en-es  Christine Keeler-A woman of no importance
Christine Keeler, una mujer sin importancia.

Christine Keeler, la mujer en el centro del escándalo Profumo en la década de 1960, murió el 4 de diciembre, a la edad de 75 años.

The Economist, 23 de diciembre de 2017.

Criada en Wraysbury, Berks, nunca pensó que era bella. Las chicas jóvenes no saben de tales cosas. Sus mejillas eran demasiado sonrosadas, sus dientes eran demasiado grandes y tenía la costumbre de morderse su labio inferior cuando estaba pensando. También odiaba sus pechos. Hubiera preferido ser un rudo muchacho, montar en bicicleta sin frenos y nadar con los chicos del lugar en los pozos de las graveras. No podía entender por qué su padrastro trataba de besarla y ponerle vaporub en su pecho cuando tenía resfriados. Pero no necesitó mucho tiempo para darse cuenta de que ella, Christine Keeler, tenía un efecto enloquecedor en los hombres.

Todavía insistía en esconder su pecho cuando posó para esa foto, una de las que para millones de personas resumió los Alegres Sesenta y la liberación sexual en Gran Bretaña. Allí estaba ella, desnuda o poco le faltaba en una silla falsa de diseñador. Haciendo mohínes, atrevida, resplandeciendo con fuerza sexual. La mujer cuyas aventuras amorosas simultáneas con John Profumo, el ministro de la guerra, y Yevgeni Ivanov, un agregado naval soviético, la pusieron en el punto crucial de la política de la guerra fría. La mujer espiada por el FBI, con el pseudónimo "Bowtie", y que echó abajo al gobierno conservador de Harold Macmillan. Mirando hacia atrás, era asombroso contemplar el papel que había desempeñado en la historia de Inglaterra.

No siempre había parecido así en su época. Era una corista de 17 años en el Soho de Murray cuando conoció a Stephen Ward, quien la presentó a Profumo. Por posar en toples en una lúgubre habitación iluminada de rojo consiguió 8,50 libras por semana, lo que justo llegaba para mantener el contador del gas. Pero Stephen la llevó de vuelta a su apartamento en Bayswater, no para dormir con ella, sino para ofrecerla a los ricos pacientes de su consulta de osteopatía. Inmediatamente se convirtió en la encargada de hacerle el café y le permitió establecer las reglas de su vida. Él la llamaba "mi pequeñita" y le gustaba oír todos los detalles de sus aventuras amorosas, sin embargo, cuando ella se quejó de que uno de sus rufianes la había violado, esto no pareció preocuparle, con tal de que no le hubiera dejado moratones.

Su belleza le daba un gran poder en esa época. Se mudó por un tiempo con Peter Rachman, el propietario de tugurios de peor reputación de Londres, que la colmaba de diamantes. Ella era su posesión, ¿pero por qué debería ella de preocuparse? Se pavoneaba por la alta sociedad, participando habitualmente de juergas y risas, así que no fue una sorpresa que cuando se encontró con Profumo, "Jack" para ella, ella estuviera nadando desnuda en la piscina de Lord Astor en Cliveden. Tuvieron una relación de un mes más o menos. ¡Cómo podía imaginarse que la chica que empujaba tan ansiosamente al sofá había dormido también con un agente soviético! Poco sabía que Stephen era un jefe de espías que probablemente la utilizó como señuelo mientras él robaba papeles del maletín de Jack y la quería para sonsacarle a él exactamente cuándo fueron trasladadas a Alemania las ojivas nucleares soviéticas. Ella podía hacer eso porque tenía conocimientos sobre las relaciones entre el Este y el Oeste y si no lo hizo, fue solamente porque no iba a traicionar a su país.

Pero nadie en el Establishment creyó sus historias, ni los engaños ni incluso los verdaderos. Así que cuando Jack dijo a la Cámara de los Comunes que no había tenido con ella una relación inadecuada, eso fue todo. Era una chica mala, al igual que eran malas todas las chicas que tenían algo de sexo en aquellos días. También sintió que estaba realmente mal a los 15 cuando perdió su virginidad: bienes dañados, y todavía fue peor cuando intentó abortar su bebé con un bolígrafo, pero ¿qué podrías hacer? Resultaba imposible hablar por ti mismo.

