Hello and a happy Saturday to you!
It's my turn again at the Writing Wranglers and Warriors blog this Saturday but I'm REBLOGGING most of it here since it's about my Easter memories.
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Spring into summer… via Easter
My earliest memories of Easter are not so much of hand painted
hard-boiled eggs, of chocolate eggs, or of hot cross buns. What I recall most during
my growing years of the 1950s was that regardless of whether the Easter weekend
fell in March or in April, it was a symbolic time to shed the winter clothes
and showcase those for the summer.
Brrr….Freezing cold legs and short ankle socks! That’s what
I remember most.
The aunt I was named after, my aunt Nan
(usually called my Nana) generally made my sister and I an Easter outfit every
year. She was a kilt/ tartan clothes maker to trade and worked in the Glen Har factory
in Hillington, Glasgow , Scotland . Glen Har was a
prestigious clothing outlet which sent tartan and tweed products to worldwide
destinations. Highly skilled seamstresses worked there, so Nana’s wages weren’t
brilliant but they were a little above average for the sewing trade.
Nana was my mother’s unmarried sister. She looked after my
grandfather who was 78 the year I was born. Regardless of having her full time 5
days a week sewing job and caring for a cantankerous old man who lived till I was
eight in 1960, she also loved my sister and me to bits, spoiling us rotten whenever
she could afford it. This was just as well because my mum and dad couldn’t buy
many new clothes for us; everything we wore was well cared for and intended to
last a long time.
Unfortunately, I’ve no photographs of any of our full Easter
outfits but this photo to the left is of Nana, my sister and me. I’m about 5 years old in
this one: our skirts no doubt quite stylish for that year. (1957?)
However, every Easter, Nana went the whole hog. Our brand new outfit
got its first airing on Easter Sunday at her local Church of Scotland where my
sister and I were enrolled in the Sunday School. Rain, hail or shine …and maybe
even snow… we wore our new outfits on Easter Sunday regardless, Nana included
as she kitted herself out as well!
She would have been ‘black-affontit’ if we weren’t presentable from inside out so, on
Good Friday, our cosy and well worn libertybodices went into storage for the next winter. Nana replaced our scratchy woollen
winter vests with strappy white knitted-cotton ones which sometimes had a
lovely, but itchy, lace edging. Below that we had brand new knickers. Don’t ask
what they were like - lets just say they were cotton utility with wide elastic!
Even though my sister is four years my senior, we tended to
get the same design in a pretty cotton dress, or a matching blouse and skirt
set. On top of that we would be given a new cardigan, often ones Nana hand
knitted. A new cotton jacket or coat completed the outfit, generally shop bought,
though I do recall the ‘Duster coats’
she made for us on at least one occasion.
The following photo isn’t an Easter one but my sister and I
are wearing blouses and kilts made by Nana.
The kilts are Dress Stewart (I
think) although we technically only can claim to be affiliated to the Mackenzie,
or the Fraser clans. I’m guessing that Nana couldn’t acquire Mackenzie or
Fraser tartan at the time of the photo. However, I do remember wearing were a Dress Mackenzie and an Anderson tartan kilt when I as older. Woollen socks were the order of the day for the kilt outfit
and though not in the photo she knitted us Aran style zipped jackets with
matching Dress Stewart panels to the front of them. I think I’m a bit less than
4 years old in the photo and the kilt outfits were probably part of our
Christmas present from her.
But back to those freezing legs memories. At Easter, we got
brand new white cotton ankle socks, sometimes with a little frilly pastel lace edging,
and new shoes. Into the storage cupboard went the knee length woollen or cotton
socks that had done their turn for us over the winter months. (We had no thick
tights or leggings in those days)
Wikimedia Commons |
My hard wearing Clark ’s
Torflex winter shoes were replaced by summer sandals, or finer summer shoes. I remember
at least one pair of my summer shoes being made of fine white kid leather which
had to be carefully buffed up with a special white polish. Scratches on those shoes
were a nightmare to remove.
Wikimedia Commons |
Of course these clothes and shoes didn’t magically appear at
the Easter weekend, a lot of preparation went into the affair. For reasons I
now understand better since I became a grandmother myself, my sister and I were
taken to Nana’s to ‘stay over’ most weekends while my grandfather was alive. This
meant both he and Nana could see us regularly. Deposited every Friday night at
Nana’s meant we could go out on Saturday to buy anything that was shop-bought
for our new Easter outfits. Nana claimed to love shopping with us and always
made it fun.
