Jennifer Ryan's Blog - Posts Tagged "pay"
Feminism in Second World War Britian
Women’s perceived role in society took a giant—if temporary—leap up in Second World War Britain, as played out by those brave and tenacious women in The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir. At its peak in 1943, working women exceeding seven million, filling the gaps left by the men, many with more than one job, or volunteering in addition to their main work.
At first, they were given unskilled jobs in factories and as farm laborers, but as the war progressed, women were trained to become engineers, skilled workers, and managers. Young women were taking the spaces left by men in universities, studying sciences, medicine, and law, including Margaret Thatcher who studied chemistry at Oxford during the war. Running fire stations, driving ambulances, and chopping down trees for the forestry commission, they proved that they could do it, and—more than that—they proved that they had the brains, the strength, and the resourcefulness to do it on their own.
Some groups of women quietly fought for equal pay during the war, a task that had to be carried out carefully so as not to be seen as unpatriotic; everyone’s focus should be on the war rather than pay, after all. Female factory workers in the Rolls Royce Hillington plant in Glasgow went on strike in 1943 and gained some pay concessions; skilled female workers would be paid the same amount as semi-skilled men. In the same year, the women ferry pilots flying for the Air Transport Auxiliary finally achieved equal pay. This was the first time in history that women had been paid the same amount for the same work. It set a new standard; the women had proved that it could be done.
(Ironically, despite pressure from his advisors, Hitler didn’t allow women to work in bomb or munition factories, feeling that their rightful place was in the home. He did, however, use captured women from occupied countries as slave labor working in German factories, and many sabotaged their work to aid the Allies.)
At the end of the war, women were encouraged to give up their jobs and return to the home. In many professions, such as banking and in the government sector, women had to give up work when they got married, known as the marriage bar, although already this had begun to be controversial as it was not implemented in low-pay unskilled jobs, which deterred women from seeking higher education. Crucially, pay for women went back to being significantly lower; in factories, unskilled women were paid 53 per cent that of men.
However, it was their energy and tenacity that lay the groundwork for the push for equality in the 1960s. How can you argue that women are not worthy of equality when they have already proved that they have the minds and abilities to do be just as productive as men? We have the Second World Women—those wonderful spirits of The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir—to thank for showing everyone how it can be done.
At first, they were given unskilled jobs in factories and as farm laborers, but as the war progressed, women were trained to become engineers, skilled workers, and managers. Young women were taking the spaces left by men in universities, studying sciences, medicine, and law, including Margaret Thatcher who studied chemistry at Oxford during the war. Running fire stations, driving ambulances, and chopping down trees for the forestry commission, they proved that they could do it, and—more than that—they proved that they had the brains, the strength, and the resourcefulness to do it on their own.
Some groups of women quietly fought for equal pay during the war, a task that had to be carried out carefully so as not to be seen as unpatriotic; everyone’s focus should be on the war rather than pay, after all. Female factory workers in the Rolls Royce Hillington plant in Glasgow went on strike in 1943 and gained some pay concessions; skilled female workers would be paid the same amount as semi-skilled men. In the same year, the women ferry pilots flying for the Air Transport Auxiliary finally achieved equal pay. This was the first time in history that women had been paid the same amount for the same work. It set a new standard; the women had proved that it could be done.
(Ironically, despite pressure from his advisors, Hitler didn’t allow women to work in bomb or munition factories, feeling that their rightful place was in the home. He did, however, use captured women from occupied countries as slave labor working in German factories, and many sabotaged their work to aid the Allies.)
At the end of the war, women were encouraged to give up their jobs and return to the home. In many professions, such as banking and in the government sector, women had to give up work when they got married, known as the marriage bar, although already this had begun to be controversial as it was not implemented in low-pay unskilled jobs, which deterred women from seeking higher education. Crucially, pay for women went back to being significantly lower; in factories, unskilled women were paid 53 per cent that of men.
However, it was their energy and tenacity that lay the groundwork for the push for equality in the 1960s. How can you argue that women are not worthy of equality when they have already proved that they have the minds and abilities to do be just as productive as men? We have the Second World Women—those wonderful spirits of The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir—to thank for showing everyone how it can be done.
Pink Gin – the British Wartime Cocktail
My grandmother—the one we called Party Granny—had a favorite cocktail: the Pink Gin, which comprised a good measure of gin with a few drops of pink Angostura bitters. It was especially popular in the upper and upper-middle classes (to which my grandmother aspired) during the war, when tonic water was hard to come by.
Traditionally, it’s a Naval concoction that makes the consumption of Angostura bitters—used for seasickness—more convivial, and I love the picture of a dozen uniformed officers and their wives sipping away inside a stately naval function room.
