Thinking about my bad-girl cousin, Jane, (not her real name obviously) used to make me wistful. She was willing to go where I was not, to dark, dangerous places forbidden to young girls growing up in the early 1960s; to places that would still be banned for young women – and men – today. I watched from the side lines, timid; a good girl to the end. I did my catechism homework; I read the required verses before a Shakespeare lesson; I was quiet and respectful when my mother had one of her interminable headaches and demanded silence from the family. I was obedient and compliant and, I thought, dull.Jane’s defiance seemed brave; her ragamuffin dress sense unconventional, her flair for the exotic intoxicating, her use of slang and expletives bold, audacious.  When we were 10, my aunt caught Jane smoking, quite daringly I thought, in full view of the neighbour’s back yard. The next-door-aunty, as she was known to our entire family, called my aunty to rat on Jane. She was punished, a crac...

Subscribe now to unlock this article.

Support BusinessLIVE’s award-winning journalism for R129 per month (digital access only).

There’s never been a more important time to support independent journalism in SA. Our subscription packages now offer an ad-free experience for readers.

Cancel anytime.

Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.

Speech Bubbles

Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.