I WAS A FAILURE AT SCHOOL

The outwardly confident Delia Smith revealed a vulnerable side when she spoke to Lynda Lee-Potter in 2000, explaining how her unhappy schooldays had left her riddled with insecurity...

Delia Smith is said to be the woman most men fancy. She’s pretty with a sweet smile and has the ability to tell even beginners how to cook without getting in a muddle. But the chaps who actually know her might tell a different story. ‘I am a perfectionist so I can be hard on people,’ she says. ‘I’m also a blunt speaker, which I think men find quite tough.’

In fact Delia, who last August was offered a peerage but turned it down as she felt she was too busy, is an amalgam of implacability, vulnerability and total assurance. ‘I’m a person of powerful instinct,’ she admits. ‘The BBC said to me, “You can’t put a sunflower on the front of a cookery book. It will look like an advert for margarine.” But I knew it was right and I wouldn’t back down. If I didn’t also have the unsure side to me I’d probably be absolutely dreadful.

‘I went through years of never having any confidence. I was a failure at school and if you fail your 11-plus you do really feel on the scrap heap. The results were read out in class and I went home and cried all afternoon. I felt I’d let my parents down, and I think that’s where the lack of confidence is rooted. I found school a very unhappy experience. The headmistress said when I left, “If you’d worked hard you could have been a secretary.” You don’t feel confident if you start out with an inadequate education and then marry someone who’s got a degree from Oxford.’

She is referring to her husband Michael Wynn-Jones, who was a deputy editor at the Mirror Magazine when Delia landed a job as their cookery writer. They were ‘desperate’ to fill the job, she says. ‘I went to see the editor, Mike Molloy, who said, “What have you written?” I said, “I haven’t written anything ever.” I hadn’t got an English O-level, I didn’t know how to write or put full stops in and I still can’t spell. He said, “That’s all right. Go away, write two 600-word pieces and send them in.” I sat up all night doing it. Then I thought, “No, it’s not right.” I did it again, and again. I saw the sun come up but I got the job and £80 for each piece, which was a huge amount then.’ She also got a husband, in Michael. ‘It wasn’t just my looks and charm which attracted him,’ says Delia. ‘Michael likes his food and that’s been a joy for me.’ When the magazine folded the pair took their redundancy cheques and bought a cottage in Suffolk. Viewers know it because it’s where Delia does all her TV programmes. ‘Our lifestyle is modest, though we fly first class. But I’ve learned that the more possessions you have the more aggro you have.’ The couple don’t have any children. ‘I’ve never spent time worrying about it,’ says Delia. ‘I couldn’t have had my career if I’d had a family because I wouldn’t have wanted anybody else to look after them. I’m not sure, though, that I’d have been a good parent. I’d probably have been unsure if I was doing the right thing.’ In some ways, Norwich City Football Club, where she and Michael are principal shareholders, has become a surrogate family. ‘Football,’ she says, ‘offers all the things we’re told we’re missing in life – community, belonging and sharing.’ And cooking has brought her joy, fulfilment and finally, at 58, possibly confidence. ‘Cooking is very important,’ she says. ‘There’s joy in eating, which can be shared. I don’t think I’ll ever suffer from depression because I’m always looking forward to the next meal.’

Delia pictured in 2000