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Virgins in the War
There was a fun programme on a history channel yesterday. It dealt with sex during World War II – specifically, with all the young girls and lads suddenly being away from home, around lots of potential sexual partners, and under the circumstances which might have them killed the following day – and they didn’t want to die virgins.
One of the former virgins interviewed in the programme was one Joan Wyndham. She had started the war as a convent-educated, adventurous girl with a great deal of sexual curiosity. The stories she told were priceless.
He entire sexual education in her convent school had consisted of organising a “Naughty Girls’ Society” – though none of them knew what naughty girls were supposed to get up to. They spent rather a lot of time searching the school library for dirty books. The best they found was a Dante’s “Inferno”, with an illustration of 40 naked men writhing in torment. The only drawback was that a nun had previously scratched out the guys’ willies with a pin, which the girls suspected she had really enjoyed.
After this slow start Joan went to London. Her neighbour, a middle-aged artist once wished to know what she thought of masturbation. “I don’t know what that is,” she said. – “You mean, you never…” – “No.” – “But don’t girls in convent schools do it all the time?” – “I don’t know anything about it… But you can tell me, it sounds marvelous.” Unfortunately, at that very moment a different neighbour had rushed in with the news of Hitler declaring war, and so Joan’s education was postponed.
Watching all this, I was completely charmed by Joan. There were other great stories in the programme, such as the one from a gay sailor who said he felt like “a kid in a sweet-shop where he wasn’t allowed any sweets” (but still got some), or another sailor – straight this time – who got seduced by his girlfriend’s mother.
Still, the most wonderful story came from ole Joan.
When she did get to have actual sex, she didn’t think much of it. She had joined WAAF, and the pilots she got to see were great (much better, she said, than the boring old artist), but there wasn’t much in the way of pleasure. The two girls she lived with had confided that they too didn’t get much pleasure out of sex – going to the pictures or dancing was much more fun. Then one of them said: “I met this doctor, he’s the specialist on the thing called clitoris. Let’s go and see him!”
The three of them went. The doctor made them strip, and, after a brief examination he said: “Oh, no… You don’t have a clitoris, my dear. But that’s all right: I have this cream, it costs 30 shillings. If you rub it in every night, you will grow a clitoris, and you will have wonderful orgasms.”
The girls all bought the cream, and very dilligently rubbed it in every night. “It worked wonderfully,” Joan said, smirking. “Ozzie had such a huge orgasm, she fell out of her bed. We all worked on it very hard.”
I’ll bet they did.
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8 Responses to “Virgins in the War”
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Ah, those closing comments regarding rubbing in the clitoris cream are just priceless!
Priceless indeed! LOL What a clever, resourceful doctor!
He should be reported to GMC, the cheeky bugger, I’m suprised he didn’t offer private rubbing sessions.
Hey, that’s my experience too in so far that I never enjoyed sex until I discovered masturbation, and now it’s an integral part of every sex session. *looks around if the comment seemed too explicit*
lol, I’ve just ordered a couple of jelly dongs online :)
Try telling that to the folks in the 1940’s “and they won’t believe you” (said in the accent of Monty Python’s famous Four Yorkshiremen sketch – if anyone has seen it?!). I actually would love to be transported back because I bet it was so much fun finding out and learning in an age of innocence?
I just love the clothes too and knowing what i know now, I think would have been spanked so much in school and beyond, that i wouldnt have sat down much for the nightly wars news on the radio and stood in the corner of the air raid shelters!
It a shame that everything’s too much on tap today and there aren’t many new shocking adventures like this around.
Emma
xx
Two small anecdotes from that era. Miss Bright, an incredibly generous and very glamorous woman, with beautiful legs that even a very small boy noticed, worked for my mother. After “Brighty”, that’s what we called her, had lost her pilot boyfriend during WWII, she turned to ‘comforting’ those who made it back, for which she was paid…cash and in kind: hams, sugar, eggs, rationed items from which our family benfited too I’m told. My sister treasured a parachute silk skirt which, another of Miss Bright’s bequests.
Before she died, one of my birthday sharers, I have three, told me of her concurrent exploits with an Air Attaché at a British Embassy overseas, her lover in London and one of the guys she met while on assignment outside the UK.
Both women were amongst the most generous I have met, and I told the latter, “Had I been born 50 years earlier, you wouldn’t have given me a second look. But I’d have really tried to pursuade you.”
R
How terribly sad, having read this entry in your blog, to come across today’s Times obituary of Ms Wyndham, who passed away on 8 April aged 85.
Her life is summarised as follows: “Colourful bohemian whose frank and funny chronicle of her riotous life brought her late recognition as an author”. One anecdote in particular links in to the story you described in your post:
‘Many were those intent on conquering her. One exclaimed in is frustration, “the trouble is you’re not like a proper virgin, all coy and embarrassed and ignorant. You may look innocent enough but every now and then you talk like an old French whore!”‘
May she rest in peace.
That really is very sad, Abel. I’m glad she had a chance to record the programme, too…