Let's all stand tall in praise of us short folk

That the stature of those charged with safeguarding the West was deemed worthy of comment suggests that, at some primitive level, we expect the exalted political status of our lieges to be mirrored in their physique. In this equation, height equals power and authority, and the lack of it speaks of weakness rather than strength.

Tell that to those who lived under the regimes of Franco (5’4”) or Stalin, Lenin and Hirohito (5’5”), or of former Palestinian and Iranian leaders Yasser Arafat (5’2”) and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (5’0”).

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In fact, a glance at some of history’s most commanding figures suggests that being pocket-sized might have been a boon. Cleopatra scraped in at five foot, as did Queen Victoria. Then again, women have rarely been held back or laughed at for being tiny.

There are exceptions. As I recall, being the smallest girl in the class was not always easy. When our sports teacher made us do the hurdles, I discovered how horses at the Grand National must feel when faced with The Chair. From my worm’s eye perspective, running under the obstacles would have made much more sense. Netball was also beyond me, the ball flying so far overhead it might as well have been a plane.

Napoleon Bonaparte, the poster boy for the vertically challenged, has long been mocked for his petite stature, even though, at 5’5”, he was a perfectly respectable size for the time in France. He can blame his distorted image on English cartoonists, who mercilessly depicted him as super-short, so they could puncture the undisputed aura of authority and threat he posed.

For the political biographer Anthony Seldon, there was nothing surprising in witnessing the roll-call of far from statuesque presidents and prime ministers at the NATO summit. Leaders, he says, tend to be at either end of the spectrum: “Shorter people are anxious to assert themselves, affirm the extra need to turbocharge their ego and compensate for their lack of height.”

Ronnie Corbett may have been short but he was sharp (Image: free)

Tall men, by comparison, are viewed as alpha males: “There’s that sense of physical command and presence taller people have. As you rise up the greasy pole, having presence can help.”

The pole must also feel a lot shorter.

I’m not sure about the so-called Napoleon complex Seldon hints at. It feels like a stereotype whose days are past, one particularly popular in Scotland where, to judge by the weekend crowds on Buchanan Street, there are more tumshies than runner beans.

I know many small men – indeed I’m married to one – who are not at all ambitious, and are not just self-effacing but the opposite of pugnacious. Yet if any generalisation can be made (always dangerous), I’ve noticed they tend to have a quick sense of humour – think Ronnie Corbett (5’1”). Perhaps this was a talent honed at school, on the principle that bullies couldn’t hit you if they were laughing.

In Glasgow pubs, where strangers intrude on your privacy without any encouragement, it’s not unheard of for my husband to be called “Big Man” as someone tries to muscle in – unsuccessfully! – ahead of him. By the same token, when a roofer called Shorty arrived recently to fix our slates, even before I opened the door I knew we wouldn’t be seeing eye to eye. He wasn’t so elongated he didn’t need a ladder to reach the chimney, but you could see why he would need a good head for heights.

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Small is Beautiful was the title of the economist Ernst F Schumacher’s ground-breaking work about the dangers of ever-enlarging economies. The title has stuck with me as a tag for those of us, like me, who were never in any danger of being picked for the basketball team. Like Brompton bikes and Minis, boat houses and shepherd’s huts, smaller folk are immaculately designed, packing all that’s needed into a compact space.

Admittedly it’s not all win-win. Reaching the top shelf in the supermarket requires invention, or a passing store assistant. When a woman stepped in to help me retrieve a jar the other day, she gave me a withering look. “I’m the same height as you,” she said, “but I go to an exercise class.” So maybe the answer is Pilates; better still, a litter-picker.

Six-foot Randy Newman had no idea the nerve he would touch in his ironic hit song ‘Short People’: “Short People got nobody to love, They got little baby legs, They stand so low you gotta pick em up just to say hello…”

Did anybody really think that when he sang about “nasty little feet” or “stubby little fingers” he was poking fun at the likes of Paul Simon (5’2”) or Prince (5’3”), not to mention the rest of the pint-sized world? It seems some did, since a torrent of abuse and threats rained down on him.

Socialising with people built like cranes is always a challenge, not least for the neck muscles. To save me the trouble, one young man at a party spent half an hour in conversation adopting a half-squat, as if toning his hamstrings for the ski season.

Invited to dinner once with a couple who must have been weaned on steroids, we took a seat on their sofa. It’s hard to keep up conversation when your feet can’t touch the ground, leaving your legs sticking out like a doll’s.

There are advantages, though. We need never worry that the hotel bed won’t be long enough. It’s easier to talk face to face with toddlers. Chandeliers and pendant lights pose no threat. Sales racks are filled with our sizes. We may not be able to cover as much ground with every stride, but stay fitter by trying to keep up. Best of all, we consume fewer of the planet’s resources – oxygen, food, fabrics, etc.

Hence my new mantra, which might work for the economy as well: Small is Sustainable.