In 1967 we
had moved as a family from my parents centuries-long Hertfordshire roots to
Warwickshire. In the early days here we
sometimes went shopping to the big shiny spangly city which was Coventry. It had a Green Shield shop, where you handed
over your pages of accrued green gummy squared stamps for things like lawn
mowers and paddling pools, depending on who got lucky.
Coventry
boasts one of the most beautiful Cathedrals in England. In the 1960's in shameful contrast at about the furthest
reach of the city centre was a shopping area dominated by ugly concrete blocks,
called Lower Precinct. Within one of these cubes was housed the cavernous
temple called C&A, pioneering fast-fashion bazaar.
It's strange
what gets saved on the permanent hard drive of your memory. How travelling back and forth in time modifies the specifics.
With hindsight I now know that the earliest deposits of the language of music and attending sensory experiences were accumulating within my brain in the late 1960's, even though piano lessons hadn't commenced. When at university, I was in a class where we
were played excerpts from Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and asked to say instantly
what came into our heads. Most people
talked vaguely about rolling fields and peaceful feelings. I was rapidly transported back to 1969,
sitting cross-legged on the school hall floor in assembly with a couple of hundred other
small people in d.i.y. blue knitwear, with tendrils of disinfectant odour wafting into our tiny nostrils. And the fear, the
gut grasping fear of that formidable
headmistress.
If you were
around in 1969 you were supposed to know exactly where you were or what you
were doing at the time of that earth shattering moment when man landed on the moon (I have
no idea).
Perhaps I
never saw the momentous event on TV.
Maybe my
books seemed more interesting and important at the time.
Memory, the
old curiosity.
Back in
C&A, as a five year old, I was in one moment being led by the arm in the midst of endless
rails of clothes. Then suddenly standing alone, feeling
trapped in a maze with no escape, a scary labyrinth with giant sides of garish
garments being swished to and fro, which you might just fall into and never be
able to escape...
But, the
dress,
we had come
to get the dress for the photo
so everything was OK.
so everything was OK.
Mum chose the
style she wanted me to have in the bargain, wrinkle free wonder fabric of
the era, crimplene. (You couldn’t turn over in bed in those days between polyester
sheets and nightclothes without seeing tiny shards of static flash before your
eyes). I was given a choice between two colours, the pink flower print or the yellow sunshine motif dress. I plumped for pink florals, but it was the yellow with the symmetrical suns that was taken to the till. I know there were some tears but otherwise what happened between the changing
room and the checkout is a mystery. Still the event and its periphery have sat there in the long, twisting corridors of my mind ever
since.
A conundrum that you cannot choose what lodges in your mind.
Given the vagaries of consciousness, sometimes what do you believe?
A conundrum that you cannot choose what lodges in your mind.
Given the vagaries of consciousness, sometimes what do you believe?
I'm visiting from Tanya's. It is strange, the memories that stick with us over the years. I remember tears and dresses too:)
ReplyDeleteAm sure there were tears with other dresses, none so clear as this.
DeleteThanks for visiting & commenting Kimberly
Quite a nostalgia trip here! I remember C&A, static-full nylon and polyester bedlinen/clothing and crimplene. Memory also recalls having clothes chosen for me that neither suited nor fitted well. Oh, the joy of growing older and having money of my own to buy what I liked. I agree that "you cannot choose what lodges in your mind" and the bad memories mingle with the good or indifferent. But look what they have produced - this lovely reflection here. Thank you, Jo :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Joy for passing by & commenting. Not wishing for a crimplene comeback (!) but fond memories of the time.
DeleteOh, how I remember the crimpelene dresses and clothes. Not my favorite material though, but anything to make the iron load a bit less. I have all but forgotten those crimpelene outfits. If my mind serves me correctly, I remember all the young ladies with the crimpelene mini dresses. Over via Tanya's.
ReplyDeleteMuch love
Mia
Thanks Mia for visiting. My dress was a little more modest than the mini ones - I think we have some mighty fine mini ones in family wedding photos somewhere :)
DeleteIt IS weird what sticks in your mind, isn't it? I liked this little treasure-box of memories - enjoyed seeing the photo, too! Thanks so much for linking up. :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks Tanya, the windows of our minds eh?
DeleteGreat to see lots of different perspectives on 'the dress' too - good topic choice!
Oh my mercy, how very cute you were. Glad they went w/ the yellow suns; they suited you perfectly. :)
ReplyDeleteNot so sure about the ridge of hair above my left ear! Thanks for reading :)
DeleteLoved reading this Jo, it really made me think - the things that stick in our minds :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks for popping by Ruth. Memory thing is often on my mind with ageing parents/in-laws & what they can & can't remember & what they think we remember etc
Delete