The reason one heads straight for the obituary column when one is confronted by the Daily Telegraph is the abundance of rarefied mischievousness one finds therein. If it is grovelling hero-worship you crave, then Telegraph obituaries will disappoint. In Chin Up, Girls! we delight in a portrait of Dame Barbara Cartland: ‘In her later years, she cut an unmistakeable figure in a froth of pink ball gown with extravagant, almost clown-like make-up — her cheeks pulled back with sadly visible bits of sticking plaster … She was a formidable fairy queen.’ Ah! A morning devoid of sunny Telegraph obituaries is a morning misspent.
I was slightly apprehensive about the idea behind Chin Up, Girls!. Why women’s obituaries? Don’t we need a touch of dear departed male company to spice up our breakfast times? My apprehensions were unfounded. The sheer range of Dear Departesses in this volume is breathtakingly entertaining. We meet wartime nurses, athletes, femmes fatales and pioneering surgeons, all of whom have died in the last 20 years. Most of the women are completely unheard of, which is just as well. We are all heartily sick of celebrities by now, although it was rather nice to simper over the antics of Beryl Reid and the fearsome Fanny Craddock.
The collection is divided deftly into categories which include Heroines, Trailblazers and Bluestockings. The historically minded will find it fascinating to dwell upon the extraordinary changes that the 20th century has wrought upon women’s lives. None of the Chin Up Girls, as the introduction points out, had their careers mapped out for them. They could not follow their fathers into the family regiment or inherit a title. They were not expected to have a career in the first place. It only goes to show that role models can come in any sex, age or colour.
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