My grandfather was a Naval Commander, and Party Granny always claimed that her love for the Pink Gin was due to support for his role, rather than its alcoholic content. “In any case,” she’d say with a smirk. “It looks rather fancy, doesn’t it!”
It's virtually straight gin with a few drops of Angostura bitters, so completely lethal; no wonder Party Granny’s war stories became increasingly scandalous as the party wore on!
The Chilbury Ladies' Choir
Traditionally, it’s a Naval concoction that makes the consumption of Angostura bitters—used for seasickness—more convivial, and I love the picture of a dozen uniformed officers and their wives sipping away inside a stately naval function room.
My grandfather was a Naval Commander, and Party Granny always claimed that her love for the Pink Gin was due to support for his role, rather than its alcoholic content. “In any case,” she’d say with a smirk. “It looks rather fancy, doesn’t it!”
It's virtually straight gin with a few drops of Angostura bitters, so completely lethal; no wonder Party Granny’s war stories became increasingly scandalous as the party wore on!
The Chilbury Ladies' Choir
The Magical Inspiration of Teachers
Prim, the magical choir and music teacher in The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir, has caused quite a stir with her great black cloak and frizz of white hair, her otherworldliness, and her spirituality. I am often asked if she was based on someone, and what is the key to that student-teacher magic.
As a teenager, I had a very inspiring music teacher, the formidable Miss Newing, and Prim is very loosely based on her. The irony is that for such a magnificent and imposing woman, she was small and rather slight, probably around five foot tall. Her soft white hair was always meticulously curled in the old-fashioned way, and she’d wear traditional tweed suits in bright colors: turquoise, cerise, and blue, not unlike the queen. Her voice had a piercing quality, although it was her intonation that was especially transfixing, speaking about music practice as if it were the single most important thing happening on the planet earth that decade. As young teenagers, we’d hide our smiles as she pronounced the word piano in the Italian way: Pee-ahh-no.
She had that sense of magic about her, and if there was any drama in my life—which, as a 14-year-old girl was practically always—as soon as I walked into her music room, it wouldn’t matter; we had music and ourselves, and that was the most important thing.
Sometimes that’s all it takes: someone having faith in you, taking you away from all the small annoyances of every day, showing you the bigger picture. It was a very special time; she taught me that, whatever is happening, it often helps to take a small step back and let music carry you away.
The Chilbury Ladies' Choir
Jennifer Ryan
As a teenager, I had a very inspiring music teacher, the formidable Miss Newing, and Prim is very loosely based on her. The irony is that for such a magnificent and imposing woman, she was small and rather slight, probably around five foot tall. Her soft white hair was always meticulously curled in the old-fashioned way, and she’d wear traditional tweed suits in bright colors: turquoise, cerise, and blue, not unlike the queen. Her voice had a piercing quality, although it was her intonation that was especially transfixing, speaking about music practice as if it were the single most important thing happening on the planet earth that decade. As young teenagers, we’d hide our smiles as she pronounced the word piano in the Italian way: Pee-ahh-no.
She had that sense of magic about her, and if there was any drama in my life—which, as a 14-year-old girl was practically always—as soon as I walked into her music room, it wouldn’t matter; we had music and ourselves, and that was the most important thing.
Sometimes that’s all it takes: someone having faith in you, taking you away from all the small annoyances of every day, showing you the bigger picture. It was a very special time; she taught me that, whatever is happening, it often helps to take a small step back and let music carry you away.
The Chilbury Ladies' ChoirJennifer Ryan
The Woman Who Flew Spitfires
Throughout the Second World War, Mary Ellis ferried Spitfires and other military planes from the factories where they were made to the RAF bases that needed them, one of 169 women who pushed their way in to do a man’s job—eventually for a man’s pay.
At 100 years old, she still had the sprightly yet clipped manner of a woman who had survived and thrived in the man’s world of aviation. One of the last World War Two pilots still alive, I was lucky to have lunch with her near her home on the Isle of Wight in the south of England.
Armed with questions and preparing myself to meet a frail centenarian, little did I expect that she would bark a few questions at me, and then proceed at last to tell me things I’d never known about the women who took on the dangerous role of delivering planes for the war.
Bad weather, friendly fire, barrage balloons, derelict planes, and coming face to face with a Nazi bomber were among the many dangers these women faced in their day-to-day duties. Flying without navigation equipment or radio support, getting lost or trapped above thick cloud cover became a life-or-death situation. Every morning they were handed their orders: around three to six ferrying jobs for each day, sometimes short hops and others from the very south of the country to the very top of Scotland.
“It wasn’t for the faint hearted,” Mary said when I asked what kind of girls took up the job. “The flying was hard work, but then you had to deal with the prejudices too. No one thought we women could do it, and we had to work twice as hard as the men, and we couldn’t get away with accidents or mishaps.”
