10. STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

A new school needs a new school uniform

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

10. The School Uniform

“Oh I don’t know what I’m going to do,” confessed Daisy to her long-term friend Phoebe who had popped in during an afternoon in summer, not long before the school holidays.

“What is it?” asked her friend, though she could guess.

“Isabel got in at the grammar school and their uniform, which I’ve got to buy, costs the Earth,” sighed Daisy, “but I’ll get it even if I have to stand on the townhall steps with my knickers round my ankles, and beg!”

“That would be some sight,” laughed Phoebe.

“I know I mean it as a joke, but sometimes it seems it might be the only way,” groaned Daisy, “and what’s more the doctor’s told me to wean myself off those pills I’ve been on, so he’s given me less. He says there’s evidence that taking them for a long time can cause side effects, though he didn’t ay what those side-effects might be.”

“I’ve long thought they can’t be doing you real good,” agreed Phoebe, “You know, love, you're much nicer when it’s not a chemical factory driving the things you say. Now tell me about the school uniform?”

“I’ve got to buy a blazer, and not just any blazer but one with braiding round it and a posh badge, and the whole lot in maroon. Then there’s a tie, not to speak of a shirt to wear so that there’s somewhere to put the tie. And a skirt. But not just any skirt but one of exactly the right shade of grey. And the whole lot come from the most exclusive shop in town … at an exclusive price!”

“Is that the only place you can buy it?”

“Well, the Co-op does the uniform as well, they say it’s to the same quality but the kids know which is which just by looking at them. And all her life Isabel has been second best. You know, in the eyes of kids from posh houses where there are two incomes and two cars in the garage!”

“Two cars? That’s pretentious!”

“They do exist, though, and some of the brats who live in tht sort of house can be most spiteful.”

“Have you thought of that used clothes shop behind Woolworth’s? I know quite a lot of people pass their kids old stuff off there, and quite a lot of it is really quite decent. I mean, if it was top quality to start with and only worn for a year by a careful girl it might be good as new still.”

“But she’d know. Isabel, I mean, she’d know and it’d upset her to know that all the other kids have new stuff and she’s in hand-me-downs!”

“Come along, darling, I’ll come with you to Coomb’s. That’s the used clothes emporium. I might pick up the odd thing for myself there too. They do have some quite good stuff if you sort between the garbage.”

“Okay, Phoebe. The trouble is it’s probably the only place I’ll get what Isabel needs.”

And so the two women made their way to Coombs, the second-hand shop that had two rooms chock-a-block with every kind of clothing under the sun. It had started its business in 1949 when the wartime expedient of rationing of clothing came to an end and the well-off who could easily afford plenty of new clothing once they weren’t restricted by the number of coupons they had found somewhere to dispose of their better used garments. That was the theory behind Mr Coombs entrepreneurial thinking and it seemed to work because the shop was still there in 1954.

When they got there the first thing they noticed was that the shop smelt of dust and unwashed clothing and even dirt, and Daisy turned her nose up straight away.

“You can wash anything that really pongs,” whispered Phoebe, loud enough for the elderly Mr Coombs to hear.

“I check it all when it comes in,” he said, carefully eyeing the two ladies and trying to work out why they were there. Both seemed to be of an age when their wardrobes might have a bit more life in them, and new stuff wasn’t as expensive as it had been when coupons had been needed during the rationing of clothing to ensure that there was always enough to go round.

“It’s all right,” whispered Daisy to her friend. “Do you have school things, for girls aged eleven and going to Saint Albans?” she asked.

“Ah, a bright daughter then,” he smiled, “There are a few in the back room, but there’s already been a few ladies like yourself looking for a bargain and picking out the best. It you can’t find what you want you might try a jumble sale. There’s one at Saint Savoiur’s some time soon. This afternoon, I think.”

“I can’t find what I want,” decided Daisy when they’d looked through the few items of school clothing in the back room. “It’s all so tatty and it all smells stale and horrid. And I don’t think there’s much in Isabel’s size anyway.”

“Then shall we try that jumble sale Mr Coombs mentioned?” suggested Phoebe, “I like a good jumble sale anyway! I need a new summer frock that’s the right length. It said in my magazine that hems were going to be a bit lower this year and the truth is you can shorten a long dress but you can’t lengthen a short one!”

“If that’s what might help me,” sighed Isabel, wishing she’d taken one more little yellow tablet before they set out. “Saint Saviours is where I buried Fred,” she added. “What is it, six or so years ago? In some ways it seems much longer. The kids have changed from little ones to my big girl going to grammar school. And in two years Brian may well be following her to the boys’ school next door to where Isabel will be.”

“Time passes quickly,” agreed Phoebe, “do you remember before the war when we were off on our bikes? Off to see the world or as much of it as we could reach on our bicycles? And the fun we had?”

“You were always hoping a farm labourer with muscles and a big you-know-what would come upon us as we sat in our tent at nightfall and were discussing what our tomorrows would bring,” remembered Daisy.

“I don’t remember anyone coming along, though, big you-know what or small you-know what,” laughed Phoebe, “but you were there and in a funny way I loved you. Not like a bloke, of course, but like a friend.” sighed Phoebe. “Come on, if we get to the jumble sale first there might not be too much of a queue.”

No sooner had they joined what was already quite a steady queue than the Reverend Pocock came up to them and stopped, smiling warmly at them.

“Mrs Parfitt!” he exclaimed, “I was hoping to see you here!”

“Not on holiday near the sea then, Reverend,” she grinned.

“That was quite a few days! And good to be away from my flock and all it’s problems for a short while!” he replied, “but I was hoping to see you here. Your daughter must be eleven now, mustn’t she, and if she’s anything like her mother she’ll be off to the ‘grammar school this year, won’t she?”

“That was clever of you, to work that out,” she said surprised.

“I like to keep my thoughts on important members of my flock up tlo date,” he replied, smiling largely because she might have been in his flock, as he put it, but she didn’t put in as many appearances on Sunday at his church as she might.

“Anyway, I’ve something you might like to look at,” he said, “My sister’s got a girl a year or so older than your lass. Anyway, I thought of you when she donated Honey’s old clothing for the jumble sale. I know you must be struggling and might need the odd helping hand. If you care to come this way, I’ll show you,” and he led them through a private door into the Church Hall.

He took them into a small back room and showed them the contents of a large paper bag. In it there was a complete set of school uniform clothing, looking as good as new and there was even a tie.

“You can have this,” he said, “make a donation to the fund if you like, but there’s no charge.”

“But it’s like new!” gasped Phoebe.

“There’s a snag in the blazer, just a little one, and you can easily repair it with a needle and thread,” explained the vicar, showing them a tiny tear towards the top of the blazer, at the back. “It will probably always show, but it’s on the back and a careful repair will make it virtually invisible. But that’s not what’s important. What is important is if it helps at all. The skirt’s for a girl of eleven and they’re all much of a muchness when it comes to size, it seems to me.”

“It’s everything I need,” gasped Daisy, “Oh, vicar, You’ll never know how grateful I am.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said with a broad smile, “now let me show you out. We don’t want that queue to think you’ve got special treatment!”

“But I have,” sighed Daisy, “And I’ll say againI’m so grateful. Here: take this for the fund,” and she and pulled a ten shilling note.

“I’ll easily mend that tear<” she said to Phoebe on the way home.

“Easy peasy,” grinned Phoebe, “and, love, doesn’t the holy man fancy you!”

© Peter Rogerson 05.03.23

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