From the South China Morning Post this week in 1970 The Mainly for Women pages would have dismayed any budding feminists back in 1970. A whole page was devoted to the planning of a romantic meal for two. Soft music, soft lights 'and you, softly perfumed', adding hastily: 'It isn't as hack as it sounds: it works.' The quoted expert was Dr Samuel Bradshaw, an authority on drugs that affect human behaviour. His list of requirements for the perfect evening started with imagination and atmosphere. 'Easy enough, a few candles and leave the imagination to him,' advised the Post's writer. Next came beauty, 'easy enough and up to you'. Then wearing the dress you wore on the night you met was recommended, 'but not if you've been married for 20 years', it cautioned. As for what food to serve, the Elizabethans preferred to get themselves in the mood for love with a dish of prunes, said Dr Bradshaw, but he recommended almonds, beef steak, pheasant, cookies, jelly and chocolate. The best advice of all: make sure the target man actually likes the food in question before you start cooking. On the next page came 'The Wonderful Wife's Survival Guide'. Under the heading of 'How to fill that outsize handbag' by Felipo Da Costa, women were told to 'resist the urge to fill that outsize new handbag just bought to go with your new miniskirt with newspaper to give it shape'. Suggestions for making it look full included a small suede brush, so handy for buffing up the new season's trendy boots. A spare pair of tights was also a must, in case of snags and ladders. 'Boots that are zippered down the side tend to hook on legs that are crossed, we've discovered,'. More bag-packing ideas included a folding hair piece or wig, a sewing kit and a large bristle hair brush. If anyone thought the advertisement headed 'Woman Power' had anything to do with women's lib, they were mistaken. 'Little X' was 'a girdle with the power!' This was the power to 'generate a little excitement', with control, Lycra and Du Pont nylon rolled into one. 'It will hold your tummy flatter than ever before.' In a nearby job advertisement: 'Young charming ladies wanted by high-class Japanese nightclub as receptionists/hostesses. Apply basement, 63 Peking Road. Salary $2,500 per month.' Another strange ad was for a 'Master of Discipline, wanted by Anglo-Chinese School, salary and fringe benefits commensurate with experience'. The letters to the editor column contained an entertaining mix of serious and downright silly letters. Chief Staff Officer P.F. Godber wished to reassure a previous correspondent the police did indeed take action against wayward rickshaw pullers. It seemed a previous letter had whinged about a rickshaw puller jumping red traffic lights at a busy crossing in full view of a traffic cop. 'While agreeing the conduct of rickshaw pullers leaves much to be desired,' Godber defended his colleague, saying he had overlooked the offence because if he had deserted his post it would have created traffic chaos. Crime paid in those days. Lee Shum, 34, got a nasty fright while walking back from a bank in Mongkok. He found himself lifted up while numerous hands rummaged through his pockets. The six youths then dropped him and ran off. Police raced to the scene but found no sign of the gang or the $5,000 Mr Lee had had in his pockets. Not everyone had that much in their wallet. The story of Granny Cheung, 102, touched many readers. The old lady who had fled the communists on the mainland in 1949 was destitute and had no family left in the colony. She lived under a flight of stairs in North Point. After the Post published her story, several offers of temporary accommodation were made but she declined, saying she wanted no more changes at her age. She would only accept a home where she could live until she died.