Selfridge’s – derrickjknight

Advent Day 10

This morning we visited the Antique Restoration workshop of Andrew Sharp, where, having been very impressed with Andrew’s skills and his establishment, I left a late Victorian chair for refurbishment.

Here are two more of Selfridge’s window displays from December 1963. The snowwoman’s garb is timeless; the models in the second, of the period, possibly dressed by Mary Quant.

“Dame Barbara Mary Quant CH DBE FCSD RDI (11 February 1930 – 13 April 2023) was a British fashion designer and icon.^[2][3] She became an instrumental figure in the 1960s London-based Mod and youth fashion movements, and played a prominent role in London’s Swinging Sixties culture.^[2][4][5] She was one of the designers who took credit for the miniskirt and hotpants.^[6][7] Ernestine Carter^[8] wrote: “It is given to a fortunate few to be born at the right time, in the right place, with the right talents. In recent fashion there are three: Chanel, Dior, and MaryQuant”.(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Quant),

and perhaps worn by Twiggy, “Dame Lesley Lawson (née Hornby; born 19 September 1949), widely known by the nickname Twiggy, is an English model, actress, and singer. She was a British cultural icon and a prominent teenage model during the swinging ’60s in London.

Twiggy was initially known for her thin build and the androgynous appearance considered to result from her big eyes, long eyelashes, and short hair.^[1]^[2] She was named “The Face of 1966” by the Daily Express^[3] and voted British Woman of the Year.^[4] By 1967, she had modelled in France, Japan, and the US, and had appeared on the covers of Vogue and The Tatler. Her fame had spread worldwide.^[4]

After modelling, Twiggy had a successful career as a screen, stage, and television actress. Her role in The Boy Friend (1971) earned her two Golden Globe Awards. In 1983, she made her Broadway debut in the musical My One and Only, for which she received a Tony nomination for Best Actress in a Musical. She later hosted her own series, Twiggy’s People, in which she interviewed celebrities, and appeared as a judge on the reality show America’s Next Top Model. Her 1998 autobiography Twiggy in Black and White entered the best-seller lists.^[3] Since 2005, she has modelled for Marks and Spencer, appearing in television advertisements and print media. She has been credited for the company’s successful revival at that time.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twiggy

This evening we dined on Ferndene Farm shop’s flavoursome pork and chives sausages in red wine; creamy mashed potatoes; tender cabbage; firm carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts, with which I drank Paarl Shiraz 2023.

An Attachment To The Gates.

Mary Quant and Twiggy; the former the celebrated dress designer; the latter the inspirational model, were fashion icons of the 1960s. The swan in the December 1963 photograph that is today’s advent picture is embracing models sporting outfits in styles typical of these two leaders.

The card in the bottom right hand corner of Selfridge’s display is interesting on several counts. The first is that anyone zooming in on it will see that the shop is open all day this coming Saturday. Mathematicians will no doubt be able to explain why two dates exactly fifty years apart should fall on the same day. In 1963 I could not afford to shop in the West End so was unaware of opening hours at that time, but why would it be necessary to make this announcement? How times have changed.

The price tags on these ‘Young Style’ gems is 84 shillings, or 4 guineas. In today’s decimal currency that is the equivalent of £4.20. Actually that was quite a lot of money in 1963.

When I first bought my new iMac I had not realised that I could name and provide a location for the photographs I have stored on iPhoto. I therefore have some 2000 images to identify. It being a miserably wet day, I made a start on the task this morning.

This afternoon we visited first Mum then Elizabeth in West End. Mum in particular spoke about the cars that she and Dad had owned, and she, Jackie, and I swapped tales about driving tests. Mum had required quite a few attempts, possibly because Dad had taught her, and his method was long on lecture and short on practice. Jackie and I each had passed first time and each had made an error we thought would fail us, had another attempt, and got it right. Jackie’s was a hill start. Mine was reversing round a corner. I still remember feeling the rear nearside wheel touching the kerb. I stopped, came forward, straightened up, and then made a perfect turn. I must have been advised that that was the thing to do.

