Through Thick and Thin

Conley Rosemary

Description

The autobiography of Rosemary Conley, the nation's favourite TV diet and fitness expert of the past 50 years. Through Thick and Thin is full of candid reflections on her struggles and triumphs that were happening both in the public eye and behind closed doors.

'A sickly child not expected to survive, a chubby teenager and a binge-eating bride? The unlikely beginnings of a health and fitness legend.' Daily Express

'A story of glamour, success and achievement, mixed with vulnerability, near-despair and searing honesty.’ Rob Parsons OBE

The doctor’s voice is sad but firm: ‘I’m very sorry, but I have to tell you that your little girl is unlikely to reach her 10th birthday.’ Years later, having defied the odds and become a teenager, the same girl discovers a medical report that tells her, to her horror, she is overweight.

That was the moment the young Rosemary Conley decided to change her life. After leaving school at 15, training as a secretary and working as a Tupperware dealer, Rosemary started her own slimming classes in 1972 with an investment of just £8. In 1983 she published the first of 36 books that were to sell in their millions around the world, alongside millions more of her fitness videos, while also starring in her own TV shows on BBC and ITV. She became, in short, one of the most popular and successful diet and fitness experts the world has seen.

But Rosemary’s life was not to be one of unbounded achievement and success. As well as the good times there were dark and distressing times, and here she tells of the sorrows and setbacks that were to come – as well as the joy she found, and still finds, in helping people live longer, healthier and happier lives.

Sujets

• Autobiography
• The Women
• Woman
• Biography
• Women

Informations

• Publié par: SPCK
• Date de parution: 18 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780281087631
• Langue: English

