FEMMES FATALES

Press, Volume CX, Issue 32362, 30 July 1970, Page 21

FEMMES FATALES

They are but two married women, attractive in their own rights, but with no silly aspirations or feminine illusions that they’ll set every male heart aflutter each time they emerge from behind their ironing boards to venture into the city. After having weathered (between them) more than 70 years, produced (collectively) three sons and four daughters and acquired (individually) hints of a wrinkle or two around the eyes, they regard life merely as a continuing story, with some of the better episodes no longer screening. Recently they went to the Shirley Bassey show. Their .entrance into the theatre went virtually unnoticed. All the males seemed fully occupied either perusing their programmes or furtively fumbling for the biggest liquorice ell-sort But

when the house lights dimmed and Shirley stood engulfed in the spotlight, the male reaction was spontaneous. They shifted uneasily in their seats, clearing their throats as if laryngitis was suddenly upon them. Without a doubt Shirley was a formidable opponent for any girl—but, our housewives agreed, she did have certain advantages—a sexy voice, theatrical lighting, plus a dressmaker who obviously drew heavily on Lady Godiva for inspiration. Indeed, whatever Shirley had, she’d brought it all with her. So after the show, as our modest housewives climbed into 1 their car for their homeward journey, they were agreeably surprised to receive a series of wolf whistles from a group of quite, quite young army personnel, treated, of course, with outward contemi>t and a little, just a little, inward glow of aatia-

faction. They were soon to receive further assurance that Shirley Bassey didn't have it all. As they stopped for the traffic lights, another group of young men not only whistled, but also waved wildly and hailed them vociferously. This was taken in good spirits until they saw two of the young men running towards the car. There was a feverish checking of door locks and side windows and a guilty feeling that perhaps they’d overdone the skin perfume and eye-liner. As the lights changed to green, our housewives took off hastily, leaving their passionate pursuers panting mid-street. Only after travelling a few more blocks southwards did they realise what it was about them that had so suddenly “switched on" the male population of Manchester Street. They had forgotten to do precisely that with their headlights.