Just in case anyone is thinking that I am feeling smug about having passed my test first time, especially after only three weeks at the wheel, please let me disillusion you. Just days after I began life as an Assistant Child Care Officer in the Royal Borough of Kingston upon Thames (I had passed my test on the day I started the job), I used the Borough mini to drive me from Tolworth Tower in Chessington to the Guildhall in Kingston. I had no idea where to park or what the various coloured lines outside the building meant. It was as far back as December 1966, so I was actually able to take the car there. ‘I won’t be long; I’ll leave it here’, I said to myself as I left the borrowed vehicle right outside the cast iron gates. I entered the building and secured the loan cheque I had come for that was the purchase price of my Hillman Imp. So far, so good. I left the building. The unmolested little mini was still there. Intact. Getting away from the awkward position in which I had left the car required at least a three point turn. Easy peasy. I’d done it in my test. Reversing perfectly, turning the steering wheel appropriately, I gently approached the gate to stop and make the next turn. Then I made my fatal mistake. Coming to a standstill requires the use of a brake. So I applied it. I thought. Actually I hit the accelerator. And the mini hit the gate. And stayed on it. Stuck. The railings having given the bonnet a suitably serrated outline.

That took a certain amount of living down.

This evening Jackie and I dined on her chicken jalfrezi and pilau rice, each of us drinking Kingfisher.

Remembrance In The Stone

We have experienced no snow in the forest yet this year, but no advent season could be without anticipation, eager in the young, apprehensive in the elderly, of white flakes falling on Christmas Day. Where would we be were our television screens devoid of ‘The Snowman’, the 1982 adaptation of Raymond Briggs’s timeless and beautifully depicted 1978 cartoon story? It is always a snowman who appears on lawns throughout the land. Never, in my experience, except in Selfridge’s window in Oxford Street in December 1963, a snowwoman. She is my advent picture for today.

The two stores whose windows attracted Mike and me on our expeditions to see the lights, were the above-mentioned Selfridge’s and Liberty’s in Regent Street. It is just possible that after fifty years my memory has confused the two. If the snowwoman belonged to Liberty, I extend my sincere apologies to their inspired egalitarian dresser. My friend Paul Herbert yesterday wished for an application that would produce a small chocolate at the touch of a finger on these electronically produced advent pictures. I am afraid we still await the arrival of that facility, so the reward for opening the post must, for the moment, be virtual.

This morning I finished reading ‘Zadig’, Voltaire’s tale of a philosophical journey that manages to be reminiscent of both ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ and ‘The Thousand and one Arabian Nights’. I am not a fan of these stories, especially when they follow a formula. Voltaire is of course sending up the romantic geste, and we are meant to discern meaningful truths from his carefully crafted yet apparently light-hearted work. It is, however, simply written, and therefore an excellent vehicle for sharpening one’s French.

Before lunch I walked down to the village shop and back to buy some stamps. Perpetual motion in the form of a string of primary schoolchildren pulsated on the green.

This afternoon we drove to Ringwood for banking, sorting out documents at the solicitor’s, and collecting photographic inks. On our way home, Jackie, who has not before visited it, turned off the A31 to look at Rufus Stone. Until now, her only experience of it had been in reading my blog post.

There is a heavy metal grill forming the top of the iron casing that conceals the actual stone. Glancing down at the pebbles and oak leaves that occupy the space beneath it, Jackie spotted an item which she managed to extract and return undisturbed. This is a card of some plastic weatherproof material in remembrance of Michael Charles Daniels 1996 – 2010. May he rest in peace.

A beef and peppers casserole so tasty I have run out of superlatives; duchesse potatoes; and crisp carrots and brussels sprouts provided our dinner this evening. Well, actually Jackie provided it. She enjoyed a glass of Hoegaarden and I drank Campo de Borja Caliente Rojo 2012. The provenance of the wine is interesting. Jackie bought it because it was half price in Morrison’s and she thought they must be having to shift it because the label was so naff; thus indicating that it must be a good wine. There is a logic there. She was right.