Extrait

THROUGH THICK AND THIN
THROUGH THICK AND THIN
My story so far
Rosemary Conley
Contents
1 Surviving against the odds
2 Gaining weight
3 Tupperware, tribulations and triumphs
4 Expanding!
5 Challenges and disappointments
6 Amazing transformations
7 Crazy times!
8 Quorn House
9 Launching the Clubs
10 The miracle of Mary
11 A magazine, M&S and This Morning
12 Houses, horses and heartache
13 A Gotcha, a wedding and a funeral
14 Heartbreak, Honours and This Is Your Life
15 Onwards and upwards
16 Changes and challenges
17 A stray dog and a contract with Universal
18 A love story, a TV channel and a Fit2Win challenge
19 Never give up on your dreams
20 Having the time of my life!
21 Tightening our belts
22 A perfect storm
23 The aftermath
24 Sadness and surprises
25 Heartache and a house move
26 Fresh opportunities and new beginnings
27 A changing world and boosting immunity
28 Exciting times
29 The greatest thing
Acknowledgments
Appendix 1: Books by Rosemary Conley
Appendix 2: Videos and DVDs by Rosemary Conley
List of abbreviations
1
Surviving against the odds
1946–61
The name ‘El Alamein’ will for ever haunt the British imagination. This was the site of the great battle in the North African desert that many consider to be a turning point in the Second World War. There were 13,500 Allied casualties, of whom 4,500 were killed, but among the fortunate survivors was a young man from Leicester, Oswald Neil Weston.
Oswald Weston escaped death by seconds – and you could say that this was when the word ‘survivor’ was etched deeply into my family history. Oswald Weston was my father. He joined the Tank Regiment of the legendary Eighth Army in North Africa in 1942 and was sent on a wireless (radio) course in Cairo. He wrote to my mother: ‘I am pleased I am going to do this course but being in a wireless car is more dangerous than being in a tank!’
At the time of El Alamein, he was sent to take over a radio car. A few moments before he arrived, the vehicle was blown up and all the occupants were killed. My father spent the night in a hole in the ground before he was rescued and taken back to base.
If it were not for that very lucky escape, I would not be here to write this book, because I was born on 19 December 1946: Rosemary Jean Neil Weston. I arrived in the world completely innocent and unaware of the terrible upheaval that had just shaken the globe – one of many babies of the post-war era who were born, almost miraculously, against the odds.
And I still feel lucky today, despite many ups and downs in my life ever since.
My father left for Africa when my brother Robert was only six weeks old and returned to Leicester just in time for Robert’s fifth birthday. It’s hard to imagine such things – the high price that was paid even by those who didn’t lose their lives. Of course, like most veterans of the war, he never really spoke about it, but that period of hardship influenced us all very deeply. Along with the painful memories and the bleakness of those years, I had my own challenges – my own ‘battleground’ if you like – from a very young age indeed.
Within months of birth, I was diagnosed with severe eczema. My mother, Celia, wrote in her personal family memoir:
Two months after Rosemary was born she developed eczema and her little face was covered with running matter. Fortunately, I was able to breastfeed her for nine months. She would have nothing else. I really felt it saved her life. Every time I fed her it took an hour to put on the plastic ointment and then the other healing ointment. Her little arms had to be in splints so she couldn’t scratch. Needless to say, looking after her was a day and night job, but she was so good, never crying. I loved her very much and the constant attention didn’t worry me, and she was peaceful in herself. When she was seven months, she was well enough to be christened and that was a real celebration.
I remember as a toddler having to wear pyjamas with socks sewn into the ends of the arms so that I couldn’t scratch. Later, as I was generally unwell, the doctor presumed I had measles, but she couldn’t properly tell as I had virtually no top skin. It must have been a nightmare for my mother.
By the time I was two I had also developed severe asthma. There was no doubt that my health was a major issue, so at age eight it was suggested that I spend three months in a children’s hospital in Market Bosworth in Leicestershire. This was due to happen in the autumn of 1955.
In an attempt to save me from going into hospital my grandmother (whom I loved dearly) paid for me and my mother to travel to South Africa to visit my mother’s cousin. My gran believed that fresh air and foreign travel to warmer climes would be the best cure for my ailments. She had grown up in an era when people with tuberculosis (TB) and respiratory diseases were sent off to recuperate in the mountain air of Switzerland – and what could be better than two weeks on a Union-Castle liner sailing the ocean and arriving in glorious Cape Town? Interestingly, while I was on the ocean, I was free of asthma, although once on dry land the problem returned.
The idea of going on a special holiday was exciting, but I was very sad to be leaving my beloved dog Sue behind. Sue was a Sheltie crossbreed with a tan and white coat. She and I were so close and I really worried how she would feel when I was away, though I don’t think I fully appreciated the extent of the time we would be absent from home. While we were gone, I kept sending Sue postcards addressed to Sue Weston, The Pink Chair, and our address!
One memorable event on the voyage was being taken on to the bridge, then known as ‘the Captain’s deck’ – the ultimate privilege – and being allowed to steer the ship. My mother watched proudly, but she was hiding her deepest fears. To this day, I wonder if I had been granted this special favour because the Captain had been told that I was a frail child and might not survive for very long.
I have always remembered that boat trip in the early spring of 1955 as a particularly exciting experience in my young life. It was a great adventure and, as it happened, it was also the occasion of my first ever business transaction, at the age of eight.
During the voyage, we stopped off at the island of Madeira. While there, I was utterly captivated by a magnificent walkie-talkie doll. I spent the whole of my £2 spending money on this beautiful, beyond-my-wildest-dreams doll! I played with her on the ship and was so proud of her with her golden locks and pretty dress and the fact that she said ‘Mummy’ in a somewhat plaintive tone.
After we had settled into our relatives’ home in Cape Town, some three or four weeks into our eight-week stay, a distant cousin came to visit with her own little daughter. The girl was also utterly captivated with my doll and really, really wanted her, so I sold the toy to her for £2 10s (two pounds and 10 shillings in pre-decimal British currency; £2.50 in today’s money)! She was very happy and, considering I had had my pleasure over the previous five weeks, I was happy to get a return on my investment. The other factor was that I needed to replenish my holiday money, which I had blown by impulse buying!
Looking back, it’s curious how unsentimental I was over that doll. I suppose I could have kept her for years and years, perhaps way into adulthood – and the crumbling old doll might be feebly murmuring ‘Mummy’ from a box in my loft. But somehow I knew it was the right thing to do, and I was very excited at making a profit on the deal.
Altogether, my mother and I spent eight weeks with our relatives in their beautiful house, in glorious warm weather, in the shadow of Table Mountain. If any place on earth could have brought healing, surely this was it. This period of my life was like a brief taste of paradise. Of course, I was completely unaware of the terrible injustices of the world of apartheid South Africa and the cruel repression that was going on all around me. I was merely a very young and innocent guest in a comfortable white enclave of privilege.
Sadly, there was no lasting improvement to my health and, after the three-month trip away, I was forced to spend several months in hospital.
It came as something of a shock to me when, many years later, my parents told me that when I was very young the doctors had warned them that I was unlikely to reach my 10th birthday.
My mother could not have done more to help save my life. She took me to faith healers and physiotherapists. It seemed to be a journey of trial and error.
Memories of my long stay in hospital are vivid – as if that strange interruption to my life had only happened yesterday. Naturally, I was distraught when I was first dropped off by my parents, finding myself among a group of children aged from five to 15 who were all strangers. But at least I had the love and care of my parents not far away, and I knew they were extremely worried for me.
I remember staying in a very large ward for children with ‘chest problems’. Each morning, a nurse would come into the classroom and give every one of us what looked like an orange Smartie. On my first day I took mine and started to chew it, but to my horror it wasn’t a Smartie but a multivitamin tablet! It tasted more horrible than anything I had ever tasted in my life.
As well as having our temperatures taken morning and night, we also had to lie down over a type of ‘A’-shaped board to encourage the mucus in our lungs to be expelled – with the help of gravity, I presume. We each had a sputum pot to spit into – if we could manage to cough up anything at all. It was all rather grim, but we had to do it. It was one of life’s very British lessons: ‘Just get on with it.’ And we did.
One night, I woke up to go to the loo and was utterly shocked at seeing a male night-nurse on duty. I had never in my life seen a male nurse and I was complet