London - Scientists say Fifties housewives consumed far fewer calories and were much fitter and healthier than modern women.
Writer Amanda Cable spent five days as a housewife in still-rationed 1953 and kept a diary. Amanda, 41, lives in Blackheath, South-East London with photographer husband Ray, 45, and children Ruby, 12 and twins Charlie and Archie, nine.
MONDAY
My day begins at 7am with a bloodcurdling scream. My children have discovered I have confiscated their phones and gadgets. They storm into my room but stop dead at the sight of me in a tight-waisted cotton dress, and applying full make-up and red lipstick.
Back in the Fifties, few households had a car. So it will mean a bus ride and a 15-minute each-way walk to Charlie and Archie’s primary school, two miles from our house.
Women in 1953 consumed just 1,818 calories a day, but their busy lives helped them burn off 1,000 calories. Today’s women consume 2,178 calories and burn off just 556. As a result, obesity 60 years ago was a rare thing - something I remind myself as I carry two swimming bags and a bassoon to the bus.
Normally, my drive to school takes just five minutes. Today the return journey takes more than an hour.
I usually like to relax when back from the school run by reading a bit of online news. But computers are banned, and I’ve no time to waste.
In my hand is a 1950s Good Housekeeping plan of work for “a small servantless house”, and what an unforgiving tome it is. Each task is illustrated by a cartoon Fifties housewife effortlessly completing her duties. Within minutes I am red-faced, perspiring and wheezing.
I have just time to eat a boiled egg for lunch, before setting off once more on foot, this time to the shops. In 1953, less than one in ten households owned a fridge, so I have to buy the ingredients fresh each day.
I walk ten minutes into Blackheath village to buy meat from the butchers, fruit from the grocers and milk. There’s only time left to walk swiftly home before I catch the bus once more to pick up the twins.
Normally, when the boys get home from school, they immediately switch on the TV. Today, they go and play football outside. For their supper I settle for grilled gammon, topped with pineapple and served with cauliflower.
Ruby looks utterly lost without Facebook or texting. I give her the Crackerjack Book for Girls and to my surprise I later find her deeply engrossed in it.
When Ray gets home from work, there’s no television for us to slump in front of. Instead, with the children asleep, we listen quietly to the radio and talk.
Exhausted, I’m in bed by 9.30pm.
TUESDAY
In 1953, fewer than five percent of homes had a washing machine, so I must wash everything by hand.
This truly is backbreaking work and it uses every muscle in my body. Washing with powder - soap suds were used in the Fifties - leaves my hands red and blistered.
The good news is I am burning calories. My Good Housekeeping book states: “Doctors rate housework at 70 calories per hour. The average housewife does 560 calories worth of work in an eight-hour day. An 8st13lb woman of moderate vigour spends about the following number of calories per hour in performing her ordinary household tasks:
“Sitting, sewing, writing, peeling potatoes, reading, standing - 30 calories. Driving a car - 50 calories. Ironing - 55 calories. Knitting - 40 calories. Washing floors - 70 calories. Sweeping with broom - 80 calories. Making beds - 125 calories. Dish-washing - 60 calories.”
So how does my new Fifties lifestyle compare to my old one? I work out for an hour a week at a gym. But I then walk only to my car to drive to the shops, or do my shopping online. Most of my other household tasks are done by gadgets and machines.
I would estimate that I normally burn off less than a hundred calories a day doing housework.
For dinner I serve lamb’s kidneys with mustard and madeira gravy - a ration book favourite with just 155 calories. My entire family look like they are about to be sick.
I can’t believe how quiet my Fifties house is at night. Normally televisions blare, computers ping and mobiles ring. We’re not even allowed to use our home phone - because in 1953, most households didn’t have one.
I love the way we are sitting together and talking instead of dashing into our rooms to stare at computer screens.
WEDNESDAY
After the long journey to school, my Good Housekeeping book cheerfully bids me to spring clean two bedrooms and set aside time for interior decorating - making curtains and chair covers. Another easy day for me then.
With all this housework the pedometer I’m wearing tells me I am walking the equivalent of a mile a day inside my own home.
I’m wearing silk dresses and shoes with a slight heel, trying, as instructed, to look my best for my husband. My Good Housekeeping book sniffs that by her 40s “a woman has an assuredness that younger women are still striving to attain. She knows that her husband, by now reaching the peak of his career, relies on her to be perfect in every detail”.
My husband, meanwhile, is thoroughly enjoying himself. And no wonder. In Fifties Britain, men took little part in household chores and left childcare strictly to the mothers. This means that Ray happily settles by the fireplace with his paper and book, while I prepare tea and take the children to bed.
I notice a change in my own body. I’ve ditched modern-day deodorant and swapped my Clarins for Nivea. With my hands stuck in dishes and washing with powder, I smell incredibly soapy and industrially clean.
The children like the fact that I’m wearing make-up every day, although I’m getting some strange looks in the playground from other mothers who no doubt assume the heels and make-up are some form of mid-life crisis.
THURSDAY
The bus fails to turn up for 30 minutes and we are late for school. It’s hot, and without deodorant I’m perspiring and stressed. Still, I have to complete the morning’s chores (special spring cleaning of the sitting room) and then I hobble to the shops in my heels.
I’m cursing because I miss my internet shopping. But in the butchers, I am greeted like an old friend, and it lifts my day. Then I bump into a friend outside and we stop for a gossip.
I realise this beats any chat on Facebook. My regular internet delivery shopping may be convenient, but it is impersonal and takes me away from actually meeting people. My Good Housekeeping Bible sniffs in approval.
“There are few things in life more pleasing or more satisfying than the company of an attractive, serene and self-possessed woman. Such a woman is in constant demand. She draws men and women alike towards her, anxious to please her wherever she goes. Her friends range from the high-powered business executive to the grocer in the shop on the corner.”
My spirits are lifted. I am clearly that female magnet who draws people towards me. I glow with pleasure - and am further cheered to read that “Fortunately, age has little to do with popularity”. That evening, Ruby helps me prepare the meal. We chat as we make cod pie. I am even enjoying washing up at the sink, because it gives us more time together.
FRIDAY
My duties today include a thorough weekly clean of the bathroom, landing and stairs - plus baking. If I have any spare time left, my guide tells me I could make Doll’s Furniture from Paper or Toys from Match boxes. As if.
Over this week, I have walked five-and-a-half miles a day. Each day has involved a litany of bending, scrubbing, lifting and dusting. It has been the equivalent of a three-hour-a-day gym workout, and I’m exhausted.
I’ve been sticking to the Fifties ration diet of 1,818 calories a day, but like many housewives of that era, I’m not hungry because I’ve eaten far more vegetables than normal.
When I pick my children up from school, they run out to play and I realise how calmer they have behaved since the television has been banned. Ruby shares her day with me, rather than her Facebook friends.
Ray, meanwhile, is so much happier with the radio playing in the background while we talk. It was rare to drink in the Fifties, and we haven’t missed our regular bottle of wine.
I go to bed knowing that tomorrow morning I will go back to our regular routines. The TV will be switched on, the children will grab their laptops and I will re-enter the world of Facebook.
Despite the physical hardship of the past week, I have enjoyed the satisfaction of my chores, and the peace it has bought my family. My scales claim I have dropped three pounds in weight, and I’m determined to stop relying so heavily on my car.
The Fifties may be gone, but every painful step I’ve taken with my pedometer has been one in the right direction.
I’m happy to return to the future - but I’m grateful for the lessons I’ve learnt from the past. - Daily Mail