In an age where public tears are de rigueur, is it any wonder that we admire women who demonstrate dignity and composure under the most testing of circumstances? Bring back the stiff upper lip, says Judith Woods

J Howard Miller's celebrated poster of 1942, which urged US women to participate in the war effort

When jazz singer Dame Cleo Laine took to the stage last February before
an audience of 400, no one expected her celebrated musical partner Sir John Dankworth to be present, as he had been ill for some months. She gave a bravura performance, alongside the couple’s adult children, Jacqui and Alec, before announcing – just before the finale – that her husband of 52 years had died earlier that day. The news was met with stunned silence, as onlookers sought to process first the fact of his death and then her astonishing ‘show must go on’ chutzpah.

Afterwards, those close to her revealed that because the concert was being held to mark the 40th anniversary of the venue she and Sir John had created at their Buckinghamshire home, she wanted the celebration to go ahead and ‘didn’t want to bring the audience down’. There was something extraordinarily touching – and rather wonderfully old-fashioned – about the way Laine was determined to sublimate her grief temporarily for the sake of others.

Such gracious stoicism, which came so naturally to her, is in short supply in 21st-century Britain. We live in an age where public tears are de rigueur, so much so that the parents of Madeleine McCann were vilified and viewed with suspicion for not breaking down in front of the cameras as they spoke about their daughter’s disappearance. Sportsmen routinely weep on television, whether they win, lose or resign. Nor are politicians immune – take Gordon Brown and his infamous interview with Piers Morgan in February. But when did our traditional stiff upper lip get jettisoned for a wobbly lower lip?

Social commentators invariably trace the roots of such behaviour to the Diana Effect: the death of the Princess of Wales in 1997, aged just 36, precipitated a mass outpouring of emotion that was previously unheard of, and once the collective waterworks were turned on, it has proved impossible to turn them off again. As a result, we’ve either become a modern society in touch with our feelings, or a ‘sloppy and sentimental’ culture, as the Duchess of Devonshire, Deborah Cavendish, recently put it.

True grit, from left: Cleo Laine, Kate McCann

The Duchess of Devonshire, Sara Payne

The last of the Mitford sisters, who between them courted and endured more than their share of scandal and tragedy, Deborah is due to publish an autobiography, Wait For Me, later this year. Now 90, she finds herself recoiling at the ‘self-pity’ and ‘bellyaching’ that passes for popular discourse – and it’s hard not to agree with her to an extent. Is it any wonder, then, that we gasp in admiration at resilient women who demonstrate such inner strength under pressure that they shine like beacons amid the relentless coverage of poor-me celebrities bleating on about their weight-gain ‘hell’ or the ‘tragic’ loss of yet another rutting footballer boyfriend?

Take Sara Payne, the mother of murdered schoolgirl Sarah, who, prior to a stroke earlier this year, campaigned tirelessly in the field of child protection after her daughter’s death at the hands of paedophile Roy Whiting in 2000. Or Christina Schmid, who delivered an eloquent eulogy at the funeral of her husband Olaf, a staff sergeant and bomb-disposal expert who was killed in Afghanistan at the end of last year. At the service in Truro Cathedral she paid unflinching tribute to her ‘warrior’ hero and best friend. As his coffin passed by, she remained composed, cutting a lonely yet dignified figure. Since then she has taken every opportunity to speak out on behalf of our armed forces.

Francesca, 41, says that since her husband lost his job in construction management eight months ago, she has had to cope with the fallout. ‘Justin was devastated; it really hit his self-esteem, so I stepped up to the plate. I went from part-time to full-time work, roped in my aunt to help with childcare, sacked the cleaner, and still managed to organise my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary party. Justin’s a bit of an alpha male and, weird though it sounds, being the one helping the family through this is giving me a glow of satisfaction – although it’s been a while now and I do hope he gets a job soon.’

The show must go on: war widow Christina Schmid, Pauline Prescott

Jackie Kennedy, Eleanor Roosevelt

When it comes to family dynamics, art often imitates life, and it’s a TV truism that powerful matriarchs are what make a soap storyline sing. The pouting ingénues and handsome, wayward lads are ten a penny; it’s the women of a certain age who are the real stars of the show as they draw up battlelines, hold firm and wrest their menfolk from the jaws of disaster.

In the world of Westminster – arguably the longest-running am-dram production of all – wives are invariably called upon to rise above the ghastly humiliation of their adulterous MP husbands. So they pose for show-of-unity pictures at their country retreat, leaning on a five-bar gate with the mandatory labrador in tow, even though they’d much rather batter their errant spouse round the head with a Le Creuset pot. What a cheer went up, then, when Pauline Prescott valiantly refused to allow her philandering spouse John to pack her off to his official residence at Dorneywood
in Buckinghamshire when the press got wind of his two-year affair with his secretary Tracey Temple in 2006.

Instead, doughty Mrs Prescott stood her ground, and it was the former deputy prime minister who was forced to flee the constituency home in Hull, while she calmly put on her lipstick and made tea for the builders who were carrying out renovation work. ‘I was about to have a loo put in my hall. John said I’d have to cancel all that, but I didn’t,’ she wrote in her autobiography, Smile Though Your Heart is Breaking. ‘The photographers were all up here, but when the builders were going for their lunch I’d sneak out and go to Asda. They caught the plumber going in with the loo. The headline was “Everything’s going down the pan at the Prescotts!” I’m being flippant – it was an awful time – but you’ve got to keep a sense of humour. I felt like locking myself away. But after a week I just carried on as normal.’ 

‘After JFK died, Jackie Kennedy was applauded for her composure and the way
she led the country in mourning,’ says psychologist Cliff Arnall. ‘One reason why she was able to show such strength in public was because she had a lot of support. When you have people around you to whom you can bare your soul – as most women do – then it’s possible to “keep up appearances” when you have to.’ Because women are accustomed to functioning on an emotional level, they are skilled at recognising, analysing and working through emotional crises, whereas men may find themselves overwhelmed or nonplussed.

‘I work a lot with older people,’ adds Arnall, ‘and men generally don’t fare very well when their wives die, whereas women are much more likely to move forward, maybe taking up a new activity or re-energising their social lives.’

So let’s pay tribute to – and take inspiration from – these spirited, stout-hearted women who show us all the meaning of true grit. In the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, another US First Lady who went on to make her own mark on the world for many years after her husband Franklin’s death in 1945: ‘Women are like teabags – you never know how strong they are until they get into hot water.’