By the end of the war, women had demonstrated their aptitude for levelheadedness, with fewer broken planes, more flights per person, and less deaths than the male ferry pilots. On top of these feats, the women quietly pressed for equal pay for equal work, and were awarded it in 1942, the very first women ever to break that threshold.
Thank you to Mary Ellis and the other fearless women WW2 pilots for bravely bolstering air control and for steadfastly furthering the equality for women.
At 100 years old, she still had the sprightly yet clipped manner of a woman who had survived and thrived in the man’s world of aviation. One of the last World War Two pilots still alive, I was lucky to have lunch with her near her home on the Isle of Wight in the south of England.
Armed with questions and preparing myself to meet a frail centenarian, little did I expect that she would bark a few questions at me, and then proceed at last to tell me things I’d never known about the women who took on the dangerous role of delivering planes for the war.
Bad weather, friendly fire, barrage balloons, derelict planes, and coming face to face with a Nazi bomber were among the many dangers these women faced in their day-to-day duties. Flying without navigation equipment or radio support, getting lost or trapped above thick cloud cover became a life-or-death situation. Every morning they were handed their orders: around three to six ferrying jobs for each day, sometimes short hops and others from the very south of the country to the very top of Scotland.
“It wasn’t for the faint hearted,” Mary said when I asked what kind of girls took up the job. “The flying was hard work, but then you had to deal with the prejudices too. No one thought we women could do it, and we had to work twice as hard as the men, and we couldn’t get away with accidents or mishaps.”
By the end of the war, women had demonstrated their aptitude for levelheadedness, with fewer broken planes, more flights per person, and less deaths than the male ferry pilots. On top of these feats, the women quietly pressed for equal pay for equal work, and were awarded it in 1942, the very first women ever to break that threshold.
Thank you to Mary Ellis and the other fearless women WW2 pilots for bravely bolstering air control and for steadfastly furthering the equality for women.
Carrot Popsicles for Easter!
Q: What do you do if sweets and candies are rationed and you haven't seen an ice cream in years?
A: Find an enormous carrot, peel it, push in onto a stick, and hand it your kids for a special treat.
Sugar was one of the first things rationed in WW2 Britain, closely followed by butter, jam, cakes, cookies, and all things sweet, leaving it difficult to celebrate special dates. Millions of children grew up never having even tasted chocolate; an aunt who was only eight at the end of the war told me that the first time she had ice cream was on a trip to Ireland in 1948. "I couldn't believe it just melted in my mouth!" she exclaimed.
Ingenuity became tantamount: how could the population keep spirits up? There was a fear if people felt that they were doing without, this loss of appetite for war would lead directly to Britain's surrender. And so everyone put their collective thinking hats on and came up with some delicious ways to uphold food traditions during the worst of the shortages.
Carrot Lollies were just the start. Carrot Fudge was very popular, using the sweetness of carrots to make up for the lack of sugar, and a recipe for Mock Marzipan used just a small amount of sugar mixed into flour with almond essence. These were cut into cubes and placed in chocolate boxes to be offered around during celebrations, such as Easter.
Many people even felt that rationing brought them closer together. "We all had to do whatever we could," my aunt told me. "We all helped with the growing of vegetables, and we all had to cook as imaginatively as we dared. My extended family--aunties and uncles--would save their sweet rations for me and my little sister. It gave them a sense of pride and purpose." Then she grinned, "And of course it made us all appreciate everything a lot more."
A: Find an enormous carrot, peel it, push in onto a stick, and hand it your kids for a special treat.
Sugar was one of the first things rationed in WW2 Britain, closely followed by butter, jam, cakes, cookies, and all things sweet, leaving it difficult to celebrate special dates. Millions of children grew up never having even tasted chocolate; an aunt who was only eight at the end of the war told me that the first time she had ice cream was on a trip to Ireland in 1948. "I couldn't believe it just melted in my mouth!" she exclaimed.
Ingenuity became tantamount: how could the population keep spirits up? There was a fear if people felt that they were doing without, this loss of appetite for war would lead directly to Britain's surrender. And so everyone put their collective thinking hats on and came up with some delicious ways to uphold food traditions during the worst of the shortages.
Carrot Lollies were just the start. Carrot Fudge was very popular, using the sweetness of carrots to make up for the lack of sugar, and a recipe for Mock Marzipan used just a small amount of sugar mixed into flour with almond essence. These were cut into cubes and placed in chocolate boxes to be offered around during celebrations, such as Easter.
Many people even felt that rationing brought them closer together. "We all had to do whatever we could," my aunt told me. "We all helped with the growing of vegetables, and we all had to cook as imaginatively as we dared. My extended family--aunties and uncles--would save their sweet rations for me and my little sister. It gave them a sense of pride and purpose." Then she grinned, "And of course it made us all appreciate everything a lot more."
