Wardrobe Mistress

Today

I spent a day in Bath yesterday. The new Southgate shopping centre is pretty awful; faked-looking, rather oppressive and with no street-life. And it's causing the regular shops in the main streets to close down.

I talked over this regrettable change to Bath with the friends with whom I lunched. "The other regrettable change", I said "is that there's a Radley shop bang in the centre of town. What's a girl to do?" I only have about ten Radley bags plus two hand-luggage sized suitcases, so there's plenty of scope.

In My Day

I don't know what drives some of us to be happy with one bag and two pairs of trousers while others feel that they always need to squeeze another item into their wardrobe.

Daddy could never see the need for more than one set of clothes (plus maybe some to do the gardening or decorating in). Mamma would arrange for him to be measured for a new suit but he would never wear it until the old one got to the point of making him look like a dangerous tramp. Shirts could be eked out by using detachable collars which were changed daily.

In many ways Daddy was a generous and open-handed father and husband. He proudly used to say that he didn't give Mamma "housekeeping" money, he gave her his purse. But when it came to buying new clothes, Mamma had to resort to stratagems and wiles, or just plain nagging.

Sometimes Mamma would plead on my behalf for new clothes; I found this embarrassing and a bit humiliating. I, too, used to have to make one outfit do for many occasions when other girls seemed to have so much choice. I learnt that they had clean socks and knickers daily (I was wise enough to say nowt when this subject came up) and a range of pretty clothes to choose from.

I suppose it was inevitable that the first thing I bought with my paper round money was a pair of shoes over which I'd been lusting for some time. By the time I was sixteen I'd learnt how to make skirts and dresses for myself and how to scour shops for remnants. It meant that I was mistress of my own wardrobe and have never since felt the need to beg permission or apologise for the acquisition of as many clothes, shoes and bags as I want.

So, if Daddy's intention was to teach me a stern lesson about the frivolity of such fripperies as Radley bags, I'm afraid it failed to hit home. Radley has a lovely new colour this season "Virtual Pink". Yum.