The dresses worn by my younger sister Elsie and I were made by a dressmaker and were at times more elaborate (with frills and velvet sashes and embroidered work) than were the dresses of our friends. These were for Sunday wearing and in the home we wore pinafores over them which were starched and had epaulettes frilled with a hot goffering iron - similar to a hair curling iron. Occasionally we had to wear them for school on Mondays before they were washed ready for the following Sunday (we had no school uniforms then). This made us rather conspicuous. I remember having to see the Head Mistress because we had missed a day at school. She looked us up and down and said, “I wonder your parents don’t wrap you both in cotton wool.” Woollen combinations was a garment I really disliked. It covered the whole body and had sleeves and short legs which one wore in winter under bloomers. The legs were divided from the waist for toileting. They felt prickly and when warm very itchy, but I had to wear them anyway. Laced corsets were worn in our teens with a top which came up to our armpits and flattened our bust - so entirely opposite to today’s bra. I had to wear boots which, although they were beautifully made - soft leather, buttoned to well above the ankle with patent toes - I just hated. There were swings in the park and so I deliberately knocked the heels off my boots, but it didn’t help - the heels were put back on again! The changes in dress style really astonish me. Such a contrast to the comfortable clothes we wear today when fashions are much easier to wear and maintain. In 1918 when I was a child of six years, I remember that my parents had a business in High Street, Merton - South West London - and we lived behind and over the shop. We had a yard where Dad kept chickens and beyond the yard were the stables and sheds. The High Street was very busy with traffic, particularly trams. I particularly recall one day when we went to Dad’s small farm in Sutton, Surrey to see some newly arrived piglets. They were cute and very busy suckling from their huge mother. One little pig seemed squeezed out by his brothers and sisters and looked very sad and forlorn. He was smaller than the others and seemed most unlikely to survive. My eldest sister Beatrice wanted to take him home and look after him. After much persuasion my father agreed. So Charlie became a family pet. As he grew larger and larger it was obvious that he would have to go, but my sister was reluctant and was determined to keep him as long as she could. One day as I was returning from school I came into the top end of the High Street and saw ahead of me a large crowd of people who were completely blocking the traffic and trams were lined up on either side of the crowd. There was much laughter and movement in the crowd so I asked a friend what was going on. “Oh it’s so funny,” she said. “A huge pig is lying across the tram lines refusing to move. Several men have tried to drag it off but it is too heavy for them. The pig lies and grunts and seems to be enjoying all their efforts. They are trying to find the woman who owns it because it is said that the pig is a pet and will move if the woman tells it to.” I knew the pig was Charlie and wondered how he had managed to get out of the shed. It was obvious that the crowd was enjoying the situation immensely. The police arrived but couldn’t move Charlie. They stood discussing what they could use to get Charlie to stand up so that they could push him off the tram lines. Then my sister arrived and Charlie reluctantly got up and she took him home. This incident sealed Charlie’s fate and he was taken back to the farm. My sister was most upset but the police insisted that he go. I can’t remember what happened to Charlie after that. |
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