Beneficios inmorales.

Lord Denning, que escribió el informe en el caso Jack, le dijo que permaneciese en silencio y se comportase. Su informe decía que no existía ningún riesgo de seguridad y la llamaba prostituta. No lo era, ya que casi nunca durmió con hombres por dinero. Entonces Jack dijo a alguien que ella no tenía educación en absoluto y no sabría hablar sobre nada más que maquillaje, cabellos y discos de gramófono. Bueno, puede ser que dejara la escuela a los 15 años, pero era adicta a los crucigramas crípticos. Ella tenía principios, también, igual que cualquiera. Y podía ser una zorra, como la llamó MacMillan, pero no era vulgar. Se vestía bien y siempre tenía estilo. Lo peor de todo fue el título que la prensa le pegó en la frente para siempre jamás, 'la reina del vicio'. Toda la vergüenza, y toda la culpa.

After the whole mess came out in 1963, and Stephen was charged with living off immoral earnings—but killed himself before the verdict—and Jack resigned, she lost all her protectors. For a while she hoped her fame might get her into films, but her nervous screen test went nowhere. Nor did modelling or journalism. She had always smoked, but now she smoked too much, and kept sliding down to grotty council flats and life on benefits. Rock bottom. Two marriages turned out badly, except for two sons, and even one of those grew up estranged from her. She supposed she was probably too insecure to love.

Her strength lay in reminding herself how powerful she had been. Over the years she produced, with help, four books, promoting each one as truer than the last and fuller of spy-details which only she knew. From her grey solitary life of cats and bird-feeding and slopping in shabby clothes to the shops she took herself back to her glory days of international importance. For sex was just a game, but spying was serious. Although she had to admit that the real Christine had disappeared somewhere along the way: perhaps around the time she had first realised she could turn men’s heads in the street, because she was so beautiful.
unit 1
Christine Keeler, A woman of no importance.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 3
The Economist, December 23, 2017.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 4
GROWING up in Wraysbury, Berks, she never thought she was beautiful.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 5
Young girls didn’t know such things.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
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She hated her breasts, too.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
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But it didn’t take her long to realise that she, Christine Keeler, had a crazy effect on men.
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There she was, naked or near enough on a fake designer chair.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
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Pouting, daring, glowing with sexual power.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 16
Looking back, it was staggering to contemplate the role she had played in English history.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago
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Not that it always seemed that way at the time.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago
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For posing topless in a red-lit dingy room she got £8.50 a week, which just about fed the gas meter.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 21
Straight away she became his coffeemaker and let him set the rules of her life.
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Her beauty gave her such power in those days.
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She was his possession, but why should she care?
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They had an affair for a month or so.
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Little did he know that the girl he so eagerly thrust to the sofa had also slept with a Soviet agent!
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But no one in the Establishment believed her tales, the tall ones or even the true ones.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
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So when Jack told the House of Commons he had no improper acquaintance with her, that was it.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
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She was a bad girl, as all girls were bad who had a bit of sex in those days.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 35
It was impossible to speak up for yourself.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 2 weeks ago
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Immoral earnings.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 2 weeks ago
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Lord Denning, who wrote the report on Jack’s case, told her to keep quiet and behave.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 2 weeks ago
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His report said there had been no security risk, and called her a prostitute.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 2 weeks ago
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She wasn’t, as she’d almost never slept with men for money.
2 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 2 weeks ago
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Well, she might have left school at 15, but she was addicted to cryptic crosswords.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago
unit 42
She had principles, too, as good as anybody else’s.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 2 weeks ago
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And she might be a tart, as Macmillan called her, but she wasn’t a scrubber.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago
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She dressed well and always had style.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago
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All the shame and all the blame.
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago
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Nor did modelling or journalism.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
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Rock bottom.
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She supposed she was probably too insecure to love.
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Her strength lay in reminding herself how powerful she had been.
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For sex was just a game, but spying was serious.
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Christine Keeler, A woman of no importance.

Christine Keeler, the woman at the centre of the Profumo scandal in the 1960s, died on December 4th, aged 75.

The Economist, December 23, 2017.

