The result was an unusually large postbag of mostly indignant letters, not just from men. One wounded correspondent, Mrs. Beryl Diplock of St. Paul’s Cray, deplored the article’s sentiments as dangerous and unchristian. More than one female reader pointed out that such a proposition was liable to give slippery men an excuse to wriggle out of their responsibilities.

There was one letter, however, that stood out from all the rest. It was from a Mrs. Gretchen Tilbury of 7 Burdett Road, Sidcup, and read simply:

Dear Editor,

I was interested to read your article “Men No Longer Needed for Reproduction” in last week’s paper. I have always believed my own daughter (now ten) to have been born without the involvement of any man. If you would like to know more information you may write to me at the above address.

The next editorial meeting—usually a dull affair involving the planning and distribution of duties for the week and a postmortem of the errors and oversights in the previous issue—was livelier than it had been for some time.

Jean Swinney, features editor, columnist, dogsbody and the only woman at the table, glanced at the letter as it was passed around. The slanted handwriting, with its strange continental loops, reminded her of a French teacher from school. She, too, had written the number seven with a line through it, which the thirteen-year-old Jean had thought the height of sophistication and decided to imitate. Her mother had put a stop to that; she could hardly have been more affronted if Jean had taken to writing in blood. To Mrs. Swinney, all foreigners were Germans and beyond the pale.

Thoughts of her mother prompted Jean to remember that she needed to pick up her shoes from the repair shop on the way home. It mystified her why someone who seldom left the house should need so many pairs of outdoor shoes. Also required were cigarettes, peppermint oil from Rumsey’s and kidneys and lard if she could be bothered to make a pie for dinner. Otherwise it would just be “eggs any which way,” that old standby.

“Does anyone want to go and interview Our Lady of Sidcup?” asked Larry, the news editor.

There was a general creaking backward in chairs, indicative of dissent.

“Not really my thing,” said Bill, sports and entertainment editor.

Jean slowly extended her hand to take the letter. She knew it was coming her way sooner or later.

“Good idea,” said Larry, huffing smoke across the table. “It’s women’s interest, after all.”

“Do we really want to encourage these cranks?” said Bill.

“She may not be a crank,” said Roy Drake, the editor, mildly.

It made Jean smile to remember how intimidating she used to find him when she had joined the paper as a young woman, and how she would quake if summoned to his office. She had soon discovered he was not the sort of man who took pleasure in terrorizing his juniors. He had four daughters and treated all women kindly. Besides, it was hard to be in awe of someone whose suits were so very crumpled.