If you give ‘it’ on a plate to a man, he’ll get off scot free and you’ll be left holding the baby.
That was the full extent of my sex education from my Roman Catholic fire-and-brimstone Scots gran.
At 13, I had no idea what ‘it’ was doing on a plate.
Like many teenage girls in the early 1960s, we learned about sex behind the school’s bike sheds and through gossip.
We knew that it was ‘bad girls’ who had babies before they were married.
And then there was abortion. Adults whispered about a teenager in our street who had got pregnant, but they clammed up whenever us kids were around.
We still overheard mention of gin, hot baths, dirty instruments and a ‘woman’ that helped.
These were still the days of backstreet abortions.
Both men and women fought long and hard for women’s right to legal abortion.
I haven’t had an abortion, but I know loads of women who’ve had to make the gut-wrenching, soul-searching decision to terminate a pregnancy.
Now, in 2012, anti-abortion activism is escalating. Two groups involved are 40 Days of Life and Helpers of God’s Precious Infants UK.
These pious, placard-waving pro-lifers are turning up outside British Pregnancy Advisory Service (BPAS) clinics, trying to stop women from having abortions.
Well I say shame on you, you sanctimonious rabble.
Not for being pro-lifers and not for being anti-abortionists. You are perfectly entitled to your view.
But why do you think you have the God-given right to target women going to these clinics, to persecute them and abuse their right to privacy?
I challenge the pro-lifers, especially the men. The next time you feel the urge to run roughshod over a woman’s spirit with your spiritual hobnail boots, try walking a mile in her heartbroken stilletoes.
Feel her pain, feel her guilt, feel her grief (which will live with her forever). Then perhaps you won’t think your souls are whiter than your dentures.