On Woman’s Hour, we love to educate and infuriate
As the pioneering Radio 4 show turns 70, presenter looks at how it has changed since its genteel post-war debut
It wasn’t supposed to last. But here she is, the stately radio galleon that is sipping a dry sherry on her 70th birthday. I’m the show’s New Girl: I only joined in 2007. This makes me a complete novice. Starting as a presenter at Radio 4, especially on a programme like was daunting to say the least. There I was, a burbling news junkie from Five Live, who honestly didn’t know the Second Wave of Feminism from an organic flapjack. I had a lot to learn.
I knew enough to understand that I was following in the footsteps of radio royalty – Marjorie Anderson, Jean Metcalfe, Sue MacGregor and Dame Jenni Murray, who has presented the programme since 1987. Think of that scene in the pub in
We don’t like your sort round here. So you keep your head down, do your best to integrate and eventually find a sort of grudging acceptance. Not that I blame the listeners. I love radio as much as the next devotee, and I know what I like and I like what I know.
My passion for radio began with my childhood love for Liverpool FC. I followed the matches on BBC Radio Merseyside, keeping in touch with their European exploits via commentators on crackly phone lines from places as exotic as Tbilisi. As a teenager, the highlight of every summer was the Radio 1 roadshow from the Floral Hall in Southport. As I hovered about nervously, desperate for a glimpse of Peter Powell, I could never have imagined I’d end up a small part of the very long history of the longest-running magazine programme on British radio.
Listening figures for have never been higher, at 3.7 million weekly, with the helpful addition of the 1 million podcast downloads every month. Our archive includes everyone from Emmeline Pankhurst’s chauffeur, to Bette Davis and Meryl Streep, to a foster mother, on the show just a week or so ago, who specialises in caring for vulnerable mothers and their babies.
The first presenter was, of course, a man, Alan Ivimey. It was October 1946; the women of Britain had done their war work and were back in the home. Housework was seen as a full-time occupation, and food and clothing were still on the ration. was commissioned by the controller Norman Collins, as a diversion for the person he referred to as “the poor wretched housewife”. Norman clearly believed that women needed the company of a gentleman announcer at 2pm (when the children might be having a nap), not some threatening harpy with a high-pitched voice.
That first show featured Mary Manton’s Midday Meal, almost certainly something creative involving whale meat. Things perked up later in the month, with an item entitled “How To Hang Your Husband’s Suit”. No doubt Alan wrestled with the content, and only lasted a few months. He was replaced by female presenter Joan Griffiths in January 1947.
Slowly but surely, the show’s producers began to discuss more substantial issues.
Late in 1946 came the first discussion about equal pay. The bosses sent a memo: “You must achieve balance on this subject.” In 1948, Josephine Barnes gave a talk on the menopause. The head of the Home Service fired off a memo: “I believe the inclusion of such a talk represents the lowering of broadcasting standards.” A thoughtful series on poetry triggered another intervention from on high: “The works discussed must not be too taxing. Producers, please bear in mind the very simple nature of the
audience”. Ah, bless our listeners and their “simple nature”. Still, if your programme has the word “woman” in its title then you’re asking for trouble, even in these relatively enlightened times.
There’s no denying that when I told my friends about the new job, they began taking bets on how soon it would be before I started saying “uterus”. My parents looked upon it more kindly, regarding any job on Radio 4 as a definite promotion (although I’m sure my father still times his trips to the supermarket with any frank discussion I might be having over the airwaves). Pornography, the rise in cosmetic labiaplasty, sexless marriages. We do it all, and I hope the programme will long be a safe place for people to say uncomfortable, but important things.
Of course, is mocked by some, usually by people who a) have never heard it, or b) make a point of listening every day in order to be infuriated. I’m not saying all of our critics are men, but a good number are. However, so too are over 40 per cent of our regular listeners. And they are more than welcome. I certainly hope they learn as much as the
male producers about what women really talk about. I’m not actually a qualified obstetrician or gynaecologist, but after nine years people still accost me for tips on all manner of problems. Please, never seek medical advice from jobbing radio presenters – even those of us who chat about stress incontinence and sound wonderfully reassuring.
The way we flit from subject to subject on is legendarily bonkers. Sometimes, I glance at the running order and shudder slightly. The gender pay gap (still a regular feature after 70 indulge my need for a particular type of coffee every day at exactly 10am.
The fact that I can barely type was (and remains) a problem. I have never liked writing or reading scripts, either. “Perhaps I can ad-lib that bit?” I asked very early on in my
career. Apparently not. Hell froze over the morning I said perkily: “Don’t worry, I can wing it.” Such daffy practices are not for the Radio Mothership, and never will be.
But after nine years I’m finally settling. Dame Jenni presents
in her majestic way, and I do it in mine. I might call it relaxed, others might call it ramshackle. As a broadcaster, I try to never take myself too seriously.
Will have a 100th birthday? I would like to think so. I couldn’t be more proud to have played a small part in its long and distinguished history – educating, informing and entertaining in the BBC way, but, so much more importantly, keeping our listeners company at every stage of their lives.