GROWING up in Wraysbury, Berks, she never thought she was beautiful. Young girls didn’t know such things. Her cheeks were too rosy, her teeth were too big, and she had a habit of chewing her lower lip when she was thinking. She hated her breasts, too. She would much rather be a tomboy, riding a bike without brakes and swimming with the local lads in the gravel pits. She couldn’t understand why her stepfather tried to kiss her and put vapour-rub on her chest when she had colds. But it didn’t take her long to realise that she, Christine Keeler, had a crazy effect on men.

She still insisted on hiding her bust when she posed for that photo, the one that for millions of people summed up the Swinging Sixties and sexual liberation in Britain. There she was, naked or near enough on a fake designer chair. Pouting, daring, glowing with sexual power. The woman whose simultaneous affairs with John Profumo, the war minister, and Yevgeni Ivanov, a Soviet naval attaché, put her at the crux of cold-war politics. The woman the FBI spied on, codename “Bowtie”, and who brought down Harold Macmillan’s Conservative government. Looking back, it was staggering to contemplate the role she had played in English history.

Not that it always seemed that way at the time. She was a showgirl of 17 at Murray’s in Soho when she met Stephen Ward, who introduced her to Profumo. For posing topless in a red-lit dingy room she got £8.50 a week, which just about fed the gas meter. But Stephen took her back to his flat in Bayswater, not to sleep with her, but to offer her round to rich patients of his osteopathy practice. Straight away she became his coffeemaker and let him set the rules of her life. He called her “little baby”, and liked to hear all the details of her affairs, though when she protested that one of his heavies had raped her he didn’t seem bothered, as long as she had no bruises.

Her beauty gave her such power in those days. She moved in for a while with Peter Rachman, the most notorious slum landlord in London, who showered her with diamonds. She was his possession, but why should she care? She was swanning through high society having mostly larks and a laugh, so it was no surprise that when she met Profumo, “Jack” to her, she happened to be swimming naked in Lord Astor’s pool at Cliveden. They had an affair for a month or so. Little did he know that the girl he so eagerly thrust to the sofa had also slept with a Soviet agent! Little did he know that Stephen was a spymaster, who probably used her as a decoy while he stole papers from Jack’s briefcase, and wanted her to winkle out from him exactly when Soviet nuclear warheads were being moved to Germany. She could do that, because she knew about East-West relations; and if she didn’t do it, it was only because she would not betray her country.

But no one in the Establishment believed her tales, the tall ones or even the true ones. So when Jack told the House of Commons he had no improper acquaintance with her, that was it. She was a bad girl, as all girls were bad who had a bit of sex in those days. She too felt she was really bad at 15 when she lost her virginity: damaged goods, and it was worse still later when she tried to abort her baby with a pen, but what could you do? It was impossible to speak up for yourself.

Immoral earnings.

Lord Denning, who wrote the report on Jack’s case, told her to keep quiet and behave. His report said there had been no security risk, and called her a prostitute. She wasn’t, as she’d almost never slept with men for money. Then Jack told someone that she was completely uneducated and couldn’t talk about anything except makeup, hair and gramophone records. Well, she might have left school at 15, but she was addicted to cryptic crosswords. She had principles, too, as good as anybody else’s. And she might be a tart, as Macmillan called her, but she wasn’t a scrubber. She dressed well and always had style. Worst of all was the title the press fastened on her for ever and ever and ever, “vice queen”. All the shame and all the blame.

After the whole mess came out in 1963, and Stephen was charged with living off immoral earnings—but killed himself before the verdict—and Jack resigned, she lost all her protectors. For a while she hoped her fame might get her into films, but her nervous screen test went nowhere. Nor did modelling or journalism. She had always smoked, but now she smoked too much, and kept sliding down to grotty council flats and life on benefits. Rock bottom. Two marriages turned out badly, except for two sons, and even one of those grew up estranged from her. She supposed she was probably too insecure to love.

Her strength lay in reminding herself how powerful she had been. Over the years she produced, with help, four books, promoting each one as truer than the last and fuller of spy-details which only she knew. From her grey solitary life of cats and bird-feeding and slopping in shabby clothes to the shops she took herself back to her glory days of international importance. For sex was just a game, but spying was serious. Although she had to admit that the real Christine had disappeared somewhere along the way: perhaps around the time she had first realised she could turn men’s heads in the street, because she was so beautiful.