Saturday, June 25, 2011

Ring of Change

Today
My sister-in-law Joan and I were admiring a new ring which adorned the hand of our niece yesterday. It was a pretty gold-coloured band formed of flowers. "I've not really been a 'ring' person up to now," said Ruth "but these were very pretty so I'd thought I'd try." Joan wondered how much they'd get in the way of washing up etc. "They're dress rings," said I "not ones to wear all the time", adding that I personally only wear "official" rings, so to speak.

In My Day

As I have described before, Paul and I were penniless when we celebrated our rapidly arranged wedding in 1971. We went into a jewellers in Brighton to buy a wedding ring. After much agonising we chose a plain band, about 5mm wide. This cost the princely sum of £6.00 and we pushed the boat out by buying a white gold ring at £6.50. Paul was unable to afford it so I forked out for my own wedding ring.

I think it was 1999; we were in the shopping Mall at Cribb's Causeway. As we passed a jewellers, Paul suddenly stopped and said "It's about time I bought you a proper wedding ring, Mrs Barrett." I was so surprised I actually felt a bit of a flutter like a Victorian maiden and was tempted to reply "Oh, Sir, this is so sudden!"

We didn't rush things but went into several jewellers in Bath before choosing a gold double band. it was now pretty close to our wedding anniversary so Paul decided to wait until then before placing the ring on my finger.

It so happened that the anniversary coincided with the bi-annual "Fete Champetre" at Stourhead. The theme was "La Belle Epoch" and Paul, Lizzie and I dressed in white tie, tails and top hats with opera cloaks. I had arranged for a picnic for Flare staff and many of them also came along, some suitable dressed. When they  became aware of the fact that it was our anniversary and were told the story of the ring, they wouldn't let Paul get away with just giving me the ring. Oh, no! They insisted that he get down on one knee and place on my hand. Which he did, amid much cheering and clinking of glasses.

People asked me what I was going to do with the white gold ring. "That's the one I was married with!" I said "It stays right on my finger!"

Which is why I have worn two wedding rings ever since. 

Thursday, June 16, 2011

House Guest

Today

We've just waved goodbye to Paul's recently rediscovered old  friend Graham who stayed with us for a few days. He has a huge voice and personality and his six foot five inch frame was continually encountering hazards in our little house. He quoted Petronius to us, basically along the lines of four days being the maximum length of stay before you're knifing each other!

I don't know about that, and I much enjoyed his visit. The house does seem larger and quieter without him, though.

In My Day

The house at Rowan Avenue was a very modest sized three bedroomed semi. The third bedroom barely accommodated a bed, let alone any storage furniture. We used to say that our house had elastic walls.

In 1977 my half-sister Carol arrived from Canada, more or less unannounced. She brought with her her husband and three youngest children. I think originally the plan had been to stay with her mother who was at that time living in Hove. But the unspeakably dirty way in which she lived made that impossible.

She talked it over with Daddy. "I don't know what we're to do," she said "The children are adamant that they won't stay another night at their Grandmother's place and I can't blame them. But we can't really afford a hotel..."  "Oh!" I said "Come and stay with us!" Paul didn't so much as blink and backed up my invitation.

Firstly, we had to work out how to get us all back from Dorking. We were driving a Vauxhall Ventura, which was just an ordinary saloon car. Carol and family had no transport, having been relying on public transport and taxis. Somehow we all piled in. Paul drove, I, heavily pregnant with Becky, sat in the front with Lizzie wedged in the passenger footwell between my knees. Carol, Nick and three teenage children somehow stuffed themselves into the back seat and off we set. Even the policeman who spoke to us at the scene of an accident turned a blind eye to this feat of packing and we got to Eastbourne safely.

Now, how to make our elastic house hold these guests? Four year-old Lizzie was moved to a zed-bed in our bedroom. Jan & Suzee were accommodated in the second bedroom and Peter had the tiny room (he was the only member of that family even approaching tiny). Carol & Nick valiantly slept on the airbed which we put onto the living room floor. And the cats were firmly locked into the kitchen. The house was open-plan so Carol & Nick had no kind of privacy but they clearly thought that their digs with us were preferable to the more spacious but smelly accommodation in Hove.

They stayed for over a week, during which time we took them out and about in Sussex and up to Penkridge to see Keir and family (they did hire a car for that). I think they really only left to stay with Chris in London because of the imminence of the birth of Becky which happened a few days later.

And the knives weren't drawn, not even once.

