Way of the World Michael Deacon

The other day, in a fit of Jubileeinspired curiosity, I read a copy of the Telegraph dated June 3, 1953: a special edition covering the Coronation. It was fascinating. Not just because of what it had to say about the Queen, but because of what it had to say about Britain. It was a reminder of just how much this country has changed during Her Majesty’s reign – and in some very striking ways.

There were little glimpses in the coverage of the big event (for example, the men in the crowds all “waving bowler hats”). The most intriguing details, however, came not in the articles, but in the adverts. Today, all these decades on, each ad seems like a tiny window into another world.

Take the ads for holidays (almost all in Britain). The Victoria Hotel in Torquay proclaimed itself to be “one of the most modern, most luxurious in England” – because its rooms boasted “central heating, electric fire, telephone”. Not to be outdone, an ad for the Shaftesbury Hotel in London proudly trumpeted that its rooms offered both “hot and cold water”.

Then there were the adverts for goods. “Put speed at her fingertips,” boomed an ad for a new typewriter. The “her”, it went without saying, was the reader’s secretary, who would naturally have been a woman.

In 1953, there were no pesky laws about gender discrimination

– as can be seen from the job ads. “Marks and Spencer Ltd require men between the ages of 20 and

25 for training as departmental managers … Science graduate (male) required … A company of highest repute is looking for two ambitious men …”

Of course, there were also jobs for women (“saleslady”, “senior lady secretary”). But unlike today, employers could seek a “single lady” – ie, one who wouldn’t suddenly leave to have a baby.

Not everything in that day’s paper seems remote, however. On the letters page, a reader complained that actors didn’t speak clearly enough any more. Precisely 65 years later, I wrote a column for the Telegraph in which I made this very same complaint.

It’s reassuring to see that some things never change.

Good news for older women. According to a study in Germany, women who drink large quantities of alcohol in later life are both happier and healthier than women who drink none.

It does sound improbable. And many experts will dispute it. Still, I hope it’s true. Imagine what GP checkups of the future will be like. “Mrs Jenkins, your blood pressure is far too high. And I’m afraid it may be caused by your drinking. How many units do you drink a week?”

“Why, hardly any, doctor. I usually have a glass of wine while watching Strictly, but that’s about it.”

“A glass of wine? For heaven’s sake, Mrs Jenkins, that’s nowhere near enough. The recommended alcohol intake for a woman is a minimum of 30 units a week. No wonder you’ve been feeling under the weather.”

“Oh dear, doctor. Is there anything you can do to help?”

“Here, I’ve written you a prescription. It’s for a litre bottle of Gordon’s gin. Take three times a day with meals. You should be feeling better in about half an hour.”

Ihate to generalise about the youth of today. But this week, while out walking in Gravesend – the town in Kent where I live – I saw the most shocking piece of graffiti. Scrawled in large, ugly letters across the wall of a former police station, it read: “F— THE FEDS.” Naturally, I was appalled.

After all, “feds” is an exclusively American term. It’s short for “federal agents”. But we don’t have federal agents in this country. We have policemen. So what do today’s young vandals think they’re playing at, polluting our beautiful English language with this absurd and unnecessary Americanism?

Quite frankly, it makes my blood boil. If I ever catch some ignorant teenage lout spray-painting a wall with the phrase “F— THE FEDS” again, I shall march straight up to him, give him a good clip round the ear, and make him correct it to “F— THE POLICE” at once.

I fear, however, that I’m fighting a losing battle. The Americanisation of our culture appears to be unstoppable. For weeks I’d been looking forward to Danny Boyle’s new TV drama series about the Sex Pistols. But then, watching the trailer, I spotted two yobs giving the finger. I was disgusted.

After all, giving the finger is an Americanism, too. Young British people may do it all the time nowadays. But back in 1976, during the Sex

Pistols’ heyday, they would swear in the traditional, time-honoured British manner – that is, with two fingers, in a V-sign. No doubt at this very moment, scandalised punks are writing furious letters of complaint to the producers. I myself was so outraged, I almost put my foot through the TV.

Sadly, this sort of thing is all too typical of our modern world. How recklessly we discard our country’s unique traditions. After centuries of service, the humble British V-sign is being cruelly driven to extinction by a foul American import, like the red squirrel by the grey. These days, when you go to a football match and see a teenage hooligan hurling abuse at the opposing fans, chances are that he’ll be giving the finger, like some vulgar American, rather than flicking the good, old-fashioned British Vs like his forefathers.

Personally, I blame the parents. Goodness knows what they’re teaching these children. But it certainly isn’t how to swear properly.