August 22, 2014 at 11:53 pmParticipant
Nothing about Wolverhampton I’m afraid but this might get one or two answers which might get one or two more.
Doing the OAP’s thing of trawling the Charity shops this afternoon, well it’s better than day time TV, in one shop I came across a Pipe Tray, not a Rack, just a little lump of alabaster with a shaped brass holder on which to lay your Falcon or Meerschaum on. Save marking the table. It went through my mind when did you last see a pipe smoker? As an ex-addict of the weed, I’ve smoked cigarettes, cigars, a pipe, even stuffed it up my nose in the form of snuff. Everything except chew it. You have to stop somewhere. I’ve owned Ronson Lighters, Colibri Lighters and the American Zippo Lighters. I’ve had cigarette cases and tobacco pouches. The House of Bewlay, Queens Square was my Temple to Nicotine. To answer your question when did I stop? About one minute after I had the stroke.
Moving from one Charity Shop to another, I eavesdropped on a young couple, mid twenties. The girl was enthusing over an old box of ladies dress patterns, Butterick, Vogue and Simplicity, asking the assistant what they were.
“They’re dress patterns. We all used to make our own clothes in the 40’s and 50’s.”
“What make your clothes? Really.”
“Oh yes. You’d get the sewing machine on the kitchen table and Mom would help us pin the pattern to the material and cut it out. We’d make dresses, skirts and blouses. Your friends would come round to help with the fitting and alterations and part of the fun was going through the patterns and picking the material at the shops.”
“Really? Couldn’t you buy clothes?”
“Yes, but money was tight in those days and most girls you knew made some of their own.”
Bill, they don’t know they’re born
August 23, 2014 at 9:54 am
Nice one George. It reminded me of the times I came home from school with my one hand hiding the hole in the seat of my only pair of trousers, when the patch had worn away through fidgeting on my seat in class, Oh for the glory of Clothing Coupons.
Below the old cellar head.
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