; it’s still about meeting the right sort of boy. The Crillon Ball in Paris, for example, that’s quite lovely – although I believe nowadays they are attended by lots of rock stars’ daughters. So yes, getting presented in front of the Queen was abolished in 1958, the year I came out. Quite a watershed year it turned out to be, in fact,’ she added, sipping her Sauvignon.
‘I thought the sixties was when it all changed. Miniskirts, the pill . . .’
‘The sixties was the start of the sexual revolution. I believe Philip Larkin once wrote that it started between the end of the Lady Chatterley ban and the Beatles’ first LP. But society was changing long before that. At the start of the fifties your average young person dressed like their parents, but by ’58 there was rock and roll, Teddy boys, race riots, coffee bars – it was the birth of the teenager; certainly the first time anyone really thought of young people as being different.’
Amy started to laugh, thinking of her dad working in his garage, his old Elvis songs turned up so loud that it made the workbench shake.
‘My dad says the world changed because of Elvis.’
Georgia gave a wry smile.
‘Typical of you Americans, wanting to take credit for everything. But perhaps you’re right. I think the truth is we were ready for change. Things were moving fast. Modern history certainly sees 1958 as a momentous year.’
‘What do you think?’
Georgia nodded, her eyes taking on a distant look.
‘It was certainly a summer I’ll remember,’ she said quietly.
March 1958
‘Ah, London. I smell it in the air, darling,’ said Estella Hamilton, opening the window of the train carriage and pushing her long copper-coloured hair off her shoulders as if she were a great theatrical diva preparing for her encore.
‘About time too,’ muttered her daughter Georgia, seeing nothing but grey concrete buildings,
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