Reading the descriptions of our outfits above, you might be thinking
that Nana liked cotton an awful lot and you’d be correct! As well as ensuring
we looked beautiful, and were a credit to her, she was also extremely
practical. She knew that after Easter it would be my mother who had to wash the
clothes and that was quite a palaver in the 1950s.
From my birth in 1952 till 1959, I lived in what was a ‘less
than desirable’ Maryhill tenement block in Glasgow , Scotland .
The Victorian built red sandstone exterior was completely blackened by smoke and soot but it was still in fairly sound condition. However, the building had
not been internally renovated over the decades. Most of the housing in
Maryhill, a poor inner city area, was owned by a relatively small number of
landlords. They liked extracting the money from their tenants but hadn’t been
too sharp at improving the living conditions of those tenants who paid them
money every week to live in their buildings.
My tenement's facade, with some prominent window features, looked a bit like this one when viewed from Maryhill Road, though the photo below is of the High Street in Glasgow. Like the photo seen here, we had a shop called D. M. Hoey (a drapers shop) directly below our front window.
Wikimedia Commons |
The flats/apartments tended to be small
and generally consisted of a room and
kitchen that is one bedroom and one kitchen separated by a small entrance
hall, usually called the lobby. We were
fortunate in that we had an inside toilet with a flush cistern - those fancy
high up on the wall cisterns with a huge long chain pull. The more unfortunate
of our neighbours didn’t have inside toilets, they had to share the ‘stairheid lavvy’ i.e. a communal W.C. Most of those neighbours lived in the ‘single ends’. The reasoning escapes me
but generally the single ends i.e. one room only flats were usually the
middle door of the three doors to each landing on the close - the name for the communal access stairway. The communal stair
head lavatory was often shared by 4 or 5 families which sometimes meant an
average of upwards of 2 dozen people.
The stairheid
lavvy was never pleasant to walk past.
There was no hot running water inside our house. Water was
either heated by a small gas geyser system or by heating a large kettle or pan
on the range. The range in my first house was a black leaded
fire-come-oven-come-stove-top, an all in one place cooking and heating system.
Wikimedia Commons- typical black leaded range |
Since there was only cold running water to the tap and sink
in the kitchens, the women of Maryhill tended to wash their family clothes in a
purpose built wash house situated in the central back court. The wash house, a small
brick building, held a boiler to heat water, a couple of large sinks for
rinsing clothes and an impressive mangle/ wringer to extract the excess water. The
boiler was coal fired and the hot water fed into what seemed to a small child
to be a huge cauldron.
My mother and her neighbours would take turns for the use of
this facility, the key generally coming to my mum on a particular day and nominated
time. If you were unable to take your ‘turn’ to use the facility then the
family clothes remained unwashed till the next turn.
The boiler fire was lit by
the first user of the day, after which there was a short wait till the water in
the large copper boiler got to boiling point. My mum would boil the clothes in the huge
boiler, popping in the bedding, towels and cotton underclothes first. Clouds of
steam filled the small room as the process got underway. Wash soap was added
and a huge wooden paddle was used to stir the boiling clothes.
After the boiling
process the clothes were removed with the paddle and slurped into the adjacent
huge Belfast style
earthenware sinks. That was not only a tricky process but a hazardous one.
Nasty burns on wash day were not uncommon. Any residual dirt on the ‘whites’ was
thumped out by hand using block soap against a metallic or glass rippled wash board.
Mangle- Wikimedia Commons |
When
the clothes were rinsed free of soap they would be pressed through a mangle which was mounted at the side of a sink. The large wringer removed the excess water. pressing full sized cotton or linen sheets through this was a definite skill and required quite a lot of strength and energy! Almost the same laborious process
was used to clean the non- white clothes which couldn’t be boiled but could
withstand a fair degree of hot water.
The clean clothes were then pegged out on the wash lines
which crisscrossed the back court and air dried if it wasn’t raining. If,
unfortunately, it was raining the clothes were taken into the house and hung on
a pulley system in the kitchen.
Back to my lovely white ankle socks. Nylon ones were
available by the late 1950s but they
tended to go all stretchy after a few hot washes and they lost their pristine
whiteness fairly quickly. On the other hand, cotton could withstand a lot of boiling,
battering and could be bleached to a new whiteness over the months of use.
We did have some sunny warm days back in the 1950s though for
some amazing reason I remember the cold leg feeling a lot more! As I write this my laundry of today is birlin’ aroon nicely on my drying line in the garden. It’s around 8 deg
C/ 46.5 F and I really don’t fancy getting out the ankle socks this weekend.
Slainthe!