Actually, the only thing I don't like about guests is the need for me to don a dressing gown when visiting the bathroom.

Thursday, June 09, 2011

Beyond Recognition

Today

I really like to sew. Turning a length of fabric into something that not only covers but graces the human body, or creating something useful and beautiful out of an unpromising remnant is one of life's pleasures.

Having such a skill does sometimes lead people into thinking that I approach the job of carrying out repairs with the same degree of enthusiasm. "It's just a zip", they say, or "Could you just pop in a new lining?"

The trouble is, repairing such items on a ready-made garment can be very time-consuming as you have first to figure out just how much unpicking you have to do to arrive at the point where the zip or whatever can be fitted. And it never quite seems to match up to the original.

In My Day

Back in 1984 I decided that I had to eke out the family income. So, on top of a full-time job, looking after my niece Claire, foreign students and the girls, I advertised myself as seamstress. I did make some beautiful frocks of which I was proud but I also found myself being asked to do repairs and alterations. One problem with this sort of work is that the job can take nearly as long as making a garment from scratch, but no-one wants to pay as much.

I was approached one day by a bachelor schoolmaster. Would I reline two Harris Tweed jackets for him? The linings were now so embarrassingly in holes that he didn't dare take the jacket off in front of his pupils. I didn't really know what was involved so I agreed to do them for a fiver each + cost of materials.

The garments were delivered. First I had to unpick the old lining to use them as a pattern. A good Harris Tweed jacket (and these had been good about twenty-five years previously) has gussetted pockets set into the lining and little tape or chain hanging loops. The jackets had frayed cuffs and bulges in the elbows where the lining had long ago torn.

They had also probably never seen a dry cleaners. As I pressed the pieces of old lining a miasma of old sweat arose to my appalled nostrils. The tweed was now very misshapen so I also had to press it to try to restore something of its original shape. I carefully turned back and repaired the cuffs. Then I made the linings, gussetted pockets and all.

When I came to fit them into the jackets I found that the pristine new linings, not having stretched and sagged over the years, made the jackets feel a lot more snug than they had recently. I had difficulty getting the client to accept this and he grudgingly paid his money.

The job had taken me about forty hours and I had to throw away my disgustingly stinking ironing board cover. The fee barely covered buying a new one...

Then there was the time my sister-in-law Marilu asked me to replace a zip in a pair of jeans that she hadn't worn for five years. I had to figure out how to use her mother's sewing machine, carry out the job in her front room and she never forgave me for the fact that she'd put on so much weight over the five years that she could no longer do them up.....

Never mind, putting in two replacement zips and repairing straps on two dresses is a labour of love for my Becky. I just hope she's properly grateful!

Sunday, June 05, 2011

Outside the Box

Today


The Bentley completed another London-Brighton run in stately and impeccable fashion. The run took us from Brooklands Motor Museum, through lovely, beautifully coiffed and manicured Surrey, down to Brighton.


I follow the turn by turn printed instructions carefully but I was not alone in mistaking a very tight right turn for another (correct) tight right turn about 100 yards further on. I rather wondered at the signpost which indicated "Box Hill" and a dead end. But it wasn't until we'd nearly reached said dead-end that we turned back.


"Never mind", I said, "Box Hill is beautiful anyway." "Of course," I added "It played quite a part in my childhood and youth."


In My Day


The North Downs have for many years been a playground for South Londoners and we were no exception. A bus ride took us to South Croydon where we could catch the much more mysterious green buses that took us to Dorking, Leatherhead, Godalming and so on. From a suitable starting point there would then be a walk to a beauty spot. This was quite often Box Hill.


One side rose gently and gracefully to the top and then, wham! there was the scarp slope careering down to the North Weald before the South Downs rose at the edge of our vision. The steep slope was often irresistible and even timid I would sometimes take courage and roll some of the way down the grassy slope.


I used to go to Box Hill with my grammar school on field trips where the geography lessons about how chalk hills form and about dip slopes and escarpments would take on a vivid reality. We had on the spot botany lessons and the teachers would turn an indulgent eye away from any surreptitious hill-rolling.


Later, my boyfriend Bob Kenna, who had a little Austin A30, would drive up to Box Hill after an evening spent at the cinema or dance-hall. There were plenty of quiet places to park and I'm sure we weren't the only ones to choose the hill as a lovers' trysting place.

Then there was the time that David broke his ankle in the dark on Box Hill - but that's his story to tell....

I love visiting these delightful spots and will admit to a fair degree of nostalgia for those carefree moments of childhood.