A GIRL AND A WOMAN IN ITALY

My Cardiff hairdresser, who happened to be Sicilian, had a print of this photo displayed prominently in his salon. It is a very attractive photo and is an excellent evocation of the period [1951]. The young men certainly seem to be enjoying themselves but take a closer look at the girl: does she seem happy to you? I've always thought that she looks rather uncomfortable for, flattering though it can be, there comes a point where such attention can also feel threatening.

Some of the comments I received in response to yesterday's Manuel post set me thinking and remembering: when I first came to Italy, in 1969, I was followed everywhere by young and older men. I think it was just because I was pale-skinned and blonde at a time when British girls had a reputation for being very free and easy with their favours whilst Italian girls were hardly let out of the house! I used to find it all quite frightening because a man with good intentions does not, as a rule, approach a woman in the street in Britain. I used to run home to Lucia [to whose family I had been engaged to teach English] to tell her my woes and she would just laugh kindly at me. "How is a man going to get to know you if he doesn't speak to you?" she would ask. "What do you think the passeggiata is for?"

As I grew older and kept coming back, the attention lessened and one good thing about ageing is that it does "free" you in this way. But you do not become invisible to men as you do in Britain once you are over 50. An Italian man will still, sometimes approach you and there is still, from time to time, unwelcome attention. Men of your acquaintance, whether married or not, will always notice what you are wearing or what your perfume is and remark upon it and Italian men can certainly turn a phrase!

- Which brings me to the "spiel". Oh, I did enjoy this when I was younger! The men had the wooing phrases ready for the compliment-starved British girls off pat. It would begin with some remarks about your fair beauty, move along to how he would like to give a rose to this incomparable English one ["Welsh!" I would hiss at this point] meander down paths concerning the fact that there was no one like you in the whole of Italy and end with your eager swain threatening to throw himself off a balcony or bridge [whichever was nearer] if you did not satisfy his ardour. The "Welsh!" correction was my undoing, really, for if you interrupted, he couldn't just continue with the next part - oh, no! It all had to start again and before you knew it it would be 1 am and Mamma would be waiting up for him!

I have no idea what it is like to be young, pretty and foreign in Italy these days, of course, but I would imagine that the girls have become more assertive and the young men not noticeably less romantic!