May 5th 1979, I am at my mother’s flat in Elm Park Gardens, getting myself ready for my wedding. The flat is teeming with people. My mother, my stepfather, a friend who is sewing me into my headdress – we thought it would be so easy – my father who is wearing two vests very visibly – in case he gets cold – being persuaded to take at least one off , and we are waiting for my aunt, my mother’s little sister. Everyone except for me is a little bit nervous. I’ve just been to the hairdresser – my big concession to the day, but I didn’t tell anyone I was getting married until I was leaving. Apparently I should have told them that I was wearing something in my hair. Oh well.
Anyway, we wait for my darling Ciocia, who eventually turns up looking extremely glamorous. As expected. As always. All our faces fall, however, as we realise what has happened. She is wearing the dress on the left. My mother is in all her glory in the dress on the right! What a coincidence! My mother tries to laugh off the enormity of the situation. My aunt, however, rises perfectly to the occasion and changes into something completely different. Phew!
But I kept both dresses for the last 44 years, because I thought they were beautiful; they were extremely expensive and very good quality. I also managed to get some wear out of them when I was somewhat smaller myself. They made excellent maternity dresses – hard to believe I wore them, but I did. But now I have finally given up the idea that I will ever get into them again. So off they go to the charity shop, which I hope will appreciate their vintage designer quality, and some other people will enjoy them.
My January declutter is going apace – but this must be the hardest thing. Thank goodness for the iphone.